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Chapter 1

Gerome had lived all his life beneath his Grandmother’s thumb. She had given orders about how he should dress, what he should eat, where he could go, whom he could see and how long he could be out without supervision. Now that the bat was dead, he intended to change all that.

She had been dying for the last five years. She sitting it in front of the parlor fire, brought there by her nurse, she had continued to run his life as she ran the financial empire she ruled. She issued orders and others jumped to do her bidding. He supposed that when you had a total corporate worth of a billion dollars (and growing) you could do what ever you wanted to and people would bow and thank you for it.

He never wondered where she had gotten all that money. She had been very open with the information. "Hard work. Hard work and effort. Hard work, effort and the sweat of my brow. I never had anyone hand me anything, and I kept the family fortune intact through the Great Depression, despite everything. I married and lost my husband, eventually I lost all three of our children. You're my only surviving relative, and I'll be damned if you waste it as soon as you have control of my dreams. You'll learn how to keep this fortune together and only then will you get your hands on it."

Well, he learned. She never stopped teaching him how to take care of the finances, how to deal with the government and how to deal with greedy executives. She taught him, with her switch sometimes, how to avoid tax pitfalls and what was an item of quality and worth buying, and what he should pass up because it was junk. She discouraged him from having hobbies as they were "just a way to waste time" in her oh-so-bitch-like opinion.

And now it's ALL mine, he thought. I can do ANY thing I want. The reading of the will was today, and probate was being expedited thanks to many measures she had taken while she was alive. Much to his shock the old witch had put everything in his name. He had the distinct impression she had retained her iron-fisted control until the day of her death. To find that he had been legally in charge of the entire empire for the last three years was disconcerting to say the least.

Now he was finally his own man at 25, and could do anything he wanted.

The Bat had made it plain that if he left and struck out on his own he would wind up with nothing from her. That threat alone was enough to keep him firmly tied to her purse strings and living in this mansion with its mothball smell everywhere.

Ding-dong the witch is dead. Which old witch? That damned bitch! Freaking song -- he hadn’t been able to get it out of his head for days. It made him so happy; he started whistling it to himself.

Now he’d a number of things to put into motion, plans he had to delay, waiting for this moment.

First, on the list was taking care of this house. The majority of the staff had been dismissed with thanks for their years of service, and a hefty severance bonus. They should do okay considering they just got paid for a year in advance, without having to work for it. I needn't have anything further to do with them. He kept a few of the staff on, the Stableman to take care of the horses until he could sell them. A few of the household staff stayed on for a couple more weeks. They helped him start the enormous task of going through everything in the place to get it ready and on the market. He wanted something a bit more modern.

It was fine to keep this mausoleum when there was a reason to do so, but now that I'm the only one left, I don't need 20 bedrooms, a formal ballroom, and other such Grand Epoch fripperies. Ten bedrooms will do nicely, he chuckled to himself.

In actuality, he was planning on getting a one or two bedroom apartment someplace FAR away from this place. He wanted to live a simple life. He had managers and company presidents who were competent enough and loyal to the company who could run things to keep the money coming in, all Gerome had to do was send the occasional order and sign the paychecks.

He'd have to buy their loyalty with bonus checks to make sure that they didn't ruin the companies. He'd also have to get auditors to make sure they weren't cooking the books. He knew how easy the money would dry up if he allowed it to be run by greedy incompetents. But once those safety checks were in place, he could relax and take it easy. He could live the good life for a change.

He saw no reason to exert himself anymore than he had to.

The family, a word he had learned to loathe, had actually owned a previous house, burnt down by the Yankees during the War Between the States. His ancestors had been as hard as his grandmother and rebuilt the house bigger and more grandiose than its earlier incarnation. It seemed that every generation thereafter bought more land to add to the estate and added more rooms, furniture and staff to go with the new acquisition.

Gerome sat back in the attic and wiped his brow again with the sodden towel he had brought. He had been up here every night until about 4 AM going through trunks and boxes, putting things away and moving things around. There were things he wanted to keep, simply from a legacy point of view, but more could be burned, recycled or just put in a landfill. It was amazing how much junk could accumulate in 150 years.

Such was to be the fate of many of the items he found. The waistcoats and christening dresses he figured he could donate to Goodwill, until he saw how much people were willing to pay on the Internet for some of these old garments. He started pulling them out and taking good pictures offering them on eBay. If someone wanted to pay him $500 for a ball gown that had seen better days, who was he to stop them?

The various antique dealers had already been out and hauled off most of the furniture he found in the attic. He was quite surprised that the furniture was worth that much, yet his lawyer had assured him it really was. Apparently much of it was matching sets of bedroom and sitting room items from some locally famous cabinetmaker. He only did a few pieces himself, and since Gerome’s family had been large and generous patrons of this artisan many of his journeyman pieces had resided in their attic, until recently.

For whatever reason, it made the pieces even more desirable.

Artwork was sold, along with many of the house wares. There wasn't much point in having fifteen pots that would hold five gallons of food each when he wasn't going to be entertaining two hundred people a night. He chose to keep the pots and pans he thought he needed to cook with for himself and a few guests, and got rid of the industrial sized things. Those windfalls combined had actually netted him a few hundred thousand dollars. Remembering his grandmother’s secrecy in hiding assets, he placed those funds into separate personal accounts.

On the advice of the real estate agent, he left the rooms downstairs fully furnished. He was told that he would get a higher resale price from the nouveau riche with furniture in it than if he just sold them empty rooms. He had professionals come in to clean the walls, the ceiling, the floors and carpets. The beds and furniture in the rooms were professionally cleaned then arranged by a decorator to show off their best attributes with an eye to restoring and enhancing their value. If he was going to try to sell this place for top dollar, it was in his best interest to make sure that things were actually worth top dollar.

The staff that he had dismissed was certainly up to his grandmother’s exacting standards. But when most of the rooms had been closed up from lack of use, they didn't get cleaned as often as needed.

On the advice of his very expensive estate agent, more modern upgrades were added to the ever lengthening list of projects. To expedite the process that would increase resale value, multiple crews had been in to do those upgrades as well. Grounded three prong outlets in all rooms, internet wiring and improved electrical wiring had all been done at the same time. It had taken an unheard of two months at "price is no object" spending to get it all done.

For the last week he had been rifling the attics for the remaining content, pulling out all the junk that accumulates with 150 years of people piling things in and forgetting about them. There were chests and trunks in one of the four attics where all the old clothing seemed to be stored. All of it was neatly folded and as well preserved as possible, packed in cedar chests and in mothballs to keep them from being ruined. He had found everything from a full evening gown from the Civil War to a Zoot Suit that must have been his grandfather's.

One of the wardrobes he came across that night was solely for generations of servant's livery. There was literally nothing missing. There were complete uniforms for Butlers, Footmen, Hall Boys, Housekeepers, Lady's Maids, Upstairs Maids and Downstairs Maids, uniforms for Nannies and Tutors. They went from the Civil War through Edwardian times, and there were a few bags with uniforms of a more current make. In some ways this was a find of epic proportions for someone who was into historical clothing. PSB would pay a fortune for this, if they had one. Mentally he rubbed his hands together anticipating a tidy sum.

As he had with the other outfits he had come across, he pulled everything out and laid them on the floor piece by piece assembling the outfits completely. He lifted the clothes up setting their hangers in the rafters, looking at all the accessories that were with them. He pulled the outfits over one at a time to the lighted studio he had set up. With advice from another expert it had good flashes and lights, a backdrop and a decent camera and tripod. He started taking photographs of everything. He was very grateful that in this age of digital cameras he didn't have to develop the film in a darkroom.

Time passed quickly and when he had finished with the servant’s wardrobe, he started putting it all away. He looked at his watch and found that it was about 3:30 AM, time for him to get to bed.

He stopped when he got to some of the maids uniforms from the turn of the Century. There were several that seemed about his size and he wondered what it would be like to actually work in the uniforms, given the restrictive garments of the period. He pulled out a top and skirt, the two petticoats that went with it, three of the linen aprons, a corset, chemise, corset cover, pantaloons, stockings and a set of work boots. He found a cap with frills and lace that would be pinned to the head and added that to the pile. He then finished putting the rest away.

He collected the outfit he intended to try on later the memory card from the camera and went down to his room. Once he had showered to get all the grime off himself, he decided to shave. He then made sure the clothes were as clean as possible. He wanted to properly get ready as though he were a maid working at the turn of the century.

He sat down on the bed and examined the clothing minutely so that he could see if it was going to be damaged by wearing it. The sturdy satins and linsey-woolsey were old and a bit stained, but he could see they were well preserved and should hold up to him playing with them. If he sold the other sets, he didn't have to sell this one if he accidently ruined it.

He spent some time uploading pictures of the clothes to eBay and putting up listings on every historical and costuming site he could find. He even found a few dozen professional costume shops and larger acting school props departments to send the listings to. At that point it was 5:35 AM and more than time for him to sleep.

When he awoke at nearly 1 PM, he got up and went to the staff kitchen to make himself some lunch. He had been doing the nighttime thing for about two weeks; it was easier and cooler for him to work in the attic then. He poured himself some coffee and added the adulterations he liked to it and thought about his day.

He planned to get dressed in the uniform and try doing the days chores in it, to see how the women of the Victorian time period could actually work in the clothes he had found in the attic.

He finished up his meal, went upstairs and got dressed.

He shaved his face again, as smooth and close as he could, then did his underarms for good measure. He put antiperspirant on and arranged the clothes in the order he would wear them.

First was the chemise. It was just an over the head garment and he pulled the cloth ties to keep it closed. Then on went the pantaloons and the stockings. He reasoned that he might not be able to bend much once the corset was on, so he thought it would be wise to put them on first. He reached for the boots and heard a rattling in one of them. He discovered that it was a buttonhook thank goodness. He’d been worried about how to button them. So he sat on a stool and pulled the shoes on, which actually fit his feet with a little pinching, and used the buttonhook to close it.

He stood and discovered that the two-inch heel on the leather boots weren't too terrible for him to stand and walk in; after all, some of his cowboy boot heels were higher.

Next was the corset. He opened it and put it around his torso and closed the hooks up the front. He found that there was about four inches of slack in the back where the laces were, so he took it off again and worked that much of slack out of the corset. He tied off the laces using a knot that he was sure wouldn't slip, but he could undo if he pulled on one of the laces.

He wrapped the corset around himself again. He couldn't get the front to close; he had taken out too much slack. There was a small gap between the closures of the front busk. Taking a gamble, he blew out all of his breath and quickly hooked it up, starting at the bottom and going up to the top. Once the last hook was latched, he took a breath and found that he could only breathe from the chest, not from the belly as he was used to doing.

He reached into the chemise and pulled up the chest material so that it looked like he had breasts. All his belly fat was being pushed up anyhow, so he just helped it a bit. He stopped and looked in the mirror and was astounded at what he looked like. If you didn't know, you would swear that he stepped out of some turn of the century burlesque picture.

He knew that the corset cover, another vest like thing, would be next since the petticoats would have to be tied over the top of it. He buttoned that cover up and pulled the smaller of the petticoats on first and tied it off around his now shrunken waist. Then he took the other petticoat and did the same, giving himself a proper bell-like shape.

Finally came the uniform skirt and blouse. He pulled the skirt on first. Careful to gently raise it over his head, and buttoned it up. The shape of the skirt was severely cut and forced him to pull a bit at the material to close the waist down, but the blouse was easy enough. The separate white cuffs and collar made it clear that this was maid's wear, nothing more.

Once the high collar was buttoned closed, he looked at himself in the mirror again. He was both disturbed and excited by how much this dress made him look like a woman. Sure his face was shaped like a V, and he had a short haircut, but you wouldn't think that just putting on these clothes would have such a dramatic change, yet -- it did.

The classic S form that was the rage during Victoria's reign was obvious in his shape now. His backside protruded out and his spine was forced forward at the bust. It presented and pushed his "breasts" upwards and outwards. It really looked as though he had breasts, probably a large A cup or a small B. On his short frame it looked right. The hem of the dress was only inches above the floor, showing just the toe and sole of the boots he had on. His hands looked like they were a girl's since he had small palms and relatively longish fingers. He shook his head in surprise.

He took up the apron, figured out the arrangement of ties, and soon had it on, with a maid's X on his back and the apron covering the entire front of his skirt and most of the bodice, it looked perfect. He picked up the cap and arranged it until it looked right and then pinned it to his head.

That's when he knew he was in danger.

He remembered when he was little finding some clothes in his grandmother's drawers and trying them on. The fabrics and the stretchy stuff were wonderful on his skin, and he liked them so very much. He also remembered the whipping he received for doing that. He never tried it again, for fear of being caught, but he couldn't help wanting to have them on again. His desires started to overwhelm him; the need so long repressed blossoming with the clothing.

More importantly now he could indulge that need and no one could or would dare to stop him.

He stepped down into the library, with his petticoats swishing around his ankles in a symphony of femininity and went over to the computer. He discovered that he couldn't sit as he normally did in his office chair, but that he had to perch on the edge of it due to the restrictions imposed by the corset.

He opened up his computer browser window and started it searching for several keywords. He looked up "Victorian Maid," "corset," "Victorian Dress," and many related search terms letting the search run all day, while he was working.

He stood again and went down to the kitchen to start his chores.

As he went through the day, he had to stop several times and catch his breath. It was hard working in a corset, but he had resolved to find out for himself what it was like. And now he was enjoying wearing the clothes.

He had to have the Air Conditioning cranked up a lot more to keep the sweating down. He was very warm in this uniform. He did the dishes from his last two meals, put them in the dishwasher and went into the library to look around.

Before long he was dusting shelves to clean the dust that had accumulated after the cleaning crew left. It also gave him a chance to sort and reacquaint himself with some of the hundreds of books there. He didn't mind, although he was somewhat disappointed that he had stained his apron. He stopped long enough to change it for a clean one and then he was back to the dusting and reorganization.

He caught himself looking in the mirror more and more as he went through the day. It was -- not disturbing, but unsettling -- to see how right these clothes looked and how well they went on him. He had not noticed it before, but the shape of his face and body, how well he moved made feminine garb look so right on him. He recalled college and thought about men who had proposition him thinking he was gay, now he had an explanation for it.

He wasn't posing or preening, but he was conscious of standing properly, taking small steps, trying to move with grace and poise through the day. He wanted to do the long-dead former owner of this uniform justice and compliment her. He wanted to look like a proper maid.

While he was in the library he found some books that he thought related to life in Victorian times. The Housewife's Guide to Everything, Servants and Maintaining Control in Your Household, A Housekeeper's Companion and others. He took those books down and set them on a reading table near a lamp to be studied at a later time.

As he kept cleaning, he began to spin a fantasy, about being a poor working girl, picked up off the street and taught how to be a proper maid of all work. It was her responsibility to keep the house neat and tidy, dusted and picked up. Her employer wasn't at home much, so she was trusted to live here by herself and maintain the place in her Master's absence.

A name, Mia, popped into her head. That was the name of a serving girl. She started referring to herself as Mia and with a feminine pronoun. It felt right for her to do so. The game of pretend became more real the longer she played it.

That night she had continued to do what Master Gerome had started, going through the attic and cataloguing all the items up there. Mia made sure to take down several more sets of uniforms for herself, picking all the best ones so that she had nice things to wear. She picked out two sets of uniforms for working upstairs, three sets for downstairs, and two more for kitchen duties. When Mia found uniforms for serving in the dining room, she picked out two of everything for that as well. She hung them all neatly in her closet after moving to one of the servant's chambers in the back of the house. It was small by Master Gerome’s standards since it contained two beds, dressers and nightstands.

She then picked out clothes for a lady friend of Master Gerome's and hung them neatly in a guest chamber’s closet and folded neatly away in the chest of drawers. She knew that it was one of her duties to take care of the wardrobe while she was the only one here, so every now and then she should take them out and air them.

Days drifted past in a wondrous world of make believe she’d created. There were occasions where she would have to let Master Gerome take care of some business detail or other. At his directions to his companies she started taking care of all the callers to the house. The Estate Agent would call with an appointment time when someone wanted to look over the property, and Mia would make sure to greet the Estate Agent and guests at the door and answer any questions they had. She made sure the place was clean and dusted, and would vacuum all the carpets every week.

When the landscapers came, Mia was a bit nervous going outside with them, but soon became comfortable with showing them where work needed to be done. She called to have groceries delivered, made all the meals and ate them as well.

It was not terribly strenuous for her. She enjoyed her work. It was fulfilling and she could revel at being able to see a concrete goal reached at the end of each day’s labor. She was exhausted every night when she went to sleep in her room sleeping more soundly than Master Gerome had for years. Each task accomplished left her glowing with satisfaction.

Four weeks after she pulled the uniforms down and started working in them, there was a visitor at the door. A young lady was waiting when Mia opened it.

"Good afternoon," Mia said with a curtsey. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I was sent here from the Temporary Domestics agency? Mr. Gerome Phillips needed a live-in maid temporarily? Am I too late?" She looked worried.

Mia smiled. "Please come in. I'm Mia Warner and no, you aren't too late for the position."

"I'm Angela Reynolds. No offense, but when you opened the door, I thought my job had been given away. I hope this isn't going to cause problems?"

Mia looked at her. "Mr. Gerome isn't here at the moment, and I've been here as a maid-of-all-work for a while. I certainly understand why he felt we should have two maids in the house, as big as it is. Please follow me." Mia closed the door behind her.

They went into what once had been the Drawing Room, just off the foyer it was a receiving room, similar to a parlor, but more public. This was where the family would receive their guests. As the ladies and gentlemen went their separate ways, the women would enter the drawing room. The "Withdrawing Room" was accessible through a small door in the back. The ladies would go there if they needed a few moments of privacy to gather their wits again, or to sniff at their smelling salts from being too tightly corseted.

Mia motioned for Angela ("Please call me Angie.") to take a seat on one of the divans in the Drawing Room. She took the opposite divan and started looking over Angie's résumé. She went on to look at the recommendations that were attached. Finally she looked at Angie and started the interview.

Mia had already decided to hire Angie. The résumé was good and the recommendations were even better. She was fully bonded through her agency and that would have included a criminal background check. Really for the work that needed to be done, a maid didn't need to be a rocket scientist.

Mia and Angie spent the time chatting about many things, life, her goals, what she could do and what she needed to learn. Angie seemed to be ready to buckle down and work as she should.

They spent some time discussing Angie's duties and her compensation. What it boiled down to was minimum wage for 40 hours, no overtime, but full compensation for medical, dental, vision, retirement fund and one day off a week. Uniforms would be provided and her term of employment was to be until the house was sold.

On the subject of uniforms, Angie asked "Forgive me for being blunt, but am I going to have to wear a uniform like that one? It looks like it is from the turn of the century."

Mia smiled. "It is. Mr. Gerome had found an extensive collection of servant's livery in one of the attics while he was sorting through things, and thought I should wear this one. It is mostly for pretend but also for a bit of Victorian charm when the house is shown to potential buyers. Someone mentioned that doing it might increase the value of the house, since it would serve as a reminder of the historic cache of owning this estate.

"I believe that I will recommend to Mr. Gerome that you also be given a uniform set like this so that you will fit in. It shouldn't be for very long. The house has been on the market for three months now, and there have been several people out to look at it, so there should be offers soon. Just think of this as a piece of costuming for a short period of time."

Angie was satisfied with that answer, Mia could tell by the smile on her face. "Mia, let me ask you this, why isn't Mr. Gerome interviewing me? Are you also the housekeeper?"

"Not exactly, I don’t hold the title of Housekeeper, but I am the senior maid. Mr. Gerome had mentioned a while back that he expected someone to come by, and told me that I could make the decision on whether or not to hire the person who came as I will be the one most closely working with that person. I like what I see and I will be recommending you be hired.

"Now, with that done, would you care to take a tour of the house?"

Angie and Mia spent the rest of the day going through the house. Since no one was actually living in most of the rooms, they only needed dusting and vacuuming. The rooms that they used required more through cleaning as a matter of course. The major work would be in the attic and in the basement which were both used as storage for more than the last hundred years.

Mia spoke. "My instructions are to keep this house in shape to be sold. We are to make it as clean as it is possible to be, to get the full resale value. I was informed that the house appraises for 13.5 million dollars along with the grounds and outbuildings. There are work crews that have been hired to get the outbuildings fixed and in top shape, but we are responsible for cleaning and maintaining inside this house, and probably in the future we will be overseeing the other houses cleaning on the property as well.

"The heavy cleaning was done in the first month of Mr. Gerome inheriting this house, and all we need really do is to maintain that level of cleanliness.

"Mr. Gerome travels all over for pleasure. As such, most of the dealings that we will have are with lawyers and other officers of his companies. I do get instructions from him via an encrypted email account, so I know the orders are actually coming from him. We have a top security setup so that I can also send him anything of a financial nature that comes here."

"So this is just a place to keep his stuff while he goes out and acts as a playboy?" was Angie's shrewd guess.

"I guess you could say that."

"So how is our pay taken care of? If Mr. Gerome isn't here to sign our checks, how do we get money for the various things we need?"

Mia thought quickly. "Before he left, Mr. Gerome made me a co-signer on an account that is for household expenses. A set budget is deposited into that account monthly. It’s enough to cover all the normal operating expenses and a bit more to take care of emergencies. I’m supposed to contact Mr. Gerome or his lawyer if I need more money for some reason. Our paychecks are included in that account, as well as checks to all the various people Mr. Gerome employs to maintain this place. All the household expenses come out of that account, including groceries."

Angie was nodding. "That makes sense. Do we get to use the house and cars and such as well?"

Mia smiled. "There are vehicles we are permitted to use for household chores. If you have your car, then it is yours to do with as you wish. I have a car of my own as well. I was told that I wasn't allowed to have parties here, but a few friends over occasionally for a night of being together was allowable. Mr. Gerome waggled his eyebrows at that, so I assume he was thinking about my sleeping with the delivery boy or something."

Angie giggled. "Okay then that sounds reasonable enough. Now, where’s my room?"

Mia smiled. "The servant's quarters are at the back of the house." She took Angie there to let her choose the room she wanted for her own.

There was enough room to allow for a fairly large staff. There were a total of 8 rooms for maids and kitchen staff some had a double bunk bed to sleep a total of four. Body servants naturally slept in a small alcove within the guests bedrooms. Mia showed her around, and expected Angie to pick one of the empty rooms, but instead, she sat down on the unoccupied bed in Mia's room.

"These are very nice. I'll make sure that I bring everything over tonight. Can you help me store things and move in here when I start bringing them in?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess I can. But are you sure you wouldn't you rather have your own room?"

Angie smiled. "Why? We’re the only people in the house, and I really don't like big empty places, I've seen too many horror movies. Besides, this way we will only need to tidy one room instead of two every day." She stopped and looked at Mia. "Do you have a problem with me staying here with you?"

"No, not a problem," Mia said.

Angie nodded. "Good. I'll leave my bank information with you so you can let the lawyers know and a direct deposit can be set up. I'll go get my things in the meantime."

Angie spent the next couple hours filling out the requisite employment paperwork to satisfy the lawyers and make everything legal. Mia would fax it all to the lawyers to have things set up for a new employee. Then copies would be made and the originals sent by messenger to the attorney’s office. Mia told Angie that she would contact Mr. Gerome and that he would probably have a personal contract drawn up for Angie to sign and to be put on file with the "legal eagles," so that everything was laid out plainly.

Mia offered the use of the household mini-van to bring all of Angie’s belongings back in one trip. Angie smiled and thanked her fairly bouncing out of the house with excitement.

Mia smiled as she went into the main study to contact the lawyer and set things up. She spent a while enumerating points in an employment contract that the lawyer would have to draw up and let the law office know that they would need to messenger it over to the house as soon as possible.

Once she got that done, she thought of the story she had just concocted on the spot, and then did a bit of work to flesh it out. She had to create an email account for herself as a maid and not as "Mr. Gerome." Finally she set up a bank account for household expenses. She then contacted the service and informed them that Angie was hired and that they would get their commissions.

Having finished up those chores, she went into her now shared room to make ready for her new roommate.

The day to day reality of what she has started comes home to Mia. How will she continue to be two people at one time? Maid to be a Man? By Maid Joy

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Chapter 2

A day later, Mr. Gerome's lawyer had shown up at the house unexpectedly. He had not called ahead to let them know he was coming; his reason was Angie's contract.

He went over all the points in the contract with her, and had her sign both copies. Mia was called to witness the signatures, and the lawyer was all smiles.

Then he looked at Mia. "Sorry, but I didn't get your name?" he asked.

"Mia Warner," she said with a curtsey.

"You haven't signed work contract have you? If not, we need to get you to do so. I don't remember your name on anything I have received from Mr. Phillips."

Mia's breathing quickened. "Um, no, I haven't signed any contracts. There was a problem when I started work here, and Mr. Gerome just had me start working. He set it all up."

The lawyer nodded. "That's fine. I'm sure it was just an oversight. Let me have your identification and I can go draw up a contract identical to that one and make everything legal for you."

Now Mia was really close to panicking. "Um, that was the problem. I don't have any ID. You see, I came here... I mean, I lost it in the move."

The lawyer looked at Mia sharply. "Ms Warner, do you have identification at all?"

Mia's head dropped. "No sir," she said in a very quiet voice.

The lawyer stared at her. He nodded. "Illegal immigrant, huh? Well, your back isn't wet enough to be from Mexico, so you probably snuck in from someplace up north didn't you?"

Mia's mind was racing. "Um, yessir. I came from Manitoba. I came down here on a bus and just sort of stayed. I lost all my documents and everything, and couldn't get back home. I lived in an orphanage up there in Brandon. When I found myself across the border, I didn't even think. Mr. Gerome found me crying in a diner after I’d been turned down for work there and offered me a job."

The lawyer sighed. "Very well. I'll see what I can do to get you legally working in the United States. Until then, don't go anywhere. We can't have you picked up by the police for any reason. I'll get you identification and work permits."

Mia smiled. "Thank you very much sir," she said with a curtsey.

Angie escorted him to the door. When she came back, she mimed wiping her brow. "Wow that was close. He could have reported you and then they would have to deport you. I'd hate for that to happen."

Mia nodded. "Yes, I really don't want to go back to Brandon. I don't have anything back there."

"I wondered why you didn't have any clothes except for the uniforms, now I know. But if you came here by bus, why do you have a car now?" she asked in a puzzled voice.

"Well, uh, it's not really mine. Mr. Gerome gave it to me, er, he's letting me use it. He knew I didn't have any transportation, and he is allowing me unlimited use of that car." Mia was getting really nervous.

Angie thought and nodded. "Then the first thing we have to do when you get your next check, we have GOT to get you something other than maid's uniforms."

Apparently the vintage clothing wasn't ideal for daily working wear. This was sadly discovered when the uniforms they found for Angie had ripped while trying them on. Mia had to admit that her own uniforms were giving her some concerns in that department as well.

She immediately sent off a note to Mr. Gerome and had soon received a response. He put another $5000 into the household accounts to allow for the rush order of new uniforms for both ladies. Mia then contacted Ms. Hallyard, Modiste and begged her to come out to the house this Saturday (for an extra remuneration).

The dressmaker and her assistants left after a four-hour session with each girl, having exhaustively measured them and written numbers down. Fabrics and colors were just as exhaustively gone over. Winter daywear would be different from summer evening service wear. Mia and Angie would both have to have multiple copies of each full uniform.

The one constant was the collar, cuffs and some kind of apron. Ms. Hallyard tried to convince Mia that it wasn’t necessary, but Mia didn’t cave.

"Mr. Gerome was very specific about the styling of the uniforms. He wants a costume that is reminiscent of the Victorian era to remind the potential buyers about the history they will receive along with the physical property. If you feel unable to fulfill the order, I will look for someone who can."

Ms. Hallyard was quietly horrified; the commission she would make after expenses would keep her shop going for months. She quickly changed her mind and agreed that cuffs and collar were a must.

Mia and Angie were now excitedly waiting to receive delivery of more than a dozen uniforms and four corsets each. It would take some time for the first sets to be finished. With the size of the commission Ms. Hallyard would be making, Mia knew that the work would be a priority for her shop.

Until then Angie would have to make do with the vintage clothing that she could still wear. While they had no shortage of more clothing for Angie, Mia didn't want to ruin their value by destroying another outfit by accident.

Angie had settled in as if she had been always there. No task assigned to her, from polishing the silver or helping with the rearrangement of the kitchen for more efficiency, to helping reorganize the library was met with distain. It made life so much easier for Mia. A week later, Mia couldn't remember a time when Angie wasn't there.

Mia had finally finished putting the last listing on eBay. Many of the pieces of clothing had been sold and were being shipped out as fast as possible. Five or more generations worth of clothes were gently boxed and sent to new owners. A generous selection of the clothing was being sent to various historical groups and "Mr. Gerome" was very happy about that.

The only things that were not being sent out were the clothing in milady's closets and the uniforms that Mia and Angie wore.

Both Mia and Angie had played pretend a bit and tried on milady's clothing, just to see if it fit and to see the beauty of the gowns on a live person instead of a dressmaker's dummy.

It was hardly all play; there was a lot of work left. While the attics were finally emptying, there was refuse that still needed to be cleaned out as health hazards.

Angie had seen a rat up in the attic, so they elected to stop cleaning up there until the exterminators came out and finished their "removal" project.

While they waited to be assured that the rodent population had been eradicated, they turned to the jumble in the basement. The two maids went to work on all the chemicals and paints first. They both put on breathing masks and gloves to deal with the items that seemed to be dangerous. All cans of anything, even if they looked like they could be used, were set aside to be taken to a specialist in their disposal. The only liquids exempt from the trash were things that could be collectables, like the cases of old soda bottles they found. When she saw Mia about to throw out the bottles of Red Rock, Coca-Cola, Doctor Pepper and Vess Billion Bubble Beverages, Angie stopped her.

They did a bit of research on the Internet, and found out what had been unearthed now. Eventually a process similar to the selling of the clothing was organized.

They awoke at 7 AM and immediately after breakfast and routine cleaning, they worked until late in the day ending no earlier than 6. They carried cases of soda or individual bottles upstairs until their arms and legs were shaking with fatigue. Cleaning them up and photographing the bottles gave their bodies a chance to rest, especially while listing them on eBay. When the bottles were sold, they were very carefully packed and insured before being shipped out.

The money that came in went into one of the accounts that Mr. Gerome had set up from the antique furniture sales. For everything that was actually worth some money, there were twelve things they found that were simply junk.

Getting the refuse out of the basement required hiring a few strong men who came out for a couple hours every other day. At their suggestion a construction dumper had been rented for the duration. The crew was absolutely required to do the heavy lifting. After all, two girls carrying a railroad tie while dealing with their skirts on stairs was neither possible nor safe.

After one of the workmen whistled and asked to be notified when they started on the tools, they knew they had another source of items for sale.

Along with the windfalls of tools and soda, more artwork turned up in some of the storage areas. Angie couldn't believe how much there was, and Mia was unimpressed. They started bringing the paintings up and gently dusting them for resale.

It was during this frenzy that the lawyer for Mr. Gerome had returned. He had a large package of papers and documents for Mia.

"Okay," once they were seated in the Drawing Room. "I have a number of things here for you to keep and some for you to sign. Don't ask me how I got them, just take them.

"First off is your birth certificate. I called some contacts up in Brandon, Manitoba and we found the birth records for you. I have a copy of it right here. If you didn't know your parent's names before, now you do."

He pushed a certified copy of her birth certificate over. Mia picked it up. Considering that the identity of Mia was completely fabricated, on the spur of the moment, it was amazing that they had found records of her birth. Could there be a real Mia Jane Warner out there someplace?

"Next is your work visa. You’ll have an official Green Card now. Hang on to this temporary visa until we can get you the documents you need to stay as an American Citizen. I will be taking your picture in a few minutes and I'll messenger over any documents that need a picture before they’re completed. You’ll be responsible for getting a valid drivers license.

"I also have a Canadian Passport for you. The application had to be fabricated since you didn't apply when you came down here. Just sign on that line there -- and that's that.

"This is the contract you have with Mr. Phillips. You and he had a verbal agreement; in a conversation with him via email he gave me the particulars of it. I need you to sign and date this from two months ago right on that line... and now I sign... and that's done.

"Here is the title to the car you’ve been using. Mr. Phillips was most insistent you receive this particular vehicle. Sign here." The lawyer looked sour as he put the document in front of Mia. He moved them aside once she signed so quickly Mia found it difficult to keep up.

"These are the documents for a bank account in your name. I've had the pay from the last two months deposited already, with all the various government withholding taxes and so on deducted. If you sign this bank signature card --, thank you. This is your ATM card, if you need help on how to use it, please let my secretary know and she will go with you. Your pin number is in this envelope. Please don’t open it until you are alone then destroy the paper.

"These are the employment documents you must fill out. I've filled out most of the information, if you will just sign them down there.... Good, that's done.

"Since you aren't an American Citizen you don't have a Social Security Number, but I will find out what kind of Government ID you should have and get it to you as soon as I can. Right now the passport and Green Card should be enough to work as picture ID for you when needed."

He stopped and looked around. "Alison, would you get a sheet and throw it over the shower bar in a bathroom? I have to get a good picture of Mia here and put it on her passport."

Angie curtsied without correcting him and went to get the sheet. Meanwhile the lawyer had taken out a digital camera and a small tripod out of another bag he carried in. He put a powerful flash on the camera and tested it.

They went to the bathroom where Angie had the sheet ready. Mia stood nervously in front of the shower bar while he set up the tripod and camera. Five pictures later it was finished. He broke the equipment down and it all went back to the camera bag.

He pulled out a netbook and plugged the camera into one of the USB ports. He attached a small printer to another port and soon a picture of Mia was printed out on sticky-back paper. He cut the picture down to the proper size, then peeled the backing off and attached it to the passport. Next was using an "official" seal over the picture to make it very legal.

He handed the passport to Mia and grinned at her. "Okay, Mia, you are now officially you again. I wasn't able to do a background check on you, so my investigators will still be poking around, but it appears you have the full confidence of Mr. Phillips. He's designated the position of Head Maid to you and given you full authority to hire any staff you see fit. Since it's only the two of you here, I'm assuming that you won't be making any other hiring decisions for the time being?"

"Do temporary day laborers count?"

"Yes. Did you hire them through an agency?"

Mia’s voice was very small, "Yes sir."

"Do you pay the agency or the men directly?"

"Just the agency sir."

"In future, I would appreciate a communiqué before you act, but you aren’t in trouble this once. Send my secretary all the information via messenger including the amount you are paying, day they started and estimated end date. Employee wages come from a different account than the one you’ve been using so we’ll have to make sure the books are corrected.

"Mr. Phillips communicated with me in a teleconference not too long ago. He is in Paris right now and told me to help you in any way needed. Please contact my offices should you need anything."

With that, he packed up everything and headed toward the door. Mia walked with him and held the door. "I'll get you the rest of the documents as soon as I can. I have a feeling you and I are going to be very -- close." Mia's skin crawled at his lewd gaze fell on her.

She curtseyed and shut the door behind him.

Angie was excited now. "Oh Mia! How wonderful! Now you know who your parents are, what your birthday everything! You must be so excited!" She took her fellow maid's hands in hers and danced a bit in place to show her happiness.

Mia smiled at her enthusiasm. "No, not really excited. I didn't have parents yesterday, and today I'm not sure if I really want any. It's good to know their names, but that's all. I don't plan on bringing them down or anything.

"Now, we have chores to finish."

Later than night, Mia lay in her bed awake and thinking. She had made the name of Mia Warner up on the spur of the moment. She had pulled the province of Manitoba out of no place in the pressure of having to name somewhere she was from in Canada. She had remembered seeing the city of Brandon on a map at one time, and that’s where she plucked that name.

She didn't think that there really WAS a Mia Warner. If there actually wasn't, then that meant that the documents she had residing in her dresser were very good forgeries. Mr. Gerome’s lawyer had paid someone who knew how a lot of money to produce those documents to support a story the she had created. It also meant he knew some very shady people. He was a corporate attorney not a criminal one so where did the contacts come from?

When Angie started snoring, Mia got up quietly and went to the private study off the Master Bedroom. She went over to the wall and took down the window and poster of France she had up there.

She had put the poster, showing the Eiffel Tower prominently, into a frame that looked incredibly like a window. She had set them to one side and aimed the webcam attached to Mr. Gerome’s laptop so that it caught an edge of the frame and the Tower in the background. Everything had been hooked up and the lawyer, Richard ("call me Ricky") Biggs, had talked to Gerome Phillips while he was vacationing in France. The web cam had been slightly out of focus to disguise the features of Mr. Gerome so that it was hard to compare the image of the playboy with the visage of the maid Mia.

She’d had to slack in her duties in cleaning some of the rooms to sneak back here to have the teleconference with Ricky, and it had taken some fast footwork when she had only given the room a "lick and a promise" cleaning and Angie caught her at it.

She had given the excuse that she had found the most fascinating book and was looking at it, and had just lost track of the time. Angie laughed and said that it had happened to her as well, and if Mia didn't rat her out to the Housekeeper, she wouldn't either. They both had a good laugh about it.

Mia had always known that it would be impossible for one or two people to take care of this entire house by themselves, so she had worked out a reasonable schedule with Angie.

Every day, they cleaned the public rooms, that set of rooms that would reasonably be in use if someone came to tour the house. The Receiving Room, the Drawing and Withdrawing Rooms, the Game Room and Smoking Room, the Library, the Grand Foyer and Halls, including the Staircases were cleaned daily. The rooms the girls used, their bedroom, the Servant's Kitchen and Breakfast area were also a daily chore.

Six days a week, they each took another set of rooms. With twenty bedrooms and a bathroom for each, two maids couldn't keep them all clean if they worked every hour of every day. So they would each do two suites per day. This included a bathroom, bedroom and a small reception room where the body servant of the guest slept and the guest could receive others. Additionally, rooms like the Grand Ballroom, the Conservatory, the Greenhouse, various formal and informal reception rooms, offices for family and staff, "public" bathrooms again for guests, family and staff were cleaned once a month by an outside company. In addition to "their" rooms each of them did about 10 rooms per day.

Most of the work was dusting along with vacuuming the floors. Their own rooms they kept to a higher standard.

Normally they would finish with those chores around 5 PM, have dinner and then focus on sorting the messes from the attics and basement, packing and shipping the items that people had bought on eBay and then on entertaining themselves.

Mia had extra duties that kept her awake late at night. She would go into a study and open up the netbook she had for Mr. Gerome's business. She would then go into his email account and send whatever orders she had to send to Mia and Angie, answer whatever questions came up from the businesses and the lawyers, and approve the expenditures.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Mr. Gerome was in Europe having the time of his life, while his poor maid Mia was left here to take care of the house. She then took the Blackberry she had for emergencies and slaved it to the Netbook, logged in downloaded things she needed to know about, then hid the netbook and stowed the Blackberry in the petticoat pocked of her uniform.

Mia was shorting herself on sleep so her day off was spent napping in the mansion. She didn't want to be "far from home" if something happened.

It was on just such a day that the new uniforms arrived. She spent several hours going through everything and making sure it was all there.

She then tried on a selection of the things she would be wearing. She redressed from the skin out, making sure that every stitch of clothing fit. It did, perfectly.

The corset she chose turned out to be amazing. Since it was made just for her it molded her torso better and emphasized her non-existent breasts. She found that the special items she’s ordered came as well, a pair of quality breast forms and glue.

Angie had almost caught her on more than one occasion without anything in her chest region. Since physically Mia was male, she didn't have enough breast material to fill out the cups of her corsets properly. She had quietly asked Ms. Hallyard to include them and some sort of glue to attach them to her chest. Ms. Hallyard had been sympathetic, thinking that her hormones had been unkind to her and had not blessed Mia with any kind of a chest. She had patted Mia's hand and said that one day she would fill out.

Mia immediately went into their bathroom and fitted the breasts to herself. She read the instructions four times to make sure that she read them right, and finally glued them on. It took some time, but once they were on, it made Mia feel even better.

The new uniforms were all of the same Victorian "type." Long sleeved, high-necked, leg-o-mutton sleeves, full skirts coming down to the ankles, aprons that covered everything, almost like a pinafore. Pockets on the skirts and aprons so that little things could be put in them to be transported and disposed of.

The Housekeeper's Companion had STRONGLY advised against any pockets on any clothing that the female staff wore, since a pocket would allow milady's rings to go missing, or for a silver thimble to disappear and reappear in a pawnbroker's shop someplace. It had ended with the maxim that "a maid without pockets is a maid with a job for some time to come."

Mia didn't think that there was much danger of her or Angie stealing anything, so she had pockets put on the aprons and deep pockets were put into the skirts. There were just too many times when she needed a pocket and was without one.

On impulse, she decided to go out for a bit.

She wrote a note for Angie to let her know where she was going, and left it magnetically stuck to the refrigerator they shared. As she was leaving the note she thought There has got to be a better faster way to for us to do this.

She then grabbed a handbag, made sure her new driver's license and all her identification was in place, along with Mr. Gerome’s "windfall" ATM/Debit card, and went to her car.

It was an old beat up lime green VW Beetle from the 70's. He still had the car that Mr. Gerome's grandmother insisted he get on his 16th birthday. He had driven it ever since. He’d had to buy his own gas and insurance and made sure he kept up maintenance on the car out of his meager allowance.

At one time he had imagined himself driving something fast, sleek and expensive, but he found out how much work those were to maintain, and he decided that he would stick to basic transportation that was reliable.

Mia awkwardly tried to get in the car by stepping in. She discovered what a mistake that was; she was unable to get anything arranged correctly. She tried again, sitting down on the seat first then swinging her feet in. She made sure to pull the skirt and petticoats into the car and swung the door closed.

She was going SHOPPING!

Mia is out shopping on her own. Really, how much trouble can one maid get into at a mall? Maid to be a Man? By Maid Joy

---

Chapter 3

She knew that she needed expert help in selecting clothing and jewelry for herself, so instead of heading to a small boutique or consignment shop, she decided to go to the mall.

Luckily there was a large mall nearby with large retail shops as well as the little stores that sold specialty things. So it was off to the mall for Mia.

As Mia entered, she realized that people were staring at her. Some were obvious and some were covert but the stares and whispers followed her progress to the main mall entrance as she moved quick as she could without running.

Until now, her preferred choice of clothes had been so right so normal. Now her cheeks pinked as she realized just how out of place a Victorian maid was in the modern world. She chose to make her way to one of the larger retail outlets. She would start by finding some clothing that was more appropriate.

Before she could reach the Women's department of the store, a sales woman at the cosmetics counter caught her attention and beckoned Mia over.

"Oh my dear, what a quaint costume! Are you going to a party tonight?"

Mia was given no time to answer as the sales lady went on. "You are in such good luck today. We are doing free make-overs and you know you will need a bit of something special for your party."

She led Mia over to a chair in front of several mirrors, chatting nonstop. Mia wasn't given much chance to respond as this lady kept talking to her. It was as though if Mia wasn't allowed to say anything, she would surely buy everything that was put in front of her.

Mia had never worn makeup in her life, so this was a totally new experience for her. The sales lady was a very good one. She knew not only the products she was selling, she knew how they were formulated and how it all worked together.

The sales lady finally introduced herself. Delores had flawless skin and her make up was subtle. She was a walking advertisement for Ladies Glow cosmetics. The first thing she did was pull a huge lighted magnifying glass over and begin examining Mia’s face.

"Oh dear! You really have been neglecting this skin! Have you been using regular soap on it? It will absolutely ruin your skin my dear! No, no this will never do! I can see your pores coarsening as we speak! The very first thing we must do is choose your cleansing routine!"

Everything Delores said ended in an audible exclamation. She asked Mia about what she did and where she worked. When she found out that Mia really was a maid she almost shrieked. "Those chemicals! The harsh detergents and cleansers you must have to use! No wonder your skin is in this shape!"

Mia had to assure her that she did take precautions like wearing rubber gloves and had shown no signs of have any trouble with allergic reactions.

The sales woman looked unconvinced. "My dear Mia, don’t you know those fumes reach your face? That’s how they damage you, it doesn’t have to be direct contact. Now tell me, what kind of skin and hair do you thing you have, Oily skin and hair or dry or both, what is your age, and have you ever had any kind of surgery on her face?

With the probing questions answered Delores went behind the counter and began lining up products.

"Make up remover, skin cleanser, toner, and a very gentle moisturizer. Now! I am going to give you a real treat! Before we begin putting much of anything on once a week you should use this!"

She added a facial steamer to the collection on the counter top and started in again. Use absolutely ONLY deionized distilled water in this!" She pulled out a bottle and placed a small amount in the bottom. "Just lean forward and place your face right here. There’s an automatic timer and it takes only a few minutes to open and refresh your pores allowing for a really deep cleansing." Once the gentle chime rang Mia was instructed to sit back and gently pat her face dry on a special pad that the company naturally sold. "It’s hypoallergenic and disposable so you never use the same one twice, so very good for your skin." Delores seemed to purr with pleasure at the very idea. "Ordinarily I would suggest at this point you use our wonderful hydrating cucumber and aloe gel masque of beauty but we don’t have time for that today. Just use it once a week after your facial for maximum results."

Step by step Mia was shown how to apply all the products to make her skin as smooth as possible. Delores was happy to tell her how to use them, and why it was so important to have a smooth surface to start with. "These products are used in the morning. Of course at night you will want a deeper moisturizer before bed. That’s when you use this one instead of that one! And naturally you’ll want to keep your eye area as smooth and wrinkle free as possible as long as possible so use this anti-aging eye serum last of all! With the steamer and this weekly masque of beauty you will be giving your skin a priceless gift.

"Your coloring is exquisite! I can tell you listen to all the warnings about staying out in the sun without proper protection. Our daytime moisturizer had an SPF of 15 to protect that lovely porcelain complexion of yours! And with your dramatic wavy dark hair and green eyes I bet all the boys have been chasing you since your got out of the crib!"

Mia blushed at the implication of the compliment and dropped her eyes.

Then they went to work with the makeup. First there was a foundation to match Mia's skin tone. Then she was shown how to apply it to her face. When Mia naturally started spreading it down her neck and under her chin, the saleslady made a point of correcting her. She told her that a foundation was supposed to be like a mask on the face, and that spreading it further would cause makeup to stain her collar. Just under the edge of the chin, and no further. That was why it was so very important to get as perfect a match as possible. "Mia my dear, it’s to enhance not to plaster over! You aren’t a wall in need of repair!"

"Now it’s time for some real fun!" Delores seemed to glow. "Of course you’ll need an every day, day time, evening and going hunting look, every girl does!" The eye shadow, the mascara, the eyeliner, the blush, the lipstick and lip liner, then eyebrows and pencils were all discussed at length and shown to Mia and then put on her. At first the change was so subtle that Mia could only tell there was a nicer look. If she hadn’t been watching she would never have known anything had happened.

"This basic day time look can then be enhanced if you are going out to lunch or shopping by adding this blush and a bit of eye shadow." Again the change was subtle but more noticeable, the lipstick actually showed on her lips with the slightest gloss shining in the light.

"Of course if you are out and decide to go to dinner you can add a bit more drama to the eyes, use some more mascara a deeper tone lipstick and voila!" This time the change was noticeable. Mia certainly didn’t look like a clown but there was a definite enhancement that made her look like a lovely stranger, someone Mia didn’t know at all.

"Finally, we darken this part of the shadowing, use this gold mascara just on the tips top and bottoms of your lashes and this deep red lacquer on your lips and girl you will get any man you set your sights on!" Soon the sales lady had Mia made up in an exotic style that would look very commanding and daring at a formal party of some sort.

Then all of that was stripped off, and Mia was allowed to put it on again and again, and again. With each repetition, applying and taking off the makeup, Mia became more proficient, and her confidence rose.

Mia had learned how to add to the makeup depending on the time of day, and how to match the makeup to the mood she wanted to project. Light colors and light browns for a more wholesome innocent look, dark smoky shades when she was feeling sexy and vixen like. Deep shades to make her eyes recede into her face when she wanted to project and air of mystery.

Three hours later, the sales lady pronounced her "as skilled as I can make you in the time we have."

If she wanted to be much better, practice would be the key, if she felt unsure or wanted to learn more styles they were offering an evening of pampering in two weeks. There would be seminars, a really lovely dinner, advice and more. Mia smiled and thanked the lady, and without a qualm purchased everything she had used. It even included the facial steamer and disposable makeup wipes. Mia also noticed that a book of makeup schemes and a video of how to "do even more with your makeup" was for sale on the stand behind the counter. She purchased them and reserved 2 spots for the seminar too. Hesitantly she asked Dolores for her opinion of a nice perfume. "Nothing too heavy, something, uh mild?"

Dolores smiled and nodded -- only too happy to add another sale to her tally for the day. After more discussion, they settled on a light floral scent that was a perfect compliment for Mia. It smelled like lilies and honeysuckles and was just marvelous in Mia's opinion. Dolores also put a few samples of other perfumes into the bag, "in case you want to try something different, for things like that hunting party we were talking about."

Blushing she thanked Delores gratefully and gave her an extra tip for all the time she spent with her. Mia understood the saleslady made part of her salary from commissions on cosmetics she sold. Having never bought makeup before, Mia had no idea what a "normal" price was, as a result she wasn't upset at the size of the bill.

As they said good-bye, Dolores took a look at Mia's hands and pronounced her nails "shameful." She then suggested that Mia go by the salon that was part of the store and have them take care of her hands and feet, and maybe do some electrolysis on the hair she had on her face.

Mia's heart nearly stopped at that, but the saleslady assured her that she had nothing to be ashamed about; many women had extra hair on their face. A quick zap with the electrical wires and it would never trouble her again

With makeup was more appropriate to a day of shopping, Mia continued on to the Women's Department to get some real girl clothes. There, once again, she was at the mercy of the salesladies who were all trying to help her pick colors with coordinated as well as matching clothing she would look good in.

Mia had left her apron at home, so she was just in the medium blue top and skirt with the white cuffs and collar. It didn't feel wrong; it was only that it stood out. So the salesladies she consulted with helped her select a long skirt and blouse set that weren't quite so antiquated. Of more modern cut and design they allowed her to feel comfortable without screaming "MAID" to everyone who saw her.

Three hours later, she felt as though she had tried on everything in the store that could possibly fit her, and she was ready to call it a day. Unfortunately she had several more places to go to.

But she was more comfortable now, in a nice skirt and blouse combination that was different than the uniform she had been wearing. The skirt was set off by tiny flowers scattered all over and the blouse had been matched to the pale yellow ones. As it was getting quite a bit warmer, it was important to be cool.

She had resisted the pressure to buy a swimsuit saying that she didn't have any place to wear it, and her employer probably wouldn't want her swimming in the family pool. The salesladies understood and stopped trying to get her into a bikini.

She did buy several outfits. They suggested she have a mix-and-match set of five skirts and eight blouses, which would allow her to have several sets of clothes. There were also accessories to be mixed and matched as well. All this meant that she had up to twenty different ways to combine and wear her selections. Rather reluctantly she added a light weight summer jacket and sundress to the pile as well as several proper "Sunday-go-to-meeting" outfits.

She got some nice underthings as well. This is where Mr. Gerome's grandmother's purchases came in handy. Mia was able to tell what brands would last quite a long time and was worth the money, and what items that looked "hot" would be lucky to last the season.

The salesladies were horrified to hear that she didn't have any bras or panties, just a corset and pantaloons. They were pretty insistent that she get good underthings. This meant that she had to strip down to her unmentionables and to be measured again.

The lady who was measuring her stopped for a second when she found that Mia was actually a boy. She looked up at Mia and then smiled and nodded. She moved the "package" aside and continued measuring, without making fuss at all.

Girdles were brought, some tight briefs that also padded out the hips and butt for her. The saleslady leaned over and whispered "It's okay. A number of our customers are like you, and we take good care of them. Your secret is safe with us. Just be careful when you tuck yourself back or you could really hurt yourself."

Mia wanted to faint. She was so ashamed to have been found out, for it to have been a sales person made it somehow worse and that the woman had touched her made it even worse. She was sure that later her secret would be shared. And then she would be the laughingstock of the store. She could never show her face here again.

She changed into her new panty and bra in the privacy of the changing room. What did she mean? People like me? There are others that like wearing these clothes? That like having skirts and silk blouses? Why haven't I ever heard of them before?

Grandmother had acted so differently toward him after that incident in his childhood. She kept looking at him and monitoring everything he did. She chose his clothes, his friends and is school activities. She was very strict them and she encouraged him to do things that "real" boys would do. Playing outside was natural, but he didn't like team sports. Football repelled him; he had no desire to "be mauled by brutes and thugs until my bones break." Doing things like playing tennis and golf were natural activities and grandmother approved. They were properly sports of the upper class. He didn't want to spend time in the woods camping, but was that because it was so far from everything that resembled civilization, or was it something else? Certainly he was by nature fastidious and his grandmother’s insistence on good grooming and cleanliness were also factors.

Mia carefully pulled the girdle panties up, tight against her. That didn't feel very right, her "package" was being crushed and it hurt. What did the nice sales woman say? Tuck myself back? What did she mean by that?

She reached down into the girdle and pushed herself so that her thing was pointing back, and she felt the testicles pop up and into some sort of compartment in her groin. This left a deflated sack that was just hanging down. It took some adjusting and finally it felt odd, but not uncomfortable anymore.

Mia was now totally confused. What she a she with extra parts, or was she a him with the wrong clothing on? Was she an aberrant or a pervert or an anomaly? It was all so very confusing and Mia really didn’t think the mall was the place for a deep soul searching session about whom and WHAT she was.

For now she would just continue to be Mia, the Canadian Head Maid on her day off.

Once she had something a bit less conspicuous and a bit more fashionable on, she continued her shopping spree through the mall. She took enough time after each store to go back to her car and deposit her new clothes and makeup, covering it with a blanket to not be such a tempting target to thieves.

Mia felt even lighter when she went back into the mall. She was just another girl going on a shopping trip, not someone that should be stared at because of her uniform. Granted she had insisted on the uniform herself, but it was still very conspicuous and really old fashioned.

She took her time actually wandering around and look in the windows. She found herself somewhat repelled by some of the boutique stores, but in others she found things that she really wanted to wear. From admiring to buying was just a short step.

There was a moment of panic when she tried to pay for her purchases in Victoria's Secret. She pulled out her bankcard and the sales person slid it through the cash register. When it came back "Denied," her heart stopped.

She grabbed her Blackberry out of her handbag and went to the bank's website. She found an Urgent Message on there addressed to Mr. Gerome.

Dear Mr. Gerome Phillips,

There have been a number of transactions on your account, none of them signed for by you. As such, we have suspended bankcard xxxx xxx xxxxx x7659 on your account until you manually authorize the purchases and continued activity.

This is a precaution to prevent fraud and to keep the service charges down on your account.

If you are aware of these charges and wish to reactivate the card, please go to this link and sign in with your user ID and password and security question, and follow the directions contained on that page.

Thank you for being customer of ours, we look forward to serving you in the future.

List of charges on this account:

Transaction	Amount
4588McyMkp	$725.90
4588McyWmns	$1358.90
4588McyShs	$550.88
3422HotTpc	$545.90
5569WldPr	$1287.19
8886ATM-4355	$200
5874Gap	$877.25

Mia recognized every charge on this list, and she had made them all. She quickly went to the link that the email had in it, and authorized the lot, and then turned off the "Shopper's Protection" for the day. She knew that the amount of purchases and the amount of money spent had triggered this freeze, and she really didn't want to have it happen again today.

The saleslady looked skeptical when she presented the same bankcard to pay for the three nightgown sets she had just tried on and wanted to purchase, but when the transaction finished without a hitch, the saleslady was all smiles again. "Anti-fraud measures gotcha, huh honey?" Mia smiled and nodded.

She took her bags and made her way to the car again, depositing them into the "trunk" which was up front, not in the back. I wonder if you call a storage space in a car in the front a Bonnet instead of a trunk? Not a boot, something very German I suppose. Who knows?

She sat in the car for a few moments and changed out of the vintage boots that she had been wearing until then and changed into a new set of sandals, a modest 1 inch heel and lots of strappy airy goodness. Her feet were so happy with her now.

The boots she’d found in Hot Topic were to die for. They had a nice selection of boots that looked just like they were out of the 1900's. Four inch solid chunk heels, all leather, with large brass buttons up the outside of the boot. There weren't as many as the work boots she had been wearing, and they were for show more than anything else, but they looked lovely and would go with the uniforms well.

She knew that she should call it a day and go home, but she wanted one item from the jewelry store. So she sighed deeply and went in again.

She had to look at the directory inside the mall entrance to find the place she wanted, Jewel Time. She headed down there fairly quickly hoping they had what she wanted.

When she walked into the store, she knew that she had made the right choice coming to this store instead of someplace else. She wanted a chatelaine watch to wear on her uniform as a broach instead of a necklace.

She couldn't resist looking at the other selections that were on display. There were some beautiful watches that she knew would be destroyed quickly given her job. So when she found the watch she wanted, she called a salesman over and they talked.

It turned out that the watch she wanted was not only a beautiful broach, but that it could be pulled down from the pin on the blouse, so that it was easier to see. In the process of pulling it down, that wound the watch. You couldn't overwind it since it had an automatic "clutch" mechanism to prevent the spring from being drawn too tightly. The pin was made in such a way that it might destroy a silk blouse, but the heavy material of her uniforms would be safe enough.

She paid the manufacturer's asking price for it willingly, knowing that it would last for many years unless an accident happened.

It wasn't until she passed by a Piercing Pagoda that she thought about having her ears pierced and getting a selection of earrings for herself. The thought was parent to the action and soon she sported a set of earrings in her lobes that were a match for her birthstone. She got the cleaning solution and the stuff to make sure she didn't get infected, and then bought another dozen pairs of earrings for changing out later.

While walking out, she finally spotted the salon that the Delores had mentioned so many hours ago. She went in and made an appointment to get some electrolysis done and while she was there, they talked her into a haircut and styling.

She had never really taken good care of her glossy dark hair, but she figured that they could help her out. It was another four months of growth that probably needed to be taken off. She had simply been putting it in a ponytail and making sure the cap she wore covered that up.

When the stylist started discussing styles and "processing" with her she vetoed most of what he suggested, to his frustration. She pointed out that her appearance was very important and it was not completely up to her how her hair was styled. She accepted that when it was down that it needed to frame her face, but when it was up, the hair needed to be off her neck and be able to either disappear under her cap or be complimented by the cap.

They taught her how to do a crown braid around her head and to finish it off so that it looked like a single continuous braid around her head. She then let him style her hair so that it would compliment her face, frame it just right and be very low maintenance. As her stylist Jack worked on her hair, a manicurist worked on her hands. They were soaked, the cuticles trimmed and her nails carefully shaped. An almost clear layer of nail polish with the slightest tinge of pink and her hands looked amazingly pretty. It had felt so good! She was in love and made a return appointment for two weeks for a "mani-pedi."

Finished in the spa, she noted that it had grown dark outside and decided that it was definitely past time to feed her body as she had fed her soul today. She was surprised the growling hadn't alerted the mall security guards.

Once she had a meal at the Red Lobster attached to the mall, she ordered a plate to go for Angie. She felt bad that she and Angie hadn't gone shopping together, but someone had to be available in case the house was being shown besides she was proud of all she had accomplished on her own.

Making it home quickly so the food wouldn’t be TOO cold Mia discovered Angie was waiting for her as she drove up.

Without hesitation Angie ran to the car and opened Mia’s door. "Mia are you ok? Did anything happen? Where have you been? It’s dark for heavens sakes!" Mia had never been this lovingly fussed at since Mr. Gerome had left his nanny Miss Ann and the nursery.

"Angie! Slow down! Goodness, I did leave you a note after all and I brought you back a nice lobster and scallop dinner to make amends since you didn’t come with me. I just really wanted to shop, you know?

"Shopping? You -- went shopping?" With every word Angie’s mouth opened wider. Her voice ran down but her mouth didn’t close.

Mia had to smile, it was the first time she’d ever seen Angie at a loss for words. "Yes, I did and I really need help getting all this in and opened and tags removed and shaken out and..."

It was Angie’s turn to smile, "Ok I get the picture, but if you hear my stomach,"

"I brought you dinner to apologize, and it’s getting cold. So please! Let’s get going."

Carefully Mia reached in and retrieved her purse and Angie’s dinner. Once both were safely deposited in the kitchen she went back out and popped the front trunk. Angie whistled.

"Where on earth did you get all the money to buy all this stuff? I recognize every name on every bag and as far as I know not one of them is having a 90% off sale!"

Mia’s brain went into overdrive. "Well, you know that attorney set up a bank account for me and deposited my paychecks for the last two months right? It turned out even with taxes to be quite a bundle. Did you know we’re supposed to work eight hours a day five days a week?

Mr. Gerome had been quite surprised to discover it. He’d never realized what the cost of employees was or that there were actual laws regarding how many hours in a week one could work and when overtime had to be paid. He’d almost gagged when he realized just how much Mia and Angie had been working and how much they were owed as a result. According to the attorney, an employee -- any employee was supposed to receive overtime. The one saving grace was the exemption for domestic workers who lived in. With the "girls" working from 8 am until 5 PM and then from 6 PM until 9 or 10 at night six days a week he would have been paying for a minimum of 72 hours a week each. If he’d had to pay over time for 32 hour a week that would have been a bundle in deed.

Fortunately the ladies in question had quite a bit of compensation to make up for the lack of cash. Still, he might have to think about a raise for Mia since she was doing much more than an ordinary maid would be doing.

Once Angie had been distracted by the thought of having a forty hour work week dinner, the clothes, makeup, and more had been brought in very quickly. Angie looked at Mia closely. "You look different Mia." She looked closer, "you’ve got on makeup! And your hair -- it looks styled and cute. Is that a manicure?"

"Yes and yes and yes so eat and let me tell you all about it."

While Angie ate, Mia started at the beginning of the trip and told every last detail including showing off everything she’d bought. The one thing she didn’t divulge was the cost.

Angie nearly choked on a scallop when Mia brought all the bottles and lotions and make up out of their bags.

"Mia, you really don’t need but about half that stuff. Even the high society lady I worked for last didn’t have that much stuff and she was twice your age! Some people should go to jail for robbery without a gun." Yet Angie couldn’t help look at the high-end cosmetics with envy. Her own meager supplies were Superstore discount discontinued items she had purchased slowly over time.

Mia looked at her blankly. "But Angie, you have to get all this stuff too. It’s part of our employment benefits. We have to look good just like the house. Tomorrow I’m supposed to take you in to see the same lady so she can give you the same make over. Then you get our hair taken care of, no matter what needs doing and manicures and pedicures the works!" Mia was breathless by the time she finished.

Angie on the other had looked like a child on Christmas morning, but there was a doubt a hesitation in her eyes. Mia could see her adding everything up in her head. Mia was afraid that she had exposed herself and kept showing things.

Then Angie spoke up, in a very concerned tone of voice. "Mia there’s got to be some kind of catch. No one hires a domestic, lets them live in, buys their uniforms and all the other things in our contracts and not expect something besides cleaning. I've never heard of any legitimate employer paying for all that plus giving free dental, medical and more. Has Mr. Gerome ever asked you to uh, well you know -- do something that you didn’t want to?"

It took Mia a few moments to understand just what Angie was trying to ask her. Once she did her eyes widened. "No Angie, I can promise you that Mr. Gerome has never asked me to do anything at all that wasn’t legal or that made me uncomfortable. He’s very nice but he really didn’t seem interested in me that way if you know what I mean? He said it was because I’d be showing the house and representing him so I had to look my best on those occasions. Well now you are too, so you get the same thing. But Angie..." Mia looked serious, "you buy your own off duty clothes." Then she burst in to a laugh that let Angie know she was playing.

"OK Miss Smarty pants now show me all your treasures! And you better make sure Mr. Gerome’s credit card is loaded up because I can think of a lot of things I need to look presentable on duty!" They smiled at each other and Mia began rummaging in the bags so she could continue with her tales of Delores, the clothes ladies and all the rest of the people she’d met that day.

"Seriously, about these cleansers, lotions, eye serum, facials and such Delores told me in confidence that the sooner you start taking care of your skin the longer you can look young and pretty."

Angie’s eyes widened, "Oh Mia, you are so innocent! Of course she told you that and anything else she could think of that would get you to buy more things. Did you ever leave the orphanage before you ran away? It amazes me how little you know about sales people. Still, getting to spend a hoard of money on all kinds of fun stuff..." Angie grinned at Mia like they were partners in something very shady and wiggled her eyebrows.

Mia couldn’t stop herself, her laugh rang out of her mouth and echoed in the large servant’s kitchen.

Finally she began again this time about her clothing choices. One by one her blouses and skirts came out. She seriously explained how each one could go with many others to give her more choices. Then she showed off her new bras, panties, hosiery, nightgowns and all the other little treasures a girl needs to have. The sales ladies were sure of it. Finally she showed off the accessories and the dress clothes she’d been talked into buying.

"Well Mia, I have to say this, for someone who’s never been shopping on the high end of the scale you did a really good job of picking out pricy but really well made items. Congratulations, you’re a natural born shopper." As Angie spoke she’d been helping to cut tags off all the items.

They got to the pretty Sunday clothes and they were more beautiful that the rest. Mia showed her how the jacket to the suit could also go with some of the skirts and a particular dress could be dressed up or down. Mia looked at her seriously and said "Angie, I went way overboard on my clothes and personal items. We do get a clothing allowance for lingerie but it isn’t very much... I am stone broke until I get paid again." She bit her lip and held her breath. Would Angie buy her story?

Mia's day started out so promising, so just what fly landed in her happy ointment? Maid to be a Man? Chapter 4 By Maid Joy

---

Mia and Angie cleaned up the mess the fashion show made in their room. Bags and tissue paper, boxes and tags were all combined into the smallest possible form and left near the indoor trashcan to be taken to the big cans tomorrow morning.

Angie looked truly happy helping Mia with putting away all the new clothes neatly. Mia was feeling a little guilty that she wasn't able to take Angie with her. But the chance of discovery with Angie in the same room with her was dangerous enough; it would have been even higher on a "mall crawl" like Angie seemed to want them to do.

"Angie, thanks so very much for the help tonight, and thank you for your suggestions. I don't have much experience in a mall down here."

"Oh Mia, that's why I wanted to help you. I know lots of places that are discount stores you aren't familiar with. I know that you aren't getting paid much here, and I had hoped to save you some money by going to a place like that. If you need a loan I can help you."

Mia was touched by Angie's offer. She couldn't tell her the truth. It would destroy their friendship and her new life. "It's OK Angie; fortunately I really don't need any money until pay day. Honestly. The only expenses were for casual clothes, and that's covered now by what I already had in the bank. I really don't need anything else that isn't covered by the budget. It will be ok, I promise."

They both finished their nightly grooming routines. Mia had to get some help from Angie since this was still very new to her. She got the lotions and exfoliants mixed up and finally asked for some assistance sorting the mess out. Angie was only too happy to help.

Eyebrow plucking done, masque on and off, deep moisturizer gently patted on, Mia was finally able to get into bed.

At about 3AM, Mia got quietly out of bed and went in to check on Mr. Gerome's email to see what he needed to take care of.

It was weird to sit in the darkness and look at a laptop screen with all this gook from the nighttime moisturizer on his face. He needed to become accustomed to a lot of things while playing this role.

It was a role to him. He knew that he wasn't really a servant in his own home, but it was exciting to see things from a perspective that he would never have experienced otherwise. He felt like Robin Masters in Magnum P.I. and he, frankly, loved the play-acting. It afforded him an opportunity to see how the remnants of Grandmother's empire handled things in the immediate absence of a person to tell them to wipe their asses.

The netbook finally bleeped telling Gerome that it had found the Internet and his email accounts. He went through them quickly deleting the spam, reducing the size of his inbox to 35 unread messages from 210. It's incredible the amount of people who come crawling out of the woodwork when you have some money.

Fifteen of the emails were simply something needing his "rubberstamp" to approve actions that the managers and Presidents needed take to keep the money rolling in. And to prove they are worth the money they get paid. Many of the emails were transcripts of different high-level meetings that he had to know about. He was able to speed-read through those without much trouble, imagining the people in his head.

Soon he was current on the major points of the businesses. He was well trained in what he needed to know about the businesses Grandmother had left him. He then turned his attention to the covert information being gathered for him.

He saw that, for now, the CEOs and Presidents were playing it straight. They were refraining from the temptation to engage in various versions of thievery or "five fingered discounts." The reports allowed him to relax and stop worrying until later, when it would be time to do it again.

He looked at the personal information his investigators had dug up on other key people in his employ, the people handling the money at various levels of the businesses. His accountant had some dirt in his past. It was a nice having the information in has possession. It allowed him to understand why Grandmother kept the man on such a short leash, and why he was so good at what he did.

Apparently spending 50 months in Danbury Minimum Security Prison did wonders for his attitude and allowed him the tools and the canniness he needed to actually find the trails of double entry bookkeeping, hard to spot but so necessary. It also made certain that he was willing to be a loyal drone since the questionable material that had been gathered was enough to put him away for much longer if it were discovered.

Well, Grandmother always said the best person to guard your money was a reformed thief, I guess this just proves it. The agreement with the accountant with grandmother was simple, for every $1000 of graft or theft he found in the various books, the accountant got a "bonus" of $100 over and above his normal salary. Gerome had absolutely no problem giving him the bonus or desire to change the agreement. It ensured that he would continue looking at the books with a microscope.

You had to love the classic "carrot and stick" approach to management. Give them what they want up front, and they will not nibble from the back. Just make sure that if they do try anything there's a HUGE trap that will kill them if they try and ensure that they see it. The Bag might have been a bitch, but she was a canny businesswoman.

He then turned his attention to the reports from the Estate Agent and his lawyer. The Agent reported no successful bids in the range he had set for the house. Gerome grimaced and accepted that. It just meant that the house would have to be on the market longer. He'd have to keep up appearances longer. The Agent was hopeful that the new set of prospects that were coming out today would be more willing to buy. The Agent further noted that the Asian corporate types tended to have more free cash as well as reasons for wanting to buy in America. Gerome approved her bringing them out to the house and showing them around.

His lawyer was another matter totally. Gerome knew that sleaze dripped off him like slugs leaving a slime trail. He was amazing navigating the corporate world and avoiding pitfalls that had destroyed several of his predecessors, The Bag kept this one around because of his survival skills. She felt if he could survive this long in a corporate shark tank he would protect her interests just as fervently as he protected his own.

Gerome hadn't missed the sleazy "I think we are going to be close" line he laid on Mia. It still made him shudder. He doubted that the ass would do anything directly like rape or trying to force her to sexually service him, but it was possible that he would try to do something with his "power" over her, especially since Mia was an alien with fake papers now.

Gerome thought it might be a good idea to find out just how the slimy piece of snot had come by all those documents so quickly. He sent a note off to his investigators.

He also went to the Canadian Government website and applied for a Social Insurance Number as Mia. She would need to have it if she was to prove she was a Canadian citizen. A few minutes later, he had her SIN (653 481 602), and a promise that she would get the SIN card in the mail.

Now she was a real person according to the Canadian government, he could see just how many of these documents presented to Mia were genuine and how many were fake.

Getting another two hours of sleep after her "Midnight Excursion", Mia got up early and washed the goop off her face. She did have to admit that it felt nice and made her skin feel tighter and smoother.

She took one of the exfoliating pads and scrubbed her face hard, making sure to do a good job on the "beard areas." She didn't have much of one. The hormones that were supposed to hit in puberty just hadn't really, Thankfully her body wasn't nearly as hairy as it could or should be as a result. So using one of the products hawked for removing leg hair seemed to help retard the growth of hair on her face nicely.

Then she started on her makeup. That's when she realized that it really HURT to put makeup on a raw face. REALLY hurt. She resolved never do that again.

She went for a light "workday" look, just some mascara in brown, a bit of eyeliner, a light foundation and lipstick in a nice peach. That was all that she would need today, if it came off it would be a quick fix since the point was to look like she wasn't wearing anything. She could always put more on later.

She got into her day uniform, corset - the works. It felt good to be dressed "properly" again. Next she checked the household email account to see if there was anything that she needed to know.

Normally at this point, there might be a reminder on the calendar for Mr. Gerome, but most often it was junk. Today there was a note from the Estate Agent that Mr. Gerome had hired.

In essence it said that she would be coming out with a set of new prospects and that they would be there at 10 AM and would be expected to stay until about 2 or 3 PM.

This changed Mia's plans for the day radically. She would have to do a quick tour of the house to make sure that it was visitor ready, then she needed to prepare a light lunch for them.

She woke Angie and said, "I'm sorry hon, I'm not going to be able to take you to the mall today. You'll have to go yourself. There's a group coming to look at everything and I have a lot of work to do."

Angie, to her credit, came awake quickly. "Mia, I'll take a different day off and help out. I can clean up ahead of you and the tour. It won't take anything for me to do it."

Mia smiled at her willingness. "Angie, you haven't had a day off in forever. You need today for yourself. The best help you can give me is to get this room ready for them to come through. I left a mess in the bathroom, and I don't have time to fix it. I need to do a quick walk through. Go to the Mall and tell Delores that I said 'hi'." She handed Angie a credit card. "This is the card I used yesterday and it will be all right if you charge things on it. Your personal clothes, however, you have to buy on your own. So make sure you take your purse too."

She glanced at the new chatelaine watch she got. "I've gotta get moving. Enjoy yourself honey." She gave Angie a quick peck on the cheek and took off.

Mia went through the kitchen like a "dose of salts" as grandmother would say. A Mia-shaped tornado that grabbed some "breakfast bars" shoving them into her skirt pockets as she raced to inspect the rest of the house. She went through each bedroom on the second floor to make sure they looked the best they could while quickly nibbling through the first one.

They had no guests, so none of these rooms had been used. They were inspection ready. Mia checked every bathroom and the suites as well, just to make sure. She went through the public areas of the house as well.

In quick order, Mia cleared them. She checked the fresh flowers and discarded the dead blooms. At 9:57 AM Mia was waiting beside the door to greet the new guests. There was a beautiful crystal pitcher of ice water and tumblers ready on a sterling silver tray.

The doorbell chimed three lovely notes and Mia opened the door and curtsied. "Welcome to the Bellwether Mansion. Won't you please come in?"

She stepped back, opening the door wider as she did.

Since the couple viewing the place were Asian she also bowed from the waist until her back was level to the floor, but rose quickly from the position.

The tour was long and thorough, covering every room, closet and staircase of the house. They even wanted to see the attics, the cellars, and servant's quarters. Mia was glad the rooms had been cleaned yesterday and silently thanked Angie for straightening their bedroom and bathroom.

The final stop on the tour was the housekeeper's office. There Mia brought refreshments as requested and bowed again. She would return when called by the realtor.

She stepped into the kitchen area and finished making several sandwiches for the guests, noting they had toured the house through lunch. Cucumber and Watercress, seared ahi tuna, imported prosciutto with fresh Buffalo Mozzarella and fresh basil were carefully plated and placed on the heavy silver serving tray. She added a selection of crudités. She would bring the tea service next. She picked up the tray and made her way back to the Housekeeper's office.

Once there, she politely interrupted their conference with a tap at the door. As soon as they stopped talking, Mia entered silently and pulled out a small tray table setting the tray on it. Bowing from the waist she said softly "Please accept this poor offering of humble food. I shall return with tea shortly. She brought a lovely silver service with English style tea and exquisite bone china. Bowing again she retreated to a corner waiting in case of need.

She was promptly ignored. One of the Asians spoke. "As I said, it is possible our information is not in balance. There is perhaps a reason that the property records for this house and grounds are taxed at eleven million dollars, not thirteen and a half? It distresses me that we are unable to offer more than at this time."

The agent looked pensive. "I am devastated that this is the case, however there are two issues here perhaps worthy of your consideration. The taxes are not always up to date for a correct evaluation. The data I have here will show that for a property of this size in any comparable market the thirteen point five million dollars is actually a conservative price. Additionally that does not take in updated and upgraded design that was just completed last month. It was designed to enhance the value of the historic character of the house and grounds while bringing it into the future with the most modern of conveniences by the current owner. You are not going to have do anything but bring your personal effects when you move in."

"The consortium I represent has decided to turn this property into a retreat for travelers. I believe you call it a 'bed and breakfast', although we plan to make it much more than that. This is why we don't need all of the extra houses and outbuildings, and we plan on having them torn down costing a great deal of time and expense. In addition to that, this property has been on the market for how long? About four months? And there are still some repairs to be done." He paused and took a mouthful of one of the sandwiches. Once he finished chewing and swallowing, he looked at his partner and said something in Japanese.

The other responded and they had a short conversation between the two of them. Mia was able to catch something about a teahouse or spa, and serving girls, but most of their speech was too rapid for her to understand.

When they finished speaking, the first gentleman turned back to the Estate Agent and said, "Yes, we have decided to place an offer of 11 million dollars for the entire property. This is a firm offer and you can take it to the owner."

The agent nodded her head. "Very well, I shall start the paperwork in my office and transmit the offer to the owner." They all stood, the Agent grabbing a sandwich as well. They turned to Mia.

She bowed to the Japanese gentlemen and thanked them for coming. They gave a short bow back to her, acknowledging her, but not according her any higher courtesy than any servant had. Mia then curtseyed to the Agent and led them all back to the door.

She curtseyed and bowed again and shut the door behind them. Eleven Million for all this property? What do they want? There's more here in HISTORY than that. Mia had a hard time keeping her temper at this moment.

I'm not being greedy here, and I'm not trying to get the absolute top of the market either. I want to get a fair price for my home. I've lived here nearly all my life, and I don't want it to become some developer's dream, tearing it down and making all kinds of changes. A SPA? Who do they think they are -- John Harvey Kellogg? Mia was angrier at the implication that all she had liked about this place would be destroyed by some well-meaning but idiotic foreign businessmen.

Then she stopped while walking past the room Grandmother used to use as her sitting room. She looked into the depths of that room and could almost see Grandmother sitting there.

Am I pissed because of what they could do, or am I pissed because this sale would end the greater part of my life? I mean, after all, while she was strict and sometimes abusive, she did try to do what she thought was best for me. She could have sent me to a boarding school instead of raising me herself after my parents died. She didn't have to keep me here.

Mia had to really think about that. She went in to the room and sat in the chair she used to sit in to listen to Grandmother's lecture for the day.

She'd probably have a hissy fit to see me dressed like this. Not only does it say that I'm a servant, one of the lowest servants at that, but she would faint at my being dressed up as a girl. Come to think of it, why AM I in a dress? She had no real answer to give.

At first, it had been fun playing dress up. While most of Gerome's childhood had been lessons and study, he had tried to play, not always successfully. Instead, he learned to discipline himself to do what was needed, when it was needed.

Was he a spoiled rich-kid? He didn't think so. He didn't have the normal distractions and addictions of his class. Certainly nothing to rival the déclassé excess of "Overboard" or "Spoiled Rich Kids." He didn't excessively shop for frivolities, didn't buy a new sports car and abandon it when it ran out of gas. But he didn't have any wants like that either.

Gerome understood how much things cost thanks to grandmother, and while he didn't penny pinch, he did keep look for quality bargains when it was time to spend. The label wasn't important, just how well it was made and how long it would last. That's why he still had his beat-up car, those Beetles just didn't quit.

But there were large parts of day-to-day living that he just didn't get. He understood more now since playing Mia than he had before. Things like scheduling time, actually doing physical work and how exhausted that makes you at the end of the day were all new to him.

He supposed that if he'd gotten a job at a fast food joint and he would have received the same education, but the dressing up was fun too. And truthfully it did feel right. Even though the clothes were heavy and warm, he liked the freedom a skirt gave him. It felt nice to have a petticoat brushing against his legs. Hearing it swish when he moved sounded right.

He wasn't stupid, just sheltered. He was learning that there was a segment of the population that got sexual satisfaction from being in another sex's clothing, but that wasn't him. It wasn't a sexual arousal but a feeling of rightness.

Did that mean he was really a girl instead? Would he go all the way and become a woman? He was sure that he was definitely unsure. That might be and option years down the road. Contemplating it while going to the kitchen to have some tea he decided there was no way he was interested in that now.

Truth be told, he liked being Mia. It wasn't just the clothing, although that was a nice part of it. It wasn't simply that he was working with his hands and actually accomplishing something, although that did give him a lot of satisfaction.

The expectations of him were not that high. That was a huge part of the whole package. The clothing, the working and seeing an accomplishment and now the fact that expectations were non-existent all combined to make him really, really happy.

His Grandmother had such high expectations for him that it hurt. He seemed to never be able to meet them and he felt her contempt ever time she looked at him. He hadn't realized yet that no one could have matched her expectations because they always increased. She had never truly beaten him, but in some ways that might have been better.

Now, the only expectations were that the bathrooms were clean. He had no one to impress, no one that was standing over him with a switch, and no one that was criticizing him while they watched him fail. Honestly, the relief was something he couldn't even express.

As he'd been trained, he grabbed a notepad and pen. He started making notes and thinking aloud. What he needed to do urgently was to decide for himself just what the hell he wanted.

He started with "Where do I want to be ten years from now?" Nothing came to mind, no goals no desires. It wasn't that he wasn't motivated; it was simply that aside from maintaining the money and the businesses, he knew nothing else to do. He had the money to go anywhere and do anything, and money could buy him time. Not having to live on Mia's earnings certainly helped.

Since he didn't have to get his "daily bread" by the sweat of his brow, he could actually do anything anyplace. He realized that he was incredibly lucky. What he did while pretending to be Mia was fine, and nothing else really needed to change. Truthfully, Mia and Angie could both stop working completely for a month or more, and there probably wouldn't be any visible difference, except for the dust.

Should he quit being Mia the Maid? Perhaps he could go on to become Mia the Businesswoman. Traveling around the country, using the knowledge that he had to buy and sell companies and just make more money. That could be a possibility later.

He looked over the page of notes that he had taken and decided that it was useless to try to make plans until he decided if he wanted to continue being Mia or not. He was happy as Mia, but there was nothing really preventing him from being just as happy as Gerome.

And there was always the final dictum of grandmother, heirs. Heirs to keep the money together and grow it even more. Children, don't have too many and when you married not too many living relatives for your spouse either. Gerome knew one thing for sure, THAT he was something he definitely wasn't ready for.

More and more routine around Mia. But new things come into her happy world to impinge on her life. Maid to be a Man? By Maid Joy

---

Mia kept working on the house, even though it was still clean. The problems she had been contemplating over the last few days didn't go away and they didn't suddenly give her answers that she was looking for. Whenever her mind wasn't occupied while doing her chores, she turned over the whole tangled mess of questions, and none of them had any answers.

Questions kept coming at her no matter where she turned, questions about herself, the house, her future and more wouldn’t stop spinning in her brain.

She decided simply to start from the beginning. She seriously considered the question of "will I remain as Mia?"

The immediate answer, the one deep in her heart was "yes”. She wanted to be Mia and she enjoyed being Mia. Whenever she thought about plans and the future as Gerome, she got lost. She had no idea about what Gerome was going to do with his life and so she couldn’t make plans for the future.

It was possible that she could live simply while having as much money as he did. Mia remembered a tale about a lady in the 40’s who had a multi-million dollar empire that she had built during the Depression while living on the streets as a bag lady. While the living simply was an attraction (as well as the multi-million part) Gerome really didn’t want to be homeless to do it.

The situation called for skills that Gerome didn’t possess, good middle class values and an eye toward cost and frugality that he had never had to develop before. He could learn these things, and he could get help with them from others. His greatest fear was being exposed, or that the people around him would call him a fraud for living in a style that was unnecessary to them.

Mia gave him options that Gerome just didn’t have. Mia was an immigrant, she was a woman, and she was from the middle lower class or the lowest middle class social strata as well as being forced by circumstance to live frugally. Mia didn’t have to pretend to be poor, she was. Domestics didn’t make a whole lot of money in the first place, and she was lucky to find a job as wonderful as the one she had.

When she replaced Gerome with Mia, when making plans for the future, things got a lot easier. It wasn’t that Gerome had more confusing responsibilities, but more that he had too many options, and they collided with each other and made things worse.

Mia in comparison was simple. Her life consisted of cleaning and doing it well. Right now she wasn’t under a manager’s thumb, but that could change quickly if she wasn’t careful.

Should she continue to live a lie? Keeping the lawyer and other such people who might have the power to hurt her was simple prudence, but keeping this secret from Angie might hurt their relationship in the long run. She didn’t want to keep lying to Angie, and she truly wanted to tell her everything, but there was the “unknown” fear factor of “will Angie be pissed at the deception?” Gerome didn’t want to contemplate it.

Then there was the whole Gerome/Mia dichotomy. She hadn’t missed how often she would think of Gerome as a separate person and change her pronouns when thinking about the other. It was a whole mindset and she was worried that she might go crazy eventually trying to be two people at one time. Maybe she was developing a “split personality”.

The next question naturally was, should I keep the house. Yes it was a bear and it had all kinds of upkeep that went with a house of this size. She would have to hire more people to help her and Angie. Two girls alone couldn’t do everything that was necessary to maintain the house and grounds.

But most of my life has been spent here. I know this place and I know there is a lot of tradition here. Just letting someone else have it to destroy turns my stomach and I want to throw up.

If the house was staying in Gerome’s hands, it would have to be easier to maintain. A staff of some sort was going to have to be hired. Despite all those Maid stories on the Internet, one or two people alone couldn’t maintain a house this size by themselves.

She could hire a service to come in to do the grounds, cutting the grass and trimming the hedges and so on, that wouldn’t be too hard. She would have to turn the construction crews lose on the outbuildings, just to get them back into “working” order or safely remove. There were also the dilapidated “homes” on the grounds as well. Sometime in the past, one of Gerome’s ancestors had decided that putting the servant’s families in nice places to live would be to their advantage, so there was a little “servant’s village” about a half a mile away on the grounds. It wasn’t much better than the tract housing that people like DuPont and the construction company of Hoover Dam had put up, but it kept the people who actually did the work close.

There were also “rustic cabins” that could be recovered. Each was isolated somewhat and dotted around the property. They were there for guests who didn’t want to stay in the main house, but who still wanted to come to the hunting parties or the get-togethers. Something would have to be done with them as well.

Mia realized that she was done with her chores for the day, two hours early. She decided to take a survey of the rest of the land.

Quickly writing a note for Angie, she left it under a magnet on the fridge, and went to their room to change. She had a couple skirts that would match the blouse she was wearing, but that didn’t come down to her ankles. She changed clothes and went out to the garage.

Mia remembered that there was an ATV in one section, used mostly for dragging debris to a fire pit for burring, and it would suit her purposes completely. She checked it over, making sure all the fluids were topped off and it had enough gas in it, and she started it up.

She shut off the ATV when she realized that she had no clue where all the buildings were, so she went in to get the surveyor’s map of the grounds. With that in hand, she started going around to all the buildings on the property. Yes, having your own dairy and stable was interesting and added to the charm of the whole estate, but fully built homes would ultimately be more profitable than a building that was, in essence, eye candy.

It was several hours later when Mia finally got back to the main house. What she had discovered was intriguing.

The “servant’s village” was ready for occupation right now. All the houses were in top order and had been recently lived in. When she discovered that she mentally kicked herself for being silly. Of course the homes would have been lived in, the staff had to have someplace to live while they were taking care of Grandma. So naturally, the best place for them was the village, at least for those with families.

The other 12 homes were in sad shape. They were run down, and it would require major overhauls to make them someplace to live in. Several of them had wildlife living in them. They’d have to vacate the premises. Still others had flora growing in places they shouldn’t be, like gutters and rooftops for some trees, broken windows in others. One had some sort of fast growing plant of tree-like consistency that had taken over half the porch, breaking it into pieces.

One building was totally ruined, and had been long before the others had stopped seeing use. It was ruins along one pathway from one cabin to the next. On the map it had been listed as “structure ruins”, but nothing else had been noted. She could tell that it had once been a nice home, a bit more modern than the “rustic cabins” but not as modern as the village buildings. At some point it had just been abandoned.

Well, I should probably get in touch with the contractors and have them come out and look at all this work. They might be able to get it all back together they’d been working on the house and it was fine. Besides, I have to let those crew people who were interested know that we are getting ready to put the tools up on eBay.

As was their routine now, Angie and Mia did their catching up over dinner, made by Angie this night. Mia was very grateful to her doing the dinner all alone because Mia was simply too tired to come home and make dinner too. So Mia would do the dishes and let Angie sit.

They spent the rest of the evening talking about things. Angie commented on the short skirt, and Mia told her why.

“Those cabins are so interesting, it’s a shame that they are just falling into ruin like that,” Mia lamented.

Angie nodded. “I think I’d like to see them at some point.”

“Well, we could go out tomorrow and take another look. I need to get photographs for Mr. Gerome anyhow. I don’t think the manor will fall apart if we don’t clean it one day.”

Angie looked a bit concerned. “Are there any scheduled showings for tomorrow?”

Mia thought about it. “Not that I’m aware of, but the estate agent might get a wild hair or someone might want to come back. I can send her an email so she knows where we are and that we won’t be available to show the house tomorrow. That should give her enough warning that she can reschedule things if necessary.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

No sooner plotted than done. They dropped a note to the Estate Agent and the next morning, both got into casual clothing to look at the outbuildings again. Mia grabbed a good digital video camera and started taking movies with it. From that, she could take screen captures when she needed a picture.

They went through every building in the servant’s village, then through all the extra outbuildings like the stable and the workshops. They piled on the ATV and Mia drove them both to all the rustic cabins on the grounds. At each one they took the time to film the conditions of the houses, inside and out.

In one they had a bit of a surprise. Apparently, someone had been into some kinky stuff. They found leather and rubber “toys” laid out on a bench near a window, ready for use. There was a large cross of some sort on one wall, and restraint points on the bed. Or at least that was what they could puzzle out from the ruins of what was left. The rubber toys were mostly intact, but the cross had whatever padding on it rotted away, and the steel frame of the bed still had rings at all four corners that could serve no purpose except to chain someone down.

They had giggle fits over this room.

Mia was thorough and took video of everything anyhow, no matter how embarrassing to her family, but it was still ridiculously embarrassing.

The sun was setting when they finally got back to the big house. Being mutually exhausted, they agreed to have pizza for dinner. Neither had much energy left, and it was all that Mia could do to pull the .avi files off the camera and onto the computer they used.

A couple more days of work and they had all the movies edited and screen captures were done. She compiled the information, put it up on an internet page, and sent out some queries for bids from contractors.

“Mia, are you sure you should do that? I mean, Mr. Biggs was pretty insistent about the hiring of other staff. Maybe you should check with him first?”

Mia thought about it. “I believe that I can solicit bids without committing to anything. I just want to find out how much this will cost so I can present an accurate estimate to Mr. Gerome.”

Angie nodded. “Okay, if you are sure. I just wonder what they will think about the playroom.”

Mia got an idea. “Well,” she said archly, “we could refurbish that and try it out…”

Angie’s eyes got very wide and Mia wondered if she had gone over the line. “Um... no thanks. I’m not that kind of girl.”

Mia was about to apologize to her, but then she saw the twinkle in Angie’s eye. “Oh, darn!” she pretended to pout. “I need to practice my skills.”

“Well,” Angie considered, “we could buy you a slave to wail away on if you really want. I might have enough money, and it could be your Christmas present for the next five years or so…”

Mia dissolved into giggles at that point. She just couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. The thought of some girl or boy with a big red ribbon and bow tied around their neck just made her dissolve into laughter. She couldn’t imagine that it would be attractive to anyone.

But she supposed that someone must find it titillating, or it wouldn’t still be around.

Work around the estate kept them both busy for the rest of the month. There still weren’t any serious offers on the house, so Mr. Gerome had to relist it with the estate agent. Mia thought with the amount of money the woman would make if it sold, she would work a lot harder in selling the place.

The construction bids came in and while they seemed reasonable, it would take tens of thousands of dollars to refurbish all the cabins too. Mia looked through everything and sent it all off to Mr. Gerome with her recommendation as to whom to hire.

She CCed the Estate Agent and the lawyer so they knew that she needed to hire a crew or two to fix those cabins. She knew that it would be some time before Mr. Gerome got back to it.

Two days later, she got a call from Mr. Biggs.

“Bellweather Mansion, this is Mia speaking. How may I be of service today?”

“Mia, this is Ricky Biggs. I’ve made arrangements with Mr. Gerome to have a business party out there. I have about fifty guests coming and they all will be spending the day there.”

“Mr. Biggs, that’s wonderful, but I’ll have to clear this with Mr. Gerome first.”

“Oh, no need to do that. I have a letter here that I got from Mr. Gerome saying that I could have the party there. I’ll get someone to send it over to you. For now, I’ve hired a caterer and some others to help with the party and we are going to have it in two weeks. I thought I would let you know these people are going to be descending on the house.”

Mia knew that he was lying, but decided to give him plenty of rope. “Very well, Mr. Biggs. I’ll look forward to the authorization letter. Meanwhile are any of your guests going to be staying over? Should I have bedrooms prepared?”

“I’m not sure if they are planning on spending the night, but definitely have the rooms ready, I’m sure some of the guests will be using them.” Mia could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

“Thank you Mr. Biggs.”

“Thank you Mia. Maybe we could talk after the party too.”

Mia tried to make sure her revulsion wouldn’t be heard over the phone. “If all we do is talk, sir, I don’t see any problem. If there is anything else, I don’t think it would be possible, sir. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone and thought about what a good Maid would do in this situation. They would probably check with their employer despite what Mr. Biggs said just to make sure.

So she hurried to the computer that she and Angie used and looked into Mr. Gerome’s email account. Of course there were no emails from Mr. Biggs about wanting to use the house for a party. So she signed out, cleared the browser history to be safe, and got back to work.

But she kept thinking about what to do now. Should Mr. Gerome discover the lie and the use of his property without permission, or should she just let Mr. Biggs do what he wanted and allow him to hang himself for later?

The latter seemed to be the safer course of action.

Soon the front door chimed and Mia went to answer it. As expected, there was a messenger with a letter for Mia from Mr. Biggs. She signed for it, tipped the boy and took it inside to read.

It didn’t take long to read the letter. And there it was, signed in Mr. Gerome’s own hand, permission to let Mr. Biggs have his party there and instructions to treat him as though he were the property owner for the weekend.

Alarm bells were going off all over Mia’s head. First off, the signature was a forgery. She knew it because she knew that Mr. Gerome wouldn’t sign anything like that. So if he would forge Mr. Gerome’s name to something like this, what else could he be signing Mr. Gerome’s name to?

She put the letter in Mr. Gerome’s desk and resumed her work. She could think while cleaning.

Later that evening, she informed Angie about the upcoming party. They both agreed to give the bedrooms a more thorough going-over in the next week to make sure they were up to standards when the guests showed up.

The days slipped past and Mia still couldn’t decide what to do. Since Mr. Gerome wasn’t stopping anything, the day for the party came even closer. The caterer and his staff showed up and started to prepare things for the party, including a fifty-bottle wet bar. Mr. Biggs showed up finally and started talking to the caterer about possibly being in uniform like Angie and Mia. He called Mia over and verified that they had period clothing available for everyone, and ordered her to get it all out.

Mia and Angie spent a day fitting and altering the vintage clothing for the people who would be serving at the party. Angie and Mia both were asked if they could stay out of the way of the caterer’s staff, since they had worked together for a long time and knew what needed to be done. Mia took some umbrage at this, but decided to let this slide.

So Mia and Angie went through the rooms again, making sure it was all up to standard and doing any last minute touch-ups.

That is how Mr. Biggs found them.

“Mia, Alice, why aren’t you guys down at the party? I specifically wanted you there to help with the guests.”

“Mr. Biggs, we were asked to stay out of the way.”

“Well, you can still answer the door and take the coats.”

“Yessir.”

Soon Mia was at the front door greeting guests as they came in, and shuttling coats and bags to Angie who took over the Withdrawing Room to house them all. The guests were all over the house, drinking, and laughing.

A man had set up in the back yard with a sound system and was now playing music for anyone who wanted to come and listen. Once everyone had arrived, Mia and Angie were circulating and directing people around the house, showing them where bathrooms were and where to go to sit for some peace and quiet.

A couple people disappeared into the bedrooms as the hour got later, and Mia figured that they were probably making a mess of the beds. As she saw some of them reappear at the party, she and Angie went around to the rooms to see which needed to be cleaned. When they found one, they locked the door to that room so no one else could use it.

From overheard snatches of conversation, this was Mr. Biggs’ client list. He was entertaining them here in an attempt to impress them with his contacts. Most of these people were mid-level business people, some higher ups, but no board members or CEOs. He was apparently hoping that they would assume this place was his and be impressed with his savior-faire. Mia knew it was fake, but apparently, none of the guests did.

As the night wound down, it was apparently a success for Mr. Biggs. His clients were impressed, he made a few deals, the hookers were happy with the money they made, and the caterer was apparently happy with the money he made.

There were a couple people who were too drunk to drive, so they were escorted to a room and tucked in for the night. Mia and Angie just collapsed in their beds, after making sure the doors between them and the guests were locked tight. At least the Caterer had said he would send some people over to help clean up after the party.

Morning came as it always does, and Mia was in the kitchen making a meal for herself and Angie. Since no one had asked for a breakfast, she wasn’t too concerned with the “guests” that were still here. Mr. Biggs could see to their comfort if he wanted to.

But apparently that message hadn’t gotten to Mr. Biggs. He came into the kitchen some short time later and wanted to know where breakfast was for him and the people who stayed over.

“Mr. Biggs, Mr. Gerome made no provisions about guests, overnight or otherwise. He stated that you would be entertaining a few people here, and that you would take care of the refreshments and meals needed. I have it in that letter you sent me. So, sir, I suggest that if you want breakfast for your guests, you get cooking.”

The look on Mr. Biggs’ face was too priceless. Mia wished that she had a cybernetic eye so she could take a picture and share it with Angie.

“Furthermore, your overnight guests have left Angela and I in a bind. We have to clean up after them, even though the catering mess was taken care of. Cleaning and straightening everything is going to take the two of us days, and it will cut into our other duties, which are of considerable more importance. However, they are here, and courtesy requires that we at least see them all out. Or should I mention all this to Mr. Gerome?”

At the mention of their mutual employer’s name, Biggs started sputtering and looked truly frightened. He started backpedaling and saying that it was okay, he’d take everyone out for a meal.

Mia nodded in satisfaction and continued with breakfast for herself and Angie.

While they worked and straightened up, Mia related the breakfast conversation to Angie. “Isn’t that going to get you in trouble?” she asked once the story had been related.

“Frankly, he can’t do much to me. I’ve been doing some research and the documents he gave me are about as genuine as can be. He can’t get me deported for being illegal since he made sure that I was legal in the first place. If he tries to state that my credentials are forgeries, then he’s going to have to prove how he knows their forgeries, which can only mean that he reveals where he got them.

“I’ve told Mr. Gerome the whole of the story here, just checking and covering my own tender posterior, and it turns out that the ‘letter’ Mr. Biggs sent over actually is a forgery. Mr. Gerome never signed anything of the sort. Guess he felt this illegal immigrant was too stupid to follow up with their employer about this, so Mr. Biggs isn’t in the best odor with our employer right now.”

“What did Mr. Gerome say he was going to do?”

“I was not told, but I was also instructed to keep a professional distance between Mr. Biggs and myself at all times. Apparently he’s as shady as he is sleazy.”

“I know what you mean. He’s pretty scummy and if I had to endure one more of his leering stares…”

Mia nodded in sympathy. He couldn’t hit on the guests or the staff he hired for the event, so the “safe” targets of his lascivious attentions were obviously the ‘helpless’ maids. Except they weren’t helpless, Angie had her contract with the agency that said she was safe from “unwanted sexual advances” from her employers, and Mia had Mr. Gerome. Just invoking his name sent Mr. Biggs running for the hills.

She was thinking of what could be done about Biggs when Angie asked her a question. “Mia, you are in contact with Mr. Gerome. Maybe you know what he wants to do now?”

Mia’s forehead wrinkled a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s got us boxing up and selling the things on eBay, and that’s fine. I don’t mind doing it at all. He’s also got the Real Estate Agent showing the house, but it’s been a while since a serious offer was tendered. But he’s still renovating and now he wants us to repair the various fallen cabins and outbuildings. What’s he planning?”

Mia didn’t think she could prevaricate much. “Angie, I really don’t know. Yes, I’m in contact with him, but he hasn’t taken me into his confidence at all.”

They both fell silent as they thought. “I can tell you that Mr. Gerome is much more informed about what is going on here than anyone suspects. It’s my suspicion that he’s been out to the property several times, just to keep an eye on things. I’ve been keeping him fully aware of what is going on here, not only with the people hired to work on the buildings but also with some of the business employees I’ve come in contact with.

“So you think Mr. Gerome is not in Paris right now?”

Mia nodded. “He’s as much as told me so. I have no clue where he is, but I know he’s not where everyone thinks he is. He’s told me ‘I’ve seen yours and Angie’s work, and you are doing an excellent job. Keep it up.’ The only way he could do that is if he came on the property directly and looked at everything.”

Angie looked a bit nervous. “When and how do you think he did that? Maybe he came here as one of the workmen? Or a prospective client to buy the house? You can’t be saying that he’s Mr. Biggs, can you??”

Angie was nearly screaming in fear.

“Angie, ANGIE! Calm down.” Mia went to her friend and hugged her tight. “It’s okay. Mr. Gerome is a very nice man. He could have come in as one of the people to buy the house. He’s not Mr. Biggs. I’ve seen too many things that validate Mr. Biggs’ identification as him, pictures on his business cards and a full page ad in the Yellow Pages.”

Angie pointed out, “But you’ve seen Mr. Gerome. You know what he looks like.”

Mia’s brain froze. She had stated that she had met Mr. Gerome in various places, including his home. She couldn’t very well say that she hadn’t seen him now, could she? For a few minutes she did think about another set of lies to cover herself.

But, then she remembered the old axiom about how lies got more complex the more you tried to keep them. She sighed deeply in resignation and backed off from Angie.

“Angie, I know what Mr. Gerome looks like. I see his face in the mirror every morning.”

Confusion stopped Angie’s near breakdown. “I don’t understand.”

“Angie, I’m Gerome Phillips.”

 

---

 
To say that Angie was confused would be a massive understatement. To say she was shocked would be even more of one. To say she was easily convinced, well, that would make all the understatements in the world look like little white lies in comparison.

Finally Mia had to dig out old scrapbooks and photo albums. She had to produce Gerome’s driver’s license and the fingerprint cards that his grandmother had made in case he came up missing.

When the thumbprint of Mia and Gerome matched, Angie was finally convinced, without having to see Mia’s “equipment”.

It took the rest of the day to explain what was going on, and why this had happened. In the end Mia felt totally wrung out emotionally.

“Angie, honestly it wasn’t supposed to snowball like this. I really only went into this wanting to know how in the hell those servants in the 1900’s worked in these clothes. Then they felt so nice, then I just kept going, then you came along and I was trapped. It was easier to be Mia all the time than to try to come up with a plausible story about how I, a billionaire, was working in his own home as the lowest of the low.” She took a long sip of the Vodka martini she had made for herself, and looked at the Screwdriver she made for Angie with its ice melting into the untouched drink.

“Why didn’t you just come clean when you had the chance? I would have understood.”

“Angie, you are the VERY FIRST person to ever treat me as a person, not a rich kid that had something they wanted. Not as someone to be cultivated or used. Not as something that had to be protected because it was valuable. Not as someone that was to be isolated from the world because they didn’t know how to cope with reality. You treated me as a person. And, truth be told, I enjoyed that.”

Mia shrugged. “I’ll be the first to admit that I have little to no experience with day to day life. I have been isolated and kept in a hothouse. Most of what drives and motivates people I don’t know about. I have HUGE gaps in my education, mostly from being protected all my life. Grandmother kept me deliberately stunted in my education of the world. Oh, not the political and financial realities, but in the normal day to day lives of people, not the ultra-rich, not the business man, but the wage worker, who goes to work when they are sick as a dog doesn’t make much sense to me. Why not just take a week off to get well, or at LEAST go to the doctor…”

“Oh, that’s easy Mia, they don’t want to get fired.”

Mia looked in confusion at Angie. “Why on Earth would they be fired for being sick?”

Angie laughed. It was strained, but it was laughter. “Because it can be seen as malingering, it could be seen as them milking the system, it could be seen as them not really being that sick, but trying to pretend to be. If a manager wanted to fire them for a reason, he could use excessive sick days to do so. And there have been many thousands of people who have been fired for just that.”

Mia shook her head. “Just doesn’t make sense. You need time to heal, so you take the time to heal. You don’t take your illness into work, where everyone else will be infected and you will have a good chance of picking it back up when you get healed again, you just take as long as you need to get well. Simple as that.”

Angie shook her head. “You really don’t have a clue do you? Well, maybe you can make that the rule for your businesses one day. ‘Take the time you need off when you are sick and you can’t be fired for it.’ Shure would be a nice change of pace from what is out there now.”

“What do you mean with that?”

“Corporations are places that are made to be money machines. They make a product or products, sell them at the most the market can bear for them. Take Microsoft for example. They create programs and sell them for more than $600 a pop for one program. And people buy that at that price too. So what happens when they want to make more money? They raise the price. But when someone pays $600 for a product, they don’t want to pay $700 for the same product, especially when they know that there are some out there getting it for $400. So what does a corporation do? They find ways to cut costs. One of the costs is the employees.

“If they can reduce the money they are spending on the people that do the designing, on the person who puts the widget on the spindle, on the person who mops the floor at night, then they can save that money and put it in their pockets. If they cut the fifteen jobs for the custodians down to ten, then they save the salary of those five people they fired. If that can be carried over to every job in the corporation then they can make even more money. Reduce the staff by 10%, one job in ten, and redistribute the rest of the work among the nine left, you can save hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, all of it for the salary bonuses for the president, the CEO, the Vice Presidents and really top level managers. So it’s in their vested interests to cut costs down to the point where you are making a really expensive product for a fraction of what it costs to make it.

“For another example, look at Wal-Mart. They don’t pay their workers shit. They give them NO benefits, but they have a retail business that makes money hand over fist. They can sell things for $2 while everyone else is selling the same product for $3.50 because they pay their workers abysmally, and they use the cheapest possible materials for their stores, and buy crappy quality products to sell. So they buy 50,000 teddy bears for two cents per bear. That particular bear is going to be sold for $2 in the store. That particular bear is also not going to last a year, the child is going to destroy it through normal use, and then Mom and Dad are going to have to buy another $2 bear because the quality bear which costs $4 and would last like 5 years isn’t in the price range of Mom and Dad at the time they are buying. So Mom and Dad get the bear, and have to get it again, and again and again, making Wal-Mart a total of $10 over those five years. Wal-Mart paid ten cents for them, the sales rep in Wal-Mart has quit and another has taken their place. Meanwhile Wal-Mart has closed the store in the area because, after driving all the other stores in the area out of business due to undercutting their prices so much, they can’t keep it open without raising prices. So now Mom and Dad have to drive 50 miles to get a $2 bear. And they could have saved themselves tons of money by simply spending the $4 in the first place.”

Angie slugged down her Screwdriver, and Mia was sympathetic. “I take it you speak from experience?”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, from the child’s perspective. Mom was an associate there, worked her fingers off and they didn’t do shit for her. Hazardous chemicals everywhere, soul-destroying work, and laughable health insurance. Did you know that they don’t even get sick days? You don’t get sick leave until your SECOND day of being out sick. If you are out one day, and come in the next, it’s ‘unpaid vacation’ and you don’t get any money. Do that too often and you get fired. For being sick. So you see lots of associates coming in sick because they can’t take two days off, and they can’t afford to be out one day. Which is the point.”

“I never knew any of this.”

Angie snorted. “There’s a book out there, WAL-MART: THE HIGH COST OF LOW PRICE*, I think, which details this and LOTS of other tactics they use in great detail. And the hell of it is that more and more corporations are using this as a model to copy, rather than a practice to be avoided. Workers, the people who make it possible for the business to thrive, are not being seen as valuable assets anymore, they are being seen as disposable cogs. After all, you can always find someone else to glue part A to circle B and put it into box D. It doesn’t take a brain or even a lot of manual dexterity. The only people who actually make money in this kind of economy are the ones who have real skills, engineers, programmers, designers and those kinds of professional skills, the ones that can’t be replicated easily. Everyone else is expendable.”

Mia went and made more drinks. “So why did you decide to become a maid?”

Angie had flopped back on the couch with her eyes closed. “Oh, domestics are one of those classes of low-wage workers where if you get the right job the pay and perks can be really good. There’s lots of rich people around, they want domestic help, and a lot of them don’t really want the Spanish/Mexican/Middle Eastern help that is out there. Those are for the hotels or a maid service like Molly Maid or The Sweep Squad. Being Caucasian in this market almost guarantees you a prime assignment, if only because you will blend into the décor easier. If you are good at the work, the bosses will do what they have to do to keep you happy and in their employ.

“I wouldn’t go back to Wal-Mart no matter what, and I like doing the dishes. So I went back to school for a bit to get degrees in cooking and classes in housekeeping, an MBA and some knowledge of accounting, and I got this job. Thought I had it made, if you will pardon the pun. Work that I like, that I’m good at, with a boss that’s never around, no other servants with the petty back biting gossiping to deal with, and a fellow maid that is attractive and kind. What an ass I was.”

“HEY!...”

“Sorry, it’s true Mia. I thought it had it made in the shade. I was a total idiot not to see this one coming. I knew it was too good to be true, but I hoped that it would be okay despite being too good. Now I’ve lost my job, back on the street again, and then there’s those student loans….”

Mia said “How much?”

Angie’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“How much are the student loans you owe?”

“I still have $22,780 to pay off before I’m a free girl.”

“Done.”

Angie sat up. “What?”

Mia looked at her. “I said, ‘Done.’ As in, I’ll pay them off. Totally and completely. You stop worrying about them now. And don’t think that you lost your job because of any of this. I lied to you, not the other way around. So as an apology I’ll pay off your bill and you can use that money for you, while you are still employed here and I have someone I can trust help me through all these murky waters. I don’t know anything about being a ‘normal’ person, and I am terrified to find out that I’m not.”

“Mia, you are not and can never be a normal person. Just by asking the question ‘am I a normal person’ that proves you aren’t. Just like if you were asking if you were insane.”

“Then I’m going to need even more help,” she said miserably. “Not only do I have to figure out how to blend in as a normal person, but I have to figure out what the hell is going on with the businesses I inherited and what the fuck to do about a shady lawyer who is apparently forging papers left and right. So that’s even more demand on my time. At least I can drop the pretense that Mr. Gerome and I are different people so I don’t have to keep lying to you about that. That will simplify things a lot.”

Angie started to stand up. “Do you want me to move to another room or should I move you to the Master Bedroom?”

Mia looked at her friend. “Neither. If you have no problem sharing the room with me, I don’t have a problem still sharing it with you. Besides there’s all those others out there,” she waved her hand vaguely at the outside word “to consider. It would be odd if Mia moved into the Master Suite. But, if Mia just stayed where she was at…. No questions.”

Mia and Gerome consulted briefly mentally. Soon she came to a decision. “Okay, we’re going to do something else. You are going to still be doing what you have been, cleaning and maintaining the house. You’ll start doing a bit more than half of the work since I’m not going to be helping as much, but I will still be helping you. Right now, we are going to get all those rooms cleaned up. Most of the agenda we have in front of us is still going to be the same. I’m just going to be doing more in regards to the overall empire I inherited. Let me set a few dozen things in motion and I’ll be with you to help out. You go start on the rooms on the East End Second Floor. Work your way back toward here, and I’ll join you soon.”

Angie stood up, possibly a bit too quickly and she got dizzy momentarily. Once she got her balance back, Mia was about to let her have the day off, but Angie left the room, headed to get her chores done.

Mia went into the main office and pulled out the computer. She sent off a bunch of emails to various private investigation agencies that she and her grandmother had used before, and got them looking at what Mr. Biggs had been doing for the last several months.

While she was doing that, she accepted one bid from a contractor to come out and start renovating the cabins. She also made sure that they would remove the ruins and clear the waste off the property.

Now things were going to pick up pace a bit, since she no longer had to hide her Gerome hat from Angie.

Once her work as Gerome was done, Mia went to help Angie. She couldn’t put the whole of the housework on her alone, and so it was up to her to help out until they got more help in there.

Mia was still unsure as to whether or not she wanted to hire more of the staff back to work here. She did want to remove the house from the market now, keeping the house now that she knew more of the house and the grounds.

Still undecided was what she would do with the house. She still didn’t need 20 bedrooms, and the cabins would be nice, but unless they were used and maintained, they would fall to pieces as well.

She was turning all this over in her mind when she suddenly knew the perfect thing she could do with the house and all the grounds.

She found Angie in one of the bedrooms, having vacuumed and straightened up, in the process of changing the linens on the bed. There was a pile of laundry over near the door that needed to go down the chute to the machines in the basement. So Mia picked up the pile and walked it down to the chute, dumped the load in and came back to help Angie.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, each knowing her job in the chores that needed to be done. There really wasn’t a need to discuss what had to be done, and Mia did a quick check of the bathroom to make sure nothing had been skipped.

Once most of the heavy cleaning was completed, Mia called a quit to the rest of the housework. “It’s fine Angie, really. We are taking the rest of the day off, tomorrow too. Just necessary cleaning and it doesn’t have to be done if we don’t want to.”

Angie’s mouth was open in shock.

Mia saw her. “I’m serious. I’m going to treat us to a spa day. You and I are going to the most expensive and pampering spa in the area, and we are going to make a day of it. I insist. AND we are leaving the dishes in the sink.”

Angie could only blink in shock. “Okay, are you sure? I mean, even if it doesn’t have to be ready-for-display tomorrow, there’s still things to be done.”

Mia nodded. “Yes, there are, but most of it can wait. So the eBay bidders get their stuff a day late. No one is going to die. There are no showings at all, and the lawyers don’t have the keys so everything here is perfectly safe. All that is going to happen is that you and I are going to be pampered as two ladies of quality should be. Besides, there’s some plans to discuss.”

“Plans?”

“Yes, plans. And I am NOT discussing them now. We are having dinner delivered and taking it easy for a while.”

So a delivery service was called to bring in dinner from a nice restaurant and it was consumed in companionable silence. Next was a trip to the living room, where the TV was turned on so the two of them could catch up on the shows of the day, but after 20 minutes of going through the various channels, they both found that it had been too long and neither of them were up to date on the new shows and the various channel schedules.

They finally settled on a “on demand” movie and watched the sentimental show about a girl and her mom with the romantic guy causing problems and both cried. Mia liked it for the artistry and the relationship she would never have with any mother figure, and Angie was crying at the romance between the lead and the cute guy.

Once they had both recovered and gotten their sinuses unstuck from all the crying, they retired to their bedroom and started getting ready for the night. “Angie, would you have a problem if I changed up the job duties you have around here? Or if I hired more of the old staff back on here?”

“It would depend on what my job would be changing to Mia.”

“Right now I’m thinking ‘lady’s maid’ instead of ‘maid-of-all-work’. It would mean that I’d have to hire back some of the maids and especially the housekeeper and probably the footmen and butler to work in the house like normal. You, being the lady’s maid, would be outside of their hierarchy, but still a servant, and of course, there would be people like the cook and scullery maid. I’d probably have to hire a hall boy too.”

“Why hire back all those people for just you and I? Or for that matter, just you? Surely that’s massive overkill?”

“Well, I’ve decided to keep Bellweather, and that’s going to mean that I need a lot of help around here.”

“You’re keeping the mansion and grounds now?”

“Yes. I’ll get the estate agent to de-list this property tomorrow before we leave. It’s not like there’s been a lot of offers on the property anyhow. But now that I’ve decided to keep the place, and since I’m planning on actually doing something with this place, it’s going to mean that there’s going to be a lot more work.”

After that bombshell, Angie kept trying to get Mia to tell her what was going to be done, but Mia held firm and they didn’t discuss it anymore that night.

Mia got up early and went to her computer and sent off an email to the Estate Agent to tell her that the estate was to be delisted. She didn’t really care if the woman would protest or not, she simply stated in no uncertain terms that the property was off the market now.

She then searched around for the most exclusive day spa that was in the area, and found one to take Angie to. She really wanted to overwhelm her with luxury today.

Once that was done, she went in and woke Angie at about 7:30, hours after the time they would normally have gotten up. They both dressed in some clothes that they didn’t get to wear much of, and then went out to the garage.

Angie naturally started going toward the Bug, but Mia lead the way to the Benz. In this case, the use of her grandmother’s vehicle would be totally appropriate. They slid into the cream colored leather interior and Mia started the engine. Soon they were on their way to the Spa.

They both chatted on the way, and since it was likely that the spa wasn’t open just yet, Mia made a detour to a breakfast restaurant that her grandmother had taken him to a couple times when they were out for one reason or another. It wasn’t exclusive or anything, but it was a place that was very proud of the distinction of being a VERY late café, one that didn’t open until 10 PM and stayed open to noon, so that all the third shift workers, the club workers, the people who serviced the downtown area and fed the very rich could have a place to come and eat once they got off shift. As such, it was well appointed and the staff wasn’t obnoxious.

They chatted about inconsequentials over breakfast, and Mia knew that Angie was dying to know what Mia had decided to do with Bellweather. Mia did everything to deflect and sidestep those questions, with the goal being to talk to her when they both were up to their necks in hot water and pampering.

About four hours later, they were just that, reclining in a hot mud bath. Both had been waxed and stripped, fussed over, plucked, rubbed, hot stoned, zapped in some cases to kill those pesky stubborn hairs that just wouldn’t die, facialed, washed and rubbed again. This was actually the first time that Angie and Mia had been in the same room since they walked through the door.

The first few minutes were silent as they both adjusted to the temperature of the pits. Mia was relaxing in bliss, when Angie’s voice came across the room.

“Okay, Mia, spill it. You’ve been coy about what you want to do with Bellweather since last night, and now you have a perfect opportunity to tell me your nefarious plot. So spill it already.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking….”

---

* http://www.amazon.com/Wal-Mart-The-High-Cost-Price/dp/193285...

Finally free of Grandma, Gerome begins the adventure of a lifetime. Will reality match his dreams? Maid to be a Man? By Maid Joy

---

Chapter 7

“I think that this will be innovative enough that we can make some real money off it.

“A few years ago I saw a special on a finishing school for girls that reenacts the time just before 1861.”

Angie interrupted. “Why does that date sound so familiar?”

Mia grinned. “Because you paid attention in history class dear.” Her accent shifted, “That's when those nawthen states had their little-ole War of Nawthen Aggression. They came traipsin down and attacked with nah pravacation. They just came in and started killin everyone, all because the Confederate States tried to thro off the yoke of Nawthern Oppression just like they did with the English nearly a century befaw. Imagine that… When they do it, it's a REVOLUTION… when we do it it's TREASON.” She laughed.

Angie was barely containing her giggles. “Mia where did you learn that accent? In Manitoba?”

Mia sobered. “Angie, I'm not really Canadian you know. I was born here in this state, Bellweather is my home, I grew up there and many of the markings that are in the walls and doors I either put there or know how they got there. I've heard the history of Bellweather over and over again, and could probably recite it to you if you really wanted to hear it. I have a lot of memories of the place.” Her voice trailed off in reminisces.

“Why on Earth would you want to sell it then?”

Mia was truly shocked. “What in Heaven's name would I want with it? I mean, 20 bedrooms, a Grand Ballroom, a Dining Room to seat 40 and servant's quarters that would house 20? I may be rich, but a young playboy about town doesn't need a mausoleum like that to come home to every night. PLUS all the outbuildings, PLUS all the contents of the attics and basements and outbuildings? And the upkeep on the grounds? I mean, really… And given that I don't do enough to keep just a few people employed to wait on me, and certainly not enough to keep a staff like the mansion requires."

Angie had the good grace to blush. "Okay, I can see how a single playboy wouldn't need it, so why not put it all in mothballs and keep it for later?"

Mia shifted a little. "Mostly it's because I didn't want to be bothered. I mean, I had lived there all my life, I had a lot of memories from the place, most of them involving my grandmother the witch, and those memories have all kinds of emotional baggage attached to them. I had to work and work hard to understand businesses I wasn't interested in so my grandmother would praise me, to get money I didn't need, for employees that I could care less about. It was just always me giving to everyone else and never having the time do do anything for me.

"I was sick of doing and being for others. I had decided that I wanted to chuck it all and let others just live their life while I went my own way."

"So why didn't you just sell everything and clip coupons for the rest of your life?"

"Because it's never that simple." Mia stood and started cleaning the mud off herself. "With money like I have now there are TONS of unintended consequences. Believe it or not, just dumping that much on the various markets would cause things to get depressed fast. It could even collapse the economy. And it wouldn't just affect the businesses I own, it would also affect businesses that do business with my companies, and the companies that do business with those companies, and so on. The ripples keep spreading, and eventually could hurt the world economy.

"So I just decided to be the playboy, like so many of the jet-set, and have a peripheral interest in the businesses and live off the money it brought in. I would hire managers, get something on them to keep them loyal to me and insure they didn't steal too much or they would be killed, metaphorically speaking, and just let the money roll in while I go and try to spend it all."

A quick spray of a shower, the mud was gone from Mia's body. She wrapped the towel around herself and started drying off. "Now I know better, thanks to what you have said. So I'm going to actually do something I'm interested in. I'll probably have to do stuff with the other companies occasionally, but I will be damned before I lose myself taking care of everyone else."

Angie got up and moved toward the showers herself. Mia could only guess at her mood as the thoughtful look on Angie's face didn't tell Mia much. Thoughtful good? Thoughtful bad? Thoughtful pissed? What?

Finally when Angie was cleaned off, she turned to Mia. "So, what IS it you plan going to be?"

The attendants came back into the room and took them both off to more of the luxury they earned, so Angie would just have to wait.

When they got back home after all the pampering, Mia began to lay out the whole plan.

"You know that Bed and Breakfast places are popular. So are places that do reenactment things like the Society for Creative Anachronisms and the Civil War players. My idea is to do both, and make Bellweather a place where people can come and play at being Victorian Lord or Lady for a week or so. Oh, and they will pay us through the nose for the privilege too."

Angie's mouth was open. "That's an interesting business model. I don't think I know of any other place that does something like this. So basically it's an immersive role-play experience in a beautiful mansion working and living by Victorian rules? Would this continue to the servants as well? 'Come play a maid for a week and explore how controlled you are' thing?"

"I hadn't considered that, but we could definitely do that. There would have to be one or two of the positions open to rotate the guests through and we would have to keep some of the staff always on and always available. So, I'm thinking like 6-10 guests doing the high Victorian thing, and 2-4 doing the servants? Think that sounds right?"

"I think some more research is needed," Angie said.

They went to the library and raided all the shelves for anything that might be relevant to Victorian mansions, the running of, staffing, and households in general. Once all the books were collected, Angie sat down with them and started going through them page by page looking for information. At milady's working desk in the library, she started making lists of things she found. Meanwhile, Mia was scouring the Internet for more information.

They each took about 8 hours to do the research, with breaks for meals and bathroom breaks. But at the end they had a ton of information.

In the end, the assembled information told them a lot.

First they would have to hire back most of the staff that Gerome had let go.

Second, they would have to expand the wardrobes that Mia and Angie had.

Third, it would be imperative that Mia stayed around to be the "Lady of the Manor" with Angie as her Lady's Maid. Why have to hire someone to do the job Mia dreamed of?

Fourth, there was a huge market for this kind of fantasy yet there was a question that urgently needed to be answered. Was it better to move the whole thing to England or keep it in the United States. While the setting was better for this kind of entertainment in England, most of those who were interested in participating in this kind of program and had the money to afford it were in the US and Canada. Mia decided that keeping it as a Victorian/Edwardian time period would make it unique and desirable to their prospective clients.

"You know, I wish I had thought of this earlier," Mia complained much later. "Most of what we got rid of to the various reenactment groups is EXACTLY what we need to buy back."

Angie said "It might just be better to buy new, that way you can get them custom made, you can add in the various tricks that will allow those who are renting them for the immersion to fit their clothing. But I think that really, the first order of business is getting the staff back and working on what will need to be done in preparation for this house and the grounds, if you want to move forward with this business model."

"What do you mean?"

"Mia, I love you, but this is going to be really REALLY hard to do. If we do the immersion cosplay, are they going to want events like in the books? Hunting parties, balls, fishing trips, things like that? What about romances like you find in Emily Bronte? Handsome men to come in and sweep off your feet? What if they come and they are the typical 'ugly American' who doesn't know how to take high tea and eats their entree with fish fork? And who knows in this day and age how to address a Bishop unless you are actually royalty and grew up with this from birth? How many people are going to compare Bellweather to the romantic comedy 'Austenland'?"

Mia nodded as she considered these points. "Okay, first thing is we hire back the staff. We work from there and don't worry about the next step, just the one we are on."

They took their time over the next few weeks to contact every former employee of the mansion. Most were already reemployed in other places, but some were able to be coaxed back with promises of bonuses and raises. Some, like the Housekeeper and Butler, were available to employment immediately. It turns out that they didn't go looking for additional employment because they decided to just retire together, as the old married couple they were.

The servant housing was reopened and refurbished first. Single people were housed in the dorm area of the mansion, and couples were moved into the housing units. Most were able to get their former living spaces back with no problems.

Mia and Angie had to be moved to the Mistress's Bedroom. Since Mia was going to be playing the role of the Lady of the Manor, and Angie was to be her Lady's Maid, this was the most appropriate bedroom suite. Mostly they just carried her things up to the Master Suite, and then put Angie and her things in the attached Lady's Maid room. The "Lord's Suite" was correctly across the hall and the occupant would be paying handsomely for the privilege of laying his head there.

While the servants settled into their quarters and got things ready for the household to open as a location to live in, Mia and Angie went through all the wardrobe choices for both of them in the closets. They had both hung what they found in the attics up in milady's room and in the various drawers. Now they had to pull each piece out and check it over for problems such as sizing and time damage.

"I'm not seeing much problem with the ravages of time, Mia. I think the only issue we will have with these is going to be getting them to fit you and me. I mean, I think these ladies were size 0 or something, this is ridiculous."

Mia couldn't help but agree. Most of the clothing seemed to be sized for someone with a 16 inch waist, who was no more than 5 foot 2 inches in height. "I think we are going to be giving a lot of business to the dress maker we went to not too long ago."

Angie grimaced. "I can see that, but I have another thought. She and her staff are going to be doing all the staff's uniforms, and may be way too busy to do our wardrobes as well. How about enlisting and paying those reenactors and historical preservation people to make us the wardrobes we need?"

"That's a good thought," Mia said. "We have been sending all kinds of the vintage stuff to them, so I guess we are owed a favor or two, and if we pay them for this stuff, I can't see where the objections would be too horrible."

Soon they had their computers out again and were looking up the people they had contacted on various costuming boards. They each put up multiple posts calling for those who were interested in helping to make entire wardrobes for them to use. Details and pictures were quickly posted and all were invited to contact them for information and details.

They managed to scrounge together a couple of outfits each for themselves, and had a good time putting them on. Once properly gowned, Mia went to find the Housekeeper, while Angie got her study and office ready for Mia's use.

Mrs. Jessica Callum had been the Housekeeper forever, and knew the property and building as well as, if not better than, Gerome himself. She recognized Mia as Mr. Gerome from the beginning, and once the situation was explained to her, she found it immensely funny. Mrs. Callum had many stories about how Mr. Gerome had bitten off far more than he could chew, and spent a couple hours telling it to Angie with a laugh in her voice. Mia didn't really mind since she had a good sense of humor about Mr. Gerome.

Angie was kept laughing about all this for several hours, and Mia grew more and more embarrassed at each tale related. Finally when she could stand it no more, Mia recalled everyone to the task at hand.

"Mrs. Callum, we are going to have to have your assistance if this is going to be a successful venture. I'm not talking about business acumen, but we will need to figure out what we need for the servants in the way of period items and clothing, what we will need for the guests and what I will need. I'm thinking that I'll need multiple outfits for each day, and if we are doing it as a two-week immersion, then I figure I'll need about three outfits a day, which comes up to a total of 42 outfits, not counting all the ball gowns and such."

Mrs. Callum thought about that a few moments. "If you also add in things like party dresses, nightgowns, robes, bathing costumes and so on, there's quite a few more outfits. Then you add in all the guest's clothing needs, plus both sexes…"

Mia dropped her head into her hands. "You're right. Gods, I didn't think about all THOSE outfits too. Plus two complete sets of livery for every servant for each day…"

"Many of those can be washed and recycled. But you will need all the underthings for the ladies, corsets and so on, and all the underthings for the gentlemen as well…"

Angie spoke up. "But if they bring their own things, that will negate a lot of that expense to us."
"M'dear, even if they do, do you honestly think that they won't need extra? M'lady Mia can't be seen in the same outfit twice by those that are guests here, and while the guests can, there's still getting it all right for differing occasions. I think you may need to consider hiring a full time seamstress and modiste to live on the property and help the people who are to play here."

"Since we have the town set up for supporting the manor, do you think that free or very reduced housing would be something that could be offered as a perk of working here?"

Mrs. Callum said "Yes, I think that might help. Live over your shop, get some of the people who want to work in a more primitive society to move in as well as farmers and such, then you have a source for butter and eggs for the mansion, and you might even get those who want to barter their work for living space, have fresh organic items and less modern methods of farming."

Mia got really excited. "This is sounding more and more like a Victorian Jamestown right here in Virginia! With the added bonus that you can come and live like that for a span."

Angie blushed and then spoke. "Don't forget that one rustic cabin we found, with all the leather in it? There's people who would pay a lot of money to come do that in private and seclusion to each other, or pay to be the 'controlled and punished sissy maid' as an option."

"Yes, but WE don't do that. If the guest wants to do it, fine, they can. But we don't play that with any of the guests. We are not a BnB/BDSM place, just a place where you can come be a doll for a while."

Mrs. Callum was nodding, "Begging your pardon ma'am, but that always struck me as one of those 'it takes all sorts' kind of things. It's okay if they want it done, but I won't do it. Unfortunately the Housekeeper is the one that is going to be doing most of that punishment to those who do want that kind of play as a servant or French Maid. I don't care if they want that, just don't ask me to play too."

Mia nodded. "Don't worry about that. IF it is done at all, it will be over in the cabins or in their bedrooms. Speaking of which, do we have locks on the bedroom doors?"

Angie spoke up. "Of course. Doors in old places like this all had locks on the bedroom doors, just for those times when the guests wanted to jump each other. The problem is making the doors secure with modern conveniences, but making it so that those are hidden, like the heating and AC in the house, the vacuum system, the wifi, the light bulbs and such."

Mia rolled her eyes. "Oh my gods, ANOTHER renovation? We just finished several."

By spending several weeks in research and contacting contractors, Mia and Angie were able to figure out just how much they needed to do still.

Contractors arrived to refurbish (and in some cases rebuild) all the cabins on the property. Mia made sure to point out to the contractors that they needed to hide the modern conveniences any place they could. Putting the compressors for the HVAC underground wasn't practical, but putting it some distance away and burying the power and hoses to the house was possible, while building a rustic-looking rock over the top of the compressor hid the machinery itself.

Gaslights were replaced with the gas-like bulbs to give the flicker of candles and jet flames. Where the light was actually needed (for desk lamps and reading), Edison bulbs (much better made than the original) were installed.

The dilemma about the room locks was solved by having a specialty locksmith make an electronic lock that would work with ancient brass keys. The person who cast the keys embedded a small RFID chip into it that could be custom coded for a guest's stay. The key would be programmed when the guest arrived and given to their assigned body servant, to be given to them when they were actually in their room, as per etiquette. The housemaids had master keys to the bedrooms so they could enter and clean while the guest was gone, just as the Housekeeper did. The old key would be inserted into the door, the RFID chip read by the lock mechanism, then they would be able to turn the lock to open the door. Without that RFID, the locking mechanism wouldn't turn, and it couldn't be picked either.

Having so many items custom made gave an appreciation of modern technology to Mia. They had the entire property wired up with WiFi, and set it all so it wouldn't broadcast its availability, but would be available to those who knew it was there in the first place. Electrical sockets were hidden in odd places, under tables with the power wires snaking through the legs of the furniture into a hole in the floor, then under the flooring itself and in special channels under carpets in the floor. Wide screen TVs were hidden by putting them in a frame, and placing a scrim over it showing a painting. When turned on the picture from the TV would shine through.

Mia wasn't about to give up her modern conveniences, and neither were the staff. But all that had to be hidden to keep the experience up for the guests. The cabins were another matter, they could be what they actually were, since none of the Immersive Guests would be staying there.

Even so, Mia had a pamphlet made up for those who were renting the cabins to show them all the features, like where outlets were, what the WIFI password was and so on. Delivery of food orders from the house was available to the cabins by an old Wells-Fargo wagon, or if the guest preferred, they could purchase the makings or full meals from the people in town and cook it themselves.

The Servant's Village took on a life of its own. More people were being invited so they could add their special skills to the overall area. Farmers who wanted to do more primitive farming and use more organic techniques were contacted, offered housing for a low rent, and they came. Their goods could be sold in a local Farmer's Market every Saturday, and most days at the greengrocer. Skilled craftsmen in various arts such as cobbling and joinery were asked to come and live here. The Servant's Village became the local Tennant's Town.

One problem came to light when the local county contacted Mia about the resources she was suddenly demanding and using. The conference with the local government was very illuminating. The age of Manor Houses and Tennant Farmers was long over, so the local Sheriff had legal authority over the area of Bellweather and the County Government officials had to make their voices known too. Bellweather was also purchasing electricity, water and sewage from the local county, and while it wasn't obvious, having a garbage truck come through every week was certainly jarring to the facade they were presenting. Conversations went back and forth about how to disguise these services, and if it might be easier to just set Bellweather up as the unincorporated town of Bellweather and be done with it.

While renovations were going on in the manor and the other buildings, additional housing was erected in the town to house those invited in. Once the idea got out to those who wanted to live like this permanently, Mia and Angie had a flood of letters and emails asking about opportunities to live and work at Bellweather.

One group that was invited in nearly immediately were the clothes makers. There was going to be an incredibly large demand for clothing, not only for the servants, but the guests as well. Potters moved in to make dishes and a blacksmith took up residence. In every case, the people moving in were informed that the whole point of Bellweather was to make an experience for the guest of the manor. While modern conveniences such as plumbing and electricity were okay to have, they did have to blend in with the overall environment. Music was alright, loud boom boxes were not. A modern sewing machine was fine as long as it looked like an old treadle machine. Having a car was fine, as long as it was not parked in the garage behind your house but in a locked garage building at the train station where the guests would be arriving. Unless, of course, the town person happened to own a 1864 Parker electric car.

One of the biggest headaches was installing the special closets in each bedroom to hide the modern luggage in. Since the experience was to be immersive, Mia decided to start it all on the train. The guest would come into a location where the train would pick them up. While on the train ride, which took under 30 minutes to complete, they would be given clothing to change into or to cover up the modern clothing. Dusters, long coats, goggles and so on were on the train ready to make the guest feel like they were in Victorian America. Meanwhile, their luggage would be placed into steamer trunks, and their handbags or packs would be put into carpet bags. Once they arrived at the town, their belongings would be placed with them on the carriage or antique car for the trip to the Mansion.

Once there, the guest would be greeted by Mia, the hostess, and offered time to relax and refresh themselves. They would be led to their assigned room by their body servant, who would unpack the "trunk" and "bags" in the room without them being present. The body servant would help them dress for the next meal. The guest would be presented with their key, and then they were free to go wandering. Once the bags were unpacked and appropriate items were put away, or where the guest could get at it, all the rest would be left in their luggage. The servant would turn off any electronic devices they found, open up the special closet and store all the luggage and other modern things in it, and plug in the electronica to special outlets in the closet to let it charge. The closet would then be locked with the room key.

The guest was then in Victorian America until they left.

The locals could get out any time they needed to, simply by taking the train a half an hour to their car, then going wherever they needed to go. The people around Bellweather soon started understanding why these people would pop up with odd clothes needing something from them, and stopped making comments about it. To help the locals, Mia made sure the train service to and from the town was free and ran out and back every other hour all day.

I was nervous when I walked into the church that morning. My dress was smart, hat on neat, makeup correct. But it still felt like a dream.   Samantha's Story part 1 By Maid Joy

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This is a story unlike any other I've done. Just one of those items that had to get out. Maybe we T-girls can't have babies of our bodies, but we can give birth to stories. Anyhow, here it is.
 
Easter Sunday
 

I was nervous when I walked into the church that morning. My dress was smart, hat on neat, makeup correct. But it still felt like a dream.

Every year for the last 20 I had waited for this day. From my earliest memories I always wanted to be one of those ladies who got to show off on this day of all days. Easter Sunday was for hearing about how Jesus was resurrected and the miracle, but it was also for preening.

Oh, I know that pride is a sin, even more envy, but that didn't seem to matter on this one day. On THIS day you could strut into the Sanctuary in a new dress, a new matching hat, pretty purse and everyone would look at you. Everyone would see how beautiful you were. The only thing that could come even close was a wedding.

I had envied my sisters and mother when they went shopping three weeks before Easter to pick a nice white or yellow dress, spring colors, bright colors. They would spend a day for each of them shopping for just the right outfit. Then came the shoes to match, the new underwear, the tights, the gloves and purses.

This ritual made this day a special day in my mind. Just when the mind and soul should be focused on things not of this Earth, the ritual of shopping made it so that you did nothing but focus on that day.

I remember when I asked my mother where my new dress was. She was frazzled and distracted and took me over to get a new suit. But a new suit on Easter wasn't nearly the same. There are only so many ways you can cut a suit and none of them look nice when you get down to it, not like a pretty dress.

When I asked for a dress, not a suit, she finally focused on me and said "Hon, you are a boy, not a girl. You wear suits and ties, not dresses. Don't be silly now, here's a lovely striped tie to go with that outfit."

I remember how much I wanted to take that tie and use it to make myself a girl.

I can't count the times that I contemplated self mutilation to correct the defect. Apparently some of my troubles got through the careful mask of indifference I had created, because my mother freaked once when I was removing a long hair from around my male parts and told her that it was there. I swear that she thought I was trying to cut things off.

But today, today I was here in the Church. No one knew me. I had never attended here before. I was only in this area because of the college I was attending nearby. But I could be beautiful on this day.

I prayed silently that I wouldn't be spotted and known for a transvestite. I had seen all the stories and all the rumors of what happened to those of us who were different.

And I was different.

Contrary to all the tales available, I had no secret stash of clothes stolen from my mother or my sisters. I didn't know how to walk in high heels. I didn't have makeup practice. This was the first time I had ever really done this.

Oh, I had pulled on a swimsuit sometimes when everyone was gone. I had lingered in the girls department pretending to be bored with the shopping those of the distaff side were doing, but I was really devouring it all. This might be my last chance to learn this stuff.

I watched my sisters. I watched my girlfriends. I had bought some of those kits from the makeup counters for my female friends, but I kept the "instructional video" and played them till they were worn out. But I was always too scared to keep anything in my own room.

At the hair salon, I never went to a barber shop, I would read the fashion magazines while waiting. They might be years out of date, but it was more current than a lot of stuff I knew. So I learned about fashion, how to put outfits together, how to apply the makeup correctly, hair styles and on, but I had no personal knowledge.

A month ago I bought some things to hide in my room off-campus. But I lost my girlfriend over it. She found it in one of her cleaning fits (she was wonderful like that) and confronted me with the panties and bra. She didn't believe me when I told her they were mine. Sometimes I still smelled her perfume.

I took a deep breath. I stepped into the Sanctuary. I walked to the front pew and sat. I sat my purse down next to me and extracted the small Bible out of there so I could follow along with the sermon. I found a hymnal and kept it near me.

I folded my glove covered hands in my lap and tried to keep them from shaking. I could feel my heart going a mile a minute and my breath coming in short gasps as the adrenaline hit my system.

The hardest part was getting the underthings that fit me. I made the measurements a while ago and carefully noted them down. I had called a couple dress makers in town and given them those measurements and told them that I was buying an Easter Dress for my girlfriend and would they be so kind as to tell me what size these measurements would fit? Then I called another to get the shoe size. So on with the hat, and so on with the breast size.

Once that was done, it was time to shop.

The ladies who helped me out were so nice. They wanted the sales, as is understandable. So they showed me the required garments and helped me pick out tones and so on. I was able to ask some questions that I had for years in the back of my head, and I got answers that made sense.

It took some time, but I was able to order the breast forms online. I had all the other things already, my dress, my beautiful dress.

When I was in the Salvation Army store I knew that this was the dress for my debut. Emerald green, velvet and cut in such a way that it started off lighter green up top and darkened as it went down. Sheath-cut with a kick-pleat in the back, it was as prim as a dress for a librarian would be. Short sleeved, cut in a sweetheart neckline exposing my neck for all to see. A black choker completed the look. Black gloves coming to mid forearm made it look sophisticated without being slutty. Black two inch heels snugged on my feet and made walking a new dream. Black hose rounded it out. Anklet, bracelet, woman's watch, ring on my right hand. Clip on earrings that fell to my shoulders.

I had spent some time last night doing all the things I wanted to do but never did. I shaved everything, twice. I didn't want any hair to be showing. I even waxed my face, just to get all that annoying peach fuzz off. The more I worked, the more feminine I looked and felt. Arched eyebrows, thick lashes accented with just enough eyeliner to give me a smoky eye instead of a bruised one.

My hat. That took some doing. I must have shopped every hat store in the nearest three counties. I finally had to commission one from a nice lady who wanted to see my girlfriend's dress to make a hat to match. The jade green cartwheel hat she made could have been in Ascot on "My Fair Lady". It was the perfect accent.

I had managed to take a look around at the other peahens in the church. Some of those hats were absolute terrors, and it seemed that "taste" wasn't anything they were familiar with.

I tried really hard to ignore everyone and pay attention to the sermon.

"'For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in him, may not perish, but may have life everlasting.' So states John 3:16 and it is the best news we humans have ever had." The preacher had a good speaking voice.

I took the flier that was given to me as I came in and used it to fan myself. Five hundred bodies in a room certainly makes it warm. I felt my hair being moved by the slight breeze.

I stood to sing, I sat to listen. I knelt to pray. I could feel eyes boring into my head.

Once the service was over I didn't know if I should bolt back to my car and run, or sit still and do nothing, or just try to melt. My inaction made my mind up for me and I sat there as the Sanctuary emptied to do the socializing in the foyer. I knew that there were several people who would want me to join them, so they could preen at me or so they could dis me to my face. And if they found out....

"Honey, are you okay?" The voice came from the other side of the choir area. I looked up and saw the Choir director looking at me. I nodded and tried to let the encounter go at that.

She came down from where she was putting up music stands. "If you don't mind me saying, you probably should go. Everyone else is gone and it might look odd if you stay here overnight. People will think that you are after my husband." She sat down. She held out her hand. "I'm Millie Porter, the Preacher's wife," she said. There was a playful spark in her eyes waiting for me to say something. So I obliged her.

"Funny, you don't look much like Whitney Houston." I shook her hand as I had seen my sisters do over and over.

That was apparently the right thing to say because her face broke into a smile that lit the room. "I guess that's better than Loretta Young, although it does date you." Her head turned sideways somewhat. "I'd guess 22, probably a student at the college. Not a cheerleader, but a kind girl. No boyfriend." She stated the last like a Physical Law.

I smiled at her accuracy. "Right on all counts. But how did you know that I wasn't a cheerleader?"

Now it was her turn to smile even more. "There's a game today and the cheerleaders are off yelling in support of the team. No Church for them. No boyfriend because you would be here with him to keep the dogs off you." She stopped for a bit. "I must say, you are brave."

I started getting very uncomfortable. "No more than anyone else I guess."

"No, I mean it. Someone as pretty as you here alone. Well...." She smiled again. "I have to go finish up. Nice to meet you." She stood somewhat abruptly and went off to finish her chore.

I stood and followed her to help. She looked a bit nervous and smiled at me again. "Honey, you don't have to do that. I can get it. If you want to go show off, I won't be offended."

My lips compressed. "No, I'm not quite ready to face that."

She nodded. "I'm going to be unbearably rude here, but do you attend school as a girl or a boy?"

---

To be continued....

I was silent with shock for a bit. Millie didn't say anything, much to her credit. "How did you know?" I asked in a quiet voice. Her lips compressed in sympathy. "A lot of little things. Your brows aren't shaped right, your hair is too short for the style you have it in, and the dress, while it is certainly beautiful, is more appropriate for an Advent service than an Easter one." She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm guessing that you've never actually done this before, just read and learned what you could on your own?"   Samantha's Story part 2 By Maid Joy

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Okay, you wanted it, you got it. This is a continuation of the previous part, and I'm not sure if it will continue after this. Let me know what you think.
 
Easter Sunday part 2

 

I was silent with shock for a bit. Millie didn't say anything, much to her credit.

"How did you know?" I asked in a quiet voice.

Her lips compressed in sympathy. "A lot of little things. Your brows aren't shaped right, your hair is too short for the style you have it in, and the dress, while it is certainly beautiful, is more appropriate for an Advent service than an Easter one." She looked at me sympathetically. "I'm guessing that you've never actually done this before, just read and learned what you could on your own?"

I nodded my head. I couldn't speak. She had spotted me the first time out. My worst fear was now realized and I was about to be humiliated.

I found myself sitting on one of the chairs and crying into my hands. I couldn't seem to stop it. All my hopes and fears dashed in one day.

I felt her weight settle near me. Her arms were around me soon after that. "Honey, don't cry. I'm not going to say anything and you don't have to be embarrassed. I've seen transvestites and crossdressers before, so you are no shock to me. It's okay." She held me to her like a mother would while I cried.

It was an odd cry. I wasn't happy or sad. I felt humiliated, but also relieved. I couldn't believe that she would keep my secret, or that she wouldn't care that I was an aberrant freak.

She just rocked me and tried to get me to calm down. She didn't really say much other than the normal motherly sounds that get a hysterical child to calm down. It worked too, because I found myself relaxing and not crying as much. Finally I took some shuddering breaths and stopped.

Millie let me go and said, "There, feel better?" I nodded my head a bit. She continued, "Except now you eyes and nose hurts and you can't breathe and pretty soon you will have a headache. Come on, we'll go 'backstage' to get you cleaned up."

In a Catholic church the area she led me to would be called a "vestry". It was a series of offices, storage and changing areas for the church personnel which allowed them to do their thing without opening up the chapel all the time. There were practice rooms for the choir, changing areas for the pastor and rooms for the Sunday School people.

She led me to her husband's office and grabbed a fat wad of tissues for me. I was beyond caring about my makeup now, I just blew my nose until nothing else came out. I scrubbed at my eyes to get the tears off and then looked for a place to toss the bundle.

She took them from me and tossed them into a trash can. "Now, I think we need to start over. I'm Millie Porter. Pastor Kenneth Porter is my husband and I am also the Choir director here. I've been married to Ken since I can remember, although it's only 30 years instead of the 12 or so weeks that it feels like. We've been here for the last 8 years and I think that Ken's going to retire in this church. I've sent three children off to various schools in my time, seen my two girls married and my boy into the Marines as a Chaplain. I have four grandchildren, and another on the way, and I have more room in my heart for other children that show up. Just about everyone here calls me 'Mom' Porter, and I want you to feel free to do that as well. No obligation, no need to be baptized or anything, no pressure. Just a friend and a person to confide in and who can help you with life, if you want me in that capacity."

I had watched her while she spoke. I couldn't tell if she was lying, but everything inside my heart told me to trust her as I would any of my closest friends. I opened my mouth to respond to her, but the door suddenly opened and Paster Porter walked in.

Have you ever seen two people who were absolutely meant to be together in the same room before? Light seems to bloom out of the very air around them and you can almost see the ties of love and respect between them as if they were a physical thing.

I glanced at Millie and I saw her smile grow even brighter, if that was possible. Her eyes lit up with an inner fire that told me that they were very much in love. Incredibly when I looked back at the Pastor, I saw the exact same things in his eyes.

"Ah, here's my love. I had been looking for you, and now I have you trapped." He absently noticed me at that point. "Oh, I'm sorry. I seem to be interrupting something." He came over and held out his hand. "Pastor Porter. The luckiest man in the world, doing a job he loves with the woman that makes life Heaven on Earth." We shook hands.

"Sam Fraizer." I introduced myself.

"Sam, surely that's short for Samantha?" Pastor Porter questioned.

"Er, yes. Sorry, everyone calls me Sam."

"I think Samantha is a perfectly lovely name and it suits you more than Sam." His attention turned off me and back to his wife. "I stopped in to find out what happened to the choir loft and if you needed me to finish up." He stepped up to his wife and took her in his arms and kissed her soundly on the forehead.

"Oh, thank you Ken. I got involved with Samantha here and didn't manage to finish up. Could you do that for me?" She looked in his eyes and seemed to melt.

"Absolutely no problem Millicent. I'll get it done directly and go to the BBQ and egg hunt out back. Can't have a good old-fashioned service without food, now can we? Feed their souls and their bodies." He kissed her again.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Samantha. I hope you decide to keep coming back here." A few seconds later he was gone and the door was shut firmly behind him.

She sighed happily and turned back to me still looking a bit floaty. "A more wonderful man you may never find, but I truly hope you do hon. Now, you were about to say...?" she prompted.

"My name really is Sam Fraizer. As you guessed I am a student at the college, majoring in video production. I've never really been a joiner in anything, and as you guessed I'm not a real girl. As you also guessed, this is my first time out en femme, as it were, and I wanted to show off here. I had hoped that I could blend in and not be noticed other than as a beautiful woman in her Easter Dress."

"Well, honey, as I said before, the dress you have on is much more appropriate for a Christmas season service instead of an Easter service. What prompted you to choose that dress?"

"It was the most appropriate thing in the Salvation Army store I could find."

Millie nodded. "Ah, I see. All the Easter dresses would have been bought out already and the only things left are what was donated after Christmas season ended. So you had to make do. Thrifty of you, but I think that you might have been better served with buying a new gown directly."

"I would have but I don't have the money, truth to tell. I'm on a student's stipend that barely covers my expenses, and there are days when all I have to eat all day are 50 ¢ biscuits and $1.00 cheese on them which gives me three meals. It's one reason I'm so skinny."

That candid answer didn't seem to sit well with Millie. "Sam, if you had your absolute top choice, what would you be? I mean sex-wise."

"A girl," I said without hesitation. "I've wanted to be one as long as I can remember. That impulse to talk about it got beaten out of me when I was young, but the need never went away." I stopped talking for a little bit while I got my emotions under control. "I tried this once before. I took one of my sister's old gowns and dressed up in it and tried to go out. Mom thought it was funny at first, but as I persisted she got more and more frightened. Finally my father stepped in and that was it. I'm probably going to have a flashback tonight." I thought it would be a small price to pay for today.

She looked angry now. Even the therapist that I went to "cure" me who thought it was just over the top. He had said that while those impulses were unnatural, beating never drove a demon out, only God did that. So I was prayed over for quite some time and I pretended to be cured, just to get it to stop.

But once I was out from under their thumb, I thought it safe to indulge. Silly me.

I looked up. "I guess I will go home now and just try to forget that this ever happened. Thank you for being so nice to me. I won't forget it."

I stood, but not before Millie got one of the church business cards in my hands. "Please, Samantha, call me or Ken if you need any help. We know a lot of people around here. It would be a shame if you gave up your dreams because of today."

I nodded and put the card in my purse. I'd empty it out when I got back to the apartment.

---

To be continued...

The next few days were drab and depressing. Those few hours I spent at the church and with Millie would be treasured forever. Each time I looked in my closet and saw the dress, I felt some part of me expand just a bit.   Samantha's Story part 3 By Maid Joy

---

 

The Next Week

The next few days were drab and depressing. Those few hours I spent at the church and with Millie would be treasured forever. Each time I looked in my closet and saw the dress, I felt some part of me expand just a bit.

From looking at the dress, it was a short step to pulling it out and putting it on again. I couldn't go to class in the dress, but at least I could study and do homework in it.

I wasn't too scared of being caught by anyone I knew, I was pretty much a loner. I had acquaintances in class, people I sometimes had lunch with, but no real friends no one I wanted to hang out with. I was part of no clubs, no groups, no sports boosters or fraternities. I didn't really want to do anything social. I had been told by my therapists that I was "self contained".

But that time at the church, it touched something in me. There was a loneliness that I hadn't realized existed in me. I found I wanted a social network now. I didn't understand why but I felt like I belonged to something there.

I had never been deeply religious. What kind of a real true God would mess up and put me in this body that felt so alien and then allow all that had happened when I tried to simply be myself? I couldn't ask that kind of God for anything, and I sure didn't believe that a God of that nature could save me.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't bitter about it, I was simply neutral about it. I felt that there was an intelligence out there, be it God, Jesus, G_d, YHVH, what ever you want to call it, but I didn't believe that it cared squit about me personally, nor did I feel that it could do anything much to help me directly.

So it was always up to me to make my life better or worse.

I grabbed my wallet and used my computer to see how much I had in the bank. Okay, I just got my "paycheck" from mom. I have a grand total of $200 for the next two weeks. Using my meal plan, I could eat at the cafeteria once a day, I could get by on just that for a meal, so that saves that money. Rent is paid. Water bill... how much was that? Forty bucks. Okay, I can do this, if I'm cheap.

I decided that I would go back to church Sunday, if only to see Millie again. But first I would need a wardrobe.

I spent my time in the Salvation Army store. Jeans for 50 cents, full outfits for $1.50 or less made sure I'd really get my moneys worth. I had budgeted $40 for this splurge, but every cent I could hang on to would be a bonus.

Dresses first. I saw that the Easter Dresses had come in now that the big day was over, and I mentally smacked myself for not realizing that the fabric was a problem when I bought my first dress. I felt really self conscious looking around in the store and the female section.

If this was a story, I'd look up and see Millie in here to help me shop. I did look around, but I didn't spot spot her. I sighed and carried on.

I kept looking around and found a few dresses, light and airy things, pastel colors and very nicely cut. One was like a sundress, but it had more decoration. I saw it would need a slip if I didn't want to be embarrassed. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it. Thankfully it was one of those that used a belt to size it, so I would fit it easily, once I cinched the belt on.

The other dress I bought was an A-line shift dress with a handkerchief hem. It was a beautiful shade of Periwinkle, and it looked as though it were made out of a cloud. The hemline was low enough that I felt it was modest, even though there were no sleeves. I knew that it would feel wonderful once I had it on.

The price was right too, these two dresses cost only $5 with the accessories I would need, belts, purses and shoes. Not a terrible deal.

I looked around and bought a couple scarves, some blouses and two pairs of jeans and a pair of shorts. I figured if I would be doing my homework in "drag", I needed something more than Sunday dresses.

I went to the underwear area and looked at what they had to offer. I got four pair of socks, a couple pairs of panties and three bras. I hated buying used underwear, but I couldn't afford much choice.

For what I got, I thought the money I budgeted was right on. I wanted to save at least half of it to get some makeup, but I realized that I only needed a few things in that area.

I was a bit embarrassed and nervous as I went to to pay for it all. The person behind the register didn't bat an eyelash, just greeted me and asked me to give my best to my sister when I gave her the stuff. I promised I would and took my new wardrobe home.

As soon as I got there I stripped off the clothes I had to wear and like any girl with new clothes, tried everything on. I realized I would have to get a full length mirror soon. Right now I was just happy that my guesses and mental conversions of men's clothes to dress sizes were accurate enough that I could wear everything without looking ridiculous. I admit that I sighed deeply when it was all hung up in my closet and out of view.

I went back out to the local Claire's in the mall. I tried very hard to act like a typical male and just walk in and buy what I was after, but I couldn't help looking at the various jewelry and bangles, finally winding up buying a whole bunch of cheap thin metal bangles that were 12 for a dollar. I picked out a pair of piercing studs, and a bottle of sanitizer. The clerk asked me to wait for a few. I couldn't understand why until she gestured to a bar stool. "If you'll just sit down I can get started piercing you ears."

I was stunned. The blank look on my face must have tipped her off because she grinned and and recited, "At Claire's we value you as a customer, and offer free piercing when you buy a pair of earrings from us." She smiled again this time it was genuine. That I was a guy didn't bother her a bit, apparently so many guys had so many piercings my two little holes were unusual only because it was just two.

I got home again and reflected on the irony of having a very good time while shopping, just like a typical girl.

I had gone out a couple more times to get things like hose and ankle socks. I wanted to find a decent pair of female athletic shoes, but since they were about $50 for the most inexpensive pair I wanted, It would go on the list of soon but not now until I could save up more money.

Every day when I got home from class and I changed into a set of girl clothes. Panties, bra, blouse, jeans, low socks and my shoes, some light makeup and I felt ready to watch TV or do my work or whatever. I never forgot to turn the earrings and clean them twice a day. I worked hard on making my hair look nice, and I shaved every other day.

I noticed that when I shaved my face, the moisturizer and skin care routine really freaking hurt. The best I could do was to shave before bed and then to do my skincare routine in the morning.

Saturday morning I shaved my legs every where twice and ironed my dress so it would be ready to go. I nervously check the panties, bra and stockings to make sure they were clean and ready. I thought about ironing the panties and parts of the bra, but I realized I needed to polish my heels of choice. I found the day had gone pretty much into getting ready for Sunday. I wanted to just be able to bathe get dressed and get out to the Church tomorrow.

I called Millie. She and I spent a few moments and I let her know that I was going to church tomorrow. We made arrangements to meet a couple hours before church so I would already be there when everyone else arrived. I promised to help her get everything ready for the service.

I had started studying more and I understood now why my eyebrows were misshapen. Apparently I had them peaking over my pupil instead on the outside of the iris like I should have. I carefully began to reshaped my brows. When they looked decent, I practised adding pencil to fill in the gaps. A quick trip to the Library to get some books I needed, and then home to dress up and be comfortable.

Morning came and I made myself ready. Shower, shaving the little bits of hair that's left on my body, drying and doing the whole moisturizing skincare thing. I loved the way I smelled.

I pulled on my panties and my bra. I grabbed the inserts I bought so long ago and inserted them carefully in my bra. I pulled on a pair of hose and made sure they were on correctly, no sense letting them bind up.

Finally I got out my new periwinkle dress. I pulled it on and zipped it up and put a white belt on over top. Feeling the hem of the dress around my legs was such a wonderful feeling. I did my hair up as best as I could, and it looked nice enough. I moved into the bathroom and tucked some tissues in around the neck of my dress.

Makeup was next, starting with the foundation. Then all the rest of the makeup was done in a few minutes. Looking in the mirror I really did look much better.

I carefully pulled out the piercing studs in my ears, even though I wasn't supposed to for at least another week. I got the dangly earrings I wore last week and cleaned them then slid them into the now empty holes. I had used one of the "turn pierced earrings into clip on" things I found in a five and dime, which was cool, but it really didn't look good.

I checked my appearance in the mirror again. I needed a necklace and some jewelry.

I dug into the bag of jewelry I had and selected some of the bangles I got. I clipped an anklet around my left ankle and then put a ring on my right hand again. I slid "Sam's" watch into the purse I was going to take and finally removed the pendant from the necklace I normally wore. Now it was just a plain silver chain. When it was on, it looked marvelous.

Shoes on and then grabbing my purse, I made my way out of the apartment and to my car to go to church.

When I got there, the parking lot was mostly empty. There were a couple scattered cars around for those whose duties mandated that they show up early. I found an open door and made my way to the vestry again looking for Millie.

When I found her in her husband's office she let out a little squeak.

"Samantha! You look absolutely wonderful dear!" She and I hugged and she kissed me on the cheek. None of that air kissing that I despised when I saw it, but a real peck showing me just how glad she was to see me.

I kissed and hugged her right back. "Millie, it's wonderful to see you again. What can I do to help?"

"Please, Samantha, call me Mom Porter like everyone else does. Or just Mom. About the only person that calls me Milly is my husband."

"Yes ma'am." I said solemnly. I found a place for my purse and then we both started setting up things for the day.

I enjoyed the chores, setting out hymnals, printing up the program for the day, opening and unlocking things so that people could get in, answering phones and setting out the offering envelopes on the table.

It was odd, but while I was there, I had absolutely no self consciousness. I wasn't scared, I wasn't really conscious of being out of place. I was just me, clothed elegantly (if on a budget) and I smelled nice. I liked being here dressed like the girl I wanted to be.

Millie must have seen something in my attitude because when I saw her she had a smile on her face as she looked at me. At least I think it was because of me, but I guess her husband could have seen her again.

Finally it was time for the service to start and Millie handed me a stack of programs to give to the kids who normally gave them out. I found the girl quickly enough and handed her the half she was supposed to get, but when the boy showed up he had a broken arm. He and his parents were very apologetic and the boy was embarrassed for having let the church down, but I told him that it was okay and that I would take care of it.

Little Sally and I stood in the doorway to the Sanctuary and handed the programs out to those who came in. Just that simple action had me remembering things from when I was young and when I felt safe in the Church.

When the last program was handed out I moved quickly back to get my purse. As I went back to the Sanctuary I noticed a little boy in the playroom without anyone. I pushed open the door and went in to find him quietly playing on his own in the room.

"Honey? Why aren't you with your Mommy?" I asked.

"She sends me in here to play because I'm too loud. It's okay, I do this all the time."

I believed him, but it still made me a bit concerned that a child would be left alone. "How about I sit in here with you and listen to the service? Would you mind the company?"

He indicated that he wouldn't so I found a chair just as the service started over the loudspeakers. Pastor Porter was a good speaker and it was apparent in the timing and timbre of his voice as he delivered today's sermon on "rendering unto Caesar what was Caesar's and unto the Lord what was the Lord's". He pointed out that just because we were saved in the Kingdom of Heaven that didn't mean we were saved from Jail. "Jesus died for your sins, but he won't do your time," was pointed out once.

Meanwhile Billy played with the cars and the blocks, fairly quietly, just very energetically. He didn't yell or jump around, but he didn't sit still too much. Over the course of the sermon, other mothers came in and out with their babies or their small children to keep them from disrupting the service. We would nod in greeting to each other and I would just rock and enjoy the sermon. Occasionally I had to remind Billy to put things back where he found them.

It was almost a shock to hear the closing prayer and to know that this outing was over. I was sad that I would be home soon.

Millie found me in the chaos of the departing church members. "Samantha, I didn't see you once the service started. Where did you go?"

"It's okay, I was back in the playroom where the nursing mothers go watching a little boy named Billy who was playing in there. He didn't have an adult with him so I thought I would keep him company."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you honey. Billy is a little dear and his mother has four other littles to keep track of. He tends to instigate things with his sisters so we gave him and his family permission to let Billy play while the service was going on to keep him from being really disruptive. He entertains himself in there and everyone is happy."

I nodded. "Well, I didn't want anything to happen to him or for someone to take him, so I stayed to keep an eye on him. It was no big deal."

She grinned at me. "You have a true mother's heart. You'll make a good one someday."

I must have hesitated a bit while cleaning up. Soon I felt Millie hugging me again. "Dear, I didn't mean it like that. Anyone who loves children and who is patient with them will make a good parent. I have no doubt you will too.

"Oh, that reminds me, I need your help Wednesday night if you can. We are having a clothing drive for the less fortunate that night, and anyone who has extra stuff is encouraged to bring it. It's not for sale, it's for give out when there is a problem like a fire or flood or something. Wednesday there's a lot of people who will be bringing things to us and I need some help in the taking it in and sorting. Do you think you could help us that night? Free food for the volunteers."

I thought about it. I had class that morning, but I didn't think I would have much homework. I said I would be there by 7 PM to help out. She smiled at me like a mother whose was pleased her girl gave the right answer.

I stuck around several more hours and helped clean and put things up. It wasn't really any big deal and I didn't feel tired or anything, it was just part the normal maintenance that needs to be done to keep a large church running. Every time I saw Millie or Pastor Porter they smiled at me, and I had a chance to make the acquaintance of many more members of the Church.

It was beginning to feel like home to me.
 

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To be continued....

All day I had been looking forward to the clothing drive. It was another one of those times when you anticipate something so long that just thinking about it makes your heart beat faster.   Samantha's Story part 4 By Maid Joy

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All day I had been looking forward to the clothing drive. It was another one of those times when you anticipate something so long that just thinking about it makes your heart beat faster.

Once again I wanted things to be perfect, so when I got home I did my best to look good. I found a skirt that some co-ed had tossed into the trash. I felt like the lowest of the low, pulling used clothing out of the dumpster, but you have to make do when you don’t have a lot.

It was a short jean skirt, designed to be worn over a pair of leggings. I could see why it had been tossed; a pen had broken and red ink had splattered all over a faded denim skirt. I took some creative license and broke open a black pen and scattered that ink over the skirt too. Then I took a cotton swab and bleach and used it to fade other areas to white. In the end I had something like a tie-dyed skirt.

I thought one of my tank tops and a pair of thin tights would look wonderful to complete the outfit, so I prepared carefully. All my toiletries done, I put my hair in a short ponytail, finished my makeup and powder on so that I looked and smelled nice.

I looked forward to tonight since I would get to see Millie again; but I have to admit, free food for doing a bit of work was a big part of the incentive. I guess the stereotype of a starving student was alive and well with me as the exemplar.

Focusing on English Literature from the 15th century was kind of hard to do, but I managed. I had a paper to turn in, and if I wanted to keep getting the ‘paychecks’ from the folks, I had to pass my classes.

I found it fascinating that in Shakespeare’s time it was accepted for a man to play female parts. I had no clue why that was common then, but apparently women didn’t go into being actresses. So they had to use the men who were already in the troop to play any female roles. I could only imagine what Juliet looked like kissing Romeo on the balcony.

I drifted a few minutes thinking of that, kissing Leonardo DeCaprio in the balcony scene in Romeo + Juliet. Oh, I bet his lips were soft. He was cute enough to set any girl’s heart on fire.

Then I remembered that I wasn’t a girl.

Studying made the time pass, so I was startled when my alarm went off reminding me it was time to go. I had about 8 minutes to make myself look presentable and a half an hour to walk over to the church before I was supposed to be there.

I had decided to go as I was dressed, the skirt and a T-shirt, some short heels and short socks. I wasn’t dressing up to go out and tease, I was going to work.

But I was still going as a girl, which was fantastic as far as I was concerned.

I had underestimated the time and it took me a bit longer to get there. I walked into the recreation room of the church at 7:15 instead of 7 as I had planned. Everyone was already there and working hard. I pitched in where it looked like they needed help.

Eventually, I wound up on the sorting line. There were four other ladies besides me sorting them first into Male and Female, and then by type (pants, shirt, skirt, jacket and so on) then by size. Somehow I wound up sorting the size 8 women’s clothes, just what I was wearing.

Tina, one of the other girls laughed when she saw me checking out some of the clothes to see if it would fit me. “Don’t worry about it Sam, we all do it. I think it’s in the genes.” I blushed any way but I nodded and smiled.

“More like in the jeans,” Tom stated. He was over sorting into male/female fashions. “I swear you girls come here just to see what was fashionable last year, you spend so much time looking at the clothes.”

Susan, one of the plus-sized ladies, said “Of course, how will we know what to bring back INTO fashion next year, if we don’t know what was fashionable from a couple years ago?”

All the girls and some of the guys chuckled at that; I just tried to hide my embarrassment. Tina leaned over and whispered to me, “Really, don’t worry about looking for size and how it would look on you. Experimentation is part of the whole thing. I know I’ve gotten an outfit or two from here in the past. Mom Porter doesn’t mind if you take an outfit or two, so long as there is more to give out than you take. Just let her know when you get done what you are taking, and she’ll just give you a kiss and let you take it.”

I smiled and thanked her and proceeded to sort the clothing even more. Folding the shirts and skirts, hanging dresses and underthings for others, that’s what was important right now.

I kept seeing ladies and some men coming in with bags of clothing. I thought it was odd when one man brought in a rack of clothes, all with “JC Penny’s” on the clothing covers and bags.

Tina nudged me. “This is the one that makes this work worth it. That rack has a lot of outfits from JC Penny that they can’t sell and that the warehouse doesn’t want back, so instead of throwing them out, they donate them here. There are a couple other stores from the mall that do it too.”

I noticed that no one else was anxious to get to the racks of clothes, so I ignored them as well. The guy took the extra clothes back to the store room and hung them up on the poles, since they were all hung and folded, sorted and ready to go. He then took his rolling clothes rack and left.

The night passed with work and gossip. I got to know a couple of the people around me pretty well. Susan had a gaggle of children and she was very proud of them and what they did. She spent the night bragging on their grades and how smart they were. Tina was a student at the college I was going to, and she had started pledging to Beta Sigma Phi because they had the BEST parties. Tom was in a jazz ensemble which played regular gigs on the weekends at a nearby jazz club. From the expression on his face as he talked, I could tell he had a passion for music.

“So what instrument do you play Tom?” I asked shyly.

He seemed to perk up at that. “Bass Guitar. Someone has to keep everyone on time. Part of the rhythm section, and with only four of us, that’s easy enough. Mostly we play because we like to, not for the money. The Back Alley lets us come in and play as much as we want, lets us keep any of the tips we earn and doesn’t hassle us much. They’re good people.”

Tina said “Sam and I should come out sometime and listen to you guys sometime.”

“Great! That would be fantastic. We play from 7 PM to 12 AM Thursday, 6 to 2 Friday and Saturday. We generally practice in there at least one night like Monday or Tuesday. Wednesdays I’m here and Sunday I stay at home. Just drop in, you don’t need tickets or anything, just come by and listen for an hour or two.”

Tina got really enthused and I could see that she was attracted to him. I smiled while I moved clothes around and made sure that things were neat. I listened to the chatter around me with only half my attention. I wanted to make sure that none of the clothes I took in and folded would get ruined by storage.

At 9 when the pot luck dinner was ready, I stopped long enough to go get a hot meal. There was a lot of food and I dug in like any other starving student and chowed down. I couldn’t tell you honestly what I ate, but I know there was a meat casserole of some kind, a salad and some field vegetables. There was a stew, I didn’t think it was cold enough for a stew, but the yeast rolls, oh, those melted in my mouth.

Finally, we all pitched in to clean the dishes take the trash out, clean up and leave. Millie was everywhere it seemed, encouraging and talking, showing people what to do, where to put things and just generally being the vibrating rock that everyone circled around.

I tried hard not to bother her, but inevitably she came over and gave me a hug and a kiss to welcome me and thank me for coming tonight. I tried to downplay my participation, but she insisted on attributing a lot of help to my presence.

I stayed as long as I could, and I looked through the storage rooms and the clothes the stores brought in. I did wind up with two more outfits, a silk skirt and blouse set in pale lavender that made my heart sing and my body lust to put it on. I wound up with another set of pants and two more blouses, to round out my wardrobe.

Toward the end of the night there was the inevitable time where everyone was running around confused. I used that time to pack up, let Millie know what I had and to take a final look around.

I found that I desperately needed to use the bathroom, so I headed off down one corridor to go. My business done, I made my way back to the recreation room.

Unfortunately I made a wrong turn and I found myself in the chapel.

I don’t know what happened next. I found myself moving to the front of the chapel, to where the altar was. There were the normal trappings, the Bible, the crucifix above at the end of the chapel, candles and incense. But a feeling of peace came over me.

Oh, don’t make that face, it’s what I felt. I read those stories too, where the hero or heroine winds up in a holy place and a profound sense of peace comes on them and they have visions and so on and all that magical and religious crap. I didn’t believe it either.

But I did feel peaceful, quiet, buoyant and calm all at the same time. It’s very hard to describe, but I know that I hadn’t felt like this in years. I felt like there was part of me which felt a homecoming, or a part that recognized myself and welcomed me. I felt naked and revealed at the same time I felt this joy that surpassed everything. I was dizzy.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was kneeling at the altar. I felt my tears splash on my hand and I wondered why I was crying.

It felt so right for me to be there, I didn’t know where else I could belong.

“God, You and I don’t talk much. I never really believed in You. But, please, if You do exist, please hear me.

“I’ve been a good person. I’ve helped others; I’ve done the least I could to harm. I want to be happy. The only time I’ve been happy is when I’ve been here. My parents could care less about what I truly need and I need something. I don’t know what.

“I’ll admit that I don’t want to worship You. You haven’t done much for me in the past. So while I acknowledge You, I’m not losing my mind and turning into a fervent convert.

“I’ll keep coming here, and maybe You and I can get to be friends. I don’t know yet since You ignored me when I begged for a better life. That’s why You and I stopped talking. But here, right now, I feel loved. Maybe that’s You. If it is, Thank You very much.

“Amen.”

I knelt there for a little while. I smelled old incense and I basked for a little while. I was here and I knew that while I was here things would be okay. I wasn’t being judged for anything except how good a me I could be.

It was a few minutes later that I heard the doors open. “Oh, Samantha, you’re in here. Good thing I didn’t lock up yet.” I stood up and saw Millie near the door. She was smiling at me and looked somewhat concerned. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Yes, Mom Porter, just spending a few minutes by myself.”

She nodded sagely. “It’s good to bask in the Lord’s regard for a while. But now it’s time to lock up. Come and grab your things and we can get going.”

She led me back to the recreation room, which apparently was across the hall. I moved to gather up my things and take my leave when she stopped me.

“Samantha, Sam. I know you don’t have very many girl’s clothes and going by the general state of wear on the clothes you DO have, I want you to come with me and we’re going to pick out a better wardrobe for you. Come on.”

She led me back to the store room again and we started going through the clothes that I would fit. She started pulling down skirts, pants, blouses, shirts, jackets, purses, shoes, belts and dresses that she thought would fit and started shoving them at me. She would hold something up to me, checking that it fit in the waist or through the chest, checking the color against my skin, then she either put it back or she put it in a growing pile of things for me.

Dresses, oh, she got some of the new dresses from the store donations. Beautiful diaphanous things that were nylon or silk or rayon, textures that I had never felt before on my skin. It was all heaven to hold and touch the sensuous slips and underthings, sheer blouses that were lined so I didn’t embarrass myself.

Before too long she had picked out twenty complete outfits, not just for Sundays, but every day as well. She really went like a dose of Salts through the jeans and t-shirts, the shorts and short skirts mixing and matching to get the most out of less. I didn’t know how I was going to get it all home.

“Millie, I walked here tonight, how am I going to get this home?”

“Don’t worry hon; I’ll take you home with the church van. Now, how does this belt strike you? I think it would go with the box pleated skirt over there.”

And so it went.

Finally, an hour later, I had a full wardrobe of clothes. I wouldn’t have to go out and try to buy something for some time given what Millie had given to me.

“Mom Porter, why did you do all this? Don’t others need these?”

“Sam, the clothes are for anyone who needs them. I had a feeling you need them more than most. I saw you eating, and I’d bet that you have been going on fewer meals a day than you should have. So you need to almost gorge yourself when you do eat to make up for not eating the rest of the time.”

My burning face must have told her that she was right. She put her hand on my arm. “Samantha, I’m not going to say anything to anyone. What you do is entirely up to you, and I’m not going to embarrass you either with your chosen gender preference or the state of your wallet. Your secrets are safe.

“I have adopted you because I think you need a friend and someone who can be there for you. Think of me as your Aunt or your Grandma if that makes you feel better. And ‘kin do for each other.”

Her statement shook me to the core. I don’t know why someone would be this kind to me, but here she was. My eyes started tearing up, and she turned away and started packing me up. A few moments later, I had my emotions under control and I was able to help her.

 

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To be continued...

I don’t know how many people come home with a brand new wardrobe after only a few hours of being out, but I ran into a problem that was new for me. I ran out of space in my single tiny closet.   Samantha's Story part 5 By Maid Joy

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I don’t know how many people come home with a brand new wardrobe after only a few hours of being out, but I ran into a problem that was new for me. I ran out of space in my single tiny closet.

I now had two full wardrobes to deal with, my Sam self’s clothes and now Samantha’s wardrobe. Integrating them was going to be interesting. I still didn’t know if I wanted to attend school as Sam or Samantha, and that was a question that needed to be answered soon.

I started by pulling out all the clothes in the closet. I had about 15 outfits of various types thanks to Mom Porter’s generosity. I had everything a girl could want, from suits to comfortable skirts, to hot pants and tank tops. She had taught me, while selecting clothes, how to mix and match the different tops and bottoms to make different outfits.

She was also thoughtful enough to provide the lingerie I would need. Slips and camisoles, a couple bras and some panties too (new in the package) were handed to me at the same time that I was getting the outerwear. The only thing we couldn’t find were shoes in the right size.

I pulled everything out of my closet and spread it on the bed. I had one Sam suit complete with shirt, tie and belt that I wore if needed. Ten pairs of jeans and a dozen t-shirts along with underwear and socks were all Sam needed for college once coats for winter were added. I never realized before how colorless and boring it was.

However, the rainbow of colors Mom Porter and the kind strangers had gifted me with were eye opening. I had two pairs of jeans, three skirts (two long and one mini), two pairs of shorts and three pairs of slacks. There were three dresses (not including what I already had) and three sets of skirt and blouses. She blessed me with five tops, three tanks, and four things she called “shells”. It seemed to be a combination pullover top and t-shirt, just made a lot nicer.

I did notice that a couple of my student t-shirts would go with these outfits. That was good since it would allow me to expand my wardrobe even more.

I spent some time trying on various outfits, making mental notes for what would be nice together and what felt right. I couldn’t really see much in the bathroom mirror, and I resolved again to get a full size mirror if I could.

Finally, I was done. I had three outfits that I felt I could wear at a moment’s notice, and I put them in the front of my closet. The T’s and tanks I put in my drawer, along with the under clothes. The dresses I lovingly put up in the closet, arranged by color, and then the blouses, shells and long skirts. I neatly folded the minis and put them in the drawers too.

I was left with about 3 Sam-self outfits that I didn’t want to get rid of, but that I also didn’t want to wear much longer. I couldn’t figure out whether to put them in the closet or into the trash bin.

Sam, don’t waste. Put them in the closet and wear them as you can. If nothing else you can wear them to clean in. I mentally nodded to myself and put the rest of the clothes away.

That left me with my suit. I folded it and put it in the suitcase that I used when I arrived at school. It would be fine, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to pull it out again.

So many things were happening so fast I wasn’t really sure what I should do with my life next. Once again I was confronted with the decision, go to class as Samantha or Sam. I knew I would have to make a choice and soon.

I spent the rest of Thursday night doing the homework I had been putting off. I fought through it and got it out of the way.

Checking my planner I saw a project coming up for my video production course. While it wasn’t due for several weeks, I would still need to start laying out the shots along side the music for the first rough cut.

I grabbed my things and took off for a long night at the studio.

I was almost at the studio door when I glanced in a large store window and realized that Samantha was looking back at me, not Sam. In my impulsive haste, it hadn’t occurred to me to look down and then change from she Sam to he Sam and wash my face.

I don’t know what imp of the perverse kept me going toward the studio, but I did. I was definitely excited and hoping that since it was nighttime very few people would see me or care what I was wearing.

When I got to the production studio, I saw a couple classmates in there. They were getting some preproduction and filming for their projects done. I slipped into the editing studio and closed the door.

I got my tape out and started putting it all together. It took focus and concentration to pull the scenes I wanted and to splice them into the beauty in my mind. I made notes on my clipboard about those scenes I had to reshoot or scenes that were missing, but I had a pretty good rough-cut when I finished.

I ran it back through and was pleased with my work. That’s when I heard someone say “That looks pretty okay for a rough cut, Sam.”

I turned around and saw the Teacher’s Assistant standing behind me, he probably slipped in while I was concentrating and was now standing behind me having watched the play through.

I smiled shyly and said “Thank you.”

He came over and sat down in the chair next to me. He glanced at my clipboard and noted what I was thinking, and he began talking to me about the production and what I was missing. He asked questions about the stock footage I’d used, and suggested a couple re-cuts that would make the overall video better.

I have to admit that I was shaking inside. I was nervous about the right hand of the Professor being in here with me and giving me a critique, but also because I had a skirt and blouse on and couldn’t hide the fact that I was dressed as a girl. Sure it was somewhat darker in the editing room, but not that dark.

He finished going over the whole thing and never mentioned how I was dressed. He was winding down and getting ready to leave. Then he stood and said “You look very nice tonight. I never liked the grunge look on girls. Maybe you should think about dressing up more? Just a thought, no offense intended.”

He gathered his stuff and left.

I nearly fainted. Once the door was closed I did start shaking, so bad I almost wasn’t able to retrieve my tapes and box them up.

My emotions were in turmoil. I didn’t know whether to cry, shake, faint or laugh hysterically. After a few minutes, confusion won and I just packed up and left.

That night I had some very strange dreams. I mean, they were normal dreams, just the scenes were nothing like I had ever experienced before.

In them, I was a girl, fully. I had my own boobs, I wasn’t a half girl or passing as a girl I was all girl and I looked good. I found myself on a date with Tom (of all people) and we went to a fast food place that was nearby.

We laughed and talked, we held hands and at the end of the night, I kissed him.

I’m not gay, but I had one of those dreams where the horny factor goes off the scale. I found myself rubbing my hands all over my body and it felt good, very good. I woke up thinking that it was Tom touching me.

At that point I was long past confused. Apparently my subconscious was trying to tell me something. I just wasn’t ready to listen. I had given myself a bad case of freak out.

I did what was natural at that point, I pleasured myself. I realize that I probably shouldn’t have, but if something didn’t happen, I was going to be up for several more hours.

Most often I had no trouble with this, but tonight I wasn’t getting anywhere except chaffed. But when I started seeing myself as a girl, suddenly I couldn’t stop my orgasm.

I cleaned up and I didn’t know what to think.

Sunday was rapidly becoming my favorite day of the week. Normally I enjoyed Saturday, but now that I had a home, Sunday was much better.

I left the question of Sam or Samantha at class up in the air, not really thinking about it or trying to resolve it. I knew that I wanted to talk to Mom Porter about what I was feeling and dreaming; I really needed help.

I helped pass out the fliers again since the boy’s arm was going to be in a cast for at least 5 more weeks. I had arrived early, and I had my seat up near the front. There were more people who said “hello” to me and took a few moments to talk to me, which made me feel very welcome.

This time I was sitting next to a senior citizen. She had to be 90 if she was a day. Her mental faculties were clear enough, but it was apparent that she was having trouble participating in the service. Standing for the hymns and kneeling for the prayers was taking a toll on her, so I offered a helping hand. I helped her up, helped her kneel and helped her back to her seat.

I saw Pastor Porter give me a smile when he noticed my effort. It made me feel warm to my toes.

Once the service was over, I did some more socializing in the vestibule as the congregation normally did. It was a time to just chitchat and gossip, to compliment dresses and to see friends.

I saw Tom and Tina, then stopped and chatted with Susan and her children. They were the cutest little kids and I was happy to meet them. Tina reconfirmed her desire to go to the club and see Tom play. Apparently she felt it was critical that she insure my attendance for moral support or something.

I have to say that I was looking at Tom in a different light given my dreams, and I wasn’t that comfortable with him right there. He was one of many pressing unresolved issues.

Finally the mandatory socialization was over with, and the party moved out back to the Baseball games and the picnic. Apparently, like the Baptists, there was to be a celebration every Sunday with a Pot Luck dinner and sports. I couldn’t object that much since it meant a meal I didn’t have to pay for.

But first, I wanted to talk to Millie.

I found her in the chapel again, tidying up the music from the choir. She didn’t have much left to do, so I helped her with getting it back to the offices. She smiled at me and I felt well-rewarded for my efforts.

Once our hands were empty, she gave me a big hug and a peck on the cheek. I hugged her back and said “Thank you for everything. If you have a few minutes, I need to talk to you if I can.”

She led me back to the Pastor’s office again and we had a seat in the chairs. She had waylaid one of the children in passing and had them fetch some big glasses of tea and some small snacks for us.

Once we were alone again, I started in on my problems.

“Mom Porter, here it is. I feel happiest when I’m being Samantha, but that’s going to cause me all kinds of grief if I attend school as her. Not only do most of my classmates know me as male, but if my parents found out I’d be cut off totally.

“Then there are boys. I’m not gay, I’m attracted to girls, but I find myself dreaming about some boys and feeling really special when they notice me and compliment me as Samatha.

“I like being Samantha. I feel comfortable as her. But I can’t give up being Sam either. So I’m lost and getting confused. I need your help and counsel.”

She sat there for a while. I could tell she was thinking since she had a far away look in her eyes. I sat quietly and ate and drank my drink while she thought.

“Samantha,” she finally said, “I don’t pretend to understand the impulses that motivate someone to put on the clothes of the opposite sex, so I can’t tell you how to make these decisions. I can tell you, however, that if this is how you truly feel, deep down inside, then God has made you that way and it is how it is supposed to be.

“I can’t say that He made a mistake, because there’s a reason you are in a boy’s body even though you feel like a girl. But I do know that if you are feeling like this, and attracted to girls, you should do all this without guilt. It is how He wanted you to be. He has also given you the tools to make the changes you want in your life.

“It may be that at this point you have to do some serious introspection. That may be part of what you are here to do. It may be that you have some message for others. I can only tell you that none of this is wrong, evil or a sin, since God made you like this. I have never been one to believe that God makes our lives harder for his amusement or to test us, there’s tests a-plenty just living life. It is not a burden to be carried alone until you collapse, it is one to be shared by people who love you and who care about you.

“Personally I will support you no matter what you choose to do. But to my old eyes, it looks like you have already chosen, you just have to get past the guilt you feel about it.

“Finally, about your parents.” She sighed deeply. “I’m not going to tell you to cut them off or to leave them. But you are over the age of adulthood in almost every way possible. It is up to you to decide how you wish to live your life. They can influence you, they can tell you what they want, and they can put pressure on you to be who they think you should be, but ultimately you make the decisions now and you are going to be the one answering to Him about how you lived your life.”

She fell silent for a while and I was left to mull over what she had said. She was right on every count. It was up to me how to live my life. I was the one who would be living that life, after all. It was up to me to make those choices.

She spoke up again. “I can tell you this, if it were up to me, I’d tell you to do what makes you happy. Life is too short to live someone else’s life.”

That simple statement hit me like a wiffle bat between the eyes. There was this bright flash of light behind my eyes and I felt like my world had been shaken up, stirred around, turned inside out, examined and then put back. Everything was different now, and I could make decisions for myself knowing this simple truth.

My heart started filling up and soon all that emotion started pouring out my eyes. I felt reborn and made new almost. Things were different now and I could continue without my limbo.

I wasn’t crying, I was just having an overflow of emotions. I realized that I now had permission to live as I wanted to do, exactly as I wanted. I didn’t have to justify my desires and what made me happy to anyone else.

I sat there and thought about this with tears running down my face again. I had wanted a sign and I had looked for someone to say “it’s all right” and now I had it.

I dabbed at my tears with the tissues that Millie handed to me while she snacked. She let the flood happen since she was wise enough to realize that it was good for me.

Pastor Porter, who had come in unnoticed while we were talking spoke up. “If I was your parents, I’d be proud to have a daughter like you. If they cut you off, feel free to come to our family.”

That was it. I started crying in earnest now. This was the most open-handed generous offer I had ever been given. I sat and cried my heart out and tissues weren’t going to be enough.

Millie scooched her chair closer and held me while I cried. She pulled me close to her shoulder and patted me on the back and let my tears soak into her dress. I knew I was going to have to fix my face in a bit, and I didn’t care.

Then the absurdity of the whole situation hit me. Here I was worrying about my makeup while making life-changing decisions and being offered a LOT of love and understanding by people I barely knew. I started giggling and that lead to laughter and finally a total emotional release.

I managed to calm down and get myself under control again. I kissed Mom Porter on the cheek hard while hugging her and then I went and kissed the Pastor too. His face broke into that big grin all men get when a pretty girl does that.

I knew that the road ahead would be long, but at least now I had hope of happiness at the end.

Maybe God did look out for me the day I found this church.

Samantha had a routine now. She would get up in the morning, put on light makeup, do her general grooming and get dressed in her he-self's clothes for school. Sometimes she would substitute some of the girl's jeans for the boy's stuff figuring that no one would notice.   Samantha's Story Part 6 By Maid Joy

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Samantha had a routine now. She would get up in the morning, put on light makeup, do her general grooming and get dressed in her he-self's clothes for school. Sometimes she would substitute some of the girl's jeans for the boy's stuff figuring that no one would notice.

After class she would run errands, sometimes to the grocery store, sometimes to see if there were any insane deals at the Salvation Army Store or at Goodwill. She would occasionally come back with a dress, a skirt or a blouse. It depended really what she had the money for. She wouldn't spend over $2.00 for the outfit, simply because she couldn't spare the money from her account.

She did odd jobs for various popular hangouts around town. She knew the places that students hung out at, where the "cool" places were, and she would sweep the parking lot for dinner, or pick up the property and get all the disposable cups and wrappers for a couple dollars in cash. It helped her make ends meet and gave her a bit of variety to her diet.

The managers all knew her on sight and a few made it a regular thing, $20.00 for a good pickup of the area, or a night of dishwashing for $30.00. They would let some of the chores go and have her do them for about an hour or so and she was able to get back to her studies.

Every day her route took her past a certain dress shop. It was one of the older downtown stores that catered to ladies for proms, weddings and other formal affairs and every day she would stop and look at the dresses in the window.

There were three that she fell in love with. They were all formals; one was a halter-neck gold sheath that was open to the navel, just held closed by a couple bands of cloth just over the abdomen. The way it was displayed showed that it was for a full-busted woman, one with a nearly Barbie-like wasp waist. It was not a huge stretch of the imagination to see Mae West descending a staircase in this outfit. It also went to the floor and needed heels to keep it from dragging and was slit on the left leg to the top of the thigh.

Next to it was a blue satin one. It had a mandarin collar and fake frogs on the right hand side to look like a sleeveless cheongsam. The blue of the dress was a deep rich blue; about four shades lighter than Navy, and when the sun hit it just right, the dress shimmered. It had elbow length gloves to go with it and they were displayed with the dress.

Last was an emerald green satin sheath, high-collared neck, but cut down to just below the very small of the back. The sides were open so it was possible that it wouldn't cover the breasts correctly, but apparently there was something that would make sure that the lady wearing it wasn't embarrassed. It was also slit up to the thigh, and there were three gloriously wrought frog closures to make it a bit more modest. The front went all the way up to a collar that encircled the neck, snapping in back.

Samantha thought they were three of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen. She didn't bother going into the store to look at the prices even if they were $30, they were out of her reach. Besides she had no place to store them nor did she have anyplace to wear them.

But every day as her path took her past that store, she would stop and look at the dresses and dream about dancing at a formal with someone.

About halfway through the summer semester, she was very pleased to find that her grades had earned her a "bonus" check from her parents. It was $100 that she hadn't counted on, and that she hadn't earmarked for anything. She immediately thought of using it to buy those dresses in the window, but was still stymied as to where she would wear them.

You only live once, I can get them and if I need them, then I have them to use. No sooner thought than done. She deposited the check and resolved to replace the money as soon as she could in her bank account with some of her extra chores.

It was nearly impossible to get a paying job in town since most of the students living around campus had all jobs locked up and were working for all they were worth. It was a bit easier in the Summer time, but the High School kids from the community would flood the job market at that point and it made competition fierce. It was definitely an employer's market year round. There were too many kids, and not enough work.

She went to the dress store and was stunned to see that the dresses were no longer in the window. In their places there was some sort of creation of frills and lace, that while beautiful in its own right, just wasn't the dresses she wanted.

She opened the door to the shop and went in.

It took a few minutes to find someone, but she finally found a nice oriental looking girl. "Excuse me, but what happened to the dresses that were in the window?"

"Oh, we changed those out they were there for nearly six months and no one bought them so the manager decided to change it for something else."

Samantha nodded her head. "Do you still have them?"

The lady pointed her to the discount rack. "They had been up so long that they’re over there. The owner was worried that there might be sun damage. If we still have them, that’s where you’ll find them."

Samantha thanked the saleslady and went to the discount rack.

It took her some time, but she did find the dresses. All three of them had been hung in the "deeply discounted" section, and Sam was pleased to see that they had been marked down as well.

She pulled out the gold dress, the blue dress and the green dress and hung them where she could get at them. She inspected the dresses themselves for damage, looked for the sun fading that might have happened, and finally dug down into the dresses themselves to find the sizes. Thankfully they were in a size that would fit her. She snatched the dresses up and went to the changing room to try them on.

Fate must have been helping her since the blue and green dresses fit like they were made for her. The gold dress would require padding, lots of padding but oh it was too perfect to discard.

Long and sleek, hugging the curves of her body, displaying her legs like they were tailored to her. All the dresses were slightly stretchy so that she could move easily she looked wonderful in them, and she knew it.

After getting out of the formal wear, she redressed, and began shopping for shoes and purses to go with the outfits. It didn't take long to find the required accessories and add them to the pile. She grabbed all of her purchases and made her way to the counter.

"That will be $130.80." Samantha's lips compressed a bit knowing she didn't have that much money. "May I speak to the Manager, please?"

The girl smiled. "I'm the manager currently, what can I do for you?"

"I got a bonus check, and I don't have all the money for the total bill. Can I offer you $100 for all of it? That's the total sum of my check. If you won't take that, I'll have to put some things back." She looked pathetic and tried to portray a starving student.

The lady looked her over a bit. "I've seen you looking at those dresses every day. Give me the $100, I'll take it for all of this."

Samantha felt like squealing and hugging her, instead she helped wrap the dresses and accessories so they wouldn't be damaged. She thanked the lady and left before she could change her mind about the price.

Samantha carefully hung her prizes in her closet when she got home. She had stopped by a dry cleaner and gotten the protective bags for them and had all three dresses covered in plastic before she put them away. She had no idea what to use these dresses for, but she was sure that at one time or another, a party would let her pull them out and show off, to be a Princess for the night.

Life continued on normally. Few of her classmates said anything about her changing appearance. A couple commented that she looked nice and that she didn't look so good in the grunge she had been wearing. It seemed that her class had assumed her to be a girl all along.

She attended church regularly, and was growing very close to the Porters, spending time with them, helping around their home and the church. She had gone out with Tina and her friends occasionally, and despite having some extra equipment, she never thought about herself as her he-self, Sam.

She started looking around for female hormones she could purchase on a budget, and finally determined that without some medical advice and tests to determine what, how much, and to monitor for side effects she would be making a huge mistake.

Mom Porter never judged her, never made a disparaging remark or tried to guilt her with "what would your parents or God think?" She accepted Sam as one of her family, and family didn't do that to each other. There were times in the dark of the night that Sam fervently wished that Millie WAS her mother.

Sam's grades stayed high and she had taken to studying in the main library of the school, instead of alone in isolation in her room. As part of that, she wore skirts and blouses more often and rarely agonized over "male or female" like she had been. She had met several nice girls and a couple nice boys too while studying, and there was an impromptu unofficial study group of about ten kids now. They would request and get one of the small conference rooms so they could make noise and talk over each other, but they did actually study.

Sam's social life was taking off, much to her surprise. As a loner, she was painfully shy, but when given the opportunity to socialize with peers, she began to blossom. While she would never be the social butterfly that Tina was, she wasn't a wallflower anymore. She did stay in the background, remaining a shrinking violet in some ways, but she did make a decision to be more active and outgoing. So while she shyly would smile and blush at anything, she did talk to others and initiate conversation.

She found out that her parent's health plan allowed her to go see a counselor and therapist as often as they determined that she needed it.

She arrived in the office of her new therapist about twenty minutes early so that she could fill out the forms that would be demanded. She had on a nice jean skirt and a pretty blouse, light makeup and some short heeled shoes. She had her school bag which doubled as her purse. Once the paperwork was out of the way, she went back to studying geometry.

Soon her name was called and the butterflies decided to migrate from her stomach to her throat. There was a bit of confusion since her insurance said “Samuel Fraizer” and she was trying to go by “Samantha Fraizer”, but soon it was straightened out.

She followed the pretty nurse back to see the doctor.

The session wasn't nearly as bad as she had feared. She had seen therapists and psychologists before, so seeing another wasn't a huge deal. She knew what to expect. The initial session was "getting to know you" for both of them. She didn't reveal a lot about herself, and the therapist strove to answer all her questions. Samantha was up front as to what she was there for and why. A diagnosis of "gender dysphoria" wasn't something that she wanted on her record, but it needed to be talked about with someone who might be able to help her.

She spoke to the doctor about the questions she had in relation to who she was, and how confused she was regarding her gender and how people were responding to her. That was the most confusing, when she was out as a guy, people ignored her, walked by her as if she didn't exist. But if she was out as a girl, people went out of their way to interact with her. It was all very confusing to her.

The doctor finally prescribed some medication for her depression and advised her to think long and hard about if she wanted to be a girl permanently. He wasn't going to recommend a course of hormones until she had made that decision.

Samantha promised that she would think about it. Appointments were made and schedules exchanged. She left feeling better about this course of therapy.

Any Wednesday night you could find Sam at the Church, volunteering for whatever was going on. She would cook meals for the basketball game, help with concessions, sort clothes from donations, serve in the nursery so that parents could go to the Bible Study class without having to worry about their kids or whatever was needed.

The Porters never forgot to thank her and include her when they were doing something. Pastor Porter became like a father to Sam, just as Mom Porter was more than a mother now. She was thinking more about things that would make them smile or what would please them. The bouquet she bought the Pastor on Father's Day made him grin from ear to ear for several hours.

There were long talks with both of them about her gender confusion. She wasn't fearful that God would hate her for wanting to be a girl, but the emotional part of her still needed to be comforted. One night she was in a discussion with both the Porters and finally Mom lost her patience with Sam.

"Sam, close your eyes. Just close your eyes and relax. I know you have been going around and around with this for months, talking to us and to the counselor about it, but you need to figure something out.

"I want you to build a vision of yourself. I want you to see yourself internally, in your perfect form. I want you to look, deeply into your soul, and figure out if you are a girl or a guy. Don't look to me for answers; don't look to the Pastor for answers, or to the counselor. All we can do is lead you to the answers you need.

"It's time for you to confront the true Sam. Look at the person who inhabits your body." When Sam tried to speak, Mom Porter cut her off. "No talking. This is a time for communion with yourself. Just sit there and ignore us, look inside yourself for your answers."

As Millie spoke, Sam consciously looked deep inside herself. She tried to see herself detached from her body, to see her body sitting in the kitchen of the Porter's home and to see herself, her perfect self, outside of that body.

She looked deeply into her mind and soul and saw that she was a beautiful young woman. That she was slender with nice breasts, shapely legs and wearing a pretty dress on. Her hair was long and flowed around her as if blown by a breeze. She had a small heart shaped face and a cute, pert nose. While her looks were not going to be supermodel level, she had quite a bit of personality and emotion in her eyes, and that made her very pretty.

She stepped up to herself and shook the proffered hand gently. : Hello, you must be me.

: Yes, I am. You and I are one. I've been waiting for you to look for me for a long time.

: I’m sorry it took so long.

: It’s understandable. You were scared for us and you have had too many memories of past times that hurt you. But it's time to let go of that pain and accept who you are. You have not really ever been Samuel Fraizer; you have always been Samantha in your heart. You always knew this even while you tried to deny it. It's time to stop denying and to begin your life as yourself.

: But I'm so scared.

: Of course you are. Only a fool wouldn't be scared of the change you are contemplating, it's a life changing, life altering decision. But you have a chance now to correct a mistake that has been made for many, many. It is a mistake that you have fought against, even if you didn't know it. Tell me, do you remember any of your prayers from when you were little and still prayed to God?

: No, not really. She couldn't help remembering one prayer she had uttered several times and she felt herself flush with embarrassment.

: Ah, I see that you do remember that prayer. 'Please, God, let me wake up as a girl.' You said that every night for several years. You truly believed in Him and you tried your best to convince Him to create a miracle and let you be the girl you knew you were. And like all children, when He didn't answer you as you thought He should, you turned away. That's why you have not had a spiritual life of any kind for so long. And now you have made your way to this place. How do you feel now?

: Happy for the first time in my life. I have friends and I'm accepted. I guess being a girl really is how my life should have been.

: Wrong. It is not that you should be a girl; it is that you are accepting yourself AS a girl, and that acceptance is reflected in your spirit, your aura, your eyes and your emotions. It calls to others; it demands that they accept you as well. It reaches out to those who are lost and foundering, without a spiritual guide or an emotional rudder, and you are helping them to find their way, by accepting yourself.

: But He didn't answer my prayers, ever! she almost yelled in her grief.

: He didn't? the apparition answered quietly. What do you think this period of your life is?

Sam opened her mouth to yell back at the spirit form of herself, but stopped. She knew that God worked in His own way, in His own time. A child of 4 or 5 might not understand what they wanted, but an adult would, and would be capable of making the decisions and taking the consequences of her own actions. Maybe that is why it happened now so that she could cope without the hysteria of others around her. It was a fact that she was capable of being Samantha now without a lot of the distractions that she might have had if it happened 5 or so years ago during High School.

This realization stopped her cold. She couldn't be mad anymore, and she felt tears on her cheeks. : Why did he torture me like this for so long? she asked.

: It wasn't torture; it was you having to figure out what you wanted. You didn't know and you didn't know the steps you needed to take to become the person you are. He didn't torture you, you did. You were convinced that it was 'bad' and 'evil' and 'deviant', that no one could possibly love you if you felt like this, and He simply let you continue to feel that way, since feeling that way or not is your decision, not His.

The apparition came close and touched her. : Dear one, God doesn't hurt any of us. It is our actions or lack of them that cause suffering. You couldn't make a decision, you were told a lot of horse crap, and you decided to believe it. God couldn't change that because you have the freedom to believe that if you want. He grieved for your sorrow and wanted to help, but He couldn't. YOU had to decide that you wanted something different. And now His Daughter is getting her life right. He is so happy and wants you to be content and joyful. That's all He ever wants for any of us, for us to have our highest joy. So don't be sad, go into this time of your life without guilt. Take the gifts the Porters are offering you, without thought of some hidden agenda. They are both true Christians and He is very pleased with all three of you.

Samantha knelt in this no-place with herself. She was crying but it wasn't from sorrow anymore, it was as though a great weight had been lifted from her heart. She reached over and hugged the form that was her tightly. : Thank you, she whispered.

: Thanks are not due to me, but thanks are for yourself, for FINALLY letting yourself be who you are. Go and be happy as who you are.

Samantha nodded slightly, and soon she was opening her eyes in the kitchen again. Her cheeks were wet with tears and Mom Porter was sitting there sipping some tea.

As soon as Sam opened her eyes, Mom Porter slid another cup of chamomile tea over to where she could grasp it. The tea had cooled quite a bit, but it was still delicious.

She noticed that two hours had passed and Pastor Porter wasn't there anymore.

She didn't feel like saying anything for a while, and she thought back over what had happened. When she remembered it, she wound up crying again.

Slowly, she started sharing the events with Mom Porter who listened without comment. She prompted occasionally, but there were no opinions offered or judgments made.

When the emotional storm was over with Sam, she realized that it was nearly Midnight and she needed to get home. She kissed Mom Porter and left with due haste.

On the drive home she thought about what the time with herself meant. It showed her clearly that she was definitely a girl, and nothing else.

She would let the therapist know that she was ready to start hormones.

Just how gullible were most people? I had been coming to class as a boy nearly my entire freshman year, but when I decided to start wearing female clothes, and apparently everyone thought I was a grunge-babe who decided to start dressing nicer.   Samantha's Story part 7 By Maid Joy

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I mean, I hadn’t told anyone that I was not a boy, and I hadn’t lied about being a girl either. Everyone assumed that they knew what was going on and invariably the verdict was that I was female. It made me wonder about a lot of things.

Granted, I hadn’t had many - ok any - sexual relations with females so there wasn’t anyone who knew for a fact that I was male. No one had seen my "equipment" as it were. But still you would think that someone would wonder why I was in dresses instead of simply accepting the change without a problem.

I had read about groups like Fred Phelps’ "church", if you could call that group of hate mongers that. I knew their attitude toward those who didn’t fit into their idea of the Judeo-Christian mold was not uncommon, and in many cases it was a standard attitude among society. Mom Porter and the Church I was attending were the odd ducks in the pond and I knew it.

Still, I would have expected SOMEONE to have called me on my cross-dressing.

I didn’t know if I wanted to go all the way and get a sex change or not. I did want my own breasts, so with my parent’s health insurance, I went to the doctor and started talking.

I had looked up the process on the Internet. First would be a LOT of counseling with the head shrinks, a process I had started a couple weeks ago. While doing that I was being judged on my suitability to change over to being female full time. None of the steps to reassign myself to being female would be possible without that counseling.

I wished that the counseling I was going through with the Porters could count, so I could skip that step. But clergy weren’t certified by the State to be able to shrink heads.

Finally, after nearly a month of appointments with the psychologist, she recommended that I go to an endocrinologist, or a hormone doctor, so I could get started on female hormones.

The appointment was pretty anti-climactic. I went in, talked to the receptionist, and filled out the paperwork. Blood was drawn, tests conducted and I talked to the doctor again. I was told that starting a regimen of hormones wouldn’t cause a significant problem to my metabolism, since I didn’t have a lot of male hormones in the first place.

I was given a couple shots and I was prescribed maintenance pills that would boost the effects of the shots for the next few months. The liquid was thick and painful and slow to penetrate my thigh.

He explained very clearly that there would be numerous effects of these pills, the primary effect would be that I would lose my sex drive and start to grow breasts. "Secondary sex characteristics", like growing hair on my face and the musky odor in my armpits, would vanish, and I would start to look more feminine.

Some things like my voice couldn’t be changed without surgery or vocal training, but in most ways someone wouldn’t be able to tell I hadn’t been born female.

The doctor told me that one of the shots was a testosterone blocker and the other was an estrogen booster. The pills were equivalent to what a young girl would get hormone-wise in her body as she went through puberty. It would redistribute the fat in my body to my hips and eventually to the layer under my skin, making it softer and more feminine. It would cause me to grow breasts and my hips would widen. Starting on this regimen would mean I was irrevocably beginning a journey to womanhood.

Once I got back to my room, I looked at the pill bottles I had. It was enough for one month with three refills to keep me going for the next four months. I had my next appointment to return and be checked, it was important to make sure I was adjusting to the hormones since some males couldn’t tolerate them and got ill. Taking them consistently would change my physiology permanently.

I wanted that. I took my first dose of pills and smiled when I had swallowed them.

Summer break continued and I didn’t go back home. I didn’t think I was wanted there particularly and I had gotten used to taking care of myself. Mom and Dad usually traveled to Europe during the summer and generally took their time exploring things they had already seen.

I wasn’t interested in travel there, because I had several memories of going to the Tower of Pisa and the Louvre. There are only so many times you can see something like that before it gets boring.

Someone might ask why I live in near poverty here on campus if my parents had the money to travel the world. It’s a good question, one that I’ve asked myself many times before. When I asked my mother that she directed me to my father, and when I asked him that, I got some sort of responsibility lecture. What I took away from that speech was that I needed to learn to be a responsible person, frugal with a dollar. I wasn’t given access to all that I needed or wanted in an attempt to teach me good money management.

I could understand that to a point, but making me live in near starvation wasn’t very fair in my opinion.

I tried not to dwell on where my parents were and simply focus on my life. If I was going to be living this, it behooved me to pay attention to my life and do the best I could with it. Learning my chosen profession was a good first step in removing the burden of me from my parents.

I may not have been fair or Christian in a lot of ways. I don’t think they actively didn’t want me, but there was almost no emotional connection to them. It was like my sisters were more involved in my parent’s life than I was. Being the youngest was a disadvantage in that regard. It didn’t help that my parents didn’t seem to know how to raise a boy. That they were older when I was born probably meant I was a surprise child. In fact my oldest sister was married and had a child before I was born.

I did love my parents, but putting me in the local Pee-Wee football league when I was 5 just wasn’t the right thing to do. I didn’t like sports, but apparently that never seemed to penetrate the world my parents had created for themselves. It might have made a difference in how I saw myself if I had been listened to when I was little.

While Soccer was okay, I really didn’t like team sports. Tennis, running, things were the only person I was competing against was myself, I liked. Games where I had to count on others to do their part would invariably leave me with having put forth all my effort and someone else taking credit for the successes.

I really learned not to trust others to hold their end up. I did learn that given a chance, others would take the glory of accomplishment for themselves and leave me with very little. In defeat, the blame however seemed to be all mine.

When my parents didn’t believe me when I told them of my preferences in my own life, I gave up trying to convince them at all.

School gave me an opportunity to shine for myself. No one else could claim credit for my grades, which were above average if not stellar. In college no one could take credit for my being home and not out partying except me. I was determined to not let the "college lifestyle", where kids were suddenly without their parents and ran wild, ruin my future. I stayed away from parties, alcohol and drugs. Let others waste four years of their lives and their parent’s money, I wasn’t going to.

So I passed up a lot of the social aspects of college, but I managed to remain in the "good" column with my teachers. I wasn’t a pet, and I didn’t suck up to them, but I had my work done, it was done completely, and I worked my backside off to make sure I understood the material.

Toward the end of the Summer Term, I managed to land a part time job working in the Campus Library. I happened to be in there one day and one of the senior girls told the head librarian that she wouldn’t be back next semester. Overhearing this I went to the Librarian and asked if I could apply for her job.

I didn’t expect to be hired on the spot, but apparently I had the "look" of a hard working library assistant. Part time, not even $12 per hour, but I was happy since any money would be more than I had now.

Most of my boy clothes had migrated to far corner of my micro-closet, and when I helped out down at the Church, I could grab another outfit or two thanks to Mom Porter’s generosity. I still had to be careful so that they weren’t short for others that needed those clothes, but it was nice to know that the clothes were there if I really needed them.

Soon the seasons had changed again and it was time for Homecoming. True to my nature I had not been paying much attention to the Football Team, the Cheerleaders, or anything else sports related. I had been working too hard at the Library and at the Church to have time left over for mere sports. I didn’t care about our school’s standings in the Final Four, I didn’t care that we were AAA Ball club or any of those esoteric things. I was more worried about getting the proper sized under things with the correct size dress, or making sure that the Biographies were properly shelved in the Biography section, not the Natural History section as some students seemed to enjoy hiding books they needed for a particular class, ensuring it would be available for their exclusive use.

So it was a shock to me that one of the regulars at the library asked me to a formal event at his Fraternity. Apparently they were planning on having their own dance in protest of the whole Homecoming thing and needed people to attend. He had put out fliers earlier in the week and a few were still on the table, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to be invited to it.

I babbled for a bit. Me, on a date? With a boy? What imp of the perverse had decided that I needed this complication in my life?

But Ben was sweet, shy and kind. He was one of those nerdish boys that you know will run the world through computers and the software, so being nice to the Future Masters of Reality is always a good thing. I didn’t say ‘no’, but I also didn’t accept. I deferred my answer until after I could talk to my "privy counsel". That’s what I had taken to calling those whose advice I treasured, who knew my secrets, but who didn’t really talk to each other much, in other words, Mom and Pastor Porter and my Counselor.

Doctor McNair simply turned the question around on me. She asked if I wanted to go out with him. I think she was attempting to find out if I was attracted to boys yet or not, although I couldn’t be sure.

Honestly, I didn’t know. Ben was cute and sweet, but I wasn’t attracted to him. I couldn’t name on male that I was attracted to in that way. I knew men that I thought were good looking, ones that were cute enough and ones that were nice, but not ones that I could see myself settling down with and having children with. As I thought about the possibility of actually kissing another man, I realized that I really wasn’t attracted to males.

She turned that statement around and asked me if there were any girls I was attracted to. I had to admit that I wasn’t attracted to them either. Last year, before all this started, I would have answered differently, I would have answered that I found Dr. McNair attractive and that I found Tina attractive as well. Now I found myself looking at them and wondering if what they were wearing would look good on me.

For some apparent reason, I had become a neuter.

I realized that I hadn’t wanted to do anything sexual in months, not with a partner and not with myself or with "adult" toys. I tried thinking of things that used to excite me, things that I would dream of in my fantasies. I got no reaction.

I wound up crying.

It took some time to get me calmed down, and when I finally spilled my emotions to her, I told her that I was afraid that I was becoming something that was a freak.

It took her some time, but she finally managed to convince me that it was normal to feel this way while on hormones. They had blocked most of the male hormones which would have made me attracted to females, and there weren’t enough female hormones in my body yet to make me attracted to males. That confusion was the reason I had no desires right now.

I immediately became embarrassed since I forgot that one of the effects of those pills was no sex drive. I apologized for crying all over the place, and told her that I was doing that too much too. She pointed out, again, that it was going to happen as a side effect of the hormones.

I confessed to the doctor that there were many times I felt like a fraud. *I* knew what was between my legs, what I had missing internally, and there were days that I felt that I was lying.

I told her about the invitation to the party. Ben thought I was a girl, and was probably hoping to get lucky at the end of the night. I knew that and I had a bit of an advantage in that I knew what was on a guy’s mind. So I felt bad, lying to him like that.

Then there were people like Tina, who was rapidly becoming my best friend. SHE thought I was a girl and was sharing secrets with me that she would never share with anyone who wasn’t a girl. I felt bad about lying to her too.

Dr. McNair was quiet for some time while she thought. I kept babbling in the silence, trying to fill it up with words. I think I said a lot more than I intended to.

"Samantha, let me ask this; do you feel bad because of a perceived lie, or is it because you don’t know who you are yet? Put another way, if you had grown up as Samantha, would you feel that you were lying to Bob and Tina, even if you had the extra equipment you have, or would you feel that you were Samantha with some extra body parts?"

I had to think about that question for a few minutes. I understood why she asked it while at the same time not knowing how to answer it. "I think I might be okay if I had grown up as Samantha. But I’ll never know that now will I?" I could feel some tears starting to build up again.

She patted me on the hand. "Samantha, you need to think of yourself as a girl. I want you to go out and buy yourself something like a journal. You probably have access to several notebooks from your school supply store, don’t you? Then get some and start writing out a journal like you were always Samantha. Start as far back as you would like to and write events of your life as though you were a girl."

I nodded. I understood what she was suggesting and I could get a composition notebook easily enough. I thanked her for our session and left to go home and start on my new homework.

The exercise in creating a back story for 'Samantha' was a real stretch for her creative abilities. Most things she grew up with could be tweaked to a girl's perspective, but some things just couldn't. Writing birthday parties she wore a dress to instead of pants and t-shirt she had been in was an interesting exercise in fantasy. The journal of Samantha's life became something of an obsession. She found herself thinking about scenes from her life as a girl, skinned knees, climbing through drainage pipes as though they were a super-secret tunnel with friends, and all the other normal activities of a child. The thoughts constantly revolved in her mind, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She kept finding her mind drifting to real memories and more and more found it easy to see the same scene as a girl. She even invented tea parties and dance classes that she never attended. Samantha's Story part 8 By Maid Joy

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It was with surprise that she found her first journal filled with thoughts and memories. She started a second, and when that filled, a third. Once she got into the teen years, the journal entries slowed since they were longer. By that time Samantha had no problem writing as a girl, and staying in that mindset all the time.

She had come to the belief that she was born a girl, and that the male bits between her legs were just a birth defect, nothing more than that. The exercise had a profound effect on her psyche too, allowing her to remember a life that never existed. After a while, she forgot about Sam and only thought of herself as Samantha.

She spent time seriously thinking about going to the dance with Ben. She finally decided to do it.

She sent him a short note accepting his invitation and told him that she would be wearing sapphire blue. She wanted him to match her dress, and if he got her a corsage, the flower maker would have to know that.

She couldn't wait to go out in her new dress. She had spent hours researching what she should wear, from the skin out. Once assembled after many careful shopping trips and yard sale hunts; she double-checked that everything making sure the lingerie, the little clutch purse and the jewelry was exactly what she wanted to wear and fit perfectly. There would be no awkward and uncomfortable clothing for her!

Finally the day of the party came. She had an appointment with a salon and was very prompt in keeping it. She brought pictures of the dress she would wear, having read that the stylist and manicurist should have the colors of the dress to match the wares they had.

Soon Samantha was enveloped in people getting her ready. Her hair was frosted with silver and little bundles of Forget-me-nots were braided into it very carefully. Her nails were painted a beautiful shade of blue, and then washed in some sort of topcoat that made them shimmer like a starry night.

She was surprised to see that the same thing had been done to her toes.

The waxing wasn't pleasant, but it was over quickly and she was none the worse for wear. She thanked the ladies of the salon profusely and promised to come back in a couple days to do some more odd jobs to help pay for the extravagance of their attention. Then she hurried home to change.

It took her a few more hours to finish getting ready, but in the end she looked as beautiful as she hoped she would. A couple quick snapshots of herself to show to Tina and she was out the door.

Ben was as good as his word. He said that he would pick her up at 5 PM in front of the torch tower on the campus, and he was there on time. He seemed to forget to breathe when he saw her.

He offered his arm like a gentleman and escorted her to his car to take her to the Kappa Lambda Nu fraternity house. He explained that all the pledges had been invited to a "get to know you" ball and since the fraternity and the affiliated sorority of Alpha Delta Rho were not into the whole sports/homecoming thing, they had scheduled their event for the same time as Homecoming. This was apparently a test to see if the pledge's loyalties were to the House or to the football team.

They arrived and he led her into the Fraternity House on his arm. Samantha felt like a princess as she mounted the stairs, delicately holding her hem up so she didn't trip. The stopped at the coat check and then Ben guided her to a very large room where a lot of the socializing seemed to be taking place. He excused himself and went and to get them both drinks.

Servers had been hired for the evening, and one came to offer her a selection of hors d'oeuvres. It was all very flattering and certainly a novelty in her experience.

Although her parents had hosted parties like this, normally the children would be banished to another place in the house to play until bedtime. Sometimes her sisters and she would pretend that they were having the party. But this was the first time she had actually been to a real one.

She did, however, know the etiquette. First drinks and finger-foods would be served along with some light conversation and milling around. Then came the call to dinner and she would be eating with Ben. After dinner dancing and music, as well as more mingling and socializing would occur. Finally she would be escorted home by her date and that would be it.

Since she had never been in the girl's role it was an enchanting and new experience. She hoped that she remembered how to do everything, particularly dancing backwards.

As Ben arrived with their drinks some of his friends and their dates drifted over. They engaged Samantha in small talk and tried to find out more about her. What did she do, was she a student, did she have any plans for which sorority she would pledge to and more. She talked about her work in the library and explained she was too busy studying to really devote time to a sorority at the moment.

She did wonder for a minute just how badly the sorority, both local and national chapters, would freak if they found out what genetic sex she was.

Finally the call to dinner came. Ben offered his arm and escorted her most properly to the table they had been assigned. She nearly blew it all by taking her seat as any male would. At the last second she remembered that Ben was supposed to hold her chair for her. When he did, she sat gracefully down and helped him adjust it to her liking. She then took her napkin and placed it in her lap, the proceeded to remove her long gloves so that she could eat.

She waited quietly as everyone else was seated and the salad course was served. She was surprised to discover she was hungry, given the state of her nerves.

Samantha decided to follow through on an intention she had formed earlier in the week. She was unsure about the exact etiquette required, but the way she planed it seemed logical.

Once salad had been placed before her, she stilled her mind. As the last dish was set on the table of eight guests, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. She thanked him for the gift of this evening with Ben. She spent a few moments thanking God for His abundance on this day and confirmed that she would always thank Him for His gifts to her.

She finished and raised her head and saw most of the table had waited to start eating, until she finished. While one boy across the table from her had started eating, Samantha refused to ignore him as he had ignored her. She saw him wince slightly apparently his date had stepped on his toes for being rude. She couldn’t help a small smile as she realized what had just happened.

As she picked up the butter knife and started preparing her roll, everyone else started to eat as well.

The conversation over dinner included more of the same question she had been asked at the reception. She answered them and made innocuous appropriate comments, not wanting to get in a controversial debate with anyone. During the desert course someone finally asked her about why she said a prayer before the meal.

Samantha didn't feel qualified to answer as a pastor might, so she simply stated "Doesn't it make sense to be grateful to whomever you worship for the miracles They produced? It’s let us share the bounty of the Earth tonight."

One table-mate objected, "But the food comes from the farmer’s fields, the ranchers who raised the cattle for the steaks, and so on. What's miraculous about that?"

Samantha looked at him. She could feel the incredulity wafting off her like a fine perfume. "What's miraculous about that? What isn't? Here you have a seed, just a tiny kernel yet it contains all the information that tells it to grow into a corn plant and not something else, which produces more of its reproductive organs for you to eat. Plant a seed, any seed, and soon you’ll have a new plant growing. How does it happen? What processes occur in the seed to make it do that? I don't know, you don't know, most scientists can't explain it either. We can't take the raw genetic material and assemble them into a seed, nor will it create a growing plant. Same for the cattle, the chickens, the fish, the birds and other animals we eat. The sperm of the male and the egg of the female join together, and something happens, some magic, and suddenly what were two little cells invisible to the naked eye become a whole bunch of cells, dividing and growing, and eventually becoming a full animal for you to eat.

"What's NOT miraculous about that? Could you do it?" she challenged. "No, you couldn't, because you don't know that magic, miracle component that makes it happen.

"What about the life that was taken to put that food on the table? The animal's life was cut off to become food for you. Who knows if it might have been the Einstein of the Bovine world, or the Archimedes of the Fishes, or the Pythagoras of the Birds? I certainly don't. So it seems only courteous to me to thank the spirit of the animal you eat, and even the spirit of the plant you are eating and thank it for its sacrifice to make you live.

"Yes, I sat here and prayed all that. I thanked God for allowing me to live another day, for showing me that I am a reasonable and healthy person, for giving me a brain to think with, and for giving me the food to sustain my life. I thanked the animals and plants for their sacrifice, and I did it in public. I think that is only fair and right, to remember all that before 'digging in'. And I don’t think it should matter where I am when I do so."

She had been leaning forward emphatically while she spoke and finishing she leaned back. She felt a bit drained and she smiled at the people at the table.

They all looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and some embarrassment, possibly because they hadn’t thought about the points she raised before.

The dancing later was glorious. Ben was a better dancer than he thought he was, and she felt like she was flying as he swept her around the Ritual Room.

She had an opportunity to actually use the dance lessons that she had taken as a child, although it took her some time to make the mental leap from "leading" to "following". She worked hard to make sure she was dancing correctly when Ben tried to push her in the wrong direction, and they both managed to not step on each other's toes.

The night passed quickly, and before they knew it, the clock said it was 1:20 in the morning. Most of the others had given up long ago, but she and Ben kept going. Though she didn't want this magic night to end eventually it did.

He escorted her back to his car, and they left. He took her home and dropped her off in front of her apartment building, helping her out of the car and into the building lobby itself. They said their goodnight pleasantries. And now she was faced with the Goodnight Kiss. Would she let him kiss her, or would it just be a friend-hug? She wasn't going to invite him upstairs for a 'nightcap' no matter how hard he dropped those hints. But when Ben started leaning in, she did allow a short peck on the cheek from him to her, and from her to him.

She told him what a wonderful time she had with him and firmly told him goodnight.

She floated to her room, her head swimming from the alcohol in the punch of the reception and the wine with dinner. It took her a second to find her keys in the clutch, and opened the door.

Strange, I don't remember leaving the lights on. She dropped her wrap over a chair in the entry and laid her purse on the coffee table. She vowed to work diligently on her papers tomorrow and Sunday evening to make up for tonight.

She turned in the direction of her bedroom, and froze with shock.

There in the doorway of her room was a man, behind him sitting on her bed was a woman.

"Dad," she gasped in shock "Mom, what are you doing here?"

"A better question, young lady, might be what are you doing in my son's apartment?" With my mouth gaping wide, my brain seemed frozen, only able to focus on the minutia of the cataclysm about to unfold. I couldn't believe that he didn't recognize me. Apparently he didn't realize I was Sam. Samantha's Story part 9 By Maid Joy

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I watched Mom's face pale to an ashen hue beneath her makeup, her hands flew to her mouth and I knew she had realized the truth. Her eyes welled full of tears. Finally able to speak, "Stephen, that is Sam. He's in a dress." Her voice was a hollow croak, a cracked broken travesty of her normal voice.

My father looked even closer at me and said with more asperity than I had ever heard, "Shit."

I won't go through the blow by blow of the argument I can’t recount it, my brain just locks up. The gist of his harangue follows:

1. They had their own key to get in. Since he was paying the bills, he had demanded a key and I had complied, never thinking that they would use it to enter uninvited.

2. They had arrived about the time I was sitting down to my lovely dinner. Apparently they were passing through town as they were taking a leisurely drive home from their European trip and thought they would surprise me with a visit.

3. They had been incredibly nosy and gone through everything in my apartment. They found not only all my clothes, but the journals I had been writing. They believed that Samantha was Sam's girlfriend and lived in the apartment with him. It was a logical assumption, two sets of clothes, decor that was male yet there was makeup on the desk, pink razors and “girlie” skincare products in the bathroom. I didn't have any pictures of Samantha around, so they thought it was a short term relationship so far. They were going to grill Sam on the expected wedding date.

4. As the night went on they got more and more worried. They both assumed that Sam was out drinking with friends (which wasn't far from the truth).

5. Upon seeing a strange girl come into their son's apartment, Dad had made the mental leap to "this is Samantha" and was baffled about Sam’s absence.

6. My shocked "Mom, Dad" statement blew by Dad, but Mom caught it.

7. I was a deviant.

8. Because of my cross dressing, I'm a little faggot as well.

9. I'm the worst child that a parent could ever have.

10. They apparently didn't realize the hormones were Sam's when they saw the prescription on the kitchen counter. The prescription was in the name of Samantha. They had quickly made the connection once 'Samantha' was revealed to be Sam. Now it was obvious just how sick, deluded, demented and twisted I really was.

11. Dad couldn't understand where he went wrong with me. Mom just cried.

12. Dad was disgusted and they were both disappointed in me.

13. Dad was furious.

I dissolved into tears at some point in the argument. I couldn't take it. He was so mad and I heard words like "sissy", "pansy", "faggot", "corrupted", "failure" “freak” so often that the words stopped having any meaning, they were just strings of sounds, some foreign language I didn’t understand.

I was ordered out of my dress, which I shed rapidly in the bathroom. I pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of the hamper just so I had something on, but that turned out to be just as bad since the jeans were girl-cut and the T-Shirt said "I'm too SEXAY for you".

Incredibly he started yelling louder. Somewhere around 2:15, the police began pounding on the door. I answered it, still in makeup and very close to a breakdown from crying. They were called by neighbors who heard the fight and thought someone was beating on me. They were also fed up with the noise.

The police finally separated us. Dad could be mad all he wanted as long as he stayed in the hall, Mom had barricaded herself in the bathroom when I left it, and I was on the couch trying to explain what happened. Thankfully the cops were very sympathetic — at least to my parents. The police offered to escort them to their hotel room instead of pressing charges, as long as the fight ended now.

When they left, I fell apart. I admit that it was nice being called "miss" by the cops initially, but I couldn't take their sarcasm after a few moments. I flooded the couch pillows with my tears, unable to stop, I sobbed hysterically for an eternity. My brain going over and over the hateful words my father had called me.

Finally I had no more tears left and I couldn't breathe; my sinuses were totally closed up. My makeup was a wreck, and so was my hair. I had to talk to someone, so I used the business card that Dr. McNair had given me and I called the emergency number.

I could tell that she’d been asleep when the phone rang, I felt guilty about bothering her but I knew that this was definitely an emergency she’d anticipated. I just hoped she could help get my emotions settled so I might be able to sleep for at least a few hours.

She and I talked and I could hear alarm creeping into her voice. She told to me that she was worried that I might think of killing myself, and she wanted me to promise not to do anything rash until she had seen me in her office later today. It took everything in me to promise that, but I did.

She also wanted me to have someone with me for the rest of the night. I didn't know who to ask to come over and stay with me. Tina didn't know about my secret, and the Porters would need their sleep since they had Saturday and Sunday to prepare for. I couldn't think of anyone else to call except Ben and that wasn’t going to happen no matter what! I lied and said I would get someone over and we hung up, 35 minutes after I’d called her.

I looked around my apartment. I could see the open closet and some of my girl clothes showing. At that moment I hated the sight of those clothes. Wildly I thought about cutting them up, but I had promised "nothing rash".

Instead I draped a big blanket over them and closed the closet door. I shoved my beautiful gown that I now despised into the hamper and closed the lid; my father's tirade had insured I could never wear it again. I would always associate it with the horrors of tonight.

Everywhere I looked I saw signs of Samantha. I gathered all of “her” things and shoved them into her side of the closet. Finally I pulled off all my clothes, stripped the makeup and polish on my nails off, and lay down on the couch only to cry myself to sleep.

The next several days were a blur. I didn't go to classes when the week began again, I think I remember that. I didn't go to Church that Sunday, but I kept my promised appointment with Dr. McNair on Saturday, the day after that horrible night. We talked for two hours, and I confessed just how torn up I was. I cried, she comforted, I used an entire box of Kleenex, and finally I went home, just as depressed as when I’d arrived.

I didn't see my parents again. Neither of them came by or called; not anything. I could understand Dad’s silence, but I thought Mom would have tried to say SOMETHING, even if it was how disappointed she was. Yet I heard nothing, from either of them; just nothing but a deafening silence.

I DID hear from my sisters, all three of them. I got emails asking me what in the hell I thought I was doing. Apparently they were against me too. I would read the first line or two, see that it contained "How could you" (sometimes in so many words) and deleted the whole thing. I didn't bother answering. There was no point. Each harangue was sure to have been a repeat of everything my father had already said. They couldn’t and wouldn’t hear anything I had to say and I couldn’t bear any more of the vitriol they kept throwing at me.

I wrote a lot. I wrote about how I felt, what was going on, how miserable I was. I know I left a bunch of tear splotches on each page as I wrote all this down. My pillow got soaked by my tears regularly.

Ben emailed me the next day to thank me for a wonderful date and then he asked me out again sometime. I wrote back and said that a number of family problems had come up and I wouldn't be available for any dates for the foreseeable future. I asked him to understand. He responded that he was saddened, since we had had fun, but he understood and if I wanted to get together just to talk he was ready to listen anytime.

I'm ashamed to say it, but I mostly sat in my apartment and ate ice cream.

Then the real blows started.

First was notice from my landlord that the lease was being terminated by my father, effective as soon as possible. He let me know I had thirty days to vacate the premises before eviction proceedings would be started. Then I discovered the phone had been turned off. The electricity and water were part of the lease and the landlord forgave those debts, so at least I wouldn't be sitting in a dark, cold box for the next month. Apparently my father had to pay the full amount of the remaining lease but refused to allow my stay, even thought he had pay for it. My Internet access had been shut off as well.

The hardest blow was discovering my meal card no longer worked and that the money had been refunded, just as if I had dropped out. I fled the cafeteria in tears. My numb mine repeated again and again, “He wants me to starve; he wants me to die.”

I knew what was going to come next; he would stop paying for school. I freaked out. I didn't know what to do. I tried calling Mom on my cell phone (I had pre-paid for it), but when I connected to her cell phone number I heard "The subscriber you are trying to reach has blocked this number. Thank you for calling." and then the phone disconnected.

I knew that my father would block me, but Mom? Why?

I gathered some things I needed and ran over to the Student Center. They had computers for student use and phones I could call on.

The email came up and I didn't see anything from anyone. I wrote a long email to my father begging him to not do this. I was still his child and I was still in college and I wanted desperately to finish my education, and I needed his help. I told him that I wouldn't bother him again after that if he didn't want to talk to or see me I would respect his wishes even if they caused me more pain. I sent it to his work and home email addresses, as well as his PDA and Cell phone, to make sure he got it.

I then called Mom from the campus phones. She actually answered the phone and when I told her it was me, she started crying. She told me my father had blocked my number on all the phones and had decided to stop funding "your perverted lifestyle". I was crying too, and I tried to be reasonable with her, but she was unable to hear anything I said.

At least she didn't browbeat me about everything again. Yet the emotions were far more devastating.

I finally hung up with Mom; she kept saying she couldn't take anymore. She can't take it anymore? What about me? I went to see if my father had answered my emails.

There was an answer, my heart started pounding as I opened it. "I have no son named Samuel. Please do not contact me again whoever you are."

I stared at the message for fifteen minutes. I know it was that long because the computer shut down once the time limit had been reached.

I slunk back to my apartment and made myself a hermit.

The following Wednesday was the first time I ventured out of my apartment and faced the world. I had on jeans and a t-shirt, from my male collection. I was going to work at the Church again. Just as importantly if I didn’t get out of the apartment, I would go crazy. The ache from the rejection hadn't left, but I was no longer weeping hysterically every time I thought about it.

I saw Dr. McNair several times during that week, at her insistence. She was relieved that I wasn’t actively suicidal, but she was worried about how depressed I was. I told her everything as it happened, and she tried to help me with "what to do now" ideas. The truth was, I didn't want to go anyplace or do anything, and I just wanted to withdraw totally. I couldn’t think about finding another place to live getting a full time job and I was stretching the little food I had in my apartment as far as I could. It felt like too much to be bothered with, there just wasn’t any point.

She finally convinced me that human beings were social creatures, and that hiding would only make things worse. She pointed out that I had to find a new place to live; time was flying by and the end of the month would see me and my possessions on the street. The landlord would do nothing. He wanted the money from my father and that was the condition for getting it. I couldn’t manage to feel gratitude that I had a month instead of being thrown out immediately; I couldn’t stand to think anymore.

So on Wednesday I finally started re-entry into society. I didn't feel like dressing up and truth be told, I really didn’t want to go. Finally, I just brushed my hair, pulled on the first clothes that came to hand and left to walk and think for a while.

I might be able sign a new lease with my landlord instead of having to move out if my father didn’t know about it. That way, I reasoned, I will have a renter's credit history and it will make things easier on me later in life. I was going to have to try to continue with my studies and my life somehow, I wasn't going to just be able to isolate myself and wish the world away. No matter how much I wanted that to happen.

My father had disowned me. That meant all the support and all the financial assistance I was getting from him was gone. Since he had such control over my mother, she would probably not talk to me on his orders, except when she could do it without him knowing about it. I still had my email account, but without Internet access, it was going to be increasingly inconvenient to access it.

I could apply for scholarships. I certainly qualified for a hardship scholarship if they had them. But I had no idea how to apply, what to apply for or how long it would take to find out if I was accepted. Then there was the question how long it would take to get the money. I might have to leave school for a semester to get everything in order.

Could I pledge a sorority and see what resources they might have to help me out? It was a real long shot and not one that I was willing to take, since pledge week was long gone. Plus I just couldn’t bring myself to use them like that. It had to be a place I felt comfortable. Even if I did get in, when my birth gender inevitably came out, I would be asked to leave. No matter what the beautiful internet fantasy stories said about sororities, real life was infinitely crueler.

Every option I thought of was bleaker than the last, and I had nearly convinced myself that my life was over by the time I arrived at the church.

Tina had apparently missed me; she squealed when she saw me and ran at me for a tackle-hug, nearly knocking me off my feet. For a few moments I couldn't be depressed I was too busy concentrating on keeping my feet. It was like being greeted by an over exuberant puppy, a BIG over exuberant puppy, Tina was my size.

Once the enthusiastic greeting was over, she stepped back and looked at me. "Sam, you look like shit."

That was so direct it got a tired smile out of me. She continued, "No, really. You look horrible. Have you done anything with your hair or face in the last few days?" She looked closer "You haven't even put on any makeup today." With just a few breaths, she had gone from 'missing you desperately' to 'concerned best friend'.

She took me by the hand and led me into the basement room where we normally worked. She found Mom Porter and said, "Mom, look at her. Something is wrong. I'm going to take her someplace and get the story. I wanted to let you know that we were both here and not think we had abandoned you."

I could see out of the corner of my eye that most everyone was looking in our direction. I stood straighter and tried to bring a smile to my face, but I couldn't maintain it.

Mom Porter looked me up and down and said "Yes, dear, I think you need to get her into the kitchen and start pumping her for information. Unless I miss my guess, she's been crying for days. I'll be there soon."

As Tina dragged me out, I could hear the chatter start to pick up. I knew I was going to be the subject of the next week’s cycle of rumors and gossip. Oh what a week this was turning into.

Great, this is all I needed. Now I'm also going to be the tale du jour for a bunch of people with nothing more to do. Still, I followed Tina into the kitchen area and sat down. Tina started making tea and soon as she had two steaming mugs full of sweet tea, she sat down and started the interrogation.

The first few questions were easy enough. "What happened?" "Why are you so upset?" What I found hard was that I wasn't able to her tell the truth.

Finally I thought You know what, fuck it. I'll be a laughing stock anyhow, I'm going to have to find another place to go to school why shouldn't she know the truth?

So I started over at the beginning and told her everything.

Sometime during my recitation, Mom Porter came in quietly and put her hands on my shoulders. I was in the middle of my recital, and I had run out of tears - again. I was all dry sobs and sup-sups. I had nothing left to cry. I tried really hard not to look at Tina, I couldn’t bear to see the disgust in her eyes.

"That rat bastard," she said when I had finished. I looked up at her because of the venom in her voice. "I can't BELIEVE that your father would do that to you. He's a real fucking bastard. And your bitch SISTERS! Sisters are supposed to stick together no matter what." Her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Well, don't you worry about anything Sam. Tina's here and I'll help you. You can stay with me since your losing your apartment. I have one near campus, and you can sleep in my bed with me if we need to do that to make enough room. We'll try to keep that from happening, keep you in the place you are used to, but if push comes to shove..."

"No," Mom Porter finally spoke up. "Pastor and I have an extra room since our children went off. Samantha can stay there. We've come to think of her as a daughter, so it's only right that she stay in my daughter's room."

I couldn't believe my ears. First Tina offering help and now Mom Porter? They were standing by me? Why? They had nothing to gain for this.

I must have said something out loud because Tina said. "Sam, you are a good person. You are my best friend and you are helpful and kind. You do more for everyone around here than most. Heck, you do more than I do, and that's a lot.

"Now, what do we need to do immediately and what can wait until tomorrow?"

Tina and Mom started deciding the order of precedence without me. Once they started making plans I was as good as moved in to the Porter's house. I couldn't believe it. They made plans for researching available grants and scholarships, completely ignoring my feeble attempts to enter the whirlwind they had become. They seemed to have it all decided without me.

A week later, I was ensconced in the “daughters” bedroom of Pastor and Mom Porter's house. Apparently she had two girls and one son. Daniel was grown and moved out before Pastor got his post here, and the girls slept in the same room -- this room -- my room now. It felt so strange to think that, I had a home, a room of my own, just when I knew I would be on the streets. I could only keep whispering “Thank you God, thank you for all of them.”

I helped as much as possible as Tina and the Porters packed up all of the stuff from their daughters and move it to the attic while packing my things up and getting them to my home. It was hard and took a lot of time. I packed up my life as Samuel choosing to put his belongings in the same place. All I had left was Samantha's and it was all I wanted. Now I had room to put my things out. Tina had bought me a huge stuffed Pikachu, and it sat on the bed in a place of honor.

For reasons unknown to all but God I still had my part-time job at the College library, and I'm not sure why. I had taken nearly two weeks off without telling anyone anything, but it was ignored. I thought for sure that I would be fired. Yet when I signed in, I was told by the head librarian that everything was fine. Then she asked if I was feeling better. When I told her that I was, she smiled, patted my hand and let me get to work.

Ben had tried contacting me a few times, but without internet access he couldn't reach me. I had about five emails from him, each getting more worried. I finally was able to answer him from one of the library computers. He answered instantly, relieved to hear that I was okay and that I hadn't started hating him. He was also afraid that I didn’t want to go out with him and this was how I was breaking our friendship off, ignoring his emails.

I was stunned he would think that I could hate him, but apparently some other tramps that had gone out with him then avoided him or flat out ignored him afterwards. I could feel my temper flare as I read his words. How could anyone be that mean to a sweet guy like him? Sure he was a nerd, but then again, so was I.

I finished the semester's classes, but I couldn't sign up for the next semester until I could pay for it. I spent many days not only with my advisor but in the library as well researching grants and scholarships. I discovered something I hadn't known, there seemed to be more private scholarships out there than there were people applying for them. Things like the Pell Grant and various lottery scholarships were well known, but there were private endowments that you could apply for as well. While most were not very large, I hoped they were easier to get since a lot of people didn't know they existed.

I applied for everything and anything we found. I printed labels out at the library so I wasn't typing my name and address over and over again, but each application had to be filled out by hand. That was nearly a full time job in and of itself. I printed out multiple copies of my school transcripts, and sent those along with letters of recommendation from teachers, my advisor and my saviors the Porters.

I was trying for scholarships based on need or academics. Good grades and no money were what I had in spades, but little else. I must have sent off thirty or forty scholarship applications, nearly twice what I actually needed just to be on the safe side. I figured that many of them would be turned down for one reason or another, so I hedged my bets. The fewer things I had to repay, the better my finances would be once I graduated.

Mom and Pastor Porter as well as Tina were gems. They did everything they could to keep me focused on the goal. I would fall into despair and one of the three of them would pull me out. They would talk to me, or take me shopping, or let me meditate wherever, and they gently kept encouraging me to keep going.

I printed up the email from my father, the one that denied my existence. I made sure to print it large and then I framed it. I wanted to remind myself never to be like him, ever.

I cut off all ties to my sisters; they only wanted to keep castigating me. I would get several emails a week from them about how evil I was, how mean I was being to my father how disrespectful by not being the son he wanted, so I stopped reading them. It got to the point where just seeing their name on the email "from" line would put me into tears. I did the only thing I could think of, I sent their emails to trash automatically.

Tina’s reaction actually made me smile when I told her what I’d done. “Good those stuck up bitches belong in the trash! I still wish you’d let ME answer just one of their emails!”

That was the last thing I wanted, I just wanted them to go away and stop hurting me.

I had one huge problem, however. I had no way to continue to pay for my hormones. If I went off them, there could be massive side effects. But the Doctor was able to find some money, some kind of charitable endowment, to allow me to keep seeing her and to keep paying for the hormones. I have no idea where she found it, but if someone was willing to pay to help me out, all I could offer was gratitude and my silent thanks to them.

My other big fear was I would be driven from the Church. I knew that people were people, and would have differing opinions about transsexuals. I was prepared to face a lot of hate and anger from the people in the Church. Surprisingly, the negative voices were a lot quieter than I’d expected. I was sure Pastor and Mom Porter had a lot to do with that. There were a lot of people who were concerned about me, who seemed to want to help, and there were even more who simply offered the support they could. So with surprise and humility I accepted their emotional support whole heartedly.

I asked Tina about it, and she told me that they had a lot of love and compassion for someone going through a tough time. It was hard when parents cut you off, she told me. We kept talking and I discovered that she had not told anyone my secret. It was mine to share, she said, not hers.

The rumor mill simply latched on to "parents cut her off" and didn't ask questions after that. I was so grateful that’s where it stopped.

Every time I thought about what had happened, the insults he hurled at me, and how my mother just sat there and didn't do anything, I got melancholy again and came near to tears. That's when I would grab Pikachu and hold it tight, just letting the tears flow into its fur.

I learned pretty rapidly to wear waterproof makeup, unless I wanted to look like Tammy Fae Baker. I didn't like raccoon eyes that much, however.

I did my best to pay everyone back for their concern and consideration. I worked extra hard at church, pitching in to help wherever I could. I spent an entire day putting decorations around the Church for Christmas, and I did what I could to sew costumes for the Christmas Pageant and play. I can sew a straight seam; I just can't make clothes come out right if there are curves and angles involved.

Keeping busy did help me forget my troubles; immersing myself in helping others was like a soothing balm for my soul. I couldn't be sad when I saw how people's faces lit up with the work I did.

I had to miss the Winter Semester. I hadn't heard back from most of the scholarships I had applied for. The three I did hear back from had accepted me, and I had enough money to pay for food for the upcoming year. I got applications in the acceptance packages so I knew I would have to re-apply when the Spring Semester was over. I filled the forms out in anticipation of sending them in immediately.

On the 21st of December, Tina grabbed me after the Pageant had finished. She pulled me along and asked Mom Porter for someplace private to talk to me. Mom Porter gave her the key to one of the activity rooms, now locked up for the night. We got to the room and went in.

"Sam, get the lights while I make sure that we aren't disturbed." I was a bit confused as to what she wanted, but I complied with her wishes.

When we were done, she pulled a chair out from one of the tables and shoved it toward me, and then pulled another out and which she sat upon. I took the offered chair, feeling ridiculous since it was a child's chair, no more than a foot off the ground. Tina grinned and dug into her bag. She pulled out a huge folder of papers.

I was being eaten alive with curiosity. I knew that it would do no good to rush her she would reveal everything her in her own time. Finally she seemed to be ready.

"Sam, I've been looking around for stuff to help you. I don't know if you know about the resources that are available, but I found a TON of information that will help." She shoved the stack of papers at me.

On top was a list of websites, the URLs in plain text so I could see where they were going. If the URL was too long, she had used a shortening service called cli.gs. It would be easy to follow those links from the printed page. The heading on the page caught my eye.

"Transgender Resources"

I looked at Tina. She was grinning like a fiend. "I started researching transgenderism and I found a TON of stuff. All these links lead to scholarship programs for transgender applicants. Some pay for school, some for housing, some for supplies, and some for counseling and medicine. Almost all of them are grants, but some require you to be actively undergoing 'transition' into the opposite sex. I guess, from the fact that you stated your father expected you to be a boy, that’s what you’re doing.

"The next page is a list of organizations that support transgender people, students and more. They fight for their rights and if you have problems with discrimination, they are the people you want to go to.

"The last page I think is the most important. It's information about Gamma Rho Lambda Sorority. It's a sorority that actively supports Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender ladies. Their membership is made up of those groups, and while it's a small sorority now, it's growing fast. There seems to be more and more GLBT students than ever.

"I looked it up and they don't have a chapter anywhere near us right now, but that doesn't mean that we can't start one."

I looked sharply at Tina. "We?"

She nodded. "They don't discriminate against straight women, so there's nothing stopping me from being part of that sorority. In fact, I want to help you set it up here on campus. It would give you a group of women who know what it's like to go through what you are going through and a better support structure than you have now."

"But I have a wonderful support structure," I protested.

"Not really. You have me, the Porters, and that's about it. You have sympathy from the Church, but there's a couple things hindering their full acceptance of you. You aren't a member yet, and they don't know about your secret."

I thought about that one. It was true I had kept that from them. I didn't want there to be misunderstandings and I didn't want anyone to hate me. If I didn’t tell the Church I couldn’t ask for their help and support. The problem? I wasn't ready to "come out" yet to them.

I looked at Tina. "Why did you do all this?"

She looked at me, incredulous. "Because I'm your friend dummy. You and I are a lot alike, and I don't care that you have a penis; you are as much girl as me or Mom Porter. I can't imagine you as anyone else. I saw how much you were hurting, how much this affected you, and now you need help. Getting grants and scholarships are one thing, but you also need support from others who have similar experiences. You need to be able to talk to them and to be able to vent with them as well. They may know about more things you can do. I mean I can tell you about make up, but I can't really help you with putting your John Thomas away. I don't have one."

What she said made sense. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stood up and hugged her. I couldn't see because of the tears in my eyes.

Have I said how much I love Mom and Pastor Porter lately? There is no way I can say it enough. They have taken a relative stranger into their lives, and home. Most especially they make me feel welcome. They never seem to regret the decision because they took me into their hearts first. I feel closer to them that I have ever felt with any other human beings. Sitting here, thinking about all of their love and care, everything they have done to help me, my eyes tear up and I get a huge lump in my throat. Samantha's Story part 10 By Maid Joy

---

My cynical side won't shut up! It keeps asking what they’re getting out of this. They don't really ask me to do much of anything, just to keep my messes cleaned up. They didn't ask me to do extra chores, don't try to convert me or anything else my little cynic suggested would happen. I was not their instant maid of all work, I usually wish they’d let me do more.

I could almost believe in totally altruistic impulses as every day miracles. But cynicism tells me that such an impulse doesn't exist anywhere in nature, much less in humans.

For now I’m telling Cynicism to take a hike. Mom and Pastor Porter are more than nice to me, and they were so openhanded I knew I wouldn't be able to pay them back.

The spring semester has come and gone. I wasn’t back in school since I didn't have enough funds yet. I was able to get enough in grants and scholarships to pay for the summer semester and I was thrilled. It would cover tuition, lab fees and my books. It even gave me enough that I could pay for my meals again. They did not, however, pay for the majority of my living arrangements. So I was beholden to the Porters again.

They said I am welcome at their table whenever I want to come home, and I feel very guilty. I am resolved to live as frugally as I can so as not to be a burden. But oh the way they said come home made me know they felt it is my home too. Any time I want to be there for as long as I live I can come home. By the way, have I mentioned I love Mom and Pastor Pop?

Before I could breathe it was Easter again and I found myself in a new Easter Dress, complete with hat and gloves. I had come a full circle. On Easter last year I walked into this Church and been spotted by Mom Porter who came to the rescue of a lost stranger.

The church wasn’t the only part of my life that made a difference to me. Ben and I continue to see each other off and on as our schedules permit. I try to stay current with the goings-on at the College, so I won’t be too far behind when I returned to classes.

My job in the library was going well, and I was invited to work there full time instead of just part time as I had been doing. The money came in handy that was sure.

As if that wasn’t enough, Tina and I continued working hard talking to GRL about getting a chapter set up locally. In fact we were in almost daily communication with National. Thank goodness for 800 numbers and Tina’s unlimited cell phone plan. The list of “must have before starting a chapter” was long and thorough. It was a labor of love in many ways.

I continue my appointments with Dr. McNair and we talk about almost everything; sorority business is the only area we don’t discuss. I was quizzed about how I felt about Ben, how I felt about Tina and more. I explained that I felt that Tina was more of a sister now to me than anything else. She and I had grown very close over the time I was out of school.

I was still confused by Ben and being attracted to him, but also being mindful that technically we were still the same sex. I couldn't resolve that in my head. Dr. McNair helped a lot in defining the boundaries I had put up. Kissing Ben wasn't a problem, and we had done that often. I was feeling an impulse to something stronger, but I didn't want to push it.

My breasts were developing. I stopped wearing the breast forms since I had about a B cup now. They itched all the time. Why didn't any of the books about puberty talk about how much boobs itch when they’re growing? I had also learned a couple tricks to hiding myself, so it so much easier to wear little sexy items like a swimsuit.

I found out that I really had been disowned by my father, when I next tried to contact mom without him knowing. It was a disaster and I chose to follow mother’s lead acting as if I was the orphan she told me I now was. I told myself it was fine really. I had gotten over the whole “parents rejecting me” thing. I still cried occasionally knowing that I couldn't talk to my mother and sisters, but for the most part it had ceased to hurt. I saw pictures of myself and my family and I hurt with the pain missed them.

I was proud that my whole routine the waxing and shaving, the eyebrows, the makeup, the hair and nails and so on, had become just that, a routine, and not one that was very difficult. It was time consuming, but not terribly so since I stretched out the procedures to 3 days.

I think Ben was a bit confused by the fact that I was still with him and that we were a“steady” item. I learned that he had been so hurt by bitches that he was surprised a pretty girl wanted to be with him, just because he was himself. I wasn't after his money, or was I after the status of being “his girl”, I wasn't a bitch to him and I didn’t demand he change anything for me. I think it had him very confused and a little off balance.

When we could, I sat and talked with Mom and Pastor Pop. He kept insisting I could call him Pop since he thought of me as a daughter. I had worked my way down from Pastor Porter to Pastor P to Pastor Pop. I figured to go slow with that. I’d had and lost one father already. We literally talked about everything. They were the people that I could unburden myself with and think through my problems with out loud. One of the main topics was frequently God.

Please understand, I’m not down on God or Jesus, it was just that I didn't see why they love Them so much. How could they? I look at the world and saw all the hurt, all the pain, my personal pain about my family and I can't understand their attitude of “God is Love and God is with us.”

I work to understand that depth of conviction and faith. I go to church every Sunday, meditating and thinking about my relationship with Them, and I really try to become closer. I do feel awe when I think of the things that had been created and the miracles that happened every day. It was the contrast of an all-powerful deity who allowed people to hurt that was so difficult to accept.

The Porters' love of Them was testimony enough there was something I was missing. They have no need or desire to witness to me or try to convert me. The way they live is testimony enough. Mom and Pastor Pop know people must “get it” themselves. If they don’t, it’s only themselves that loose.

I don't know what I was reading or doing when I had my revelation. The problem is Choices. The root of all evil isn't money, it is choice. People choose to be who they are; they can choose to be someone who helps their fellows, or they can choose to be someone who takes advantage of others. That is what determines what life they live.

I decided to test my theory. I spent a week and a half watching other people, reading articles in the papers, magazines and on TV and seeing if I could walk back the chain of cause and effect to a choice that someone made at some point. I found that in many cases, I could. Most difficult was the trail that led to many choices. When I could walk it back most of the choices were not choosing, just letting things happen they way they always had.

I came to understand it wasn't who someone prayed to or whom they worshiped that determined who was good and who was bad, it was what they did themselves to honor that deity which defined them. Mom and Pastor Pop chose to be the best reflections of God that they could be, someone who reflected the highest ideals and constant work to illuminate the teachings of Jesus, trying to help those around themselves to raise themselves up instead of dragging them down with negativity.

And I finally understood why.

It seemed so silly when I realized why they acted this way, trying to be good people. It wasn't because they would be rewarded once they died; it was because it made them feel good to help others on their path to God.

That was it.

When that Revelation hit me, I was stunned again. Acting to help others simply made them feel good inside where it counted.
I understood that all the thanks in the world would be appreciated but unnecessary, for they already had the reward of knowing that they had helped someone in need. That was why they offered genuine help to me. That was why they organized so charitable activities for the members of the church, urging the congregation to give of themselves to the wider community. It was all because doing good made them feel closer to God and being closer to HIM made them feel good.
When I expressed this to Pastor Pop, he got very excited and told me that I had learned a lesson that was very profound and difficult. Then he asked me what I was going to do.

I hadn't yet considered what I would do with the understanding, then came a flash of light in my head. I would help others because it made me feel good too.

He got such a big smile on his face when he heard me say that. He nodded and touched me on the shoulder and said, “Welcome home, my child. You have arrived to a new life, and I am proud to call you my Sister, and my Daughter.”

I felt like I had been swamped by a wave. I was dizzy, my brain spinning in place. It felt as though I soared among the stars without ever leaving the chair. I expanded to fill the universe, but I was smaller than an atom at the same time. I became conscious of how little I knew, and how much I had grown at the same time. I felt at one with everything, all at once. It was so much, and there was so much more that I couldn't express.

I saw Pastor looking at me with an understanding in his eyes that spoke volumes. I saw compassion and understanding, a confident knowledge that I had just broken out of my chrysalis to the life of the evolved butterfly.

That Event let me know that I was doing what I needed to. The Baptism was just a public ceremony showing how serious I was now. I already knew what I had vowed to do, to try to leave the world better than I found it.

This is not autobiographical, mostly. I wrote this to see if I could write a story with no dialog and have it be good. It's a story, it has no dialog but I leave it to you to tell me if it is good or not.

One Sissy’s Story -- Part 1

Maid Joy

It felt like hearing nails on a chalkboard all the time. There was something fundamentally wrong with the whole world and I didn’t know how to fix it.

It had always been like that. Like I was trying to fit into the world that didn’t want me. I would look around and see kids playing with each other and I would try to play with one set of my friends, only to be rejected, told by my parents that I didn’t do that. I would be pushed toward other friends and told to play with them, only to find out that I didn’t fit in those games either.

Smaller, weaker, not as athletic. It was always like that.

I knew what was wrong. I was different. Always had been. When I was allowed to achieve I was stellar. But when I was forced to conform, I failed.

Take the incident in Middle School. They had a Home Economics course that was offered for the girls to learn to be wives. So I went and took it. People thought it was odd that I was in there, but I passed it off by pointing out how many girls were in there, and the guys got jealous. In there, I achieved.

I could sew. I made clothes in there, better than most of the girls. I made my pillow, so well that I still had it 20 years later. I made the stuffed animal from a pattern. I knew almost instinctively what the various pieces were for and how they fit together to make the three dimensional figure. I was a perfectionist, the seams had to be fine and exact. I knew what the various seams were for and how to change out the foot on the sewing machine.

I cooked. I made meals. My cookies were the best in the class. I was the only one to realize that the pie crust had to stay COLD to keep the butter from melting all over, to make it too sticky to work with.

My teacher was so proud of me. She thought the whole concept of my being in there, the lone penis among all those vaginas to be cute.

Cute. How I came to loath that word.

My parents divorced when I was 15. They actually were separated since I was 12, and the divorce wasn’t final until three years later. So essentially I was the man of the family. Not even able to grow pubic hair, and I was the man of the family. My mother and three sisters were all looking to me to run the family like a man had to.

All I wanted to do was to put on a skirt and live.

I put on the apron to keep my clothes from becoming splattered and stained with tomato sauce when I made spaghetti and I heard the cries of how cute it was. I saw nothing wrong with having a gingham plastic apron on, but apparently it was cute.

I’ve always adored red gingham since that cooking class. I would get there early so I could choose that apron and no other out of the fifty aprons available at Home Ec. It felt so right to have that one on, like it was a missing part of my life.

But looking like a pizza table was apparently cute to the girls. I heard that over and over. So of course the boys picked it up.

It was like that any time I tried. Aerobics, Parenting Class, eating at the main table in the cafeteria, participating in ballet and trying out for the Drama club. Apparently going and joining the book club was considered cute too.

I knew what the word really meant, cute was another word for sissy.

That is what cute came to mean in my head.

My grandmother was looking in my room at one point and she said that I and my room were cute. She meant it in the sense that all grandmothers mean it, as a compliment to the childishness of the room, but to me, it was a blow to the gut.

I looked around and decided that she was right, it was a sissy room. I had dolls, the full sized GI Joe action figures that you can’t find anymore, but more than that, I had a couple Barbies as well for Joe to rescue. I had my stuffed animals, treasured companions of my youth, who had seen me through all kinds of problems. They were the only ones who knew about the stuff at school. I had my lamps which were pink since Mom was buying three for $2 for my sisters, and I just grabbed one.

I guess the thing that made my room cute was the white comforter with geometric patterns that looked like flowers if you squinted right, in pastel colors. But it was warm and I needed it for winter. Coupled with the mostly white pillowcases, it did look like a Sissy’s room.

That night I had a bad time. Called sissy by people at school, hearing my grandmother’s voice, hearing that hateful word over and over again, it was too much.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I decided to figure out how to be the boy everyone wanted me to be. I had no clue how to, but all I could do was try.

I woke in the morning and decided to start to un-cute myself. I started with my room.

I couldn’t bear the thought of throwing out my friends from when I was little, so I carefully put them in a plastic garbage bag. I wasn’t throwing them away, I was preserving them. Perhaps my children would love them. The lambs, the Lion, the Bears, my most treasured flopsy Annimal (with the conscious pun chuckled at by everyone). Barbie and her friend Tracy, the stupid girls who always got in trouble and had to be rescued, carefully put into shoeboxes with their clothing. GI Joe and his other soldiers put into their footlockers with their clothes. The sets put away, the curtains taken down, the comforter folded up and put in the attic. It broke my heart each time I did this, but it was necessary.

I got out the bedspread that was made for me out of a large piece of denim. That should be non-cute enough. There was nothing I could do about the lamp right now, but I could put up the posters that I had hidden away due to lack of interest.

Over the next four hours my room went from cute to stupid.. While I can appreciate good German Engineering in a car, I fail to see what makes it so sexy. Talking about cams and horsepower and so on bored me silly. A car was a car. So that one was called a Mustang, and the other was called a Yugo. They were both vehicles that transported you from point A to point B. That was it.

Now I would have to study these things. I couldn’t stand it.

I was no longer cute. I was surly. Fifteen years old, from a broken home, T-shirts, ripped jeans and more, and the only way I knew how to act was surly and mean. Everyone accepted that. But it was like wearing my pants backwards, having my shirt on my head, or putting the mittens on the wrong hands. I could exist with this, but it felt so wrong.

I became popular for some reason. The worse I treated people, the more people liked me. I ignored girls and they flocked around me. I picked on the weaker boys and I had the respect of my peers. I wanted to cry.

I could talk for hours about drive shafts and carburetors, about paint schemes and what Disc Brakes were and how a McPherson Strut was important. I kept grease under my nails.

Because it was expected of me, I had detention about once every other week. I was generally in trouble for having hurt someone at some point. I was stoic about it and spent my time looking at girly mags. I told anyone who asked the reason I was looking at them was because of the good lookin’ wimmen, but it was really because I enjoyed thinking about what they were wearing. But that couldn’t get out.

My school counselor decided that I needed to learn some sensitivity. She added a class in Parenting to my schedule.

While I was totally thrilled to be in a class to learn to take care of babies and how to be a good parent, I had to pretend that I didn’t want to be there. So I sat in the back, ignored everyone, doodled and tried not to be noticed.

But my doodles were actually notes to myself. I needed to learn this and how biology worked and how things fit together. I’d leave the class and my crew would be right there with me, and I would make fun of everything I learned, and not doing too well in my classes. You know, it’s hard to intentionally fail a class you like.

My teachers despaired of helping me. One told me that I would be in jail if I didn’t change soon. I couldn’t tell him that I had changed and it made everyone like me this time. I couldn’t tell him that my attitude kept me from the sports teams, that it kept me out of Boy Scouts (G_d save me from that), that it preserved the illusion that I was tough. As long as I acted like this, no one questioned that I would quite willingly hurt them in a fight if I had to, so no one messed with me.

If they only knew.

Here I am in the Army now. Somehow I’ve locked myself into a life I can’t stand. One that feels like I’m wearing a pin-suit, being stabbed all the time. If I stayed absolutely still, I was okay if uncomfortable. If I moved, I felt pain from every part of my body.

I wasn’t cute anymore. I was tough. I was rough. I was macho. I knew three ways to kill you with just my fingers, and if I had a pen, G_d help you. I had volunteered for duty in the Rangers to make sure I wasn’t cute anymore. Not that it was a worry.

I had missions to go on, bullets to shoot, people to kill. I had territory on a map to secure and men to command. I had no girl, I kept losing those relationships. I wasn’t gay for I wasn’t attracted to any of the men but I couldn’t keep a real relationship with girl for longer than a week. I had no one to go home to. I spent the nights alone, or with a paid companion who didn’t care for me at all.

I would look at their outfits and wish.

Fantasy is one thing, reality is something completely different. I knew I looked like the typical GI Joe, but I really wanted to be Barbie. While I wasn’t muscle bound like some I knew, I was cut and buff. Could you see me in a dress?

I could. It wasn’t pretty.

Bulging arms, cut legs. I wanted lean legs, smooth legs. I wanted supple arms, I wanted breasts, not pecs. My lats and delts were exposed and would show and possibly rip the clothes they were in.

I had a few things that I held, things that I looked at and imagined myself in. There was the beautiful pink prom gown stolen from my sister. If anyone in the NCO Quarters asked about it, I would get silent and sullen. I didn’t lie and they drew the conclusion I wanted them to of a vanished girl.

The delicate lace and thin satin was heaven on my skin, it made me feel so good. It caressed me and I knew that it is what Heaven was like. Sometimes I’d sleep with it in my bed with me. Just me fondling it and hiding it caused seams to pop and lace to split. Putting it on was out of the question.

A gorilla in a dress. That was a pretty picture.

I tried everything to get past this need of mine. I wanted to be cute. But I was so insecure about myself; I didn’t know how to be what I wanted.
And each day I felt the dream slipping further and further away.

Finally unable to take it anymore, I went to one of my paid companions and found a name. I thought about it for a long time before making a call.

I passed over $2000 to a woman I didn’t know, and whom I didn’t want to know. It was for a full weekend, one that I hoped would make me happy.

She ordered me into a skimpy little maid’s outfit, hose and shoes. Size 13 heels, could you believe it? She made my face up, pinned a wig on what little hair I had and made me take care of her. Curtsey, serve tea, get dinner, run around, break my ankle falling from the 5 inch spike under my heel, spill and be punished. Oh she was good at punishment. Any little infraction, any little thing and I was spanked.

I hadn’t been spanked since I was 10. But my ass stayed red. About half way through the first night, I caught sight of myself in a mirror. I looked like a clown. Candy Apple Red lips which were too big for my face, corpse white foundation, electric blue eye shadow, and fake lashes that would make a Drag Queen jealous. My huge chest bulging out of this tiny bra barely covered by the top of the dress, and my harry legs showing through the fishnets.

I looked ridiculous and I knew it.

She snapped an order at me, and when I failed to move quick enough, she started spanking me again. But this time, the tears weren’t from pain.

I was the sissy I had always been. It didn’t matter, all my attempts to fit in didn’t matter at all. I was a sissy and I always would be.

The rest of the weekend was simply me enduring like I did in Basic Training. I did what I was told, didn’t think, didn’t talk back, accepted my punishments as I was supposed to. I cried a lot. And every time I wasn’t crying from the pain. I was crying for what I lost.

But I kept the panties. I’d look at them occasionally and cry silently.

No one ever found out.

This is a continuation of my previous story "One Sissy's Story". I couldn't leave it so hopeless, so my night time almost asleep muse attacked and made me write this. I hope you like it.

Reclaiming the Sissy -- Pt 2

Maid Joy

My weekend was over. Part of me was relieved and part of me was disappointed.

In my time just being alive, I had heard the term “sweet torture”. I had never truly understood what that particular phrase meant, until I had my first weekend. After that time, I took the panties back to the NCO barracks and kept them. During inspections, I would wear them so that the First Sergeant wouldn’t find them.

I came to understand how those times were sweet torture. I enjoyed wearing them. I hated having them on because I couldn’t have them on all the time.

But now, my weekend was over.

I knelt in front of the Mistress I had paid again to dress her sissy up and make hir serve. She was looking at me while I contemplated the shine on her boots. I could have done my make up in that shine, perfected after all my years in the Army.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

I wasn’t quite sure I heard the question, so quietly it was spoken. “Ma’am?” I asked.

“Why do you keep coming back to me to do this to you? This is your fourth time here, the fourth time I have humiliated you like this. Most macho men would have run after the first time. You aren’t getting sex from it, you haven’t cum once that I know of, which is why most men do this. So why do you keep coming back?” Her voice wasn’t the cruel lash it normally was, it was gentle.

I cautiously raised my eyes to her collarbones. She didn’t react. In my peripheral vision I could see her expression, and she was curious. She studied me.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Her response was quick. Her voice hardened. “Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, missy. You know why you do this even if you don’t want to admit it. Look inside yourself. Tell me.” Her tone left no room to argue.

I dropped my gaze again. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. I deserve this, I guess?”

“Do you like punishment?”

“I can take it.” I stated.

Acid frosted her tone. “I didn’t ask you if you could endure the punishments and pain. I know that you can. Do. You. LIKE. To be. Punished?”

Defeated I said “No Ma’am.”

“Do you like being humiliated?”

I wasn’t quite sure what she was asking. My brows came together and I started to look at her, but stopped myself in time.

She continued; “My specialty is to humiliate submissives. To do that I use a variety of tools. I make them feel bad, I insult them, I make them question every aspect of themselves. I question their sexuality, I hurt them, I dig into their emotions, and I do my best to break them down. But I can’t really get you to let go.

“I have made you cry several times from the suffering I caused you, but you haven’t broken under a lot of mental strain. I can attribute some of it to the humiliation you went through in your Basic Training and your Advanced Individual Training for the Rangers, but not all your mental fortitude. You are a puzzle to me.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I wanted to shrug my shoulders again, but I knew that this would make her mad. I shifted my position slightly to keep my feet from falling asleep.

“Ma’am, you are right about my training, it prepared me for a lot. I found that I lost the capacity to be embarrassed because of that training. Given some of the things I have been through, you are accomplished in your art, but I’ve literally been through worse.” I stopped for a few minutes to collect my thoughts.

She waited for me to start again.

“I come here because I can be in a dress and it is acceptable here. It is inexcusable in the life I have, but here, it is normal and expected.

“The first time you had one of your lady friends over and I had to serve you both refreshments, I was mortified. I hid it and tried not to let it get to me. But it did. I was blushing, especially from some of the comments you and she shared. I didn’t allow that to stop me.

“But through it all, even though you and she both tried your best to get me to break down, insulting me and my masculinity, neither of you thought it odd for a male to be in a maid’s outfit. That was a normal part of this world. Showing my legs and being in heels, walking strangely and swinging my hips, that was just part of the backdrop. It is no more strange than to have me in a uniform, or you to be in a corset, or for a girl to be in a skirt. That is what I want from this.”

She considered this for a while. She wasn’t like many people who when confronted with a silence rushed in to fill it with sound. She sat, and she sat still. She didn’t move or fidget, she simply let the chair hold her while she rested on it and thought.

“So you are telling me that you pay my outrageous fees to simply crossdress?”

I only nodded.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wish you had been up front with me about that in the beginning of our business relationship. Normally men wanting to be in dresses need to be humiliated for that. It satisfies a deep need to make it shameful, and if it is shameful and forbidden, that makes it erotic to them. Failing that, they want the pain, the little masochistic sluts. I’ve seen all types, including cross-dressers, but you may be the first that wasn’t embarrassed by it, to whom cross-dressing wasn’t shameful. Why is that?”

I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted to ignore the question. I knew she was waiting for an answer, and I really didn’t want to share it with her. I closed my eyes to keep from thinking about it.

I heard a slight movement, which I identified as the heel of her boot scraping on the floor. There was a rustle of cloth and the movement of the skirt in front of me. Then I felt quite a bit of pain from my genitals as she stepped on them.

“I asked you a question, sissy.”

I squeaked “Because it feels right, Mistress.”

The pressure let off, and the pain subsided, but the tears were rolling down my face anyhow. The pain was actually nothing; it was the question that hurt so much.

It took her time, but she managed to drag my story out of me.

I told her about my childhood. I told her about the taunts. I told her about how I loathed the word ‘cute’. I told her everything. The reactions she had been trying to bring out of me through humiliation and pain, came with he deep seated fury of the life I was living.

“Mistress, please understand. I am not macho, although many would call me that. This is an act, a façade I put on to cover myself, my true self. I feel like a girl, all the time. When I look at myself, I see breasts and a vagina, long hair and rounded features. I look in a mirror and this alien being of muscles and testosterone stares back at me, and I don’t know who that is.

“I am a soldier because I was FINALLY accepted as a person by being this way. I don’t want to be this way, I don’t want to hurt people, I don’t LIKE killing, but everyone expects it and they approve of me.

“I’ve seen myself in a dress and makeup, I know I look hideous. If I saw someone like me on the street I’d laugh and point and be repulsed. I don’t want to have that happen to me, it would kill me. Being seen in public like this, looking like this... FREAK that I am mortifies me. There is no way I could look beautiful as I see myself, as I know myself to be.”

I lost it, I started crying. Bronze Star, 12 confirmed kills, Expert Marksman with a rifle, and I was blubbering like a baby on the floor. I hoped this was a bad dream that I would wake up from.

I felt her next to me. She picked my head and torso up from the floor where I had curled in the fetal position. She pulled me into her lap.

Then she started rocking me while I cried. I didn’t know how to react, and I cried more. My whole body was shaking and vibrating. I couldn’t stop crying.

She petted my hair, wiped my eyes with my apron. She rocked me and stroked my head and arms. Nothing sexual, just a girl comforting another girl who had a bad time. And still I cried.

I twisted around so that I was facing her, my head in her lap, and my face in her belly. There was no desire to do anything, and the comfort was helping.

She kept rocking and now she was humming a bit. She wasn’t saying anything of substance, just little nonsense things, things you might say to a child to get them calmed down. She rubbed my back some to help.

My shoes had fallen off my feet, my makeup was ruined. I was pretty sure I had run my stockings at some point, and I was cold. My bladder was bursting with the need to pee, and I couldn’t breathe out my nose. But still she was patient.

I finally wound down into sup-sups, and stopped crying because I just couldn’t sustain it anymore. She kept holding me.

After a few more minutes of comforting me, she let me go, and she helped me up. She took me to the dressing area and had me get cleaned up. The stockings went into the bin to be used as restraints at some future point, and I put my maid’s uniform into the wash to be cleaned. I looked in the mirror and I saw that my makeup had smeared all over the place. I honestly looked like I was wearing primary colored camouflage and had fought with a makeup kit and lost. Raccoon eyes were the least of my problem.

I used a rag and several hands full of cold cream to get all the makeup off. I washed and scrubbed my face, eyes, mouth, teeth, hair, neck and so on. There wasn’t an area to take a shower, so I skipped that for later.

I dressed in my civies and came back out to leave. I found Mistress standing near the door to the cars, wrapped in a cotton nightgown and robe. She prevented me from leaving.

I was led into her personal kitchen, the one that was in the attached living area. There I was sat down and she served ME tea. I felt absolutely miserable.

She started talking to me, about simple things, how I couldn’t breathe, how she had seen grown men cry, but rarely with such force. She was gently teasing me about the snot that was on my face before I cleaned up and so on. She was making light of the situation, but I knew she was trying to defuse it as best as she could.

She explained this stage to me, this was called “aftercare”. It was the time where it was up to the responsible dom to take an emotionally fragile person and let them recover hirself before they hurt hirself. So for now, I was her prisoner again, while she made sure I wasn’t suicidal anymore.

When I focused on what she was saying again she was talking about the whole Cross-dressing issue. “In my line of work, I make it a point to make people humiliated, as I told you. Had I known you simply wanted to be a girl for a while, I wouldn’t have put you in that hideous makeup I did. It was an intentional ploy to humiliate you. However, I thought I was doing right.

“So, tell me how much leave you have still before you have to be back on base?”

“It’s a 72 hour pass so I could spend this weekend here, I have to be back on base no later than 0700 tomorrow.”

She glanced at the clock. “Okay, it’s only 6 PM right now. We have some time. You and I are going to talk, and ONLY talk. There is a lot that you have to work on and I think I’m just the person to help you do it.

“First off, I want you out of that Uniform. Come with me.”

She had me get up and led me back into the changing area. But when I stripped down, this time she put me in a completely different set of clothes. A nice calf-length dress, in a beautiful dark blue, made of washable silk. Oh, it was heaven on my skin. Panties, bra and breast forms to fill out the cups, long sleeved so that my arms were hidden, two and a half inch heels, and a slip were all soon on my body, and they felt... right. More right than the maid’s uniform.

She stepped back and looked at me for a moment. She reached over to a series of shelves and pulled down some wigs that had not been in evidence until then. Very soon a long red wig was settled on my head, and this one wasn’t nearly as scratchy as the others she had made me wear in the past.

“This beauty set me back $800. But you pay for quality real human hair. It’s so well designed that you can’t see the over all color strands, red, brown, green yellow and grey, only the over all color of red. It’s my favorite and I have to ask you to be careful with this.” While she was saying this, she was pinning the hair up and keeping it out of my face.

“I would have you shave your legs, but that would cause you problems with your CO. So for now we will ignore them, but shaved legs are luxurious and you should try it once if you have an extended time to do this.”

She had been applying cosmetics to my face. A little here, some there, a swish to this area. She picked up the biggest and softest makeup brush I had ever seen and ran it all over my face. She then dunked the bristles in some powder and did it again. Lipstick applied and I was done.

She stood back and looked at me. She then got into the bottom drawer and pulled out some boxes. “Open this box and try the rings on. I want two skinny rings on your right ring finger, one thick ring on your left ring finger. Try to make sure that it doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

Once again, saving time she had been pulling out some necklaces and a few other things. Soon I had a thin gold chain encircling my throat, hanging down on my chest outside my top. Clip on earrings came next, and a few pieces of jewelry to go in the hair.

She stood me up and looked me over. She walked around and looked closely. “You’ll do.”

Taking me by the hand we went over to the three way mirror. It was dark because the lights in this area had not been turned on yet, and she spent a few seconds adjusting the mirrors. She then stepped over to a switch and turned it on.

“Meet your new self.”

I saw the girl in the mirror drop her jaw at something she was looking at. While she couldn’t be considered beautiful, handsome was an adjective that worked. She was very conservative in her dark blue dress with the gold chain glinting in the light....

Blue dress? Gold chain? Wait, that was ME!

I looked closer, and I soon discovered it WAS me. The makeup was all wrong, you couldn’t even really tell I had any on. No clown face, just wide smoky eyes, slightly pinked up cheeks, probably from embarrassment, a frosted set of lips and all of the beard covered. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

My gaze traveled downward, and yeah, I was filling out the dress top like I hadn’t before. The bra straps were pulling into my shoulders, and I was a little off balance. The hair curled down and accentuated the little breasts, almost framing them in a halo of auburn tresses. The waist narrowed just where it should and while there weren’t much in the hips and ass department, it still looked somewhat feminine.

I looked at Mistress. I had absolutely no words to say.

“I pronounce you, a girl. You look pretty good too.

“You don’t have any legs because of the exercise program you are on. They look buff, but not shapely. Padded panties can give you a shape in your lower area and we can do something to make that annoying bulge in front totally disappear, but with a full skirt on no one should be able to tell that you have anything other than a large vulva.

“The hair has to go off your legs. Until then, tights will be what you need to wear. Your nails have to be done, because nothing says ‘girl’ like a set of nicely shaped and painted nails. The makeup came out spectacularly. With your tight waist and your shaped abs, you won’t have a problem fitting into most dresses, but unfortunately, the clothes you wear are going to have to be very conservative; high necks, long sleeves, long skirts.

“But once you leave the Service we can work on making a few permanent changes, like piercing your ears and shaving your legs.”

I had to sit down. My head was spinning and I couldn’t think. Never in my life would I have thought I could look like this, given everything that had gone wrong in my life.

Maybe things would be good after all.

Sissy's Release -- Pt 3

Maid Joy

"Now that you are dressed properly, come and we will talk."

I had some trouble walking in lower heels than normal, but I manfully (ha) managed to navigate from the changing area to the kitchen again. My head was still spinning from what I saw in the mirror, but I would have to deal with it.

Mistress had me sit. My impulse was to jump up and to serve her, as I had been, but she insisted. I was treated as her lady guest, and I didn't know really how to react. So I put on my best manners and accepted what she wanted to give me.

Tea was first, followed by some dinner. I didn't eat much since my nerves insured I wasn't hungry. During the meal there were occasional noises of disapproval, and when I heard them, I tried to figure out what had caused it. Most often it was me slipping back into my male role and forgetting myself.

Mistress finally broached the subject that had been on my mind, and probably hers as well, when we were relaxing with a final cup of tea. Coming right to the point she said, "You have a lot of problems to overcome."

I nodded my head, not trusting my voice to speak. My chin went down in shame again, but she instructed me to raise my head and look at her. "I'm not trying to keep you in a submissive position, but you are unique to my experience.

"Most often strong men who have very powerful jobs, like CEOs or Army personnel, come to me to be abused for feeling feminine. It is a way for them to release the stresses of being the one in control and to let others take that control for a while. But I fear I erred badly with you."

She fell silent for a few moments while I tried to understand what she meant. I understood the release of power for the powerful, I had felt that same release after a session here, but I don't know how she could have made a mistake.

Her voice had been changing accents for a bit, slowly but steadily going from her normal "British Domme" cadence to something that could have come out of Georgia. That accent threw me back to many days in bars there in Columbus Georgia at Fort Benning.

Oh, those Georgia Peaches were beautiful and sweet. I had been ragingly jealous of them, at the same time I was envious of their clothes and make-up. Conversely I wanted to dominate them, humble them, and make them beg for what ever I wanted to do to them, to make them feel the way I did inside. I also wanted to dominate them, not as a master would, but as a boyfriend and a man would do, to hold them, protect them, caress them with a controlled gentility. I was so confused by the clash of emotions that I ignored the girls and threw myself into training.

She finally broke the silence. "Normally when I get a soldier in here, they want to be little or they want to be made to feel this is shameful. I guess your training does that, makes anything feminine bad and negative. So I give them what they want, humiliations galore," she said, quoting a line in The Princess Bride. "Naturally, I assumed when you showed up, Army Ranger, strong and handsome, wanting to be a girl that you wanted the same. I purposefully did everything I could to make you feel shamed and humiliated, from the makeup to the dresses I had you in."

I was confused, "You mean that hideous makeup job was deliberate?"

She had the good grace to blush a bit. "Yes. It was all part of the 'scene'. No real girl would be caught dead in that kind of make up, it looks tawdry and overall just bad. We really do work hard to make ourselves pretty not like a tramp or clown.." She looked at me again. "I think this makeup scheme suits you more."

She sighed deeply and let it out explosively. "I think we need to start again. Tell me, what do you want from this? Do you just want to be in girl's clothes? Do you want to be a girl? Is there a sexual component to the clothes? What can I do for you?"

I shook my head. I really didn't know.

She began asking me questions and taking notes on a legal pad while I cleared the dishes. I rolled up the sleeves of my blouse and put on an apron to protect the beautiful clothes I was wearing. A pair of rubber gloves finished the outfit. Her questions were ones that I hadn't really thought about.

Did I have the courage to tell her that all my life I had felt like the world was wrong? How could I trust her enough to say how crushed I was when I was pulled away from playing jacks with the girls and forced to the football field? Did I dare confess that when I was alone I would braid daisy chains even though I knew that was a sissy thing to do?

Even worse were the questions about how I got trapped. Why did I choose to get rid of everything in my room because it was cute? What prompted my choice in friends? Why did I want to be accepted? Who did I watch as examples of what a man was?

Above all, why did I join the Army and go out for the Rangers, one of the elite fighting forces of the American Military?

The answer to the last question was the easiest. "When I was about 16 in High School, I had still been having a problem with my perceived lack of masculinity. I would challenge people who made the mistake of questioning it openly or in rumors, and mostly by bluff I managed to get the guys and girls to back down. One day the school had a Career Day. One of the recruiters was talking about careers in the Army and mentioned the Rangers. He said 'If you go into the Ranger Training Program and pass it, you will never have to prove your manhood again.'"

I scrubbed the plate I was working on thoughtfully. "It was like a lightning bolt. I thought, maybe this time I can get past it all. Maybe I can finally bury all the questions about if I'm a man or not."

I remembered that time. The front I put up about being a punk was just that, a front. I think that everyone knew about it and just were too intimidated to question it. But I saw some glances. I saw them move away from me in the locker room where we changed. There was even one incident where a very gay boy made a pass at me. He was terrified and I was really shamed. I did something that I don't think any of the others may have done, I actually talked to him a bit. He had been dared to see if I was really gay too.

I made sure he knew I wasn't, and that I also wasn't going to beat him to a pulp, although I made him promise to say that I got really mad and threw him around a bit. I couldn't bring myself to actually beat him up. He was scared and I was scared, and he couldn't help what he was.

Truth be told, I had always wondered what would have happened if I had taken him up on his offer.

Before I knew it, I was done with the dishes and she was done with her questions. I sat down and waited.

She looked up from her notes and saw me. She smiled and laughed a bit. She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a photo of me quickly before I could protest.

I was totally confused. She turned the phone so I could see it. "I think this whole macho Army Soldier thing is just another disguise for you. When you are relaxed, see how you look?" I looked at the picture.

There I was, a nice looking face, beautiful red hair, hands folded in my lap sitting straight up, feet tucked primly beneath the chair with my ankles crossed. I didn't see anything wrong with that.

"That's not how a man sits. This is how a lady sits. I find it interesting that your instinctive behavior when you aren't trying to be Rick Ranger is that you sit like a lady. Did you learn that from your mother?"

I had to admit that I did. "Despite everything and her attempts to make me the man of the household, she treated me like one of her daughters. Her stated reason was the skills I would learn, cooking, cleaning, laundry and so on, would help me when I moved out and started living on my own. They really have helped me. I can iron better than anyone I know. So I learned things like shopping, how to buy and compose meals. I was even more confused."

I thought back to those times. "I know what is good when I shop and what isn't. I don't buy fruit and produce that is bad or unripe. I love cooking. I really, really like doing things around the household. I don't mind cleaning, and I actually enjoy children. I know how to get stains out of most clothes, and I never made the mistake of putting my Class A's in the washer with my BDUs."

We spent some more time talking, mostly about the challenges my being in drag would present.

She was very direct, "Let's be honest, while you are in the Army, there's not a lot I can do for you. I can let you have weekends here, take some time and be yourself. However, the training you do to stay in shape is the exact opposite of the body shaping you need to look more feminine. You are flooding your body with testosterone, and no matter what you do right now, you aren't going to be delicate. Right now, you are what the Welsh call 'wiry', which is their term for being made up of little but bone, sinew and lean muscle.

"Luckily you aren't too tall. If you were six feet tall, it would be even more difficult for you and what you want. There are some tall girls, but they tend to be looked at like short men are, with a little contempt. At 5 feet 8 inches, you are about perfect for a female's height. Your weight is also right where it should be, namely 150. With some padding we can make you a very nice 34, 22, 30 and I think you would look darling with those measurements. We'd have to put shoulder pads in your blouses so that your wide shoulders looked like padding, but that shouldn't be too hard."

I thought for a bit. Did I want this? It was true I was more relaxed right now than I had been in some time, but did I want to be the object of ridicule again? Was this worth it? Was feeling right and relaxed worth the mental torture?

That was the core question I had to answer.

She reached over and patted my hand. "We don't have to start tonight, another weekend is soon enough. For now, I'm going to say that I think this will help you in the long run and it is something I think you should do.

"I'll clear my schedule for two weekends from now. If you get cold feet in the mean time, let me know. I'll do my best to get everything ready so that it is a pleasurable experience for you, not a trip into a world of torture."

She had me come back into the changing area. In the process of taking me out of my clothes and hanging things up, she talked about what each piece was and how it worked. She taught me the "tuck and pull" technique for hiding my male parts, and she informed me that the panties she would have me in next time would more than cover me up, they would ensure that I didn't have an unsightly bulge where it wasn't wanted.

She took measurements of me again, making sure that they were accurate. Everything from my feet to my hair line, she got written down. I asked her why she was measuring me again, when she had done that the first time I ever came to her. She said that it was because there were deliberate errors in the measurements to embarrass me by having something that was too small or too large.

"If I'm going to have your wardrobe here, then I need to have stuff on hand that will fit you. And before you ask, yes, I intend for this to be a long term relationship and I expect you to be doing this for a while.

"How much time do you have left in your enlistment?"

"This is my second tour, and it will be up in about eight months."

"Well, then this arrangement can last until then."

The cynic I was, I had to ask "And how much is this going to cost me?"

She spent a few minutes thinking. "I was charging you a lot of money for what I was giving you. But I have to warn you that this isn't going to be cheap. I think we can work something out, if you are willing to help occasionally and to pay for the clothes and suchlike that I will be getting for you."

I nodded. I wasn't doing much else with my money. I was sending some money back to my mother to pay her back for everything she did for me while I was growing up, and truthfully to pay her for all the grief I caused her.

While I had some money, I didn’t have a lot. The money I had saved for this haven was fast running out. Her offer to shop for my real clothes and then store them for me was an amazing gift. I knew that my money would be well and carefully spent for appropriate items and that took a lot of worry off my mind.

She finished what she was doing and ordered me back into my uniform. “I think that’s going to be enough for this weekend. Two weekends from now, I expect to see you back here.”

She looked me over for a while as I got my uniform back on and took the makeup off. “I think we need to have a name for you, a good girl name. When you are here, en femme, you will be ‘Sissy’. Not to ridicule you, but to reclaim that word from the negative associations in your mind. It’s a bit juvenile, but I think it will do.”

When she called me that, my stomach turned a bit. But I started thinking about it for a little while, and I could see her point. “Yes, ma’am. Sissy will be fine,” I said, dropping back into the habitual “ma’am” and “sir” that had been drilled into me by the Army.

“Don’t say that like I’m about to cut your head off. I’m suggesting a name, nothing more. I suggest it because it is short for sister, and I think it will suit you. We can always change it later if it is too much for you, but you have all these bad memories of the title sissy, and I want to give you some good memories.”

I sat down and pulled my boots on and bloused them correctly. “Honestly, ma’am, I don’t think there is a good memory I could have of that word. It has been used too long to shame me and make me feel bad. I want to try though.”

She nodded. “That’s all I can ask you to do. Just try for me, Sissy.”

Sissy Stifled -- Pt 4

Maid Joy

I reported for morning formation at 0700. While part of my mind was on what I was doing, PT is pretty mindless. Yelling the cadence wasn’t something that took up a lot of my mental faculties. I put my body and my voice on autopilot and turned my attention to the past weekend.

There where a lot of thing I needed to consider. Mistress was correct, I didn’t know what I wanted to gain from my exploration. I knew that I enjoyed dressing up, but I also knew that I didn’t look as much like a girl as I wanted to when I finally got the clothes on. I had to make some decisions.

***

PT was finished and now for the exiting part, sitting around and waiting. My current duty station had my platoon on alert, meaning if anything went wrong, we would be the first sent to the danger zone. Unfortunately this meant there was a lot of sitting and waiting. Since we were confined to base the only training we could do was limited. Alert status means they can’t grind you into the ground but they don’t want your skills and reflexes getting flabby. We did hand to hand combat a few times a week along with firing range training and PT but that was about it.

This unfortunately gave me a lot of time to think. I said unfortunately because the military doesn’t want you to think very long or very often. So while I was sitting in offices or barracks I had a lot of time for introspection. I thought about my career in the military, what I wanted from my dressing up and what I wanted in my relationship with my mistress.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to her, she had made it clear that there would be absolutely no sex. I assumed this was due to prostitution laws. My blue balls were only going to be relieved by myself. Fortunately I had lots of “personal time” alone in my room. If she had forbidden me that release I would probably have gone crazy.

I had to honestly ask myself if there was a sexual component to wearing the clothes. I had to admit there was a thrill of the forbidden, but that wasn’t my prime motivator. It was a nice bonus. Most of the time while I was dressed up I wasn’t aroused at all. So when I returned to her, I could honestly answer that a sexual turn on wasn’t my primary motivation.

I knew I should be talking to one of the psychologist about my questions. I couldn’t bring myself to do it despite “no ask no tell” I knew the records of my conversations would be available to the “wrong people.” By the wrong people I mean, my commanders.

If I thought my life was hard now, it would become a thousand times more difficult if my secret were to come out.

I had a reputation to maintain after all. As an NCO I was expected to maintain an exemplary level of professional behavior with the troops I was leading. After all, everyone knows it’s the sergeants who really run the army. Even if people understood and didn’t judge there would still be some loss of confidence and respect. In a combat zone, that would be fatal. Better to keep quiet and deal with it in my own way than to know that I had caused some child to lose their father because of what I was, what I wanted to be.

Better by far to remain silent than to drag that guilt around forever.

Did I want to be a girl? If things went as far as possible, a sex change could be an option. It was the logical conclusion of this whole process. Could I bear to lose my penis and replace it with a vagina?

I didn’t know about going that far right now. I would need to take some more time to think about that.

***

Time passes quickly when you don’t have much to do. I had figured out a few things, but many others were still not clear.

I knew that I enjoyed dressing up. I liked the textures of clothes, the way they felt against my skin, how it draped and the sheer comfort of most of those clothes. Skirts were a logical choice for most times and days when it was hot. I understood kilts and how popular they became simply because of the ease of wear.

Granted, during cold days it was hell to have a skirt on, wind whipping up them and freezing parts that were supposed to stay warm wasn’t fun. It made sense that males wear skirts, what with the dangly bits being less in danger of getting squashed in a very uncomfortable way. It made even more sense that women, who didn’t have the extra parts, should wear pants with all the cloth padding the tender area of their crotches.

I went back to my room after hanging out in the squad bay for a while. I had some paperwork to do and some reviews to give. I turned on the TV in my room and let it run in the background while working.

Ignoring the noise was pretty easy, until the commercials started. They are designed to grab your attention, no matter what you are doing and to pull it to the TV. I noticed the ads. Most times, they weren’t anything I was interested in, but there was the occasional commercial that made me ache for what wasn’t.

For example, there was an ad where a mother and a daughter were walking down a beach talking about douches. I mean, let’s not pretend and talk about “freshness”, they were selling douches. The concept of cleaning yourself out with chemicals wasn’t something that I was interested in, but males didn’t do that. You would never see a father and his son walking and talking about something like jock itch! They might talk about beer while they were working on the car, but not anything of substance.

Then comes the ads about clothes. Looking at some good looking babe pulling on some jeans and wanting to have them on myself, and to look that good in them, and knowing that I never will, it really hurt. Adding insult to injury, then came an advertisement for wedding dresses.

I got up and turned the channel. I couldn’t take it anymore. Intimacy between girls, looking good, feeling divine textures, all those were the things I wanted. It didn’t matter about being taken by a man, it didn’t matter about having a vagina or having to clean out myself. I didn’t care that I would never be able to have children, none of those things mattered.

I had heard girls occasionally complaining about cramps and so on. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to grab those girls and shake them till their teeth rattled and make them realize just how lucky they were. How if offered the chance to swap bodies with them, no matter how bad the cramps were, I’d trade without giving it a second thought.

***

My duties continued and I took care of them like I was an automaton. I paid attention to those duties when I had to, but for the most part it was just something to kill the time.

The summons to the First Sergeant’s office came as a surprise.

I reported as I was supposed to and I was invited in.

“Taylor, I have to tell you that I’ve been impressed with how you have been handling your duties recently. But I have noticed that you seem distracted. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“First Sergeant, I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do after this tour is up. I’m not sure that I want to re-up and so I’m considering the rest of my life.”

“Well,” the First Sergeant said, “you have to consider a lot of things. As you know, the Army has been good to you, and you are an exceptional soldier. You could probably write your own ticket with the Retention people. Bonuses, promotion, choice of duty stations, other perks are all possible for you. Heck, you could change your MOS as well if you really wanted to.”

“I know First Sar’ent, but I’m really considering leaving the Army all together.”

He was quiet for a bit. While my revelation shocked him, being a career military man, I could see that he was really thinking about giving me the best advice he could. “I understand the impulse to do so, but you really have to be practical about this. If I recall correctly, you came to us right out of High School. That means that you don’t have a lot of skills for the business world. What would you do?”

I shook my head.

“There aren’t many jobs out there where you can go kill people. Ones where you can kill people legally aren’t at all common. So what would you do? Even if you don’t know, it is something you have to consider.”

I shifted my position a bit and had to think. He watched me for a little bit and then finally broke the silence. “I’m sure that if you wanted to, you could take a class for a secondary MOS in a marketable skill for the business world. It would mean you would have less time to yourself, but it would give you a skill to sell for when you get out.”

I nodded and didn’t say much of anything. He was right. “May I be dismissed First Ser’ant? You have given me a lot to think about.”

He made a few notations in the file he had in front of him and said, “Just don’t get so distracted by thinking of what comes next that you start not paying attention to detail. There’s a lot that we can help you with, but your duty to your men and to the Captain comes first. Dismissed.”

I snapped to attention and nodded to him. Turning briskly I left the office and went back to my room.

***

Two days later I was at the Training Complex and I was going through the different MOSes that I could train in. The combat arms were out, and while some of the jobs were close, like Military Police, there were some that I wanted to do, but as a girl instead of a male.

That was the problem right now, I wanted a job that I could do either as a male or a female. Mistress had promised me that it was possible to get things and do thing so that I looked female all the time, and I truly wanted that.

Unfortunately there was this whole commitment I made to my Country. As long as I was enlisted, I wasn’t free to make any massive changes. In fact, if you read the Military Regulations correctly, my body didn’t belong to me at all. I couldn’t get a tattoo. According to the regulations, anything I did to my body that the Military didn’t want me to do could be seen as “willful destruction of government property”. That could get me stuck in Fort Leavenworth for a long time.

Somehow I doubted that I would like wearing dresses there.

The Army had been good to me. I enjoyed the work and I enjoyed the physicality of it as well. It was a challenge every day. I did want to be the best of the best. I loved getting high scores on the range and I truly enjoyed reducing my time in the Confidence Course.

But a career in the Army would mean giving up my dreams of being female. Oh, sure I could be female in the military, but not a transsexual in the military. The regulations were murky at best, but that was too close to being gay.

There really seemed to be no way out of this trap.

Sissy’s Debut -- Pt 5

Maid Joy

I had finally decided to focus on some sort of administrative MOS. While filing and forms were a part of what I did now, there were a lot of other things that you needed to know to survive in an office situation.

I felt like a living cliché. A man who wants to be a woman, joined the Army, now studying to be a secretary. Yeah, puts a whole different spin on the “office couch.”

Reading over the regulations for the Admin MOSes, I found most of them required typing skills. I pulled out a laptop that I had received several months ago (a Christmas present from my mother). I did some web searches for typing tutorials and practice and time tests and so on. I decided to devote two hours every day to just practicing typing.

I soon found out that it was much harder to type on the laptop keyboard than on a normal keyboard. So I resolved to get a full sized keyboard and mouse to hook into the laptop for practice later.

I bookmarked those pages and started looking around the Internet. I knew that a lot of the traffic would be monitored by the Spooks, but I didn’t care. It was highly unlikely that the sites I was going to would be questionable. No one would object to a macho guy looking at pictures of girls in bikinis or in really cute outfits. Most of the porn sites were blocked, but catalogs and so on weren’t.

In the process of looking around, I found a lot of stories online. Stories about guys like me who wanted to be girls and more. I copied a lot of URLs into shortcuts and finally encrypted them all so that if my computer was searched, they wouldn’t be found. Renaming the resulting encrypted file and changing the extension so that it looked like a system file, further disguised it.

It might seem that I was being paranoid, but honestly, my big fear was being discovered having an interest in transsexuals and being ostracized by everyone I knew. I had heard of others who had been discovered to have interests that weren’t considered Army “normal”. Their lives were made a living hell until they were kicked out or forced to resign.

The way things were going, it appeared that I would be leaving the Army after all.

***

Karen had finished up with a session and decided to relax for a bit. She couldn’t wait for Sissy to come back. She wanted Sissy to shine her boots to that eye blinding shine that must be some sort of Army secret.

She made some plans to go shopping tomorrow so that she could see the kinds of things that Sissy would look good in. There had been several emails exchanged, mostly talking about fashions and things that Sissy liked.

Some were totally inappropriate. No matter how much padding she had on, she would not look good in a denim miniskirt and midriff top. There were other things that would cause problems, mostly because of the maturity factor. Club gear may be nice and look good on her, but when added to her body style now it would look like an old hooker trying to look 13.

Then there was starlet fashion. Lord have mercy, but Sissy had some very skewed ideas of appropriate clothes. At least she didn’t want to look like a supermodel, but gowns that would ordinarily be seen on the red carpet for the Oscars wouldn’t really look good on Sissy either — she just didn’t have the boobage to carry it.

Other than those fashion crimes it was surprising that Sissy had such a good taste. It was probably going to take a weekend to show her the proper way to express that style. Classic lines, conservative, earth tones with jewel accents would be really nice on her.

She took her boots off and loosened her corset until it was comfortable, and started making notes for the next weekend Sissy was available.

***

“Today we are going to go shopping. I have a pretty good idea as to what will look good on you, but now we actually have to buy things.”

She had me wear a nice dress that would be appropriate for anything from a high tea to a garden party. The blouse was kind of mannish, but the large sleeves and the full cut down to the wrists covered everything. She had me shave the area from about mid chest up to my neck; no one needs hair there.

Foundation garments came next. There was a padded girdle to actually gave me shape, along with a corset that made the lines smooth, the cups on the corset made it look like I had breasts instead of pectorals.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I was very proud of how my body looked. I had spent a lot of time developing and training it so that I could do what I needed and wanted it to do. I liked the way sweat felt after exertion and the knowledge that it was clean sweat. A real guy thing, I know.

She was suggesting that we go out to get clothes for me while I was in drag. If she hadn’t ordered it I never would have done it.

She showed me the way to pull opaque tights up my legs to cover the hair on my legs. Actually, we had to pull on three pairs so that it was smooth and fashionable. A tea length skirt with a nice half-slip completed the ensemble. She placed a pair of three inch heels on the floor for me to step into.

Makeup, wig, hair styling, earrings, necklaces (one just a simple chain and the other a heavier chain with a locket), three rings (all nice and sparkly), and finally bracelets and a watch. She pulled out a beautiful belt that was made of golden discs, laying like they were scales. She expanded it and put it around my waist, making sure that it was centered.

“Perfume and a purse is all that’s left. Any preference to the scent you will soon have on?” She handed me a couple bottles of perfume for me to smell. I recognized some names, but I had no clue what they were. Finally I found a scent that was nice and what I thought would be nice with my own scent. It was labeled “Shalimar Light”, and it had a nice jasmine scent. I loved it.

She sprayed a bit in the air and had me step into the mist. It drifted down over me and I felt so girly now.

I found that I had goose bumps.

Mistress pulled the contents of my pockets out and put them in a purse that matched the shoes and the skirt. My wallet, money, cell phone and the all-important pager were deposited into the ultimate symbol of womanhood. Mistress then proceeded to grab a few cosmetics and put them into the purse as well.

“Ready to make your debut? From here on out, there’s no hiding anymore. I’ll let you get away with not dressing up a for long periods of time, but from here on out, you are a woman.” Her eyes were misty. She took my hand. “Come on Sissy. We are going to outfit you from top to bottom.”

She walked out the door with her purse, still holding my hand. I had no choice but to follow her.

***

When we got to the mall and I felt like a whole butterfly convention had taken up residence in my guts. Nervous didn’t begin to describe how I felt. Terror on a scale that I had never felt before would be closer.

I was terrified of the ridicule from people who saw me. I didn’t feel that I could ever pass for a girl, and having others make fun of me for that was the worst thing in the world.

But Mistress dragged me into the Mall, and I didn’t have much choice. I was hyper aware. It was worse than the first time we did Night Ops. It felt as though my skin had been sanded. It seemed I could feel not only people looking at me, but their emotions and their very breath.

It was almost an out of body experience.

I didn’t look at anyone in particular, and I had to fight to keep my gaze up and in front of me, but I could see people around me looking at us. There were many who looked directly at me while passing, and there were others who looked at Mistress.

I could hear my heart in my ears. If I held my hand out, it would be shaking like an Aspen Leaf in a high wind.

There were some who looked at me and had an appraising look, and they were the girls. I can understand that, they were comparing me to them. Honestly, I was doing that as well. It didn’t matter that they were genetic girls, I was still doing this anyhow.

Then there were the men. Most of them just looked at me and kept looking, up and down my body, boobs and legs, sometimes the ass. Their eyes felt like their grubby hands groping me. It was not a sensation I enjoyed.

I wondered idly if this is what other girls felt like when I looked at them. If so, I would have to think about how I related to them in the future. That’s probably one reason that I couldn’t keep a girl.

Then there were others. One or two of the people looking at me would look at me, then do a double take, then smile and go back to what they were doing. It happened too many times to be coincidence. My heart plummeted into my shoes. I don’t remember much of the shopping trip. There were highlights, but most of it was a dizzying montage of me trying on various clothes, changing, shoes, purses and dresses.

***

Dragging Sissy out into the world was relatively easy, she wanted to be seen. Just like any other girl that I knew, she wanted attention. I honestly thought I would have to fight her more.

I kept a stream of chatter going so she was distracted from what was happening. I didn’t count on her ability to multi-task however. I tried to retrieve her attention, but it wasn’t any good. She was much better at surveillance than I was.

I saw her chin come up as she noticed people looking at her and noticing an attractive girl. But I also saw those who made her. It made my heart sink, but it was something that she would have to deal with.

I kept her going and kept her attention on me.

The nearest store was the Victoria’s Secret. I knew a couple people in here and their discretion could be counted on no matter what.

I spotted one as I came in. “Jamie, I need your help. This is Sissy and we need to get her everything.”

Jamie came over and quickly appraised Sissy. I knew that she probably spotted Sissy’s genetic sex, and that didn’t faze her at all. She smiled and took Sissy by the hand.

“Sissy, it’s wonderful to meet you. You and I have a lot in common already and I’ll be more than pleased to help you today.”

I knew that Sissy was in good hands now.

Sissy’s Interlude -- Pt 6

Maid Joy

Mistress had turned me over to a lady at the lingerie store. I didn’t know how to react. Part of me was mortified, part of me burning from embarrassment, and part of me was reveling in this chance that I had always dreamed of.

The people who were in the store weren’t really paying attention to me, which was a relief. I could only imagine the panic if someone realized that a man was in here.

I tried to relax, I really did. I couldn’t stop shaking in fear of discovery. I was nervous and I couldn’t get my jewelry off.

“Honey, calm down. It’s okay, no one here is going to hurt you at all. You are a customer and that removes half the problem from the clerks. The rest don’t care. Just as most men don’t look at each other in the shower, most girls don’t look at each other when changing.”

She showed me to a changing area that was fairly private and had me strip. She looked a bit disappointed when she saw the hair still on my body, but she measured me anyway. Jamie was really professional in that she didn’t ask the obvious questions.

Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. “So how do you know Mistress?” I asked.

Jamie was quiet for a few moments while she considered my question. “I used to be a client of hers.”

I didn’t continue the questioning given what Mistress’ specialty was. I filled in some blanks with what I knew and made some assumptions. I hate making assumptions and so I spent a bit looking at Jamie closely. If she had been born a male, I couldn’t tell.

She caught me examining her. “The surgeons did a good job, didn’t they? They better have given how much I spent going to them.” She continued measuring me while she talked. She continued to talk without prompting. “I started going to Mistress a long time ago. I had always felt better in skirts, but I always had to sneak wearing them. That set up associations with feeling ashamed and so on.

“I heard through the grapevine that Mistress did the feminization of girly boys, and I wound up going to her to find out what it was like to actually be girled up properly, and boy did I learn. I worked really hard to overcome the shame associated with my dresses and the fear that went with it too. I finally managed to find some people in the BDSM community who did transsexual transformations and I stopped going to Mistress at that point. But she knows me, I know her and she knows I can be discreet as she needs to be.

“So, while we try things on, tell me about you.”

Over the next hour while I tried on bras, panties, girdles, corsets, waist nippers and other foundation garments, I shared what had been happening to me with Jamie. There wasn’t a lot to share since I was just starting on this journey, but what there was I told. She helped me to define what was relevant and what wasn’t in my life in regards to my wanting to be girl.

“It’s good that you are finally starting to define what you want and who you want to be,” she said at one point, “but realize one basic fact; you will be happier being who you are rather than who you think you should be. It took me four years to realize that, and many psychologists and therapists. It was a long, painful journey for me. But when I got to the end and finally decided to be myself, my true self, it was such a load off my mind.

“Now, tell me what you think of this padded girdle. It gives you actual hips and a butt.” She was very good at continuing on with the sales while dispensing advice.

When we finished getting the basics out of the way, Mistress brought over several dresses and blouse and skirt combos. “Why are there no pants or casual outfits?”

“I don’t want you confusing being a girl with the clothes. Men wear pants. Women may have pants on, but most crossdressers who are in pants walk like they are male, mainly because of the way the pants feel on them. I want to constantly remind you of who you are and what you are choosing to be while with me.”

I changed into a different outfit, a nice large peasant blouse and a broomstick skirt. My heels went well with it and we left there to continue through the mall. I made sure to get Jamie’s number. I gave her mine, but had to warn her about calling me. She promised to let me initiate contact with her.

We visited a lot of stores that day. After the specialty shop with Jamie, Mistress and I went to a jewelry store for things like clip on earrings, necklaces, bracelets and various necessities of fashion. Then we wound up in a luggage shop to pick out some huge “mom bags” for all my stuff. I only allowed one of those to be purchased however, since they were almost prohibitively expensive. I ask you, why in the world does a store charge $250 for a bag that probably cost $15 to make and sell?

But Mistress wouldn’t let me get away with just that. We went to a shoe store where soon four pairs of shoes wound up being bought. Two bags, smaller this time, were added to the mixture.

“Mistress, we just got this bag,” I said waving at the huge handbag. “Why do I need more purses?”

“Sissy, that big handbag is for every day. It is for casual and out and about running errands. It is for carrying your wallet, makeup, tissues, papers, checkbook, cell phone, a brick, mace, rubber chicken, the scissors for the kids, pen, paper, crayons and more. It’s the equivalent of your utility bag. These little purses match the shoes we just got you. The shoes and these purses are for going out on dates, to the clubs and so on. No one expects you to carry that huge bag-of-all-haulage, so you have smaller bags for your wallet, some money, credit cards and a little makeup. That’s what you take to a restaurant or a bar. Those Mom-bags you keep for daily use.”

When she explained it that way, I could see the sense of it. Who would want to take a Battleship up a delta when a Zodiac would do that much better. I nodded my understanding and let her direct me.

***
I had been trying to keep a running tally of our expenses, but I failed. I knew that we had spent somewhere near $1200 by the end of the day. Several sets of makeup, five dresses, six skirts and four blouses. One suit. Five pairs of shoes and three handbags. Scarfs, earrings, bracelets, hose, a penior and nightgown, panties, girdles, a corset, bras and everything a new woman needed. I felt as though I were picking out my trousseau by the end of it all.

I gradually relaxed over the day. Things didn’t blow up like I thought they would. I kept noticing others looking at me and it made me nervous, but Mistress kept blowing it off. She told me not to pay attention that mostly it was jealousy on the women’s parts and wondering about their chances on the men’s.

I had to admit, once I had good makeup on and I saw myself in a mirror, I did wonder if she would be willing to sleep with me. Then I blushed as I realized what I just thought.

Not everything went well, however.

We were on our way out of the mall when I spotted a darling little halter dress in a boutique window. I stopped to admire it and before I had thought about it much, Mistress had dragged me inside to try it on.

The ambiance was not the best, dark interior, pounding rock music, skimpy clothes and ultra chic cutting edge fashion. Racks and racks of body jewelry were on display on the counter. When did barbells come into fashion?

Mistress went over to the wall and started looking through the displays of clothes. She picked out two different dresses in my size and a pair of knee high boots in my size off the discount area. She shooed me into the dressing area to try the clothes on and waited.

I came out a few minutes later and showed her the outfit. I have to say I was smokin’ hot. A different hair style, one of the small handbags I had, some of the accessories and I would be a babe.

Mistress helped me out with the fitting and the various accoutrements. Once the boots were on, I was slightly taller than her and if it weren’t for my face, I’d look really good. But that would come another time.

Mistress complimented me and had me change back into my “gypsy garb” as she called it and took the clothes and boots up to the counter.

I joined her. It must have been a slow day because the store was empty. Just the five people who worked there, Mistress and I. The manager started ringing up the clothes and she was smiling. I was mortified to see $238.51 come up as the total.

The next few seconds are burned into my memory.

The music broke for a change in songs. I was relieved because I started getting a headache from the heavy bass and drum beats.

Everyone clearly heard in the silence of the store the word “Faggot.”

It resounded around the store. Mistress’ head whipped around and could not tell who had said it. The acoustics were such that those standing at the counter heard the speech from anywhere in the store. Her head whipped around while she tried to find the source of the epithet.

I froze. I couldn’t move. My worst fears were realized and the blood had turned into icewater in my body. I flushed and then I turned cold. My breath came in short gasps. I couldn’t think.

I felt a hand grab mine and I was nearly dragged out of the store. I was still stunned and I don’t remember hearing anything, just a roaring in my ears.

When I next found the capacity to look around me, we were in Mistress’ car and nearly to her home. I still couldn’t think.

***

When I heard whomever said that word in the store, I knew what the reaction in Sissy’s head would be. I knew that she would be devastated and that we had to get out of there fast.

I looked around knowing that I wouldn’t find the person, and noticing that it was only the staff here, that the customers had slowly drifted out while we had been shopping.

The manager look pole-axed. As well she should, there was no excuse for that kind of derogatory term to be used, especially with a customer.

I had started to get out my regular Visa card to pay for everything, but under cover of the looking around, I got out my Gold MasterCard instead. I looked back at the Manager and slowly put the MasterCard back into my wallet.

“Sissy, come on. We’re leaving. There is no excuse for this and I won’t shop someplace where you aren’t welcome.” I made sure the Manager saw the gold before I slid it back into the little slot in my wallet, then snapping the wallet closed.

The Manager tried to stop us. She started babbling. She knew that she had just lost a HUGE sale, one that could pay for the expenses of the shop for all of today. This was going to be a major blow to her bottom line, and someone was getting in massive trouble for this.

The other sales associates tried to stop me as I neared the door, my blood boiling and Sissy’s wrist firmly in my had. I had a lot of experience of holding wrists and keeping hold of them when the captured didn’t want to be in that position, but Sissy didn’t resist at all. She was too stunned.

I shot a withering glare at the associate who was trying to impede my egress; she wisely moved out of my way.

The Manager finally got her head together and charged after me. But I had a good head start and she had to run on her very fashionable stiletto heels until she caught me three stores down.

I let her babble an apology for a bit and I finally cut her off. “It’s obvious that your staff doesn’t see things your way, and in my experience the staff reflects the management. If this is how your store deals with customers who don’t fit the norm, then you don’t need my business. It’s not like I couldn’t get everything that was on that counter at other locations, in some cases for less money than you were charging. Your store was convenient, it happened to be there, nothing more.”

I had carefully planned those words as I stormed out. I knew that they would hurt, and I meant for them to. I had no tolerance for people like that and I intended to make that fact clear.

One of the other Associates came charging up behind, a bag in her hands. The manager all but snatched it from her and practically shoved it into my free hand, babbling about how sorry she was and that the situation would be taken care of and would I please reconsider coming back and to please take this as her way of profoundly apologizing for that gaffe….

I turned and stalked off without saying another word to her. The bag was firmly in my hand and it would remain there until we were out of the mall. Let her write off nearly $250 in merchandise, one of those little bitches was losing their job, and if none of them confessed, they would all probably be fired. Perhaps at some future date they would remember this incident and remember to treat a customer with more courtesy, no matter what their personal feelings were.

By the time we made the second set of traffic lights as we were leaving the mall, I had calmed down. I was shaking in reaction and probably from the adrenaline in my system. But right now I had to deal with Sissy and how she was going to react to this.

Damn, a perfectly lovely day ruined by one idiot. I had to think of what to do now.

A time to rest and then a reward for a job well done allows Sissy to start healing and really become the woman that she might be. Can it continue?

A whole new Sissy -- Pt 7

Maid Joy

The sages of the past who said “time heals all wounds” may have been spouting a platitude, but it turns out that they were right, damn them.

The more time that passed the less the “faggot” comment hurt. I could even laugh about it.

Mistress was great about it. She helped me deal with the problems that arose in my own head that stemmed from the comment. I wasn’t as upset to be thought of as a homosexual, as I was about being spotted as a guy in drag. The fears that flowed from that issue were numerous.

I was very afraid. To start, I was terrified that if someone I knew from the base spotted me that I would be thrown out of the Army. I was also terrified that all that I had worked for would be seen as a sham. My culture, military culture despises weakness. What I wanted, what I needed would be seen as beyond weak, it would in my comrades eyes as a betrayal of not only myself and the Army but of them. I didn’t think I could face their looks of condemnation and rejection.

I think a lot of the dilemma was because I had a lot of time and effort invested in who I showed myself to be. I know it wasn’t who I truly was, but there was a lot of pain and effort and achievement in being the macho soldier that I portrayed. I didn’t want that all invalidated by another aspect of my character. I believed it was an aspect that I could live without if I had to.

Granted, I wouldn’t be happy to lose that part of me, but I could deal with it. After all, if you have never had Ice Cream, how can you miss it?

***

It had been two months since that first outing and shopping trip. Mistress had been helping me, teaching me how to do everything from walk correctly to applying makeup. I had taken to trimming my leg hair to keep it shorter, not shaving it all. Doing PT with no leg hair would have been an “interesting” clue.

I had learned to move with more grace than before. It seemed to be more of a martial art skill, moving with a graceful flow, than many people realized. I mean, most times when fighting it was about power and crushing the other, dominating them with sheer force. In Kung Fu, however, it was about flowing and redirecting energy into another direction, rather than crushing.

Walking in heels, moving with grace, keeping my legs together, all that seemed more suited to Kung Fu than to moving like I normally did. I flowed from one point to another, then I alighted on a chair. I stayed stationary for a time, then I rose or ascended and moved to where I had to go.

I found that most furniture, as it is currently made, didn’t lend itself to this style of movement. Oh, I loved the overstuffed chairs when I was in “guy” mode, I took my seat and I relaxed back. But when I was in “Sissy” mode, and I perched on the same chair, I felt like it was not even close to being comfortable. The mechanics were all wrong for me to sit. It was too short, or too deep, too well padded, or something. I found myself perching on stools or on hard chairs, standing and waiting rather than trying to fight the design of the furniture.

I had to learn all kinds of things. I loved every minute of it.

Slowly I was able to pay Mistress back for her incredible generosity. Her offer was exactly what I needed and wanted. She gave me a place where I could be myself, without judgment, that in and of itself was a relief.

Two months of spending my weekends with her. Understand when I say “weekends” I mean the time off I had scheduled. It wasn’t always Saturday and Sunday, sometimes it was Tuesday and Wednesday, it all depended on the training schedule and the duty rosters. I was able to manipulate things slightly so that I had time I wanted, and I was always able to have my time with her.

There were some complications, as a Non Commissioned Officer I was expected to do a certain amount of socialization. About 80% of that socialization I was able to avoid and blow off, but the other 20% was mandatory. That cut into my “me” time some what.

We were both looking forward to the three weeks I had scheduled as vacation. I didn’t have much to spend my leave on so it just accrued. But now I wanted a vacation and I decided to take a while off.

Mistress promised me that I would be spending every possible second of that time as Sissy. I couldn’t wait.

***

At last the time had come. I handed my duties over to another sergeant, made sure I hadn’t forgotten anything and I packed my bag to leave. I had my paperwork and my identification in my pocket. I was ready.

I got out to my car and loaded the trunk up with my duffel bag. There were other things that I had gotten into the car at other times, and I didn’t want them seen right now. A few of my mates were present to say goodbye to me, and with some good natured back slapping and hand shaking, I got into my car and left the base.

It took me about a half an hour to get into the city and then finally to Mistress’ work area. I knew that she would be busy with another client, so I quietly came into the house and left my bag in a closet I was told was mine. I brought in the rest of the stuff, my prom dress and the overnight bag of Sissy’s clothes that didn’t leave my car. I double checked everything and started my transformation.

Without causing a problem or making a ruckus, I went into the bathroom and showered. I had taken to trimming the hair on my legs with the clippers I had to keep my head buzz cut, and now it was only about ten minutes to remove all the leg hair. This was the first time I had done this since physical training and body modesty was not something that was a high priority in the barracks, even though I had my own room. I couldn’t believe how different my legs felt without the insulation of hair and the extra tactile input.

I finished my shower, shaved my face completely and dried off. Mistress insisted that I use some lotion on my skin once I got done and so I lubed up everywhere. It had a nice flowery scent and I reveled in it.

I didn’t have much hair to deal with, so I just wrapped a towel around my torso, covering my breasts so I started to get into the mindset, and I went back to “my” room to change. Panties first, after tucking away that annoying bulge and putting on the dancer’s belt, the padded girdle came up and gave my hips and ass some shape. Bra and breast forms came next. Mistress had found some glue to mount the breast forms on my chest, and I proceeded to put them on, gasping a little as the glue hit my skin. A few seconds of curing time and the breasts were attached as though I had grown them myself.

I was already feeling different. My motions took on a whole different manner and I flowed into resting on the vanity bench at the make up table. I tweezed my eyebrows for a bit, plucked any stray hairs on my face and started the process of putting on the layers of makeup that a woman needs.

Eyebrows cleaned up the soft brush and dark powder was applied to define the newly feminized brow. Next up finish off the face with foundation, blush eyeliner and mascara — done. I had learned to disguise the line where the breast forms met my chest with more makeup as well. Finally I had the majority of my “face” done. I had decided on a pink scheme for the day, not a heavy look, just one that lightened my features up and opened my eyes up. I set it up with a translucent power and made sure that everything was looking nice.

I pulled out one of the maid uniforms that Mistress had me in before, except this time it actually fit me. Short skirts on the previous uniform came down to nearly my knees now, the bodice actually fit and I looked nice. I pulled the stockings on and rolled them up my newly shaven legs.

Mistress was right, again, the lack of hair on my legs did open up a whole new world of sensations. Oh, this felt yummy!

I attached the stockings to the bottom of my girdle with the tabs that were sewn into it for just that purpose. Next I pulled on a corset and laced it up as best as I could. I hadn’t practiced doing this much, but the principle was not hard; hook up the busk in front, loop the tapes over the doorknob, and then walk as far as you could from the door. Tie off the tapes and voile, instant girl form.

Uniform on, zipped up the back, three inch pumps on the feet and the ankle straps closed, apron tied off and looking neat, finally the wig that Mistress loaned me. I made sure it was on and looking nice, and examined the final product in the full length mirror on the wall.

I had once heard a comedian say that the measure of Vanity was if you would shag yourself. I had to admit that I would if I didn’t know it was me.

With that happy thought on my mind, I left to go and do my self-appointed chores.

***

It was inevitable that I ran into Mistress and her client while cleaning. Making up the beds and cleaning the private rooms didn’t take much time, so I moved on to the public rooms.

“And here’s my pride and joy; Sissy! How very good to see you! Could you take a few minutes and make sure that this idiotic slut learns how to properly dust? I’ve been trying, and she just isn’t getting it.”

I walked slowly and sensually into the parlor and saw what Mistress meant. She had her current client in the same slut uniform I had on at one point, same bad makeup job, and this poor girl was trying desperately to maintain her dignity while cleaning, which was impossible of course.

I curtsied, “Of course Mistress. It would be my pleasure.” I could see the flush on this new girl’s face since she wasn’t able to do the job properly. I ordered her to watch me.

I took the duster out of her hand and showed her how to dust. It wasn’t the dusting that was the important part, but the bending and stooping, intentionally showing off the ass, chest, legs or whatever was convenient to tease and embarrass the girl in question.

Mistress was effusive with her praise for my skills and very abusive to her client. Having been through it and understanding the rhyme behind the reason, I could admire her deft touch. Just enough praise to keep her client encouraged along with the humiliation they paid for.

I kept myself out of the way mostly. I let Mistress do the interacting, and I was busy quietly doing the real chores while this client (whose name I didn’t even know) ran around and incompetently cleaned and re-cleaned things that she didn’t get the first time.

***

Three hours later, her client was sent on home. I finished cleaning up the “toys” and put them in their proper places. I smiled to myself because even though I was still squicked out by some of them, most of these devices didn’t bother me much any more. They were tools of a trade, no different from a knife in my hands, or a hammer in a carpenter’s hands.

Once Mistress got cleaned up, she came and gave me the instructions for her next client. This one was going to be a BDSM special, so I was instructed to pull out the floggers and other impact toys. She made sure to put a collar on me and cuffs on my wrists. I had to look like I was Mistress’ personal property since I would be handing things to her as she needed them.

“Understand Sissy, you are not going to be touching him at all. I’ll be doing all that. All you will need to give me is the items I require. So have the binder clips, the clothes pins, and those kinds of things ready for me. Alcohol, pads, towels and latex gloves are going to be needed. This is going to mean a lot of pain so make sure the gags are out and clean. I have to get into my ‘bitch domme’ outfit. Once everything is out, come and help me get dressed.”

She stopped for a minute on her way out, “You did very well this morning with her. You have a talent for this kind of work. Maybe a good career for you once you are out of the Army?”

It wasn’t until much later that night that I had time to be with Mistress on my own. Or really think about what she had said… out of the Army, did I really want that?

***

That pretty much set the tone for that first week. Mistress had clients almost every day and I helped her as I could. Most often I stayed out of the way, took care of her home while she worked and for that, I had free run.

I shopped for food, out as a Lady. I felt more comfortable being out and the fear of being ‘read’ slacked off greatly. Being this far from base made it vanishingly slim that anyone from my other world would see me, and if they did, it was highly unlikely that I would be recognized.

I also didn’t think that they would look too closely at a lady shopping for groceries.

I got home with the four or five bags of groceries for the next couple days, and Mistress caught me in the kitchen.

“Sissy, we have tomorrow off. I cleared the schedule and you have helped me so much that I’m treating you to a Spa Day.”

“Spa day? What’s that?”

Mistress grinned. “It’s probably the most decadent day a woman can have. We go to the spa and let other people pamper us.”

“What kind of pampering?”

“Well, first there is the massages and the seaweed wraps, then the hair styling and the makeup, then the mani/pedis, possibly waxing as well. It depends on what is needed. But believe me, you will love it. Should take us most of the day.”

“Um, I have to ask, is this going to mess things up for me when I go back to work? I don’t want there to be anything lasting that might spill the beans with the rest of the unit.”

“Trust me, while there will be a few things that could be long term, most of it will work out in the next two weeks. I want to give you something that will make you feel beautiful and heavenly.”

“Won’t the fact that I don’t have hair of my own make it a bit awkward?”

“No, a lot of women wear wigs, and if it comes to it we can tell them that you had a double mastectomy and chemotherapy, which would account for the falsies and the lack of hair. No one will think anything of it.”

I took some time to think that over. “Okay, it sounds like a lot of fun.”

***

The next day I got up with some anticipation. This was an unusual as most often I had a very set routine. This is going to be a memorable day.

I got dressed, light makeup and not much in the way of coverup. Mistress got me and we drove to the spa.

I have to admit that I was more than a little nervous when I was shown into the changing room where I was supposed to disrobe and put on a spa robe. I was worried that I’d be exposed my uncomfortable bulge recognized for what it really was. I tried to take a deep breath, relax and enjoy the experience.

I saw Mistress and we started the process. The first thing was a hot rock massage. I laid down on a table and a lovely lady took very smooth warmed stones and used them to rub my back and legs. It forced me to relax and it felt so good.

I had read and heard about this, but it was nothing like living through it. It felt like heaven.

The seaweed wrap came next, and I kept my panties on for the whole time. Before the wrap, I had to use the solvent and remove my breasts. I honestly thought that this was going to mean the end of the time I had as Sissy. But with the removal of the wig and breasts, no one thought anything about it.

The lady who did the body wrap said “I’m glad to see you healing. We’ll take good care of you and make you feel beautiful again.” That was all that was ever said.

I luxuriated. I relaxed and simply let them do things to me. I know I napped a couple times in sheer bliss. I didn’t think I could relax this totally, but I did. I was oiled, lotioned, rubbed and my pores were cleaned. I didn’t have to raise a hand to do anything.

Going to the gym and even sitting in the sauna or the steam room never felt this good.

Finally, the masque was taken off, the cucumbers removed from my eyes, and I was washed down with a sponge bath. I was told that I would need to get dressed again and it was time for the makeover.

Apparently I wouldn’t need to be waxed since most of the hair on my body was of the baby fine variety. The hair on my legs was short enough that the wax wouldn’t take and just shaving would handle it.

Once I was dressed I was led to the makeup/hairstyling chair I would be in. Three people descended on me. Alice would be taking care of my face and makeup. Pika would be doing my hands and Charlie my toes.

Pretty soon I realized that my best bet was to simply sit still and let them do whatever they wanted to do. The facial was checked over, and my face was rubbed again. Part of this was apparently a face massage and various specialty lotions to tighten the skin on my face. I was complimented on the condition of my face, there weren’t any wrinkles or crow’s feet. The bags under my eyes were tightened up somehow and the rest of my face was cared for.

While that was happening, Pika was rubbing my hands. She was a bit quiet about the damage done to my hands, the rough skin, the broken nails and the torn up cuticles. She spent a lot of time on the nails, trimming, cleaning and generally repairing years of abuse.

One of the things I thought was most touching was that they had a turban for me. My wig was set aside and another lady was busy styling it so that it looked good.

I saw Mistress across the way she was also getting a similar treatment. It made me feel good and I relaxed.

These ladies treated me just as if I were an honored lady guest. I didn’t speak much, but they kept up a chatter that I found very calming and soothing. They told me what they were doing and why. Toenails trimmed, nails buffed and more.

I was asked if I wanted my ears pierced, but I stopped them before they did so. I explained that I had a hard time healing after the chemo, and they understood completely and quickly. The topic was dropped and not mentioned again.

After hours of sitting in the chair and letting these ladies dote on me, finally they were done. The turban was taken off and my wig restored.

I was shown a long mirror and the change was stunning. I had finger nails now, slight ones that were just past the tips of my fingers. Apparently part of the treatment was acrylic nail tips, glued on to give me solid nails instead of the brittle things I had before.

My makeup was done by a master artist. It looked so much better than anything I could have done on my own. My eyebrows were plucked and thinned as they needed to be, arched in a delicate feminine curve. My eye lashes were curled and thick with mascara, the smoky shades on my lids making my eyes larger and deeper.

The nail polish on my fingers matched the lipstick, and I noticed for the first time that I had toenail polish as well. My feet and hands felt smooth and soft. I couldn’t believe how much of a difference that a little lotion and some pampering had on me.

I was floating on cloud nine. I gave all the girls who worked on me hugs and thanked them as best as I could. I don’t know if they would understand the depth of my gratitude, but I felt myself tearing up. There weren’t words enough to tell them how much it meant so I hoped that the generous tip I knew Mistress would add would be enough. A quick tissue later to keep from messing up my makeup and Mistress and I were on our way.

***

“So how did you like it?”

Sissy was a bit dreamy in her response. “It was heavenly. It felt so good and I loved it so much. Thank you.”

I smiled. “You are very welcome. I’m thinking that we can get our party clothes on tonight and go out dancing.”

Sissy got a bit nervous. “Do you think I could pass in a club for a girl?”

I thought that she looked better than many of the girls that would be there. “I think that if you went to the right place, with the right people you will pass for a girl without a problem. And I think you need the experience that comes with being a pretty girl in public. You are gaining a lot of confidence, and your growth is amazing and I love it. But you still need to be in close contact with others and have them say the same thing.”

Sissy did look a bit more nervous. I knew that nervousness well, as I had seen it many times. I knew the club would do more good than harm.

“Sissy, don’t worry about it. I’ll be right there-” I was interrupted by a persistent beeping from Sissy’s purse.

She blanched and dug her pager out. She glanced at the number displayed and dug her cell phone out.

She quickly dialed a number and started speaking. “This is Sergeant Taylor. I was paged.-- Yes. I understand. Thank you.”

She closed the phone and in a very flat voice said, “We need to get to your home as soon as possible. My leave has been canceled. My unit has just been activated to be deployed.”

Sissy's leave is canceled and she has to go into combat. Will her secret be discovered?

Sissy and the Army -- Pt 8

Maid Joy

It was every nightmare I had come true. In the middle of everything I loved and enjoyed, it all came crashing down to call me back out into combat.

We got back to Mistress' house and I raced inside. I crossed the threshold to the back and my wig was off. I had enough respect for it to put it on the dummy head where it should be. I started stripping out of my clothes quickly. Off came the blouse, then the skirt, the shoes, the girdle, the bra and then the breast forms.

I stepped up to the mirror and grabbed a huge handful of the cold cream and started smearing it all over my face, making sure to get from my hairline to my upper chest. I rubbed and scrubbed to get all the beautiful makeup off.

I was trying very hard not to cry as I left Sissy in a pile on the bed. Jewelry came off and while I didn't scatter it, I wasn't careful to put it back exactly where I got it from.

I knew that deployment meant a mission of some sort. I'd have my rifle in my hands, a pack on my back, I'd be cold and scared in the bush beyond no where, and I would have my life on the line.

I sat down on the vanity and started stripping the polish off my nails. Taking off the polish on my toes was easy. I just poured some remover in a bowl and shoved my toes into it. As the polish dissolved I choked back a sob.

When I started taking the polish off my hands, I ran into a huge problem. The nails were super glued on and I couldn't get them off. The polish was easy, but I nearly ripped my own nail off trying to remove the acrylic extensions on the tips. I started panicking, and then calmed down and decided to just cut them off.

I grabbed the nail clippers and started slicing. The first cut didn't do anything except nearly break my fingers. These little tips were STRONG. I couldn't get the clippers to cut them at all.

Mistress dropped toenail clippers on the vanity in front of me. I smiled with tears in my eyes and grabbed them instead. It hurt, but I was able to cut the nails off. The clippers had a tendency to bend the nail tips instead of just cutting them, and it really did hurt when my soft nails were bent too.

I made sure that the polish was gone, that the makeup was gone and I started getting into my uniform. Mistress quietly cleaned up the clothes and accessories that I had on only minutes ago and putting them away.

With speed that would have surprised people that had never been subject to middle of the night emergency drills, I was fully clothed and ready to go. I reached down, grabbed my duffel bag, which had never been unpacked, and started for the door. Mistress was in front of me suddenly.

I looked at her, and she at me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know that this would happen." Before I could finish she stopped me and kissed me on the cheek. "Be safe," was all she said. "I'd hate to lose my girlfriend."

She gently and firmly pushed me out the door.

***

I had to shed Sissy's self and get back into the mind of SSgt Taylor. I had to leave behind my feminine side and get back to being a highly trained killer. G_d witness how much I hated being that killer now that I found Sissy.

I reported to the briefing with the rest of the NCOs and Officers. We had to know the tactical goals to do our job correctly. If we didn't know what was going on, people would die.

I had my equipment and my weapons. The situation was one that we had faced over and over again, a very short goal, but of enormous value. Burst into a place, get people out, and extract ourselves.

(I can't tell you more since this journal is public, and this was a classified operation. I wouldn't use the old "I'd have to kill you" joke, it's overdone. I will share what I can with you.)

The First Sergeant was kind enough to pull me aside before we deployed. "Sorry I had to cancel your leave Taylor, but I'm sure you understand." He was looking at me oddly and his nostrils were flared.

"It's fine First Sergeant, I wasn't doing much of anything anyhow. Just laying around and enjoying myself." I didn't think.

He nodded. "Well, I see you got some severe pampering, if that manicure is any indication." Shit, shit, shit, shit…. He had noticed something.

I nodded. "Just a little self love, a real break from this." I had to get away. "I need to get back to my men Top, do you need me for anything else?"

"No, go ahead." He was still looking at me oddly.

Soon enough we were in the air, going to the euphemistic "undisclosed location". I had taken some ribbing from my men about the soft hands and face and I hoped to G_d that they didn't notice the eyebrows.

***

The only thing of real interest in the next few days was the actual insertion. A HALO drop from 30,000 feet to pop my chute about 100 feet off the ground at night is harrowing, but it was the only way into the area since it had three different groups fighting for it.

My squad and I landed within feet of our target and shed our chutes. First objective to meet was actually penetrating the perimeter. Then would come the really fun part, getting to our actually objective, the prisoners.

Boring military stuff follows so I'll skip most of it. We finally got into the prison and got the people we were after and were getting out. Each squad member was responsible for one prisoner. I had given mine my handgun so that he could cover my back and defend himself if he had to.

He knew the drill, he was a soldier. He was a good man.

On the way out we got pinned down. We were taking fire and he had run out of bullets. I still had ammo, but not a lot. The rest of the squad had gotten out and were trying to come back for me not easy since I had to keep moving to avoid getting either of us killed. A grenade landed nearby and the way opened up. I grabbed the guy I was with and we bolted for shelter.

In the cover of another doorway, I ran out of bullets. Since he had already emptied my pistol we were both out. I put those weapons away and started plotting our way out when the door opened and my guy was grabbed. A pistol was pressed to his head and the Arab started screaming something at me.

My hands went up, just high enough to smash his nose into his brain, killing him. I grabbed the enemy's pistol and we were running again.

Finally we managed to rejoin the squad and I half carried, half dragged my guy out of there. It was noisy, it was deadly, but we made it. We didn't leave anyone behind, we didn't leave any of our equipment and we accomplished the objective. None of my men were killed, only one was injured. It was a good night.

***

Two days, the debriefing over, the shakes started, a delayed reaction to how close I had come to dying. It was impossibly hard having to relive those moments of gut wrenching fear over and over, and be unable to react emotionally. So I slapped a lid on it and ignored it, like every soldier does at one point or another.

It took me several days to get past the emotions and the shakes. I didn't even think about becoming Sissy again. I knew I couldn't handle it.

That military of me was so at odds with Sissy, I didn't think I could ever reconcile them. How could I go from a fragile little creature to one that could literally kill with my bare hands? How could I come to being at peace with those extremes? Was it even possible?

I knew that I was starting to use Sissy as a haven for my psyche, a place where I didn't have to think about what I did for a living. I also felt that I was betraying my country by running away from those duties to be someone I wasn't.

Still, I was Sissy and she was me, so was it really running away?

I thought I was confused when I started really exploring the Sissy in me, now I was starting to feel lost, with out a compass or a map to guide me to the path I needed.

***

The First Sergeant made sure that all his men were taken care of after the mission. Taylor was a concern and he made a call.

"Yes, CID? Can I speak to First Sergeant Williams? Thank you. Frank! How's it going? Really? That's great. No, not a social call. I have to ask you a favor. I'm concerned about one of my own. I'm worried that he might be being blackmailed. Yeah. Staff Sergeant Gregory Taylor, ID number 094-33-1288. Yea, assigned to First Platoon. I'm not sure, but when he was recalled from his leave, he came back different. His eyebrows were plucked, his hand were all soft and shaped, he had fake nails on and he smelled like a girl. I'm worried that he's gay or something. Do you think you could get someone to quietly check up on him and where he goes on his leaves and days off? Yeah. Yeah, as soon as possible. No, I don't think there's anything criminal involved, but remember we are talking about a combat operative with a high security clearance. He may not be up to the level of the CIA, but he's good enough. Yeah, just to me. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one. Okay, I'll spot you three holes next time we are in Augusta. Talk to you later."

The phone was placed back on the cradle and the First Sergeant started drumming his fingers on his blotter.

Sissy Captured -- Pt 9

Maid Joy

I was in my barracks and getting dressed for formation. For the five hundredth time I wished I dared wear my panties instead of these bikini briefs. The tighty-whiteys that were issued (in reality grungy-greenies for the OD green color) didn’t feel right or make me happy to have them on, mainly because of how badly they hurt and fit.

When I say hurt I mean that they were rough as hell. I have no idea why women’s panties were soft and heavenly and males’ underwear was so scratchy and rough, but they were. It couldn’t be the washing, I always use fabric softener, yet the tactile difference was notable.

Lycra and spandex panties were heaven to me, but I also knew they weren’t the most comfortable item for long term wear. They retained heat and made things very humid down there. I couldn’t wear the same set of panties without washing them. I could *sometimes* get away with that with male underwear, if I wasn’t doing too much sweating.

Men sweat, ladies glow. But I couldn’t seem to get past the sweat part. Maybe it was genetics, like everything else. When you are as physically active as I am, there is really no hope for it.

But cotton panties, they were heaven, slightly stretchy, soft as down, gentle to the skin that was fantastic. There were occasional problems, (I tended to fall out of them since that crotch area was a bit narrow), but they were easily the most comfortable things I had on ever.

The odd part was that the construction of the two items weren’t that different. They had the same basic materials, a slightly different cut, and that flap to let men go to the bathroom without pulling their pants down. You wouldn’t think it would make that much difference, but it always did.

***

The days had passed quickly. I was counting down the days until I was out of the Service. It was hard to believe that I, a career Army man if ever there was one, couldn’t wait to be Short Time. I didn’t know what had come over me.

Mistress was great to me. She had been treating me more like a colleague and a friend than a patron. I didn’t have to pay her anymore to come over and dress up, and occasionally she played with me too. Still no sex, damn-it, but it was better than nothing.

There were days that I dreamed of having the whole plumbing system that I wanted and having her do things to me. I wanted my first orgasm as a woman to be at her hands. I knew that it was possible that eventually I would want to be taken like a woman would be by a man, that was probably inevitable, but I was determined not to think about that until it actually happened.

I mean, I can intellectually understand being gay. That was no problem, as long as it was other people. I didn’t really feel that way myself. I looked around at other men, saw nice people who took care of themselves. I was surrounded by really buff bodies and they did nothing to arouse me. As a female that should have make me a lesbian, but still. I did my best not to think about it since the ideas just left me more miserable and confused than I was before. Everything was yes but. I was use to the certainties of military life with all of its regulations; your thinking was done for you. I was not comfortable or happy in the floating limbo I found myself in now.

I had fantasized occasionally a long time ago what it would be like to have a dick in my mouth. I think most boys have that fantasy once in a while. I didn’t actually have any opportunity to do anything and I don’t know if I could have if given the chance. But now, who knew?

Don’t think about it, do not think about it, change the topic my brain shrieked. That was a problem for another day. Don’t borrow trouble and don’t fret.

I tried to take my own advice and ignore the thoughts running through my head. One interesting consequence of my choices was I noticed women more.

Not in a sexual way, although they did look nice and I did think about a relationship with some of them, but more in a “would that dress/outfit look good on me?” way. I was noticing the cut of outfits more, fitted blouses and belled or boot cut slacks etcetera. Some outfits worked and looked really nice on the ladies I looked at, but others just didn’t at all. It made me wonder where the Fashion Police were when you needed them.

In my room, I noticed that I was watching things like “What Not To Wear” and “Platinum Weddings” and so on, just to see the outfits. I tried to develop a personal style of dress that would compliment my skin and my body shape.

Good thing I didn’t entertain many people in my bedroom.

***

Several weeks later on a “weekend” visit, Mistress asked: “Sissy, Halloween is coming up, do you have any plans?”

I had to think for a minute. I knew I would be pulling duty rotations at the base, but I didn’t know if it was that particular night or not.

“Looking at the calendar in my head, I am on duty the next week, but not the thirty first. Why? What’s up?”

“I thought that one night that you could dress up as outrageously as you want to and no one would say anything about it. If you are like the other TS girls I know, there’s part of you who wants the fantasy. You know cheerleader, anime character, nurse, cat-girl or something similar. This would be a perfect time to let you express it.”

I thought while I was washing the dishes. I understood the appeal and to be truthful I had those same impulses too, but not exactly the way she thought.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to try a naughty nurse, a midriff top and my abs are a little too much to be truly feminine. The cat-girl costumes I’ve seen don’t leave much to the imagination and I really don’t think I would look nice in them. It’s funny; I really do want to look nice and passable, not like a slut or like a freak. While I loved Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman costume from Batman, that’s some really skintight latex. I know I wouldn’t look right in it.

“I never wanted to be a cheerleader, mainly because I’m not that extroverted and peppy. I do like the uniforms as much as the next person, but some of them are just too…. I don’t know how to describe it. I know I’m not a dancer.”

Mistress was quiet while I had verbal diarrhea and thought out loud. “If I was honest, the outfit I would like to dress up in is a female officer’s Class A’s. I’ve always thought they were some of the most attractive uniforms in the Army.”

Mistress looked sideways at me. I couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. “That shouldn’t be hard to do. A trip to the Uniform store to get a full outfit in your measurements and some substitution of heels for those ugly flats and a few custom tweaks to the fit and cut, and I think you would look very nice.”

She fell silent and I could see the wheels turning in her head.

“Okay! Let’s get ready for another client. I have a real masochist coming in, and his fantasy is to pretend that you are his wife and I’m torturing both of you. Think you can handle that?”

I was kind of stunned. “What is going to happen?”

“When he comes in and I lock him into that wonderful heavy wooden chair in the dungeon. That way he has a good view of the room. He’s gagged and blindfolded for the first part. Once he’s locked and secured I remove his blindfold and he sees you, tied and helpless. I work on you for a while, floggers, whips and so on, all the while he can hear you shriek with pain, even though it won’t be painful for you, and he gets to be helpless while you are ‘used’ by me.”

I got a bit nervous. “When you say ‘used’ what do you mean?”

Her lips thinned in slight irritation and embarrassment. “It means that I’ll be using a dildo on you — anally.”

I was quiet for a few moments while I thought. “I trust you. After everything you have done for me and with me, you are always my Mistress and a dear friend in many ways. You have given me myself and if this is what it takes to pay you back, I’ll trust your skill to not hurt me.”

She sighed deeply. “Thank you for your trust. I’ll try not to violate it.”

***

We retired to the “dress up” chamber and I started getting ready. I stripped down to skin and my boobs, which were glued on to my chest. Mistress had a special piece of equipment for me first.

She brought out a mass of metal. “Sissy, this is a chastity belt. I’ve got one that is somewhat adjustable but we will have to play with it a while to make sure it’s comfortable on you and that it’s secure.”

The first thing that came out was a tube. She slipped a knee high stocking over my penis and fed the end through the tube. She then pulled the tube up until it was completely around my penis and then removed the nylon. With that caress I got instantly aroused, only to discover that just the tube by itself was enough to stop anything further.

She slipped the waist band around my hips and then fiddled with the sizing a couple times until it was snug around me. “No, that doesn’t look right. Let’s get a corset on you first to hide your abs.”

She left me in the tube, but removed the waistband. She grabbed a corset that I had worn, one that was supposed to be seen. It had lots of trim and beautiful decorations. Any woman would look beautiful in it, and I’m certain that most women would feel beautiful when they had it on.

She pulled the ribbon lacing firmly, leaving my breasts hanging since there were no cups for them. As she pulled it tight, it felt better and better, like a solid hug that covered most of my body. It was hard to breathe after a bit, but not terribly so. I started breathing from the top of my chest and panting a bit more and it was fine. I certainly wouldn’t be doing any long hikes or five mile runs in this.

Once she tied the ribbon into a lovely bow, she put the waistband back in place. It fit much better and didn’t pinch anymore. She pulled the chains across my ass, and the front plate came up between my legs. She hooked the front plate in place and slid the penis tube in place, making sure that I didn’t fall out. She adjusted it a couple times, then mated the front shield with the waist band and checked the fit. She then opened up the front shield up again, and changed the length of the chains so they were snug against my ass, then tried it again. Once she finished fiddling she pulled out a circular lock and put it over the post at the top of the waist band. There was a loud “SNAP” and for some reason, I tried to get hard again.

I blushed crimson, and I was sure that Mistress could see it. She grinned and said “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of “girls” and male submissives have that reaction. Don’t worry Sissy; you are acting like any red blooded girl submissive would.”

She picked up another piece, another shield that covered the front plate of the belt where the tube was attached. She hooked it in place, and lifted it up, and with another “SNAP” it closed and locked.

Mistress stepped back and looked at me. “Wow that looks marvelous on you. We’ll have to do this again at some point. You look wonderful.”

I had to admit that I felt really vulnerable. My asshole was still open and while my penis was locked away. I could be taken but only as a female could be. I felt safe and vulnerable and pretty and sluttish all at the same time. It was a wild ride of emotions.

“Okay, now for the rest.” Mistress sat me down and started doing my makeup, helping me with my hair and so on. She put me in a leather bikini top that matched the corset and helped me into the four inch heels.

“He’s going to be here in about thirty minutes. You need to help me get ready now and then I’ll lock you up to wait his arrival. There are also a few things I need to go over with you in the terms of safety.”

Dressing Mistress was pretty easy. Most of what she needed to wear was already on her habitually so it was just a matter of tightening and adding some final touches. Once I finished helping her, about 10 minutes was left before the client arrived.

She led me over to a hanging pillory. It looked like two railroad ties with cutouts for my neck and hands. It had eyebolts attached on the top and was suspended by chains from the ceiling. It allowed me to crouch a bit and I could bend from the waist if I tried. She opened it up and I slid my wrists and neck in place. She closed and snapped the lock closed over the hasp. I was secured, and feeling really helpless.

She got a pole with cuffs on either end, about three feet long. She attached one cuff to my ankle and then helped me slide out my other ankle so she could close the cuff around that. “This is a spreader bar. It is designed to prevent you from closing your legs together. It also keeps your feet on the floor and can help you stay balanced as long as you don’t move. If you fall, that’s fine, you are secure enough that you won’t damage yourself for the next little while. Just pull against the restraints and stand back up.”

As she was speaking, an eyebolt on the floor was locked to an eyebolt in the middle of the spreader bar. She also ran some bungee cords from the bottom of the pillory to additional anchor bolts in the floor to help me keep my balance. I imagined that the tension on the chains over head was pretty tight.

She pulled my hair back in a pony tail to keep it out of my face, kissed me lightly on the cheek, then shoved a ball gag in my mouth and buckled it behind my head. I immediately started drooling and couldn’t help it when it spilled out of my mouth.

“Okay, now for the safety lecture. Normally we would come up with a series of ‘safe words’ for you to say that would back the action down or stop it if needed. A ‘caution word’ is there to let me know that you are need a bit of a respite, but not all the action needs to end. A ‘stop word’ tells me that you have to have the scene end RIGHT NOW due to whatever reasons, medical or emotional.

“Since you have that gag in your mouth you won’t be able to say anything, and I might not be able to see your hands if you are signaling that way. So tap your right foot if you are using the ‘caution word’ and the left foot if you need to use the ‘stop word’. Try that now.”

I carefully tapped my right foot several times, by pivoting up on the heel. It was a bit awkward but doable given the way the bonds I was in were set up. I heard Mistress hum in acknowledgment and then I tapped my left foot the same way.

“Good, I can see that and it’s obvious. If you feel you need me to back down please use those signals. If you don’t, I will be MOST irritated with you.”

She picked up the flogger she was going to be using on me. “As you know this is my favorite flogger. Part of why you are in the corset is to protect your spine, your kidneys, your liver and so on. I’ll be hitting you with this on the shoulder blades, not as hard as possible, but hard enough to make an effective sound.

“I’ll also be striking your ass and the backs of your thighs. It will be a thumpy sensation, not a hurtful one, like you got punched over a wide area. The worst that would happen is a sunburned sensation.

“I’ll also be striking your upper torso so that the tails are hitting your ‘tits’, while that would really hurt a female, since yours are prosthetics it will impact and you might not feel anything. I do need you to be a good actress and squeal and jump like you are being really hurt badly. Crying would be good too, but I understand if you can’t manage that.”

There was a knocking at the external door and Mistress hurried off to get it answered and start the scene with the client.

I really did trust her not to hurt me. Which was a strange thing for me to think since *I* was the dangerous person here, not her. The restraints made me feel absolutely helpless. My hands were about two feet away from my head and no amount of straining would get them any closer to each other.

I tried to lift my feet, but the spreader bar was doing a marvelous job of keeping my feet at a constant distance from each other. Given the lock holding the bar to the there was a lever action that kept my heels firmly on the ground. If I tried hard enough, I could probably bend or break the pole, but I didn’t want to cause her more expense or pay the price she might extract from me for damaging equipment.

I used a soldier’s trick and relaxed. I just let my thoughts drift, and I kept my muscles from freezing up by individually relaxing them all. Thankfully the room was warm, so I wouldn’t have to worry about cramping from the cold. As best as I could I kept the blood flowing and moving in my body by shrugging my shoulders and my arms. I swung the pillory back and forth so that I had some movement of my back and tried to wait Mistress out.

***

Based on the report from the company’s first sergeant an investigator had been assigned to check out SSgt. Taylor’s quarters and electronics including Taylor’s personal computer. The CID investigator thought, “Clever people are sometimes the most stupid of all. It is all well and good to keep a password on a computer, but if it’s easily guessable, then it’s useless”. Unfortunately for Sergeant Taylor he was one of those clever people.

The man who was had entered SSgt Taylor’s room didn’t have to wear black or a ninja costume. He had the keys and as a member of the Army most people wouldn’t think twice about his presence. The CID man had verified the fact that Taylor was once again off base during his time off. It was a caution flag to the investigator. Taylor’s routine had changed recently and needed to be checked out. The man moved to the desk and pulled out the USB key he had.

First things first, he started up the operating system and got to the password prompt. He hit a sequence of keys on the pad and found the administrator account wide open. He used that security hole to pull open the Admin account which gave him access to everything.

He knew that SSgt Taylor had been going to some sites that were “questionable” while using the base internet, but he wondered about the sites he visited while on the DSL line he had running to his quarters.

Ten minutes later, he had his answer. It was easy to find the encrypted file that SSgt Taylor had used by searching for which files were accessed recently that were NOT operating system files. Taylor had done a good job of clearing the caches and footprints from his Internet history, but there were a lot of ways to find information if you knew what to do.

Those files were encrypted, so he used one of the password crackers that he brought along with him. It was interesting that the encryption used wasn’t very strong, although it was a good cipher. Forty-bit encryption was so 20 years ago.

Once the file was open, it didn’t take long to find out what kinds of sites the sergeant was visiting. There were sites about cross-dressing, men being women, stories of Transsexuals and even some bondage. The investigator copied the whole file and re-encrypted it with the tools on the PC. He noted the password to the file and where it was stored in the computer on his USB key.

He continued searching and found even more files, this time of pictures and stories saved on the local hard drive. They got copied as well, and even though they were encrypted just as the first file was. When anyone uses the same password for everything, it’s REALLY easy to open all the protections someone thinks they have.

Two more things and he was done. First was the installation of a keylogger program with a tracking tool to keep an eye on what Taylor was doing on this laptop. Second was to dump the contents of the hard drive to a ghost drive on a secure Army network for an exhaustive analysis.

If he was sharing secrets with the enemy, they would find out.

Just to make sure, the investigator logged in as Taylor. The user ID came up as it always did on a reboot, and he tried the password that Taylor used and found that he couldn’t log in at least it wasn’t the same password as the encrypted files. If it had been the investigator would have lost all respect for Taylor.

It was time to head back to his office and print up the files as evidence. It was going to be an interesting night.

Sissy’s Trial -- Part 10

By Maid Joy

I was impressed by how well Sissy was doing. It was an intense scene; spanking and really mind fucking the client. Sissy was my main canvas now.

I had the flogger in my hand, and it sounded divine. I would hit Sissy’s back, on the shoulders and she would squeal like it really hurt her. This flogger had loops on the ends instead of tips, so the two strips of leather hitting each other would make a huge “POP” and sound as though it really hurt, yet the actual hit was relatively light.

I say “relatively” because any time you hit human flesh with something else, it is going to hurt and leave a mark. However, I had practiced long and hard on clients and the occasional play toy and knew my own strength and how to gauge the impact I was having.

Sissy, the little slut, was the perfect actress. She kept squealing and shaking to really sell the strikes. I would occasionally pop her ass with the flogger, shoving her forward and making the pillory rock and swing.

I was doing all the talking, yelling at the client and occasionally striking him with the flogger or the riding crop. I finally pulled him out of the chair and threw him over a spanking bench, making sure he had an unobstructed view of Sissy’s face. Because he was face up, with his hands tied over his head to the bench, and then his ankles tied to the other end, leaving his chest and thighs hideously exposed, he was very easy to play with. In order to see Sissy, he had to hang his head off the end of the bench and look at her upside down. That kept him disoriented and even more off balance.

This was the fun part. I loved watching him writhe and screech trying to get free while I flogged his breasts and his thighs and threatened more intimate parts of him. But it was really fun when I left off with him and moved over to Sissy.

The little minx looked like she loved this. When I stroked her back, I dug my nails in some so she would squeal. I would grab her breast, and even though she couldn’t feel it, she would scream into her gag, which would make the client go nuts. But Sissy had some reactions to what I was doing also. I had a good view of the area between her legs, and if the moisture dripping down from under the chastity belt was any indication, she had orgasmed once and was close to cumming again.

Things went very well and I knew the client was thrilled. He was babbling as I let him out the door and I had no doubt I would hear from him again and soon.

I went back to Sissy to do the Aftercare.

***
My hands were very cool. Not cold, not blue from lack of circulation, but cooling, which meant I needed to move them. But Mistress wasn’t back from letting the client out.

I had to think about what happened. I was VERY aroused and really horny. I thought I had cum in the chastity belt, and I wasn’t certain if I didn’t like it.

My head was swimming. I wanted to play with myself desperately and I really wanted to feel this again.

I wished my breasts were real. I wanted so desperately to have Mistress rubbing them and to actually feel her touch on my breast. I had imagined that I could feel her hand on the nipples when she was pinching and tugging, and I knew my imagination wasn’t close to the reality of the sensation.

I spent a few moments with my eyes closed dreaming of what it would be like to be a real girl and to be feeling this; to feel Mistress’ hands on my body, with her flogger on my back. I wanted to feel the more hits. I found something in me that I didn’t know was there. I wanted to feel the pain, to be hit and to see just how much I could take.

My head was swimming, I didn’t know up from down anymore.

I heard high heels coming in, and I knew that Mistress was back. My heart leapt, and if I had a tail, I would have been wagging it.

I felt her hand stroking my back, where she had been striking me with her flogger. “Mmmmm, that looks so beautiful my dear. I love seeing you like this.”

I mumbled something into my gag. “Oh,” she said, “that sounds like you want some more. Do you want some more my little Sissy? Want to be punished and forgiven for some sin?”

I shook my head emphatically ‘no’.

“Oh, not punishment or expiation then perhaps you find you like the pain? Want some more?”

I didn’t respond because while that wasn’t the whole answer, it was part of the answer. I did want more because I liked it.

“Oh, I see, you want to try the whole ‘how much can I take’ thing, don’t you? See if you can endure what I give out? I’d be happy to do it, but I’m not too confident that you can take it. Do you want to try?”

I grunted emphatically and nodded my head as much as I could.

“Alright, we will try this. I need to move you over to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. Here we go.”

She unlocked the pillory and detached the spreader bar. She spent a few moments chaffing my arms and legs to get my circulation back and she helped me over to a big X in one corner. She pushed me up to it, so I was resting against its padded surface, with my head resting against a pillow on the cross.

She spent a few minutes pulling off my corset. I was sorry to feel it go, but I trusted that she knew what she was doing. She helped me pull off my heels so I was standing on my own feet. She took the gag out of my mouth and wrapped my arms around the cross. “Same safe gestures if you need to use them, okay?” I nodded.

The next few hours was wonderful. She started slowly and worked up to more severe floggers and heavier floggers. She had a flogger that was really stingy it felt like my back was being flayed. She kept going and something happened in my head.

It was like I pulled away from my body, getting lighter and more detached from everything. It was weird. The sounds went away, the music playing went away, the things that Mistress was saying to me went away. All that remained was the ‘thump, thump’ on my back and buttocks. She kept striking and the pain faded, replaced by this feeling of expansion.

It felt as though I merged with the cross, and I was one with the flogger, and it was wonderful. I had no body, just this floating sensation. She could have keep hitting me forever and I wouldn’t have cared.

Eventually, there was a bright light in my eyes, I was dimly aware of being moved. Finally I wound up lying down with a blanket around me. I was still floating and didn’t care. I wasn’t cold, and when I could feel my body again, all my extremities were fine.

I kept the sensation of floating almost flying after a while, it changed to a feeling of being five or six inches outside of my skin. I didn’t have a care in the world. I swear I the boobs on my body felt real and wonderful. It was hours before I felt anything like “normal”.

I was hyperaware of every part of my body, from the locked up male member that made it easy to forget that I was anything but Sissy, to the paint on each toe and the extension of each nail. I could feel each thread on the blanket I lay upon, and the direction of the gentle zephyr that came from the ventilation.

I felt as though I had been reborn. It was almost how I felt getting through the CS Gas chamber, like I had accomplished a fantastic feat and come out the other side made new.

I lay there and just existed for a while.

***

Mistress cared for me. She steered me into the kitchen eventually, still wrapped in my blanket and gave me some things to eat and drink. Eventually I did come down off the high.

“The state you were in is called ‘subspace’. It is a place that many try to get to and some achieve. I’m glad you could get there. You were wonderful.”

The words meant something but I had to wait for it to make sense. That took time, some tea, and more food. And finally I was able to understand what Mistress was saying.

But it was a letdown to not feel like a girl anymore. Maybe someday soon.

***

I had some time on my pass left so Mistress and I decided to go shopping. I was up for it, not that I needed anything, but the trip out as Sissy always made me feel good.

I pulled on a black knit skirt that embraced my legs like a lover. Above it I was corseted again, with a pretty cream-colored turtleneck and peach sweater. I added some bangle bracelets and a couple pretty gold necklaces on top of the sweater. Finally, I added a leopard print scarf and used it as a sash.

I grabbed a purse that matched the scarf and put my necessities into it. I pulled on a pair of two-inch heels and touched up my makeup. I looked myself over carefully in the mirror. I could still see the male in me, but I hoped no one else could.

Feeling like my soul had been bleached pure again, I nearly skipped out of the house to the car.

***

I was parked down the street. My orders were to follow SSgt Taylor and to report on him to my superiors. I’d been doing this all weekend and it was honestly boring.

I had seen him go into a nondescript house on Friday evening and he hadn’t been out since. People went in, they came back out again. I had pictures of all of it, but there wasn’t anything about them to make an investigator nervous.

I noted every detail I could, including the house number and times people arrived and departed. I had done a bit of investigation on the Internet with my laptop and found that the house was owned by a Karen Lander. Tax returns showed that she lived in her place of business. I did a bit more digging and found that her business was apparently sex related, although she didn’t have a record of prostitution. Given some of the invoices I had access to through the FBI and their intercept program, I knew some of the deliveries that came into the house, were BDSM oriented gags, collars, cuffs and things like that. Really pervo sex stuff.

While waiting I made a call to my superiors to arrange for the interception of her mail I wanted a look at what billing invoices she sent and received. I’d start to get those reports when I got back to base.

The door opened and two women came out, heading for the car in the driveway. I grabbed several photos of both of them, since they were lookers. One was Ms Lander the other was a lady I hadn’t seen go in. Maybe she came in a back way. I would have to arrange a static surveillance op to cover that.

Didn’t see SSgt Taylor, so I hunched down in the seat as they drove off and I waited to see if he came out. His car was still there after all.

Sissy’s Recovery -- Part 11

By Maid Joy

The next several days were very hard for me. The duty in the Army wasn’t hard, but it was difficult changing back into my “he self” after the scene the other night. I felt different, as thought I had completed some rite of passage. Coming down from that took discipline that I knew I had, but that I felt very reluctant to use.

I threw myself into my work. There was always training to do, skills to be honed, competitions to hold and the other ordinary activities of a platoon of warriors. I continued to supervise people, take care of arguments as they happened, all the while continuing to keep my body in top male physical form every day.

Just because I was “bewitched bothered and bewildered” didn’t mean anything stopped.

So I did what I could and the very routine of the week finally grounded me out. It took some time, but it worked.

While going through this no longer normal routine, I had time to think. I was still confused as to who I was. Was I SSgt Taylor, Ranger, Marksman, expert in many forms of combat, or was I a girl trapped in a man’s body? Did I want to give up the recognition I had to try to gain something I might have had?

Did all this that I was going through confirm or deny my childhood?

The rage and anger my “he self” learned as a child had been channeled in a productive way by my service to my country. The enemies my government directed me to suffered, not innocent people. Yet, my core, my “she self” was denied, crushed, ignored by that very outlet.

As mad as it sounds, the only time I didn’t feel like I was acting was when I was simply being myself with Mistress whether we were with clients or not. Helping mistress talking with her, shopping, doing all the day-to-day things that “real” ladies did. That was the real me the true me.

I’ll admit that I wasn’t the best at being a girl. Heck, I didn’t have much but I was learning and improving making me feel like one person not two for the first time in a long time. I had come to realize how much I needed that part of me and how much it completed me. It made me whole.

I didn’t want to give up SSgt Taylor either. He was just as important to my psyche as Sissy was. I enjoyed being as physical as I was, I enjoyed the competition on the field of battle, with the victor living to fight another day. I understood how addictive the adrenaline rush was to the gamers, and this took it from the virtual world into the real world. Instead of pixels running, it was my own flesh blood and bone. If I failed there was no reset button, no other life for me and that added to the endorphin high I felt. It made the down time, the stateside time bearable to my “he self”.

As always, my thoughts circled around to “nothing can be done”. I couldn’t finish any a transformation to female while I was in the Army, I couldn’t stay SSgt. Taylor out if it.

***

Halloween came and I was back at Mistress’ house again. True to her word she had a costume for me, female officer, all the proper ribbons and hash marks on the uniform.

I held it up and looked it up and down. “How did you get this?”

She snorted. “I called the uniform store, asked for a Captain’s uniform, gave them sizes and awards, all the citations and so on and then I picked it up a little while ago. It really wasn’t hard.”

I held it up to me. It did look like it would fit properly. I examined the awards and citations. Good Conduct for 10 years running, standard medals for various duty oriented things, matching my own set of citations. Expert in pistol, rifle and grenade, sharpshooter, it was almost perfect. If I could have added my combat cords and citations it would have been perfect.

I carefully laid it all out. Just about everything a female officer could need.

“Here, let’s get you dressed properly.” In no time she had me in my skin and I was pulling on my “she self” undergarments. First the padded girdle, giving my butt and hips a softer female shape, then the corset and bra. I noticed I was breathing in short gasps from the corset. They weren’t regulation, but I doubted anyone would be inspecting me closely enough to discover that fact.

A camisole came next, covering the corset creating a smooth line. Next I pulled on the hose and attached them to the girdle garters. Now it was time for the outerwear. The blouse slid up one arm and then the other, settling around my torso. I started closing up the buttons, the backwards motion almost second nature. It was meant to close all the way up to the throat, no low cut blouses in the military thank you. The tie was next, a simple snap under the collar.

The skirt slid down over my arms my torso almost floating to my waist. I noticed the material of the skirt matched the jacket, thick and heavy. I was glad the skirt was lined; I couldn’t imagine how rough it would feel against my hose covered legs without it.

I turned and saw myself in the full mirror. All I could say was “oh wow”. Girls were right that a military uniform really looks good. I pulled the shoes on, only a two-inch heel, but highly shined shoes as per regulations. Finally I picked up the jacket and pulled it on.

Man, my “he self’s” Class-A’s didn’t look this good. It was true I had more decorations, but this looked wonderful. It was fitted at the waist, giving me a nice hourglass figure, the green was just the right shade to go with my skin tone, and I looked sharp.

The gold oak-leaves were just the icing on the cake. The whole ensemble looked perfect.

I only had two more things to put on, the cap and my purse. Regulations stated that it was a black utilitarian purse, and that is exactly what I had, functional and sturdy. It too was polished to an eye-blinding shine. I looked inside and found all my accessories, makeup wallet and so on.

I pulled on a short, red wig and then I grabbed some glasses and pulled them on as well. That was the perfect touch. Habit kept me from putting on the garrison cap until we were outside, but I think I cut a pretty fine figure.

Mistress came to inspect me after putting on her Playboy Bunny costume. “Oh, my, don’t you look dashing.”

I curtseyed a bit while saying “Thank you. May I say you look hot? I mean, if I were a red-blooded man, I’d be all over you.”

“Sissy, you are a red-blooded man, at least until we get you on hormones and some surgeries.”

Something must have shown on my face, because she became very solicitous. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean… what I meant to say….”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. I understand what you meant.” I sighed deeply and smoothed my skirt as I sat down on the chair which was nearby. I turned and checked my makeup and made sure it conformed to military standards and fiddled with a blush brush. Mistress was quiet behind me.

“I don’t know what I want to do. I’m at the point of looking at the rest of my life, I’m not sure I want to stay in the Army or if I want to leave it and become a girl all the time. I don’t even know if the Army will let me stay IF I decide to try to transition. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to complete the physical transition.”

I looked down at the make up table in front of me. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being Sissy. But I’m still Gregory Taylor, a Staff Sergeant for the last year, and even more than that, male for the whole 27 years of my life. When it all comes down to it, is this just ‘dress up’ or is this who I am and who I should be for the rest of my life?”

Her hands touched my shoulder and she looked in the mirror at me. “Honey, Sissy, Greg, whoever you are, you are my friend, my sister, and I enjoy your company. Right now, let’s go to the costume parties like we planned and think about these life-changing decisions later.

“But whatever you decide, you are a good person, and you are ultimately who you are.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek.

I felt moved to tears, but didn’t cry. I wanted to, but the thought of spoiling my look and turning into a raccoon stopped me.

We gathered our purses and headed out to go to the party.

***

SSgt Taylor was definitely in there, and now that I knew that he was a cross dresser, it would be my job to gather the evidence that would lead to his deserved much-less-than-honorable discharge.

I saw the subject and its friend come out of the building and move to the car that Ms. Lander owned. I saw SSgt Taylor in the Class A Greens of a female officer. I grabbed the camera and started shooting pictures. I made sure to get pictures of Ms. Lander, the subject and the two of them together.

It was serious now. The evidence would have to be gathered carefully and completely. The Staff Sergeant’s military life must be terminated for the good of the Army.

Sissy Destroyed — Part 12

By Maid Joy

The party was great. Halloween was my favorite time because you could be whomever you wanted to be, your wildest fantasy come true. The humblest, most repressed person could step out as the most bizarre, most brazen, most outrageous creature they could imagine without fear of persecution.

I knew enough now that I passed easily as a woman. Things might have been different several months ago, but not now.

I kept getting salutes from other people in Army costumes, most of them jokes, but the few serious ones made me a bit nervous. Impersonating an Officer was a serious offense. If someone thought I was really trying to pass myself off as a real Officer, not just play one on Halloween, I could be in a shitload of trouble.

I had a fun time. Mistress and I danced with other men, danced with each other, and I felt like a princess for the first time ever. I just relaxed and let myself go, swirling around, eating snacks, drinking and having a good time. I think I laughed more than I have in quite a while.

I was called “Major Tailhook” several times, referring to the scandal of a few years back. Hopefully no one would try anything.

I knew that it was very possible someone might try something stupid like groping or even rape, so I did my best to keep my wits about me. I never finished a drink that I left, I didn’t go anywhere alone, and I didn’t go to anyone’s room. I hadn’t been to a “stay safe” class, I had seen enough on TV and in stories to know those basics.

I think I was a bit freer with the booze than was wise, but I really did want to relax and being a bit tipsy felt right, like any other girl out to have fun. I wasn’t drunk, just had a nice buzz when Mistress and I left around 2 AM heading home. We went to our car around the corner under a light since we couldn’t find anything closer to the party.

“Oye chicas, come with me maybe you don’t get hurt.” The voice growled from behind us. He grabbed my upper arm and Mistress and I were herded into an alley. As hard as it was I cooperated since I felt a gun barrel in my back.

Mistress was like a robot, moving stiffly. I could tell she was frightened, and I knew that there were all kinds of negative scenarios going through her head. I grimaced and said “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Good. Do what I tell you, you be fine. I want everything you got.” Once off the street, he shoved me and I pivoted to face him.

I could see the gun in his fist. The part of me that was still rational noted it was a Smith and Wesson Model 64 Revolver. I could see the hammer cocked and his finger was on the trigger. Not good. He was ready to shoot. Time slowed as the adrenalin pumped into my body.

I made it my business to look closely at him to memorize his description. Latino, about 18, dilated pupils, high on something, Chinese symbol tattooed on the back of his right hand. The catalog continued, 5 foot 10, about 140, dark hooded sweatshirt with pocket compartment in the front, band logo on the chest, faded blue jeans torn on the left knee, Air Nike, about size 10 male shoe. Shaved head.

I saw his hand come up leveling the gun at my face. “Stop looking at me bitch, or you gonna lose the ability to see anything. Gimme your purse.” He took the purse out of my hand and reached in blindly to grab my wallet. He dropped the rest and then turned the gun on Mistress.

I didn’t think, didn’t plan, I saw the gun in her face how badly she was shaking, I acted.

My right hand snaked out and grabbed the top of the gun, making sure to jam my hand between the hammer and the firing pin. I felt a hard pinch as the hammer fell, it just made me more coldly furious. I twisted the gun to the left, turning the barrel toward the back of his hand and away from Mistress and myself in what looked like slow motion. It felt like I was back in the practice ring, calm cool just another practice. Simultaneously, I pulled his arm close to my chest in a classic Jujitsu move; locking his elbow and breaking his trigger finger while I twisted the gun out of his grip. He should have let go.

Once I had the gun in my possession, and his arm secured, I twisted his wrist down in an arm-bar, bending him over by the waist making his arm shoulder and wrist hurt a LOT. He yelled, loudly, but stopped suddenly as my foot connected with his face, breaking his nose and snapping his head back. I continued twisting his arm down helping him reach the ground pushing on his elbow, forcing his face down into the pavement, hard.

I felt more than heard bones in his cheek breaking, but he was still conscious and capable of moving, so I continued the rotation of his arm, dislocating it at the shoulder and popping his elbow out of its normal L shape.

In seconds I put the foot that kicked his face down on the pavement, braced and raised my other foot and stomped his closest knee, dislocating it if not breaking the kneecap. I felt his joint pop and he lay on the ground screaming in pain. It felt like I had been moving this fool to the pavement for the last hour.

I released his hand and stepped back a bit to see what he would do ready to continue neutralizing him. He was on an unknown amount of an unknown drug, if it was PCP he could just get up and keep coming at me, know way of knowing. He lay there moaning while I inhaled slowly and heavily as I tried to come down off the adrenalin rush. I turned to Mistress, who was still shaking. “Karen, you have to call 911. I’ll keep him covered. Call them now.”

I carefully lowered the hammer on the pistol so that it wouldn’t accidentally go off. My hand smarted from where he had reflexively squeezed the trigger and the hammer had snapped closed on me. Mistress might have been died if I had failed. The pain and the bruising was a small price to pay for her life.

I squared up to a proper stance keeping the hammer down and my finger off the trigger, knowing this particular pistol was double-action. I had to keep talking to Mistress to get her to dial, but eventually she made the call to the police.

***

Sitting in a police station in drag is not a fun thing to have happen. When they arrived, while they were solicitous of the near tragedy, they still had to take me into custody since the would-be mugger was the one injured.

I sat there in the interrogation room waiting for an interview to make sure the story in the report was accurate. They had separated Mistress and I so we couldn’t compare stories and the mugger was taken to the hospital. Apparently I really over-reacted and he would be off the streets for some time.

Finally someone came in. Standard questions were asked, and I was asked to tell my side of the story. I had to clarify for the record that I wasn’t Major Taylor, as the insignia and nameplate on the uniform indicated, but SSgt Taylor, male. I explained the whole thing about the Halloween party and why I was dressed as a female officer.

Once I finished the explanation, he complimented me saying that I fooled him and everyone else in the precinct. He made some notations and then wrote my story down. He had me repeat it three times, just to make sure it didn’t change.

After about five hours of questioning, he finally let me go. I sat and waited for Mistress to show up since they were also interviewing her asking the same questions. I knew that I didn’t have anything to hide, and the truth was all I told, but I was still nervous since I only had experience dealing with Military personnel and not from this end of things.

Finally Mistress appeared. She looked white and I knew she was going into shock. I had to get her home soon.

We got our possessions back and left. A short ride with the officers to our car and the drive back home ended the night. I knew Mistress was upset and might even still be shaking, I would do anything I could to comfort her.

I had stayed in control when we got home. Curiously she seemed very obedient. I got her undressed and into a nightgown. I got her into bed and then I got myself ready for bed. For the first time ever I got in to bed with her. I held her and I comforted her the best I knew how. I knew from personal experience what that first brush with death was like, and I held her while she cried out the stress.

Somewhere around 9 AM we finally fell asleep together.

***

When we woke up, it was about 2 PM. I had the day after Halloween off also, mostly because those of us who were going out the night before needed the time to recover from overindulging. So those that were off on the 31st were also off on the 1st. It meant that I would have to serve on some other nights, but that wasn’t really a big concern to me.

I quietly got up and made breakfast/lunch for each of us. I made sure it was fortified and that it would be healthy for Mistress as well. I made sure it was high protein, low fat, with fresh fruit to round out the meal. No caffeine, no stimulants of any kind. I wanted her to go to sleep at about 10 PM, and since that was only a few hours away, it would be a coffee-less day.

I arranged it on a tray and quietly took into her bedroom and then gently woke her up by kissing her cheek. With a flourish worthy of the Maid I was, I served her breakfast in bed.

I think it went a long way to helping her restore her balance after the nightmare end of the party.

We talked about everything that happened. I tried to focus on going out in public to a party, the dancing and the fun things, trying to make her realize that the party is what she should be dwelling on rather than the horror.

When her potential death inevitably came up, I made light of the situation. “Mistress, how could you die? I was there with you. I would never let that happen.”

While that was true enough, I didn’t want her frightened anymore.

***

The First Sergeant looked at all the files on his desk. First the copy of the civilian Police Report concerning an incident involving Taylor after a Halloween party. Second were surveillance photos taken by CID several days in a row. Third was the report on Taylor’s computer records. He wanted to tear his hair out with frustration.

“As you can see First Sergeant, we have more than enough to prosecute Staff Sergeant Taylor,” the CID investigator stated, “Since you asked for this investigation to start, my First Sergeant ordered me to bring this to you first.”

“Most damning is the Impersonation of an Officer charge. Note please even though later in the investigation, the actual identity of Sergeant Taylor was verified, the fact that he initially responded as a female to ‘Major Taylor’, and allowed that to be written in an official report is really all we need. The homosexual activities are just icing on the cake.”

The CID investigator was serious. “If you decide not to do anything, I am under orders to report all this to the Judge Advocate General to take action. He will be prosecuted to the limit of the UCMJ and discharged from the Army. I bring all this to you as a courtesy. I have been instructed to tell you that you have 72 hours to decide what to do.”

He came to attention and left the office, leaving behind copies of what he had brought.

The First Sergeant had no doubt that they would remove Taylor from the Army in the most humiliating way possible. But might be another way.

He gathered up all the folders and documents, put them back in the files and went to see Captain Richardson.

Sissy Vilified — Part 13

By Maid Joy

The First Sergeant stood in front of his Commander’s desk. Captain Robertson was normally a jovial kind person until it was time to get serious. From the lack of a smile on his face, it was time to be serious.

“This is no good Top. I never would have pegged Taylor for being one of them. It’s as shocking as anything I’ve ever seen.” He sighed heavily and put the files aside. “Have a seat. What is your recommendation regarding this situation?”

The First Sergeant sat down in one of the office chairs. His heart was heavy, he hated this part of being a commanding officer, but decisions were required and expected. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” might be the standard line, but in reality, evidence like what was in those folders demanded action for the good of the unit.

“Well, Sir, while the Army can’t prosecute him for homosexuality since no concrete evidence is indicated. This whole dress up thing is going to label him queer no matter what. Once the men start questioning his sexuality, discipline will destroyed. If he can’t maintain that, he’s useless.

“Our options are very limited Sir. We could transfer him to another unit, but unless there is a compelling reason for the transfer, it’s a red flag anyone given his service record. There’s no real reason to shift him to another unit. If we promote him to another slot and transfer him that’s rewarding him for being gay.”

“Yeah, that would set a bad precedent. Not something that I want to do.” Captain Robertson fell silent.

“The next option is to just let JAG prosecute him under the UCMJ for impersonating an officer,”

The Captain cut him off, “But that situation would do a hell of a lot more devastating to everyone. Here we have a combat hero, cited several times for bravery under fire, having just saved the life of a lady during a mugging while off duty. This will make us look bad in several different ways, even as it destroys his career.”

The First Sergeant nodded. “That’s a problem, Sir. Whatever we do in the situation it will mess up the unit and could affect the Army as a whole for some time to come. You know it’ll get out.

“We could try to cut some sort of deal with the JAG to stop everything, but I’m not sure that would be effective.

“I think there might be a solution it’s dicey and I’d need your approval, but it could work and save everyone a lot of trouble....”

***

It had been several days. Sissy kept in touch with Mistress so that he could make sure she was okay. Traumatic shock didn’t just happen in combat and could have unexpected consequences as time passed. He was very aware of the possible stages that could happen. He’d been through some of them and as a Staff Sergeant; he helped others in his unit through them too. It was his job to keep an eye on everything.

Mistress had gone through several crying jags. Other friends came over to keep an eye on her while Sissy was on duty. Still whether his “he self” was out on the range or in the Ready Room, she still called Mistress to make sure she was all right.

Two days after the incident Sissy put in for five days leave to spend it with Mistress. It was important to Sissy to make sure she was there if the Post Traumatic Stress hit Mistress and she woke up with nightmares.

It wasn’t a question if there was trauma, it was a question on when an episode might be triggered.

Taylor was back in his room doing some paperwork. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

A private entered. “Staff Sergeant Taylor, the Captain would like to see you in his office immediately.”

Taylor got up and checked his uniform. It was clean, pressed everything was in regulation order. He followed the young man down to the Company Headquarters.

He entered the office, made his way to the Captain’s office. He knocked on the door and heard “Come in.”

He entered and saw the First Sergeant in the office. He came to attention in front of the Captain’s desk and saluted. “Staff Sergeant Taylor, reporting as ordered Sir.”

“At Ease, Taylor.” He snapped into Parade Rest, and waited for the Captain to address him. He wasn’t smiling and that was a bad sign. Captain Robertson turned to the First Sergeant. “Top, this is your party, get started.”

The First Sergeant came over and ordered him into a chair. Taylor made sure he was facing both the Captain and the First Sergeant.

“Taylor, some information has come to our attention that needs to be addressed. We called you here to give you a chance to respond to it.” The First Sergeant pulled out a folder and handed it to Taylor.

Taylor had been expecting to see something about one of his men and was making a mental list as to who it could be and what he would do to them. Then Taylor opened the folder and saw Sissy staring back at him.

His heart jumped into overdrive. His vision tunneled down to just the photo and there was a roaring in his ears.

Hands that didn’t seem to belong to him turned pages, read reports, went through the notes made by the investigators, times and dates. Then he saw a copy of the Police Report from the incident on Halloween.

Sissy started shaking.

The First Sergeant and the Captain had been silent while he read through the file, probably giving him time to digest the information.

Taylor closed the file; he just sat there. The Captain looked sympathetic, but hard. The First Sergeant looked on steadily. “As you can tell, we have been following you for some time. I asked for the investigation when I noticed you wearing perfume and nail extensions when we deployed. I was concerned. There’s a chance you could be blackmailed into revealing classified information.

“The situation has moved beyond that. When you were attacked on Halloween, the CID reported you as impersonating an Officer. According to the UCMJ is a very serious action as you know.”

He shifted in his seat for a bit before settling again. The First Sergeant continued “A Court Martial is the least that will happen with that charge against you. Since you are a Non-Commissioned Officer and were photographed wearing the uniform of a Major, and because it was noted in the police report that way, you will be found guilty of the impersonating charge and that means a Dishonorable Discharge. You will lose all your benefits, your pension, and anything you paid into any of the programs.

“More than that you court martial would blacken the eye of the Rangers, the 75th Regiment, the 3rd Battalion and all of the men associated with it. While the scandal might not be picked up by the civilian papers at first, it would definitely become a story in the Army. Eventually you know it would all come out.”

I couldn’t argue with him since all that was true.

“Add to that the embarrassment to yourself, your family, the lady you were with and anyone who considers you a friend. Making a public circus out of this would be bad for everyone involved. We want to avoid it IF you make it possible.”

The Captain now weighed in. “Top and I have discussed all the option and we believe the best solution would be you resigning your commission. We will allow you to leave with an Honorable Discharge, your awards, and benefits. However, your records will be noted with an order canceling your Security Clearance and indicating you may never be called back into Active Service. Needless to say you would not be welcome at any Military activity, ever.”

The First Sergeant handed me a clipboard. “We have a letter ready for you.”

Taylor/Sissy read through the single page. It stated that he resigned her position in the United States Army and his Non-Commissioned Officer status effective immediately.

She looked back up at the Captain and the First Sergeant. Tears filled his eyes. She didn’t know what to say.

The Captain said, “It’s simple Taylor, sign that or be arrested immediately and charged with Impersonating an Officer, Conduct Unbecoming a Non-Commissioned Officer and whatever else JAG decides to write into the charges. You’ve seen the evidence for your self. For the good of the unit, for the good of the Army, I strongly advise you to sign that letter.”

She looked back over at the First Sergeant. He looked at me coldly and nodded his head slightly.

Sissy picked up a pen and put his signature above the typed version of her name.

Sissy Reborn — Part 14

By Maid Joy

I’ve fought through pain. Once on a mission, I landed on a rooftop, right near the edge, it collapsed under the impact of my touchdown and I fell another two stories without my chute and broke my ankle. I had to get up and keep going as I was one four people on the mission, duty and adrenaline carried me through to pick up.

I learned that day that physical pain is easy.

I was back in my quarters. The MPs and a clerk were with me, mainly to take the classified papers away with them and to make sure I didn’t take anything I wasn’t supposed to.

I opened up my locker and removed my uniforms. They were Army property and so I left them on my bed. I went through all my personal items, leaving the military items and issued items plainly visible on my bed. Anything that was a civilian item or something that I purchased was set on my desk. I did keep my medals and citations. I earned them and no one would take them from me without a fight.

As I looked, the size of the piles were very different. The military items were 75% of “my things” I realized I just didn’t have that many personal items. The clerk had gone through my computer hard drive and started deleting items and programs. As I looked, I realized everything on the computer was either a military application or document. As soon as all classified material was removed, the clerk and MPs were able to return to their routine duties.

All my personal things fit into three boxes it was kind of sad for 10 years in the Army.

As I took the paperwork to each department required, and started turning in my issued items I couldn’t help the tears slowly leaking out of my eyes. I was in all sorts of emotional pain. It was the most horrible thing I experienced in my adult life. By then I didn’t care who saw me all I wanted to do was bawl my eyes out.

I had to try to keep a brave mask up for my men. They didn’t know what circumstances were forcing me to resign my commission. They wanted to know, but I couldn’t stand to embarrass the Army, myself or the Unit with the Army’s misconceived version of the truth. I kept it behind my teeth and let the story spread that I was taking early retirement due to unused leave. They seemed to accept that.

I had some problems trying to get out of the party they wanted to throw for me. I knew the First Sergeant and the Captain wanted me gone ASAP and as shredded as I felt, I probably wanted it more than they did. These were my men my platoon, I had sacrificed myself for them before, worried over them cried with them and I couldn’t let the mask slip safely until I was off post for the last time. I had no choice but to acquiesce.

I sent a note to Top, asking if I could take the evening and have the party with the men, to keep alive the fiction of my voluntarily separation. A note saying that was acceptable was returned. Time was on my side and Top and the Captain let me know as long as I didn’t try to access any secured stuff, I could have up to three days to clear the base. The torment of staying was unbearable, I knew it couldn’t last that long.

I couldn’t leave in haste, that might expose my shame to the rest of the world, but I couldn’t survive the emotional devastation of staying on post forever. If I could manage to hold it together it would give me time to say goodbye to everyone I cared about.

You know, I think I finally came to a conclusion somewhere during the party. Fuck ‘em. If they don’t want me in their exclusive little testosterone club, then I don’t want them either. Fuck them all to hell.

I would reflect later how ironic that statement would be. I was pretty tipsy, just a few fingers from really roaring drunk. Holding on was getting really difficult.

I was toasted and feasted, on pizza, and just about everyone come up to me and shake my hand at one time or another. A few of my men were in a “war story” group at the end of one bar talking about what our platoon had been through. Two kids credited me with straightening them up so they could be the soldiers they were meant to be.

Hearing this outpouring of camaraderie (most people would call it love), had made me maudlin again. I promised that I would stay in contact with everyone, even though we all knew that was a load of crap meant to ease the pain. I would go my way, they would go theirs. I wasn’t part of the group anymore, now I was an outsider.

I spent the next day clearing the rest of the base. There was a whole list of things that needed to be done, and packing and turning in items were only one part of it. The Sergeant in charge of the supply house let me keep all my uniforms and boots; I had paid for them from my Clothing Allowance and that made them mine.

We went down the list of items I was issued when I arrived, once they were accounted for and turned in, there was several things left over. Because the Army didn’t issue them to me, they were considered mine. I discovered I had an entire field kit, pack, poncho and so on. I guess I could always use it for camping some time.

When I went to the Weapons Depot, I found I had a couple of forgotten arms stashed there. One Lugar from World War II that I bought for as a collectable, a 9mm Beretta and a nice pump shotgun were returned to me as I cleared that area. I never had a chance to use any of them; they had been purchased one at a time at various gun shows. Regulations required they be kept at the depot. I put each one in its own locked case and locked them in the trunk of my car. I would have to get a gun permit ASAP.

I had my outgoing physical and that was it. Tomorrow I would go down to the nearest major base and to clear the final paperwork that would sever me from my life.

***

I looked at the last piece of paper to be signed in front of me. All I had to do was put my name on it and that was it. SSgt. Gregory Taylor’s death certificate, How do you willingly commit suicide and go on living? As the pain overwhelmed my emotions I numbly signed the document.

I stood outside the recruitment station in civvies it felt wrong somehow. I hadn’t worn anything but Sissy’s clothes and my uniforms for such a long time that wearing a no regulation shirt and jeans was wrong.

I felt absolutely drained. I couldn’t think. I went to my car sat in the front seat. Like a robot I started it and drove off the base.

There wasn’t anyplace I had to go or anything I had to do. I needed to get off the base and away. I drove just drove until I found a place to park.

I got out of the car, and sat on the hood. I just and stared across the lake and up at the stars. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t mourn. I was angry, sad, frustrated, hurt but most of all I was numb. I didn’t know what to do, where to go who I was.

I thought about the pistols in the trunk.

I just sat there.

***

I must have dozed off. I felt my foot being poked by something. I opened my eyes and looked at the lady cop standing by my knee.

“Sir, you can’t sleep here. You have to leave. This park is closed.”

“I’m sorry Officer. I don’t have anyplace to go. I just left the Army and I don’t know what to do now.”

When I said that, the reality hit me and I started crying.

She started to respond, but stopped herself. “Sir, it’s okay,” she said more sympathetically. “Do you have a hotel room, or a friend you can stay with? Anyplace you can go?”

I thought about Mistress. But I couldn’t impose on her. I shook my head.

She grimaced. “If you will lock up your car, we can go down to the precinct and I can see if I can find you a room in somewhere if you want?”

I nodded. I was too numb to care. Hell, being in Jail for vagrancy would be a step up from where I was now.

I emptied my pockets of everything except my wallet, the change in my pocket and the car keys. Everything else I locked up securely either in the trunk or the glove box. I tossed a blanket over the boxes in the back seat and got into her car. The officer kept a close eye on me as I got into her patrol car. I knew she’d seen the gun cases, but she didn’t say anything about them.

We drove to the police station and she took my name. For the second time in as many weeks I was in an interrogation room. I just sat there, numb.

After a bit, she left and came back with a smile on her face. She handed me some coffee and said “I heard your name someplace so I did a computer search. The computer spit out the report of the near mugging from Halloween. I noticed someone else on that report, so I gave her a call. Ms Lander said she would be out to give you a place to stay for as long as you needed it.”

Stunned. I felt like someone had cold cocked me. I couldn’t think. There was a roaring in my ears.

I don’t remember what happened next. I do remember someone babbling, thanking her even as I seemed to have vacated my body. It was like I watching the whole thing from the wrong end of a telescope.

I couldn’t move. I just sat there. I didn’t want anything, I didn’t feel anything. I don’t remember drinking my coffee. The next think I had was when I realized I was sitting in Sissy’s room.

I lost it. I couldn’t stop crying.

***

Mistress was there with me. When I woke up again, I was in my nightgown in my bed, and Mistress was with me. She had apparently held me that night, just as I had done for her. Feeling her spooned against my back again, feeling warm and protected, things took on a different perspective.

Could I start again? Was it possible for Sissy to live all day every day? Was it possible to really be a girl now, totally, instead of a man? But how could I make a living? Mistress couldn’t take care of me forever. I’d have to find something to do to earn enough to feel I was contributing to living here.

For now, I put that set of worries away and I fell back asleep, safely wrapped in Mistress’ arms.

Sissy’s First Steps -- Part 15

By Maid Joy

Mistress was wonderful to me. She tried so hard to make sure I wasn’t alone and that I was taken care of. We were in an odd place since I was trying to do the same thing for her. When comparing losing a job to being attacked the latter won out in my mind. Apparently in Mistress’ mind, the former was the victor.

I gave her the whole story as I could. It took me a couple days to get my brain together enough to be coherent. I wasn’t myself totally and so I probably missed a lot of her reaction to the story, but at that moment I was a bit too depressed.

It was an odd depression too. At one time it was severely down and very much “who cares”, but at the same time, my brain kept making plans. I would be washing dishes with no thoughts in my head and suddenly I would be thinking about the priorities of job hunting. I would be mentally writing my resume’ and formatting it, at the same time I was apparently staring off into space without a conscious thought in my brain.

I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t shake the feelings of personal failure and futility. I knew that I was suffering from something like PTSD, but I wasn’t sure of the exact medical term. I was down and I needed to do something.

“Sissy, I’ve called a friend who is a psychotherapist. She’ll see you in a couple days if you want to talk to her. I’ve written all the information down here.” Mistress’ voice sounded so sweet and so distant.

I knew she was looking out for me. I didn’t know how to operate anymore. There was no rules, no orders and I was floundering, drowning without them. If Mistress hadn’t been there, helping me by giving me some structure and orders, I don’t know what might have happened.

***

Two days later I was sitting in the doctor’s office. She was a petite blonde with model looks and a very compact body. But like most people I associated with being physically small, she had a personality that lit up the world. She was always smiling and seemed to genuinely care about me.

The cynical side of my brain told me that it was probably her professional training to make it appear that she cared.

Nevertheless, I found myself warming to her. I started talking and I didn’t stop. All the stuff that I had been trying to deal with over the past several years, from the desires to be playing hopscotch instead of working on cars, the confusion I felt when I was mean to people in High School, to my decision to go into the Rangers, Sissy, the whole scene that happened in the beginning of October, to losing my life in the Rangers and all that mess, to “what do I do now” came pouring out. I couldn’t stop it.

I was crying well before the end of my tale of woe. I know it wasn’t manly to do so, but I didn’t feel much like a man OR a woman right now. I just hurt.

It was very easy to forget myself and all the masks that I normally wore. I didn’t want to hide any more, I wanted to get help. Lord knows that I wasn’t able to get anywhere on my own, and while Mistress was trying to help, she was as unsure as I was about how to proceed.

One hour turned into two. I talked and cried until I was horse and my head stuffed. The Doctor didn’t say much, but she was obviously listening, encouraging and offering suggestions. I don’t remember the exact thoughts and words said, but the gestalt was some of the problems took on a new perspective.

So I lost my billet; big deal. It didn’t change the good I had done in the past. It didn’t it make the men I had saved somehow dead.

When she helped me realize that, I felt better about leaving the Army. I still hated that they didn’t want me. Despite all of my achievements that the service would find it so terrible that I liked to dress as a woman. I wasn’t gay, yet I was labeled gay. Different is wrong and homophobia runs rampant in the military.

Actually I can understand that. There’s a part of very macho people which wonders what it would be like to be small and weak. But the macho man fears that and anything associated with that. It is almost as though they think they’ll be “contaminated” some how and become what they fear. They’ll lose their masculinity by being around or seeing or acknowledging anything feminine not-masculine.

Real ostriches there. They bury their head in the sand hoping that by doing so they can make it go away. But the “lalalalalaIcan’thearyou” strategy had been a proven failure since before the Greeks sacked Troy.

The doctor pointed out that I could, if I wanted to, become something of an activist for all those gay soldiers who still had to hide. I didn’t know if I was up for that. I wasn’t gay, I wanted to be sexually active with women, not men.

The problem I needed to focus on and deal with first was who I was. Did I want to be Greg Taylor, or Sissy? Who was the most real me?

***

At home later that same day I lay on Sissy’s bed and just thought. I had avoided Mistress for a while, not because I didn’t want to be with her, but because she was another source of confusion for me.

I was so indebted to her that I didn’t know how to get out of it. I hated owing people something. It put me under a personal obligation until I paid it back. She had already done so much for me that I didn’t want to be even more in her debt.

I got tired of lying down and I needed to relax. I pulled off my jeans and t-shirt and decided to take a shower. On second consideration, I drew myself a bath instead. I knew I was more relaxed by lying in the tub that one time.

I started the water and sprinkled some bath crystals in, along with some oils for my skin. I didn’t need to clean myself since I had showered that morning, but I did need to relax and de-stress.

I lay back and floated while the hot water soaked into my pores, soothing my muscles convincing them to relax. If I ever get a place of my own it has to have a hot tub. If it doesn’t I have to get one immediately. Maybe a sauna too. I just floated and relaxed.

My mind wandered a lot while I lay there. I knew that lying around the house like a slug wasn’t a good I needed activity. Ten years in the Army made a weekend off with nothing to do impossible. I resolved to continue my physical training the endorphin high was just too good to miss.

But it left the question of Sissy or Greg? He-self or she-self?

I pushed that question aside determined to see what was available out there for each. After my run tomorrow I would have to get some help wanted ads and start looking.

I got out of the tub after about an hour; the water was cooling down too much to enjoy anymore. I dried myself off and powdered in the right places, luxuriating in the scents I had come to love.

I moved back into my room and finally looked around it again. It was obviously a girl’s room. Frilly pillows, pink, purple and light blue everywhere. There was my makeup vanity and over there was the cabinet holding dresses. All it would take was a few steps to throw away Greg and become Sissy again.

The point of this time was to relax. I didn’t want to have to be the big strong man taking care of everyone right now, I wanted to be someone who was taken care of, and that was who Sissy was. I opened up the cabinet and pulled out a conservative dress, knee length and short sleeved. It looked like a uniform and it was actually a maid’s dress from a hotel. But instead of making it obviously unfeminine and ugly, or over the top sexy, it was conservatively cut, wide lapels, cuffs at the sleeve ends, dark grey and a nice zipper up the back.

It was the kind of quality uniform you would find in a five star hotel. It looked wonderful without screaming “MAID HERE”. Without much thinking I pulled on my small clothes, corset and stockings. Apparently somewhere in the luxuriating in the tub I had shaved my legs. I didn’t even remember.

I pulled the dress on and selected some 3” pumps to wear. I styled my hair as best as I could since that I didn’t have much hair in the first place. A light application of makeup, some earrings (and resolved to get them pierced when I could) and I was ready.

A spritz of perfume in the air, then walking through the cloud on my way out the door and I was finished.

I got into the kitchen and heard distant sounds of a scene going on. Mistress couldn’t stop her life and her finances just because she had a damaged idiot in her care.

I started preparing a meal. I didn’t know or care which one it was, and I didn’t look at the clock to find out. I just started making pancakes from scratch and some bacon strips. I didn’t make a whole lot since I didn’t know if Mistress was hungry or not, but I made enough for her too. Two slices of bacon for each of us, two pancakes each, a jug of syrup and some orange juice and milk. It was a good meal.

I put the meal aside for myself and made up Mistress’ plate as well. I left it on the other side of the island in the Kitchen for her. I settled myself and started eating. Truth be told, I wasn’t that hungry, but I knew I had to eat something.

I finished fairly quickly as it wasn’t nearly the hearty breakfast I was used to eating, but then again, I wasn’t burning 2500 calories a day either. I could get fat if I didn’t watch it.

I walked back to my bedroom and got an MP3 player, put in a bunch of rock songs that I loved listening to, and started cleaning. Apron on to protect my dress and I just did dishes, cleaned the counters and stove, turned on the self cleaning cycle of the oven and then went through the refrigerator make sure everything was neat and tidy.

I didn’t lose all my training though. One of the deadliest things that could happen to a soldier in the field is to let someone sneak up on you, so I kept an eye out for Mistress involuntarily.

She came in wearing a latex outfit, meaning that her client had contracted for an orgasm, Mistress would cause it with tools or occasionally her hand, but she wore a latex bodysuit to keep the mess off her. This meant the dungeon needed a good cleaning and bleaching, and she would be hot and sweaty.

She smiled tiredly when she saw me, and I helped her out of her outfit. Once it was off, Mistress kissed me briefly on the cheek, and put on a robe and sat down to her meal. I took the latex into her bedroom and washed it off inside and out and hung it to dry. I turned on the shower for her so she could sluice off, and then went to clean up the dungeon.

If I could do these simple chores to repay Mistress for her kindness was worth it. Service to my lady for all of her kindness and help was the least I could do.

I smiled to myself as I got her boots, all of them, and started shining them. It was going to be a long night.

***

The smell of shoe polish brought me out of the shower and to the dungeon where Sissy was sitting on the spanking bench shining my boots. She was so focused on the boot that I didn’t want to disturb her.

She’d been busy for a while, three boots were already done and she was working on the fourth. There were only two more pairs to go and it looked as though she wasn’t going to be happy unless she had them at a mirror finish.

“You should be a bootblack,” I said. She didn’t jump or act startled, just looked up a bit and went back to her work.

“I kind of already am,” she said.

“No, I mean in the BDSM professional sense. There are a lot of leather events I go to where they have submissives and slaves who offer service by shining shoes. It gets a lot of recognition and a lot of credit.”

“Maybe I could get a stand in the Airport too, shine your shoes for two bits.” She used a tone letting me know that she was getting her sense of humor back.

“I’m serious. It’s a respected subset of the leather community. But I’m not sure you’re ready for that level of immersion yet.”

She frowned a bit at a scuff and fell silent.

“Mistress, I have no clue what I want to do now. I’m a killing machine. Not many openings for people who kill. The police arrest, soldiers kill. Bodyguards take bullets and clear areas. Martial Arts instructors teach how not to die. I’m not good for very much.” The downcast look on her face had me near tears.

I went over and hugged her. I let the towel fall off as I did. “I think we can figure that out with each other.”

I knew exactly what I wanted her for and what I wanted her to do. All I had to do now was to lead her into that gently.

Sissy’s New Life -- Part 16

By Maid Joy

It had been two months of hell. Well, hell when I wasn’t at home with Karen. She and I were growing closer in a way I had never been with a woman before. She wanted me in bed with her, and I had been resisting.

Most people would have smacked me and called me absolutely stupid to turn her down, but I didn’t want sex spoiling what we had.

What did we have you might ask. In my opinion we had a very good, and I mean very good, friendship. Not “friends with benefits”, but two people who meshed in just about every way possible. We had similar interests, we liked the same type of music, we read similar books and enjoyed going out to most of the same places. Neither of us liked porn very much (no plots), but erotica turned us both on.

I tried my best to be the perfect roommate. I didn’t make demands on her time; I cleaned up after myself all the time, and cleaned up after her. I prepared meals and didn’t bitch when she left a mess. I figured since she wasn’t asking me for rent, that the least I could do was to clean up around the house.

It helped that I enjoyed housework and I liked cooking.

I had been going out every day looking for a job that paid. Help Wanted ads, leads from the VA, job fairs all the avenues that one takes when looking for a job. I spent 50 hours a week simply looking for employment.

I consulted with professionals about my resume, the people in the Unemployment Office who help vets find work and temp agencies. I didn’t understand why I didn’t have a job.

I was told I didn’t have skills that the corporate world was looking for. I wasn’t a businessman, I had no high tech skills, and I didn’t have any corporate security skills. I could get an entry-level job doing something, but I didn’t want to start like that and lose what I had in training.

My routine became pretty standard. Get up at 4 AM, stretch out, run and exercise for two hours, then come back and clean up in the shower. Make breakfast and eat it, then by 8 AM get busy with interviews and job seeking. That would take me to about 5:30 or so and then come back, dinner, clean up, help Karen with her clients and then get into bed.

My bed damn it. I mean Sissy’s bed. I mean -- my bed. Alone.

Believe me; I’m not made of stone. It was very hard for me to sleep there night after night knowing that Karen was just a couple rooms away and that she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

I’m also not an animal. I used a lot of the discipline I learned in the Army and refused to screw up the living arrangement I had just to satisfy my cock.

But I went though a bunch of lotion and tissues.

“But sir, I am qualified. I have six years in the Army as a Ranger; I think I qualify as a security guard.”

The interviewer sat there with my application in his hand. “I understand that, but the problem is that being a guard is not the same as being a Ranger. We don’t have any positions that require someone with combat experience. An MP or a garrison soldier I could use, they are used to standing around and not doing much, but a combat soldier would get bored really rapidly, and then you would leave. That would leave me high and dry and right back where I am. I’d rather turn you down and hire the guy I need right now instead of two months from now when you quit.”

Well, at least he was honest with me. Most of the other recruiters had just blown me off and didn’t explain things. This guy at least had the cojones to lay it out like it was.

I sighed and nodded. “It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before. Thank you for your time.”

I started to stand, but he stopped me. “I do have a lead for you if you want it. I know a women’s shelter that needs someone to teach their self-defense course. I could put in a good word for you if you want.”

“Yes sir, please do.” He jotted down the number and address of the shelter and handed me the note. I thanked him and left to continue my search.

I figured that I would have to take it, but I wanted to explore all my options.

Three days later, I was out of all the potential jobs that I had scheduled to check for that week. Unless something odd happened I would just have to sponge off Karen longer. The thought twisted in my guts like a knife.

She had been so kind, so supportive, helping me understand what I wanted as opposed to what I needed. I felt guilt piling up daily. How could I ever repay her?

It was then that I found the card again and seriously reconsidered teaching the class. I figured I had nothing to lose by and talking to them and meeting them.

A couple hours later I found myself down at the public shelter, the one that you could find by looking in the phonebook. It had things you might expect, offices, receptionist desk, I could hear a meeting going on in the conference room and there was paperwork just about everywhere. It looked about how I expected it to an underfunded necessity that had far too many cases and far too few people who could help with time, skills and resources for the people who needed help desperately.

I found the lady I was interviewing with and she invited me in. I sat carefully on the older chair and waited for the interview to start. Once the chair quit protesting my weight, I looked the woman over as carefully as I would a potential problem in the field.

She was small; almost bird like, bright eyes darting from my face to my clothes back to my face and then my resume. Her dark hair was going gray piled on top of her head in an untidy bun with wisps of hair curling around her face and neck. Her clothes were neat and conservative, nothing trendy or fashion forward. She scanned my resume carefully and began by saying,

“Mr. Taylor, I’m Jeanette. We don’t use last names here. That could get dangerous. I hope you can get use to being called Gregory?” She sounded like a miniature Katherine Hepburn.

“No m’am but Greg if you don’t mind? Please.” It was like being grilled by a sharp aunt who didn’t miss a thing. I felt a flush rising in my cheeks and couldn’t understand why I was blushing.

One eyebrow rose, “Breathe young man, I don’t think you’re guilty — yet.” The bark of the last work would have made any DI proud. I jumped as expected. Then I think I surprised her.

I smiled and nodded. “Some really good officers can make a noncom feel undressed in church m’am if you know what I mean.”

She seemed to relax at that and nodded in return. “Follow me, young man.” Without another word, she rose, walked around her desk and headed out the door. Her steps were light and her pace surprisingly quick.

We entered a gym. Her rubber soled shoes squeaked as she went toward a pile of mats stacked in a corner. Before I reached her she had wrestled one to the floor and was grabbing another mat. I hurried to help her. “Good.” If this was her normal mode I sure wouldn’t have to worry about having my ear talked off.

“Teach me.”

“Ma’am?”

“Teach me. I want to take your class.”

“Yes m’am. Self —defense is important. You should know why. You aren’t going to be Bruce Lee when you finish this course, but you will be better able to handle yourself incase something foolish tries to happen in your vicinity.”

On uptick of her eyebrow let me know that the last statement would have to be proven or removed.

I took a long slow breath. “Sit down.”

I scanned the room for a minute while she found her seat on a stack of mats. I turned back to her and said “Close your eyes.” She looked skeptical but finally she complied.

“Miss Jeanette, you’ve been in this room a lot, you know where everything is. Can you tell me what you can use to beat me off if I decided to attack you?”

She started a bit and her eyes fluttered. “Don’t open your eyes. I’m not going to do anything, but I want you to do this exercise without looking around.”

She thought for a minute or two. “Um, I think I could start with hitting you with the ball near the volleyball net. I could hit you with the barbells, and maybe trip you with the rack of basketballs?”

I heard the interrogative at the end of her sentence. I nodded and said, “That’s good for a start, but what’s wrong with your shoe?” She looked a bit surprised. “Open your eyes now; we’ll go through each and every thing you could use in such an event.”

Over the next half hour, I pointed out how everything in the room could be used in the case of an attack. She could pull the volleyball net down on me, pull the pole supporting the net down and hit me with that, she could hit me with her belt or she could pull the mat out from under me.

Once we went through all that, I looked her in the eye. “Being attacked is about survival, and 90% of survival is being aware of the area around you. Almost anything can be used as a weapon to defend yourself, more importantly to delay your attacker until you get out of the area. That’s the first lesson.”

“Greg, you’ve impressed me. If you want the job, I’d be glad to have you.” She looked impressed with me.

I bowed slightly from the waist. “Ma’am, my pocketbook thanks you.”

Another Chance part 17

By Maid Joy

I thought I had it made. Teach a class in self-defense and that’s it. It was easy money and no worries no more feeling guilty no more sponging off of Karen.

Three weeks after I started work at the shelter, I knew I was close to losing my job. I had one person take the class, and while she loved it and was effusive in her praise, no one else seemed willing to try me out.

I pitched in around the center, filing and doing paperwork, putting my administrative skills to work for them, just so I felt I was earning my paycheck, but it wasn’t enough. I knew the axe would fall soon.

“Greg, can I see you in my office?” Jeanette said to me one day.

Here it comes I thought.

I followed her into her office and stood at something like attention in front of her desk. She looked at me. “Greg, we have a problem. Apparently because of who you are, the women here don’t feel comfortable. It’s not that you aren’t skilled, it is simply that the ladies who in the shelter, the ones who come here, are afraid of men. Even though your abilities are beyond reproach, the simple fact that you are male is scaring them away.

“It was a good experiment, but it looks like I’m going to have to let you go.”

I was somewhat relieved. “Miss Jeanette, is it just my sex that is putting people off, just the fact that I’m male, right?”

“Yes. I’ve needed a self defense teacher for some time, and I thought your skills would overcome the fear your sex brings, but apparently not.”

“Let me try something then, please? I think I have a solution to the problem, but I want to make sure that it’s a surprise to everyone.”

She looked at me over the top of her reading glasses. “Please don’t get a sex change just to keep this job.”

“No worries Ma’am. It’s not just to keep this job.”

Well, if you’re reading this story, you can probably figure out what I had in mind. I went home that night and spent considerable time getting “pretty”. I shaved everything, made sure my skin was smooth as it could be. I tried to do my nails and toes but I knew I didn’t look as nice as it should.

I had today off, so I decided to go to the spa. It had been a while.

I got dressed, did my hair up as I could, and put on my face. I pulled out one of my purses and put all my stuff in it. I also made sure I had my ATM card and that there was enough money in my account to cover the indulgence.

I won’t go into details of being pampered right now, but it was heaven. The ladies there made sure to take good care of me. They weren’t able to do much in the waxing department, and one lady suggested permanent hair removal. I thought it might be a good idea, so I checked in to the electrolysis service they had on the ‘menu’.

I would never think that makeovers and all the woman things to make her look beautiful were inexpensive again. I could see that I would have to save for a while to get some of the things on my list done.

In the end however, I was looking beautiful and smelling sweet. My eyebrows were nicely shaped and my ears were now pierced. All the things I wanted to do but couldn’t while I was in the Army. It was an incredible heady feeling.

I didn’t let them put on the killer claws they wanted to put on me. It would be hard for me to do three quarters of the combat and self-defense things I would need to without snapping one, so I settled for “sport length” which was just a little beyond my fingertips. Just enough to have nails, but not enough to get in the way.

When Mistress saw me, she was very excited.

“Sissy, I’ll be honest, I’ve wanted my girlfriend back. Glad to see you home again.” Then she kissed me on my cheek and went back to what she was doing.

I have to admit that I was relieved to be Sissy again, but I wonder how my name would go over among those women.

Nightgowns are wonderful things. They are silky, smooth, heaven on the skin and just all around gentleness. Men haven’t had anything like this since Queen Victoria’s times when men wore nightshirts.

Before going to bed that night, I made sure to glue the breasts on to my chest and check my clothes for the next day. I had a class to teach, and I wanted everything to be ready.

I laid out some shorts, a tank top, and the various under things that I needed. I picked a pretty pair of sandals and sport bra. I looked closely at what the ladies at the salon did to my face before taking it off, so I could duplicate it tomorrow.

Skirts would come later in the class. It was important to know how to fight in a tight skirt since a lot of attacks happened at clubs. Being able to beat someone senseless when you couldn’t get your knees more than 2 inches apart is not only a valuable skill it’s an art.

My dreams that night were intense. I normally saw myself as my he-self, Greg the Ranger, but this time I saw myself as Sissy only. I felt real breasts, and it felt so right and natural. The clothing I wore was normal, the skirt dancing around my knees and most strangely, I couldn’t feel a penis anymore. Not only did I get rather horny from that it was it was absolutely the right feeling to have. It was like stepping into a whole new me.

I woke with my hands stroking myself, not as a male would, but as a girl would. I was rubbing my belly, my chest, my legs, feeling incredible sensations as my hands brushed my body through the satin of the nightgown.

I got up and took a quick shower, making sure not to mess up my hair too much. I dried and powdered getting ready for the day.

It didn’t take me long to get to work. Traffic was with me and I was one of the first people there. I started organizing the files and paperwork, then I went into the gym to ensure everything was set up properly. I moved some boxes around and partially covered one door and then adjusted the blinds on the windows in the room.

Satisfied I went back to my job.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” I smiled up at Miss Jennette.

“I’m your self-defense instructor,” I said in my best Sissy voice. I held my hand out to her and shook it. “You hired me nearly a month ago.”

“GREG!” she nearly shrieked.

“Sissy, please, if you don’t mind.” I grinned at her. She spent the next five minutes looking me over and checking me out. Her appraisal became very detailed and I felt like I back in the ranks being inspected by the General.

Finally she was satisfied. “If I didn’t know better, I would swear you were born a girl,” she finally declared.

I smiled broadly and went back to what I was doing.

She thought for a bit and finally said, “Sissy, I don’t think that is going to be a good name for you.”

“It’s short for ‘sister’” I said.

“I understand that. But maybe Gina would be a bit more appropriate?”

I thought about that proposal. I could understand her point in that ‘sissy’ is a name that is used for derision. Sissy as a nickname wouldn’t be too bad, and Gina had a good sound to it. I nodded my head and accepted my new name. Gina Taylor. It fit.

The self defense class was pushed really hard that day, and with the announcement that there was a new teacher, a lady, suddenly there were about 10 ladies ready to learn.

When I arrived I found them waiting for me. I set my purse down near the rest of purses and stood in front of the ladies.

“Everyone, close your eyes.” I waited until they had. “How many exits are there from this room?”

I could see that they were confused. “I’m serious, protecting yourself is about survival, and survival is about being observant. If a man was in here and going to attack you, you would need to know where the exits are so that you can get out. So I’ll ask again, how many exits are there?”

Five ladies said there was one exit. Three said two exits. One didn’t know how many and didn’t answer. One lady said Five.

“Would it shock you all to know that there are five exits from this room?” The looked surprised and opened their eyes. I started pointing out exits.

“First is the door you came in through. Second is that door over there, a secondary exit, partially blocked by the boxes. The other three exits? Remember, you can go out a window almost as easily as you can a door; you might just get hurt a bit more.

“This class is about defending yourself against an attacker. It is not about honor, it is not about pretty, it is not about following rules. You will learn to use everything and anything as a weapon, and you will learn how to get yourself out of a situation with the least damage to you, and the most damage to him.”

From there, I started the class. It wasn’t anything shocking, just the same general fighting tactics that women are told, the emphasis this time was on hurting their opponent enough so he had no interest in getting up.

I had seen some pictures that made me angry to the core of my being. Women with bloody faces, broken arms bruise the size of dinner plates and dead women. All of my life all of my training taught me to regard women as sacrosanct, to be guarded, protected, and revered and the idea that some puke would dare to touch a woman made my blood boil. I kept seeing the faces of these ladies in harms way, and I was determined not to leave them vulnerable.

Throws and leverage escapes, I added an incapacitating strike in. Instead of just tossing the guy that grabbed them from behind, I had them add a stomp from their high heeled pump for good measure. The motto was “put him down and keep him there”.

I was enjoying myself and they seemed to have a good time too. When the littlest girl in that class threw me about four feet away, everyone cheered and clapped for her, none louder than me.

Perhaps this would keep them alive if they had someone come at them from a dark alley, or more likely from across the living room.

I taught the ladies every trick I had learned over the next seven weeks. We had class three times a week, and I showed them things they’d never though of. I taught them how to rupture a rapist’s testicle, how to kneecap a person, how to break strangleholds and chokeholds. I taught them not to worry damage they might do to some monster who didn’t give a shit about what he was doing to them, but to hit him as hard and as dirty as possible as fast as possible since it was highly likely that if a woman didn’t she would be beaten, used and then killed.

I made sure that the strikes I showed them would be “one hit” strikes, the monster was going down and not getting back up for a while. I knew if these bastards that some of them had were to attack, and these women resisted, the monsters would keep hitting them until they couldn’t get up again. I kept reminding them that the enemy was just that, not a person, not a human being. It was the enemy, a rabid animal, a bastard, monster something that had to be put down. It’s a standard tactic for training soldiers because it’s effective.

I tried to relate these things to food they had to handle. A testicle became a grape or plum. Squish it and it exploded. They had all squished a grape before and thought nothing of it. Gouging out someone’s eye or ripping someone’s tongue off with their teeth isn’t normal, so the food associations helped.

While I hoped to God that these ladies never had to use anything they learned. But I wanted to insure they were as prepared to react as instinctively as any one I had ever trained. They were my first new squad. I didn’t work them as hard physically as I would a military squad, but I certainly encouraged them to keep practicing in the evening and on weekends. The ones that did follow my suggestions definitely saw a difference in their stamina and physical fitness. As they got slimmer and healthier and able to eat more there were more ladies who joined the group and more who began to practice.

I wanted all the women in the shelter to feel confident about their ability to be safe from their abusers for the rest of their lives. I prayed daily that they would be safe for the rest of their lives.