In a way, it all started when I ran across a school uniform in a thrift shop.
I'd recently moved to Chicago from my original home in Minneapolis, with my mother, after the breakup with my father.
The way things worked out, my new school would not accept me until after the new year, which left me at loose ends, as it was only mid-October; my mother worked in an office downtown all day, and so I was in a new apartment, alone, having to pass time in an unfamiliar city. Mom wanted me to stay home, of course, but I wanted to take advantage of my rare freedom. Public transit and cultural institutions and free time; when would I have all three again?
I'd always been interested in the evolution of how people saw their world, and for some periods, that is shown most clearly in their art, and here, the Art Institute and the Field Museum were within a short transit ride on the El; I tossed a coin to decide between them and the Art Institute won. Some days, I wonder what would have happened had it fallen the other way.
As I said, my mother works, and so I'd wait for her to leave in the morning, then leave, myself, taking the el downtown to the Art Institute. At first, I'd just wander the galleries and read the plaques (pausing to look at the evolution of the hook and eye fastener on armor, for example), and then hit the library branch near home afterwards, to learn what I should have observed.
But in the galleries, adults kept stopping me and asking why I wasn't in school, or if I'd wandered off from my tour group. Proving I was doing what I was supposed to be doing there was getting time consuming. So many well-meaning adults in the world! I began to understand the appeal of hiding and browsing after the museum closed, as in that mixed up children's book.
Well, and also branch libraries are not really big on art history. Eventually I figured out I'd get more information if I attached myself to a school tour and followed along, listening to the docent's lecture.
The first time I tried that, though, I must have stood out, somehow, because I got asked to leave. Somehow they figured out I didn't belong, seemingly effortlessly. It must have been more than my lack of a bagged lunch, though. So I'd have to think about how to blend in better. I'd have to find an ironclad way to avoid having my presence questioned; something that would make it inconceivable for them to consider checking if I belonged. (yes, that word does mean what I think it means, I'm sure.)
I was at thinking about that while browsing at a local thrift store, looked for a cheap way to increase the size of my wardrobe, when I saw it: a complete school uniform, in what seemed to be my size. It didn't particularly matter to me that it was a girl's uniform (yes, I'm small for my age, thank you so much for pointing that out.) It seemed the perfect disguise; surely anyone seeing it would automatically assume I was just a student they hadn't seen before. I'd dressed as a girl for halloween, and it didn't particularly bother me (I found myself oddly at home in the role, actually); all that mattered to me then was it was a disguise. Still, maybe the fact that I considered it so casually should have given me more pause...
As it was, I piled it in my cart, and went off in search of items to pad out my shopping, so it would seem less noteworthy.
I found winter coats, girls and boys. I had a good boy's coat from Minneapolis, of course, but the Chicago winters, while nothing to sneeze at, were not as severe as Minneapolis, and a lighter coat would be a welcome addition to my closet. And, indeed, my purchases passed without undue comment.
Taking everything home, I hid the uniform and the girl's coat in the back of my closet well before my mother got home and asked me about my day. I had a cover story prepared about spending the day at the library.
My mother joshingly threatened me with asking for a term paper on art history.
The next day, as soon as she left, I disinterred my finds and inspected them more closely; the uniform had some signs of wear; clearly, it had been worn for some for time. Perfect. I tried it on; I was going to need shoes and underwear. For shoes, I'd look for a pair of Mary Janes.
For my hair, I wanted something like a brown, curly, but coarse haired wig, and I'd have to keep an eye out for an unflattering pair of glasses.
And brown socks, a little fuzzy, I figured. I had a picture of this girl clearly in my mind.
I went out to shop for the rest of my disguise.
The uniform, thanks to to economics of resale, had been cheap; the shoes and the wig were probably going to be the biggest expenses. Fortunately, my mom had augmented my allowance, to aid me in getting around on mass transit; she insisted I eat a balanced diet, and avoid fast food, which raised costs considerably so she compensated for that.
She also worried about me traveling in the city, but I'd promised to stick to the museums, so she was willing to give me a little slack. I was going to "bend" that rule a bit, today, though.
From my reading of the transit agency's website, I knew that if I didn't pick up a connecting train at the Howard Street Station, I could, instead, switch to regular bus routes. Doing that, I'd quickly reach Andersonville, a major LGBTQ community in Chicago, where I could hope to find some understanding merchants.
It took some looking, but at last I found a couple of stores listed that ought not look sideways at me while I shopped. So off to the buses I went
The shoes were no challenge, as my feet had always been a bit small. The lingerie was pricier than I'd realized and put a strain on my budget, but at least I could get fitted so I knew I would have the right sizes. I'd have to economize on the wig a bit, though.
And that was the hardest purchase, as I'd expected, but for a different reason; a nice woman who ran the shop kept trying to steer me to wigs that would look pretty, whereas I was trying to be a bit plain and avoid attention. Finally I found a curly brown one in a back corner of the shop, which seemed to have been mistreated by a novice beautician; over the objections of the shop owner, I tried it on, and knew I'd found what I was looking for. The lady said if I ever thought better of it, she would give me a discount on the other one, but was willing to cut me a deal on the one I'd selected. After making sure I promised to be back for the Pride parade next June, she rang me up and I'd achieved most of my goals. The glasses, I found at Walgreens; reading glasses, with slight magnification and thick black frames.
Back home, using a YouTube tutorial, I fashioned fake braces out of beads (well, actually small pieces of metal hardware; the tutorial used beads, but I want unadorned braces) and paperclips. If I held my mouth tight as though embarrassed by my braces, no one should notice they were fake, and they should slur my speech as they got in my way.
My complexion, on the other hand, was a problem. I had disgustingly good looking skin, and the girl I was picturing clearly had problems with acne. (she also had bushy eyebrows, which eliminated the necessity of me trimming them, lest you think that the visualization induced nothing but hardships.)
At first, I experimented with covering the "acne" I didn't have, hoping that would look right. A few daubs of the wrong color foundation didn't do it, though. I used techniques from an old theatrical makeup handbook I'd found at the library, utilizing tissue paper and oatmeal, intended originally for monster makeup, here. After some Horrifying early failures, I found a look that was mild enough to evince mild sympathy rather than evoke pity. Perfect!
I even planned my lunch meticulously, figuring what flavor of yogurt my character would favor. I found an online survey, and chose the third most popular flavor of yogurt amongst teenage girls. I was clearly enough of a rebel not to be impressed by the most popular flavor, after all.
The uniform eliminated the need to make most fashion choices, fortunately. Having assembled the pieces, I tried it out. There, staring me in the face was a gawky, horse faced teenaged girl. She'd not stand out in a crowd. Fortunately, my voice had not changed yet; I would sound odd, but acceptably female.
The next day, I couldn't wait for mom to leave. Watching out the front window, as soon as I saw her round the corner on her way to the El, I stripped and donned my disguise.
Once finished, I prepared my bag lunch, keeping one eye on the clock. Grabbing my girl's jacket, I left through the back of my building, running to catch the last morning Express train to the loop.
Once there, I travelled the remaining block on foot. There, in front of me, was the Art Institute and it's iconic lion guarded front steps. No one had bothered me or even looked at me that I'd noticed; in my uniform and carrying my book bag, I might as well have been invisible. I was right on time, too; the school buses were just disgorging their student tours onto the steps. I stealthily crossed the street, and looked for a likely group of students to attach myself to.
Suddenly, my sleeve was tugged; "We're lining up over here," I was informed by a clear skinned red haired girl, in what certainly looked like a close match for my own uniform. I decided it was fate, and went where she had pointed.
"You must be in different classes from me; I'm Sally," she continued.
I had to quickly come up with a name. Thinking of the texture of my somewhat unkempt wig, I replied, "I'm Barb."
The two of us formed up near the back of the line, then we all filed into the building. Permission slips had evidently been checked before anyone got on the bus for the field trip, so my own carefully mud stained and torn effort was not needed, which was fortunate, as I hadn't even known what school to make it for. One officious looking student was counting people and looking puzzled at the list on his clipboard.
The tour went in and up the main stairs to the the room containing "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte", a pointilist masterpiece of people relaxing and strolling in a park, where all the tours at the Art Institute seem to start; It's in an area that spacious and easy to gather in, and is an easily understandable work of art.
"Wow! Imagine having to wear a bustle like that!" Sally remarked to me, looking at a figure in the foreground of the painting. As my own panties were slightly padded, I thought it best not to comment...
From there, we went down a hallway of dark, sepia toned portraiture from the Renaissance. I'd never been able to figure out if it was the lack of artificial light of the age, or if the museum just really needed to clean them.
"So dark; so many sour looking faces," I whispered to Sally.
"Yeah; I guess the food wasn't very good then. There always seems to be rotten fruit in the still lifes," she observed.
Listening to the docent talk about the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, I was glad I'd read up on the period; I could listen with half an ear, and split my observations between the art and Sally and her classmates.
Still, I was struggling to see how much the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood had been at odds with their rough contemporaries, the french Impressionists (who I was much impressed by), and noticing their devotion to more or less accurate representation of the figures in their paintings, when Sally nudged me and said to me, "That's you."
The plaque said it was "Beata Beatrix", by Dante Gabriel Rosetti, 1872. (You see why I went to the library after reading them? Who was he, and why was he important?)
I craned my face upwards in imitation of the figure, "You think? I don't see you here; I guess we'll have to look in the abstracts..." I joked. Sally responded by punching me in the upper arm.
From there, we passed into a more recent era. While looking at the Grant Wood's "American Gothic" (that famously dour farm couple) in the modern gallery, it occurred to me that Sally made a good companion for this sort of thing. I was enjoying myself and her company, and no one was trying to remove me from this tour; I was learning things, and felt contented.
When we sat in the lunchroom to eat our bag lunches, I carefully approached the topic of which school Sally went to. When I found out the answer, it was like a lightning bolt out of a clear sky. Hers was my school; the one I'd be going to in January! I'd somehow managed to connect with my future classmates. I immediately thought of all kinds of questions I wanted to ask her, but as I was supposed to already be a student, I bit my tongue and dared not ask any of them. Still, when it came time to leave, I boarded the bus with the rest, confident that I knew where it was going. That same officious kid counted us and again looked at his list askance, but didn't do anything about it.
Returning home, I snuck into my apartment and removed my disguise. I had plenty of time before my mother returned, but I wanted to be sure I did a good job of removing my makeup and "acne" before then.
That night, I thought a lot about the school group, and about Sally. I'd missed the camaraderie of being a student amongst my peers, even given the uncertainties I'd be facing at a new school, uncertain of where I might belong in the pecking order. And now, I found I was missing Sally; her wit and her observations. But suddenly it occurred to me I didn't have to. Sally had mentioned going to a football game next weekend. Certainly "Barb" could attend that, as well. A plan began to take shape in my mind.
But, of course, it was not easy. Outsiders hanging around schools are not considered quite the thing, these days. I was going to have to forge an ID, and it was not going to be valid in their database. The one break I got was that nothing I was wearing was going to cause trouble with the metal detectors popping up everywhere at school events these days. (At least, I didn't think my braces would set one off.)
A trip to my nearby library turned up a recent yearbook in the reference collection, and a poorly observant advisor had let a blow up of part of an ID form the background of some pages, I was going to have to mosaic several of those to restore its full appearance, and then shrink it to the real size, which I could assume was the size of a wallet ID pocket. I'd have to do a picture of Barb a little younger than she appeared now, but phone apps did that easily (I was careful to wear different clothing. It had to be my most androgynous outfit, but I managed. I made a note to get Barb more clothes.)
Of course, I was going to have to come up with a last name. Tired of always being towards the end of every alphabetical lineup, I decided on the last name "Abbott". Sally's last name was Ackerman; we'd end up pretty close together. My actual last name was Walsh.
The advisor hadn't been totally asleep; the ID number in the image in the yearbook was blurred out, but I managed to get a glance at one at a nearby convenience store, which offered student discounts, which allowed me to see how many digits they used, how formatted, and which were letters... I embossed the number I made up on my plastic fake with a heated paperclip.
The sign in front of the school supplied the name of the team and the colors. I made another note to get some scarves in school colors. The yearbook had shown the mascot; the local paper told me when the game was to start. I was set.
I changed in the laundry room in the basement of my building, securing the door by jamming a chair under the doorknob. After walking to the school, my forged ID seemed to pass the cursory examination at the gate to the field, outside the portable metal detector. I ran into the same officious kid from the field trip, but fortunately before he could question me more closely about my ID (which seemed to have attracted his attention somehow), an altercation broke out over some kids trying to sneak beer into the stands. I took advantage of the distraction to grab my forged ID back and dash through the metal detector. It stayed mute, and he failed to pursue me. I climbed into the stands on the home team side, looking for Sally.
There she was! Clearly the girls with her were friends. I waved and called out, and she waved me over.
I sat down on the edge of their group. One of them nudged me in the side and passed me a flat bottle in a brown paper bag. "Is this...?", I started. "Yeah; Vodka," said a girl I gather was called Sarah. "No, I better not," I said, passing the bottle discreetly back, "I hate the aftertaste of alcohol, So thanks, but no."
Actually, I have an addictive personality type, so I don't indulge in alcohol. I'm bad enough with sodas.
The other girls (except Sally, I noted interestedly) looked dismissive of me, after hearing this.
The home team won, by the way. It was a well fought game, the cheerleaders were cute and active, too; I watched them appreciatively, not realizing until later that Sally watched me watching them...
As we all filed off the bleachers, Sally touched my arm. "Want to hold a study session this weekend?"
"Sure, what subjects?"
"Geometry. I'm having some problems with proofs."
I was good at that! What luck.
"I'm pretty good at that. What time and where?"
"Saturday, 1 pm, my place?"
On the weekend. I'd have to pick up some casual clothes. I'd need to wear something other than my uniform, but I could do that the next day.
"Sure. What's the address?"
She named the address; she lived on the far side of the school from where I lived, but only a few blocks away.
And having made the arrangements, I said goodbye, and split off for the field house complex.
The game had gone long; I was going to have to change before going home and offering mom my ticket stub as proof of where I'd been. Fortunately, the field house was open to allow washroom and locker room access. I tried the door knobs and found a utility closet I could take off my disguise in. While I was in there, I heard footsteps and voices outside and I got really scared. I suddenly realized I'd made a fake ID for Barb, but not one for Dave! If I was caught, I couldn't establish my right to be there!
Fortunately, the people passed by; relieved, I stuffed my disguise into my backpack. Exiting the closet, I saw that kid from the gate again. He didn't seem concerned with me at that moment, though, as I was going OUT of the building. I walked the five blocks home, alone, in the dark, trying not to think of how scary this would have been as Barb.
At home, mom accepted my excuse, and just asked me to tell her ahead of time, next time. I showed her my ticket stub, and I described the action of the game and a few details of the cheerleader routines to her, which was enough to put her mind at ease.
The next day, I figured I'd start off with the resale shop. It seemed a likely source of casual clothes. I was looking for skinny jeans, what I gathered were called "Ballet" flats, and a sweater.
I found the flats, gold colored, but nothing else at the resale shop was in good enough shape for the main outfit. There was a bus stop out front, I figured another trip to Andersonville was in order.
Last time I'd been here, I hadn't bought any regular clothes, but I'd noted a couple of stores that seemed likely.
I went to the first one, fortunately still early enough that crowds were light. Going through the racks, I chose a pair of white skinny jeans, and a fuzzy pink sweater with some beadwork flowers on it. It had a V neck, so I'd have to be sure to shave my chest. Maybe I could contour a little, too, I thought. I took the jeans to a fitting room, and tucked my self back as I'd read about on the net, and indeed done the last two times I'd been Barb, and put my panties before trying out the fit of the jeans.
I had to turn the bottom of the legs up, and in fact, I turned them up a bit extra, exposing my ankles, as that was a style I thought I'd seen. Taking the flats out of my backpack, I put them on, and (wearing the sweater) went out to use the fitting room mirror. Yeah, I'd have to shave my ankles, but the look worked. "Oh! Cute! Nice butt!" I heard behind me. "You have a wig to go with that look?," she asked. Clearly, I'd been read, even though I was not wearing my disguise. I assured her I had everything I needed. I changed back and she rang everything up, giving me a 10% discount "just because you're cute. Come back anytime!"
Mission accomplished, I caught the bus back to my neighborhood.
Which left the dilemma of where to change. Before the game, I'd changed in the laundry room in the basement of the building I lived in; it had the advantage of water and a wash basin under a mirror. I'd proved I could jam a chair under the knob so that people would just assume the super had locked it again. Not ideal, but it should be secure, if I was careful not to need it when someone was using the laundry equipment. So that was covered; on to the next problem.
I'd managed to get a math textbook and an english text in a local used book store; they were the same edition used in our school here (probably from a student who hadn't turned theirs back in). They were a little marked up, but should serve.
So at 1 pm on Saturday, there I was in my girl's coat and my fuzzy sweater with my book bag at Sally's place. They were upstairs in a vestibule building, so I rang the bell and she buzzed me in. My pants were a little tight, so I climbed the stairs at a more decorous pace than Dave might have taken.
Sally met me at a door on the third floor landing; her mother was in the living room with her, and Sally introduced us. I said hello to Mrs. Ackerman, and we spread out on the living room floor. I lay there on my front, for a change feeling the little silicone pads I was wearing in my bra, with my lower legs raised and crossed at the ankles and my gold ballet flats waving in the air as we worked. It was such an idyllic scene.
After we'd worked for an hour or so, Mrs. Ackerman offered us cookies and hot chocolate. I accepted with alacrity, as it had been a cold walk over that afternoon.
"So, Abbott; I don't think I know your mother..," Mrs. Ackerman led off with.
I hadn't devoted much thought to my "family" when inventing my character, so I thought it best to stick close to the actualities: moved here (last summer, instead of last fall) from Madison (where at least I'd been), parents divorced, only child.
Another hour of work and we finished the chapters in the geometry text that would be on the next test. We talked for a few minutes while I stuffed everything back in my book bag, but I was at a disadvantage as all the people I'd met in school were Sally, Sarah, and the officious guy checking things on the field trip and at the game (whom Sally informed me was named Doug. She knew instantly who I meant when I mentioned him.)
But soon enough, I was walking home, smugly pleased that I'd pulled it off. Arriving at my building, I entered through a side basement door, blocked the laundry room door knob with a chair, cleaned my face, and changed my clothes. Returning home, I carried everything in my book bag, which I hid in my room. Mom was out, so I didn't even have to come up with an excuse for where I'd been all afternoon.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, school was about to be out more often than in. Maybe it was for the best that my mother decided we should go visit relatives in Indiana for the holidays. I figured that Sally would barely notice I was gone, assuming that I was just busy with my classwork. I'd make a point of looking her up in the New Year.
I was trying to not think about how complicated THAT would be, when Dave would have a full load of classes, and Sally would still expect to see Barb from time to time. Maybe Dave could replace Barb in Sally's attention and Barb could just fade from the scene?
My enforced vacation from Sally (and Barb) led to some feelings of separation. It was like I was starting to MISS my double life. And what did that mean? I told my self it was just my lack of a social life, and a new school semester would soon deal with that.
Come the start of term, things got more difficult. As Dave, I now had to attend school regularly, which cut into my Barb time. I started working out how to carry my female uniform in Dave's backpack, including how to stuff the backpack itself into Barb's school bag after I'd changed. (how did superheroes ever manage this...) Thank goodness I only needed one set of textbooks.
The first day, in school, I introduced myself to Sally; she seemed disinterested. Of course; she knew Barb, she'd never met Dave before. But at least I'd ended up in the same home room.
Meeting her over lunch period as Barb, having changed my clothes, Sally told me what classes she was anticipated trouble with. She didn't mention meeting Dave at all; evidently I hadn't made much of a impression on her.
After lunch, looking for somewhere to change back, I went a little late. I was trying to find the supply closet I'd changed in the night of the football game when a voice behind me said, "Hey, young lady! Do you have a hall pass?"
I was cornered; it was Doug, the student from the field trip; evidently in addition to his other jobs, he was a hall monitor. Of course. I had to admit I didn't have a pass, and he then started to escort me to the office.
Started, I say... Along the way, I spied a book cart. Managing to run into it, I tipped it over, scattering textbooks everywhere, and made good my escape in the confusion.
The next week, in home room, I tried to lead Sally into a discussion of what subjects she was taking, hoping for an opening to offer her help, already knowing that she was worried about Geometry, but again, she brushed me off. Evidently, I wasn't wearing her down.
But she was noticing me; meeting her at lunch as Barb, she started talking about this annoying Dave person and how he wouldn't leave her alone. I decided to back off for now.
This, however, set a pattern; as Dave, she wouldn't give me the time of day. Not what I had been hoping for. There was no way things seemed to work out, though.
So, several times a week, I'd meet Sally for lunch as Barb, to ape a Monday-Wednesday-Friday class schedule. Changing into Barb at school got to be routine, but time consuming.
And I had to keep one eye on the clock, to allow time to change back before my next class. Even though it was study hall, they took attendance and would notice if I was missing. Every time I went a little over, cleaning my eyeliner off, or washing off other makeup, I was in the halls past the start of class, and Doug was on me like paint! He must have been watching me in the lunch room like a hawk. It was getting harder and harder to duck him.
After a couple of months of this, though, Sally passed Dave a note in homeroom, asking him to meet her at lunch. I wondered what she was up to; I hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed when Dave stood her up; this was one of those days on my schedule to lunch as Barb.
Meeting her at lunch as Barb, per usual, she was waiting impatiently outside the lunchroom for Dave to arrive. Noticing her agitation, I tried to beg off to change back, but she grabbed my arm to keep me from leaving. It seemed she was trying to introduce Barb to Dave! Which of course was not going to happen...
If I couldn't change, though, I wanted to get in line to get food. They were serving sloppy joes that day, one of the few things they did really well, and they could run short if you got there late.
Sally was impatient, as I've said, and she wasn't budging. Finally, I asked, "What are we waiting for?"
"I wanted to introduce you to this guy, Dave, you might like him, but he's not right for me."
"Oh, really?," I said, nettled by her characterization. Suddenly, I was fed up with the whole situation, even if it was of my own creation! And when I get annoyed, I get bull headed and do things I might regret later. But I never think of that at the time, unfortunately, so what I said was, "Well, I can tell you, he's never going to show. Let's grab some food before it's all gone!" But she wouldn't give up.
"Come on; I know him much better than you can; you haven't even met him yet. He'll be here!"
Stronger tactics were clearly called for. I played my high card, throwing caution to the wind, and risking her friendship. "I tell you he isn't coming! I don't just know him, I AM him. Come on, we don't want to miss lunch," I said quietly, grabbing her arm and pulling her. She seemed shocked and confused by my statement, so this time I was able to get her to the line.
"What? You are him? That doesn't even make any sense," she rejoined.
Looking both ways, furtively, I raised the edge of my wig, revealing my straight brown hair laying under my curly lighter brown wig, "See?"
"My goodness. You're ... Dave?"
"I was joining a random field trip that day at the Art Institute and I happened into one from our school. And that's when I met you; I liked hanging out with you, so that's how all that happened," I explained.
"But why were you dressed as a girl? Why ARE you dressed as a girl? Wouldn't it be much easier to manage as a boy?"
"I found a uniform at a thrift store while trying to figure out how to blend in on the tours, but it was a girl's uniform."
And then, looking embarrassed, I added, "But now, I find it's kinda nice. I'm still trying to figure it out."
"Wow. Just... Wow," She looked a bit shocked.
We got our food, but it was late in the lunch period. We hurriedly scarfed it down, barely before the end of period; She then had to get to class, and I didn't want to be late for study hall, so agreeing to meet after school, we parted ways.
As the afternoon progessed, my attention in class was distracted by wondering how Sally would react to all this, once she had a chance to think about it; I feared in my irritation, I'd lost her friendship.
I met her as agreed, still dressed as Dave, with a certain amount of trepidation. I led her to my now familiar supply closet in the field house wing.
"So now you know," I lamely said, once I'd secured the door against interruptions.
"Let me see you go through everything. Do you have it all here?" she asked.
"Of course; do you think I'd leave that in my locker? That would be just asking for trouble."
So while she watched I undressed down to my briefs. Then I had to unsecure the door and let her out, so she could wait outside the closet while I changed into my gaff and panties, and then re-secure it when she came back in. After that, I donned my training bra with the thin silicon pads, my socks, and finally my uniform with its skirt.
And, putting on the wigcap, I went through the routine of doing my makeup, finally putting on the wig. After the addition of my fake braces and my thick glasses, I was Barb again.
"See?"
"It's uncanny; it's like you're two different people. You really don't have acne?"
"No; Actually, I have clear skin, but I decided that acne and braces would get me more ignored."
"There's a lot here I'll have to think about," she said, and left, shaking her head, clearly in shock. We parted way, catching our respective activity busses, going our separate ways home.
I had a troubled nights sleep as I pondered what Sally could do in retaliation for my duplicity.
The next day in homeroom, she seemed a little warmer towards Dave. Clearly, she was still processing all this, but said she still wanted to see Barb at lunch on Friday, so I wasn't off the hook.
Friday at lunch, she had reached a decision, "Well, I think it's a little weird, but on reflection I decided I couldn't get through school without my BFF, Barb."
"But I really am not Barb. I've spent far more of my life as Dave," I replied.
"Tough; it's your fault for making Barb so friendly. It's Barb I'm close to, and you're just going to have to deal with it."
"But Barb isn't even really a registered student here. They're already looking for her as a trespasser, after the hall monitors reports."
"If I start hanging out with Dave, that could be interpreted certain ways I'm not ready to have, and that's that."
To be honest, I was glad to have an excuse to keep being Barb, even with the threat of official notice hanging over me. I was getting used to it, and the insights it was giving me were interesting.
I was musing about this right after that lunch, after changing. I was going to have to find more convenient places to change if I was going to have to keep it up all semester...
So the next week I was scouted for just such locations. Across from the lunch room was the band room, and several doors I hadn't tried yet. Testing one of them, it was unlocked; I went through it and found myself in total darkness in what sounded like a large room. By the sounds, there were clearly several people out there in the darkness, trying (and failing) to keep perfectly still.
Suddenly, a spotlight above my head blazed to life, focussed on what appeared to be the proscenium of a stage (in addition to my interest in art, preparing my move to Chicago, I'd been reading up on architecture...)
Suddenly, a figure strode into the spotlight, and began. "Two households, alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we... we... Line?"
"Lay our scene, Michael. It's a bit archaic, but you only have two sonnets in the whole play, as the narrator. I know the form is new to you, but surely you can remember them!" came an adult voice out of the darkness.
"Sorry. Lay our scene," he continued, and strode off as the curtain behind him opened, revealing...
Well, revealing a bunch of students with hammers, cloth, and paintbrushes, working to complete the scenery flats
Then, there came a click from behind me. Coming in, I'd narrowly missed a student standing by a bank of light switches. She'd just thrown all of them. There was now an annoying low hum, as all the lights in the house came on.
"Ah, fresh blood!," the adult voice said. The source proved to be a matronly woman, heading towards me from the front of the theater, "We can always use more help with the scenery and other 'tech' chores."
And at that moment we were plunged back into darkness.
"Such as lighting," she continued, "Would someone kill the spotlight on the main panel, restore the breakers, and Please! Remember NOT to turn on all the houselights while the spotlight is still on?"
I walked up to the stage, and mounted the stairs off to one side. The lady followed me, and introduced herself as Mrs. Phelps, the drama teacher. (In fact, the entirety of the drama department, amongst other miscellany, I was to learn.) I introduced myself as Dave, of course.
Remembering I was here on a mission, I toured the backstage area, noting several secluded niches that could serve as a changing area. And I had a modicum of talents I could apply to stagesraft, I felt.
Maybe this could be made to work?
I told Mrs. Phelps I'd have to think about it, and hurried out to get to my study hall.
Only to run smack into Doug.
"Dave, isn't it? I think we have an english class together. Do you have a hall pass?
"No," I responded, "I was going to study hall and stumbled into the theater. It was so interesting, I guess I missed the bell. May I have a pass?"
"I can't issue them, but I'll let you off with a warning, this once. Actually, they collect attendance slips in the theater. If you stay there to work on the play, it counts as study hall." Aha! Another piece falls into place!
Going back in to volunteer, I found that they took their time about collecting the slips.
Mrs. Phelps put me right to work painting the fabric flats of the scenery, something I found interesting enough. At the end of the period, everyone left and I had a minute or two alone gathering up my stuff. I promised myself I'd be back.
As, indeed, I was, the next day after lunch, while dressed as Barb.
Mrs. Phelps introduced herself again, mentioning "We can always use more help with scenery and...," here, she seemed to pause ever so slightly, and then continued, "costumes. The more the merrier, I alway say."
I wondered about that odd little pause (had she eyed me before she continued? No, I must be imagining things.) But my concerns soon got swept away in the work.
I had to reintroduce myself to everyone, of course. Turning in my attendance slip, I palmed two, and turned in signed slips for Dave and Barb at the same time. The student collecting them took no notice. At the office, they'd enter the one for Dave and be puzzled by the one for Barb, which should be just fine. I'd only have a problem if anyone came from the office to fetch Dave for some reason, a rare occurence indeed, usually only done for family emergencies.
At the end of the period, I again hung back, and then hid in a disused paint closet (all the paint was out, in use). Once the lack of noise made it clear that everyone was gone, I changed, and exited the theater. Possibly, had I been less ecstatic over how well this was working, I might have noticed Mrs. Phelps, through all the students passing between classes, standing outside her office door down the hall from the theater, watching me thoughtfully.
As it was, as I rounded a corner, I ran square into someone. As I was apologizing, I realized it was Doug! I turned to evade him from reflex, but I was dressed as Dave again (and it was between classes anyway); he just waved me on my way and bade me get to class on time. (Exposure to the bard tends to promote archaisms in ones words...)
A couple of weeks later, as I left the lunchroom to go to the theater, from lunch with Sally as Barb, I saw Doug's back in the hall again, moving away from me. Curious, I followed at a distance. He seemed to be escorting someone from the Principal's office. As we reached a corridor junction, he looked behind him, and seeing me, turned back and flapped his hand behind his back to gesture me towards the field house while he escorted the adult he was with towards the shop wing, off at a right angle from the path he indicated for me. He was helping me? What was going on? Puzzled, I went back to the theater.
I didn't have long to wait to find out a little more, though. A week later, Sally informed me that Doug had passed her a note for Barb in math class. Reading it, he was asking to meet me. And sure enough, there he was in the hall outside the cafeteria after lunch.
Clearly I looked nervous, because he started off with, "No, wait. I'm not after you; I helped you the other day! I just want to ask you something."
I faced him squarely, but stayed poised to run down the intersecting corridor. "Go on," I asked warily.
"I want to ask you to the next dance." he continued.
I was bowled over. My nemesis wanted to ask me out? "This is sudden. Can I give you my answer tomorrow, same time, here?"
"it's a bit untraditional..."
"I assure you, if I don't go with you, I won't go with anyone. I'm not shopping around for another offer," I told him. That seems to satisfy him, oddly, and he said OK.
After school, I found Sally. I was still a bit dazed, but I started in, "Doug asked me to the dance!", I said.
"What? You told him no, I hope," Sally responded.
"Well... Not so much. I said I had to talk to you first."
"Well, that's great, I can only think of two or three Thousand
problems with that idea..."
"What problems?"
"To start with, you aren't really a girl, in case you've forgotten, which means there are some details he might notice."
"Well, I'm not that sort of girl, certainly, so I'm not sure he'll notice anything.""
"Next, well, you don't have anything to wear yet."
"I know some really understanding shops in Andersonville that can probably set me up," I mused, "with some good advice from a friend," I hinted.
"
"Seriously, you aren't ready for something this social."
"I certainly didn't design Barb to have a social life, true, but it makes a whole bunch of problems disappear, if it goes at all well."
"And if it doesn't, it ends all of it for good, and you'll make National news. And Design Barb? You can't design a person. You had a caricature in mind of a teenage girl, and wound up as Barb, but as soon as you met us at the museum, she was out in the world and you have no more control over what happens with her than the rest of us do. I wish you'd realize that."
Besides, how can you attend the dance? You're not a student here. Then there's that you don't know how to dance; heck, I bet you've never even walked in heels."
"So how long will it take for you to make me minimally ready?"
"Well, apart from a couple of anatomical deficiencies, we have enough time for the bare minimum. But do you know what goes on at these things?"
"No. Never been to one."
"Dancing is just the least of what is involved. This isn't prom, at least, just a dance, so you won't have to meet the parents, but 'making out' is going to be on the menu."
"You almost make me sorry I'm not asking you."
"You're getting carried away by your successes. One failure, and it goes away big time."
"One dance, and he'll go away, start treating me like any other student."
"Who shouldn't be in the halls when you are, anyway."
"Come on, help me get a dress and learn how to not make any more of a fool of myself on the dance floor than the other students..."
"I still think no good can come of this, but I'll do it for my friend Barb. I'm not sure I'd go this far if it was just Dave asking, though," she said, getting way too metaphysical for me; my head ached when I even tried to parse that one, so I left it alone.
Using her connections, Sally got a copy of the play list the DJ was proposing to use at the dance. (Naturally, the student council wanted to add things, and the school admin wanted to omit others.) She'd gathered the tracks onto her laptop, and slipped copies to me so I could familiarize myself with them.
"Oh, and bring whatever you have like a suit," she added, when giving me my instructions at lunch.
"I've got a jacket and pants; not sure about a shirt, though. But I'm not going as Dave, remember?"
"Just bring it," she said.
So after school, with mom still being at work, I quickly made "Barb" presentable in her uniform and grabbed what pieces I could easily lay my hands on of my regular suit. Then was off to Barb's place.
When I was buzzed in, I stopping to say hi to Mrs. Ackerman really quick, and continued on to Sally's room.
Sally looked me over, "I see you eased up on the acne. I still can't believe you do that to yourself."
"I'll have to amp up the acne the week after the dance to make everyone forget how Barb looked normal then," I said, although actually, I was starting to have another plan entirely. "It is a little over the top, maybe, but I can't help but feel it helps keep people from looking more closely."
"I wish we could do something with your hair. It has such a 'bad hair day' vibe to it. Oh, well. Be right back," she said, and grabbed the parts of my suit from where I'd hung them on the back of a chair and left the room.
While she was gone, I looked over the playlist she'd gotten from the DJ. Most of the song's were current hits, but late in the list there was a scattering of slower older classics.
"What do you think?" Sally had come back into the room; she'd changed into my dress pants, seemed to have done something to her bust to flatten it under a satin-looking blouse, and my black suit jacket. Her red hair was drawn back in a severe ponytail, which she had tucked into the collar of her blouse, and she'd washed her face. It was the most boy-like I'd ever seen her. She still looked enthralling, though. She was wearing wedge heels to make herself roughly Doug's height.
Positioning myself across from her at arms length, I indicated I was ready to start when she was.
The early parts of the playlist were very recent; the dances for them mostly seem to me to be bobbing in place and arm motions with little shifts in position; or at least, that was all Sally could be sure I could handle. as she pointed out, dance floors tended to be crowded anyway and there wouldn't be much room for large moves. I still was not totally successful at handling it, though.
"You're holding yourself closed, somehow," she told me, "I have an idea thoug, but we'll have to go shopping first. Are you free tomorrow morning? We still have to get your dress, anyway. So we'll come back to the recent stuff."
I admitted as how I was available Saturday all day.
And then...
"Now we come to what the escorts love to throw in the mix: older songs for the slow dances. That's why I asked you to bring a suit," she said as she cued up the first slow dance.
Then, holding me closely, she took me by the hand and we started awkwardly moving around a small patch of her room.
Once I had seen all the movements, she cued up the music again, and we started over.
"You know, you threw me quite a curve," she whispered into my ear, holding me close as we danced.
"How's that?", I responded. I was distracted by the her delicious scent, quite drowning out that of the mothballs my suit had been packed in, as she held me close.
"Here I was all set to fix my BFF up with this guy, Dave, that kept trying to get my attention, and it turns out my BFF was that guy Dave."
"Well, why didn't you just take Dave for yourself? He wanted to get to know you better."
"I was more interested in Barb than Dave, but Barb kept missing my signals, so I figured, next best thing."
"Oh." OH...
"And here in the slow dance, at the end, it's traditional that the music pause a bit to allow time for those so inclined to express themselves," And then she kissed me. It was a slow, lingering kiss, straight to the mouth.
At this point, I'd rarely kissed anyone except relatives. It wasn't gross at all, though, I thought, through some sort of haze that surrounded me suddenly and slowed my thoughts...
I wondered if my necessarily heavy foundation allowed the flush I felt on my cheeks to show through. Evidently it did.
"I've been dying to do that for MONTHS," she whispered further.
Which left me to wonder how Sally would take my plan, now.
Saturday, we had some shopping to do, but mom was home, so I couldn't change at home. It was getting annoying, but I changed in the laundry room again. I could catch the bus route a block or so away, and with a transfer, get off near Sally's apartment building; She wanted us to go to Andersonville again. She explained to her mother that I'd asked for her help dress shopping.
Saying goodbye, we walked back to the bus stop.
She said we had a stop to make before the dress shop, but stubbornly refused to say more.
The bus wended its way to Andersonville. There, next to the places I'd shopped at before, was a dance shop.
"Perfect," Sally said. This was what she was looking for? It's not even the right kind of dance, I thought. But we went in.
The clerk looked bored when Sally asked after black leotards and white tights, directing us instantly. I couldn't tell if he'd "read" me (a term I'd picked in research on the internet) or not, but it didn't seem to matter one way or the other. We got what Sally was looking for and went next door to the dress shop, where we had considerably more trouble finding a black dress that fit me, with a low enough hem and a high enough neckline. Sally had brought some larger silicone pads for my bra, saying that I was under endowed for a high school student in our class, and if I hoped to get some later use out of the dress, I'd better take that into account. Personally, I was just trying to get through the weekend. But where had she gotten those pads from?
Returning on the bus, we showed the dress to her mother, who declared it nice and properly modest for a teenager.
Then, Sally thrust the tights and leotard into my arms and pushed me into the bathroom. "Change," she said.
"Into this?," I asked.
"Yes; you're holding your pelvis wrong, and we're going to have to do some aerobics practice to get you to change that, I think.’
So I went down the hall to the washroom to change; when I was done, I opened the door, but as I tried to exit, she thrust me back in.
Closing the door, she instructed me to take the leotard off.
I did as instructed. She looked me over, and shook her head. "As I suspected; wearing something that thin, you're indecent.
And with that, she boldly thrust her hand under my waistband, onto the front of my panties and their gusset.
"Oh my, Barb, what have we here? Thank goodness you decided to risk visible panty lines!", she said as my anatomy started to respond to her hand. Feeling the response, she pulled her hand back, but not before squeezing gently.
"Well, it seems you aren't totally oblivious. Let's revisit that in a year or so, shall we? Meanwhile, here, put this Maxi-pad," and with that she dug a couple out from the cabinet under the sink and handed one to me. She held another to her front to demonstrate where it went, "inside the front of your panties to soften your bulge a bit more, and then put your bra and pads back on under your leotard, Barb, as my mom might pop in, and we want you decent and complete." she finished.
She left the bathroom to let me to carry out her instructions in private. I was really dazed, and not a little frustrated, at this point, and it took a minute for things to subside and me to gather my thoughts, after which I did as she'd said, pushing things down between my legs at the same time.
Then, suitably modest, we went back to her room. She changed into her exercise wear (a bit fancier than mine) in the closet, and popped the aerobics disc she had into the laptop.
At first I was no better, although I could see that the women on the disc were holding their lower abdomens differently than I was, somehow. I watched how they moved their pelvis and hips and how they held that area, and I started to see the difference.
Sally tried to tug and position me differently, but it was sometime before I got the idea. It felt very different and strange once I got the hang of it.
We did another half an hour of aerobics as warm up.
Then she had me change into my new dress and the pantyhose we'd gotten, although I had to wear my (well, Barb's) everyday school shoes, as we'd stopped short of getting anything dressier this trip; I might have to correct that oversight, the coming week.
I got used to the air moving under my skirt, the slight constraints on my movements the dress imposed; and the feeling of the hosiery! I just hoped I wasn't developing a fetish, there.
Sally pronounced herself relatively happy for a second lesson, she gave me some pointers on which songs to sit out or stage a trip to the punch bowl during, but pronounced me as "Awkward, but not hopeless."
I was hoping to practice at least twice that week during the evenings, myself.
I let Sally give me a ride home, changing in the back of her parent's van instead of the laundry room. And then I wished her good night.
We actually only managed one more practice session that week, on Wednesday night; Right after school, we met, I'd changed in the field house supply closet again, and we hit the closest shoe store. We limited ourselves to block heels an inch higher than the shoes I'd practiced in, and held another practice session on the regular dances. Finally, Sally sighed and declared she'd done all she could do in the time allotted, and I wouldn't embarrass myself too much more than the younger kids.
The night of the dance, Sally picked me up in the van. Our parents thought we were at a study session at the local library, so we had until that closed for time. I changed in the cramped confines of her family mini-van again. I'd worn my undergarments under my regular clothes.
Thank goodness Sally was doing my makeup and I didn't have to try using one of those little visor mirrors.
There were two differences from my usual makeup routine: I only used colored spots of coverup to simulate acne, which left my face looking much more acceptable, and Sally put used eye makeup and false lashes, a first for me.
When she finished, she backed up as much as she could, looked me over, and went "Huh..."
"What? Is something wrong?" I said.
"No; that wig is really holding you back; some time I want to try an all out makeover on you. You could end up a knock out."
"Not what I've been trying for; unnoticed was the goal, remember?"
"Yeah, it just seems like such a waste."
Arriving at the school, I got out in front of the lunchroom entrance. Sally then drove around to the back parking lot, and parked as near as she could, in case we needed to make a fast getaway.
I'd arranged to met Doug inside the entrance, which had been decorated for the event. He gave me a small corsage, which, with his help, I managed to pin on my dress. The flower smelled divine. He complimented me on my dress, and I said I liked his suit (which I did. Mine was just black, but his was light blue, and his shirt was shiny and had ruffles. He'd shined his shoes, too. I was impressed with his preparations, but I was determined to hold true to the plan, despite all that.)
Going inside, we waited together at the edge of the dance floor, by the folding chairs. The first tune started after the DJ introduced himself; it was one I'd been fairly successful with in practice at Sally's, so I seized my opportunity to "get one on the boards", as it were, and dragged Doug out onto the floor. I felt I danced acceptably to that one. Doug did, as well, as was to be expected. After all, he'd been confident enough to ask me to a dance.
The next song was not one I'd liked, so I sat it out while Doug danced with another partner; he had good moves, viewed from the sidelines.
When he finished that number and returned, I said I was thirsty, and we made our way to the drinks table. Along the way, I thought I recognized Sarah, who I'd met during that football game, hurriedly leaving the area with a paper bag. Seeing this, Doug suggested that possibly the punch would not be the proper drink at the moment, and we went back to our seats, where he pulled a couple of bottles of water out of the book bag he'd left there earlier.
"So thoughtful!," I said and expressed my thanks to him of rescuing me from the perils of teenagers and altered punch.
We danced twice more, although not to any slow numbers, and then made our way back out into the hallway.
True to his reputation, Doug then used his hall monitor keys to pass us through the gate barrier across the hall, allowing access to the deserted part of the school. I quietly checked a door to the outside, and found that it operated normally and wasn't alarmed, which made me feel a little better, but I quickly moved down the side corridor anyway, forcing Doug's towards the theater. Entering it, I hit the switches for all the house lights. Trying to keep some distance between us, I quickly walked to the front and climbed the stairs at the side of the proscenium (there's that word, again!), and stopped by the curtains.
Doug climbed up on stage as well, following me, and moving towards me, said "Ever since I first saw you on the field trip, then again at the football game, last fall, I've grown obsessed with you. You're so different from the other girls; so much an individual. I can't figure you out."
"I wasn't even a student here, back then. I was crashing that field trip, you know, Doug," I said, backing away a little.
He moved closer, "And it was such a bold move! All of us students noticed, but none of the escorts figured it out! But when I found you this year, You mostly only hung out with Sally at lunch, and here in the theater."
"Yes; I'm more comfortable with other girls," I said, turning towards the wings at the side of the stage, and closing my eyes.
"It was awhile before I saw you anywhere besides at lunch; and then you escaped from me in the halls."
By the wings, I moved and turned further, and under cover of that turn, reached for the main lighting panel and managed to pull the lever for the spotlight. Sure enough, a buzzing sound resulted as it came on, and I peeked and saw my shadow in front of me. My eyes were downcast (and closed), my back to the lights. Doug took hold of my shoulders, from right behind me. I knew I'd have to talk fast. I started my speech.
"Doug; did it ever occur to you that you see me in the halls all the time? This is a disguise. I'll leave you with one thought: the interesting thing about uniforms is how seldom people look past them. Thank you for a marvelous evening I'll never forget, and for the dance." Turning, I kissed him on the cheek, keeping my eyes closed.
And with that, I moved backward into the deep shadows by the curtains. Right on cue, the buzz reached a crescendo and there was a pop as all the lights went out. I opened my eyes, wide; I could just barely make out the glow in the dark tape that marked up the stage for the scenery movers. Giving Doug the slip in the dark, I moved along the marked path to the exit.
Hitting the hall door, I yanked off my wig (just as I'd planned), and dropped it to the floor for him to find. This was the end of Barb, it seemed to me. Then I exited into the hall.
Pausing just after the door there, temporarily dazed by all the light, I suddenly heard Mrs. Phelps' voice.
"Barb, you're lost your wig. You look very nice tonight, otherwise. But do you want me to keep an eye out for it, dear? Without it, you are far too recognizable as Dave."
So she had known all along.
"No, Mrs. Phelps, Barb has run her course; Dave may be able to find the time to help with stagecrew from now on, though."
"Well, you know we're always glad of help. But I hope you have considered this carefully. I will miss Barb's assistance."
"But I'll still be available; it's just the same."
"No, it isn't. I'll miss Barb, Dave, and you may come to miss her, too."
That was to take me some time to realize, as it turned out. But I had a ride waiting, so I excused myself, and started running again. I ran to the exit to outside, and hit the crashbar. I emerged into the spring night air in the back parking lot, where Sally was waiting.
As I entered the van, Sally observed, worriedly, "Barb, you've lost your hair."
"I left it for Doug, to make him think and distract him more. It's served it's purpose."
"But it was so much a part of you...", she said, as I wiped down my face with a moist towelette and changed back to Dave from my dance finery in back.
"Barb was designed around the uniform; the wig was just a lucky find."
"There it is again; 'designed'. In this case, I don't think that word applies," she responded.
But just then, the conversation was brought up short by our arrival at my building. I said goodnight, and (grabbing my stuffed backpack) went inside.
And, having sacrificed the wig, I spent the remainder of the semester as Dave. I only occasionally felt the lack of my other life. Or so I thought at first.
Things did start to seem a bit more colorless and dreary without Barb, though...
Play prep, and study sessions in the library as finals approached made the time fly for the rest of the semester.
Working in the scenery shop was proving ... different. Where Barb had been a part of the repartee, Dave was the new guy, of unknown quality, and a bit of an outsider, coming on at the last minute. I had to painfully try to rebuild the friendships, and it was proving hard going, particularly with the other girls.
After a particularly unsuccessful attempt, Mrs. Phelps took me to her office.
"You know how some teachers have multiple positions on the faculty? Well, in addition to being the entire drama and media production departments, I'm on the counseling staff. Some of the faculty have expressed concern. When I originally met you as Barb, you were outgoing; you made friends amongst the other stage hands fairly readily, and even with some of the actors. Your "acne" was a nice touch, by the way. I'd see you talking to the others in the lunchroom, despite the fact that you didn't have any classes together. In fact, I checked the database, and I couldn't find you in any classes. I could tell you were wearing a wig, and I eventually realized it went deeper than a mere bad hair day. It puzzled me that you were trying so aggressively to go unnoticed. I figured out Barb was Dave only by observing Sally at lunch with you, dressed both ways, on different days."
"Was, Mrs. Phelps, was Barb. But Barb is over, now."
"Now, You are exhibiting some classic signs of dysphoria, and I'm worried. Barb may be over, but your other side isn't; it's repressed for now, and that is depressing you."
"You're a counselor, but you aren't MY counselor," I said; a stab in the dark. I had no idea who (if anyone) might be assigned as my counselor.
"Actually, I've put in a request to be assigned to you; while your grades haven't suffered, some of your teachers have noticed you're becoming withdrawn. I can also recommend a good specialist to see, one who deals with this sort of thing all the time, and isn't going to tell the school district anything they find out, if that worries you. I hope you'll take advantage of it, Dave, you are such a creative talent, and just now you seem so muted..."
Ten days later, and I still had to work studying for my finals.
It was a rainy Saturday. Mom was off doing some overtime at work again, and would be out all day. So I had nothing to do but study. I'd checked with Sally, but she didn't seem to be home today. And everyone else I studied with (in the library, for example) seemed to be occupied with their own worries.
Putting my school materials out on the dining room table, I was struck by an odd urge. After I set everything out, I changed into my dress from the dance. I didn't have the Barb wig anymore, so I wrapped one of the school color scarves around my head and did my makeup. I went into mom's room and looked at her shoes. There was one pair of heels that looked they would be just a little tight on me, so I tried them on. They barely fit, but I wore them anyway.
It really wasn't the same, but I felt the urge to do it anyway. When I was dressed, I set a timer so I be reminded to change back before mom got home for supper. It seemed easier to concentrate than it had in weeks, somehow. The time flew by as I worked through the essay I had to write for english. Between paragraphs, I got up to walk. The feel of the hosiery on my legs when they rubbed together was quite enjoyable, and I worried still more that I was developing a fetish.
When the alarm went off, going to clean off my makeup, I felt an odd reluctance. But I had to change back before mom got home, didn't I?
I was careful to leave everything looking untouched in mom's room.
Time was passing at school, though it had gotten to the point where I only looked forward to lunch, and even then, I sort of resented that I had to go as Dave; even scenery crew was becoming an obligation I had agreed to do; I missed Barb's friends amongst the stage crew. I was gradually getting some of them as friends myself, but I came to realize that somehow, most of Dave's friends had been left behind in Minneapolis and here, I'd mostly made friends as Barb.
For some reason, the only person that seemed to be glad to see Dave was Doug (and I was dodging him, to avoid disciplinary actions); even Sally seemed to be disappointed when Dave showed up instead of Barb. But Barb was over, as I kept reminding myself.
Finally, I accepted the inevitable and took Mrs. Phelps' recommendation to see that therapist. My mother made the appointment and waited with me during my first visit.
"Mrs. Walsh?"
"It's Ms, actually."
"Dr. Wilson will see your son now. Could you fill out these forms while you're waiting for him?"
And with that, I was ushered into a comfortable book lined office, with two armchairs. Despite the stereotype, there was no couch. Shortly, Dr. Wilson came out from an inner office; she was nicely dressed.
Taking a seat in one of the chairs (was which one I'd choose a test, I wondered?), she started off by telling me that she had responsibilities to the courts if I confessed a crime, to my parents whose insurance was paying for these sessions, and then to me and that was it; NOT to the school. Then we started in on general background as this was our first session.
Initially, I avoided the subject of Barb, not wanting to be seen as weird. The story of my life took most of the session, it seemed
When I got to recent times, I described more of my feelings, and she kept saying she didn't see any reason I should be unhappy. I was trying to find a way to explain things when I got annoyed and burst out that it used to be much better and I just wanted it to go back the way it was.
"And when was that; what did you do to your friends that changed it?"
As though it was MY fault!
"I stopped being Barb!" I blurted out, infuriated by her inability to understand this, And realizing what I'd said, I slumped in the chair; I'd brought up the weirdness myself, instead of hoping she's miss it.
But she immediately softened her manner, saying "I was wondering when you'd tell me about Barb. Mrs. Phelps mentioned her, but I thought I shouldn't mention her until you brought her up. So tell me about her, or rather, yourself, Barb."
So I told her about the field trip, the football game, and the lunches with Sally, which cheered me up somewhat, but that led to me telling her about Doug, and the dance.
That, of course, led to me explaining why Barb was no more, which depressed me all over again.
I did feel a sense of relief in being able to talk about it, finally, and yet...
"Barb doesn't exist anymore, she's a part of my past and I'm having problems NOW."
"Yes; You abandoned your wig for Doug to find. But that doesn't make Barb any less a part of you then when you discovered her. Tell me again about the beginning?"
And so I recounted the story of the resale shop, again.
"And that was the first time you dressed this way?"
"Yes, once I got it home. Well, except..."
That led to a discussion of past halloween costumes, and how I snuck into my mother's dresser when I was 10.
"But that's just normal curiosity, isn't it?," I asked, thinking of the rainy Saturday, so much more recent.
"Not necessarily," she replied, "But at least we're getting somewhere now. I see our time is up for this session, Barb. I'd like to see you in two weeks, instead of Dave, if you don't mind."
"But my hair..."
"Oh, I'm sure you can find a way around that. Come next session as you would prepare yourself for lunch. I think it will be most illuminating. And I see here in you file that you have a birthday coming up before our next session. Happy Birthday."
And on that cheery note, I gathered up my things and left. I was humming, thinking about things I might do to prepare for our next session, when I realized that she'd addressed me as Barb. And I'd just accepted it as normal.
But I also discovered I was looking forward to something for the first time in some time.
The next day, finals being over, was the distribution of yearbooks at school. I had a few friends due to stage crew, studying, my classmates, and Sally of course, so we all milled around signing each other's books. But there was one surprise waiting for me...
In english class, Doug asked me if I'd permit him to sign my yearbook. I was puzzled; we hadn't interacted much in class, but I said sure. He scribbled his signature on a page inside, and returned it to me with thanks.
At lunch, I mentioned the incident to Sally. She asked to see. I paged through the book, and found the page he's signed, which concerned scenery shop.
Most of the photos showed me as Dave, so I thought nothing of it. But Sally noticed that one photo showed Barb. Doug had written a message next to that one, which read: "To Dave; Thanks for an enthralling chase, and giving me much to think about; see you next year."
Sally told me, "I think he's got you mostly figured out."
"What do you mean?"
"Boy, are you dense..."
Actually, digging through the yearbook in more detail, I discovered another picture of Barb in the yearbook, this one while dancing with Doug, during her last night. They were both smiling, and didn't seem awkward at all. It seemed a proper memorial for her, somehow. I wondered if I could get a print of that photo in the fall.
School being out, the world should have slowed down, it seemed to me. In actual fact, of course, it did no such thing.
The morning of my birthday dawned bright and seasonably warm. My mom wished me a happy birthday, and made waffles. I had just finished them when the doorbell rang.
To my surprise, it was Sally; I'd never had her over to my place before (after all, she was Barb's friend, and Barb didn't live here, as far as my mom was concerned), but I guess she'd gathered enough info to find it. She had a big box with her. I introduced her to my mother as a friend from school, and excused myself. I took her to my room (my mother had warned me of the dire consequences of misbehaving with girls in my room, and I'd never given her cause to carry out her threats. I was sure she'd check on me, but should be cool with Sally's presence.)
So, after being sure the door was ajar as required, I unwrapped the package; inside, on a styrofoam head, was the wig that the lady in the shop had originally recommended. Seeing that, I hastily closed the door and secured it.
Sally said, "The lady, when I showed her your picture in the yearbook, said the original wig was a product of a series of errors and irreproducible, and gave me a discount on this one, which she said she'd promised you."
I looked at the new hair with doubt. Mom was just down the hall, but she did trust my behaviour, generally. Maybe just this once?
"Well, my therapist did ask to see Barb when I go back next week..." I was tempted.
"See? There's a demand for her to return. Want to see how she's changed since you saw her last?"
"What do you mean?"
"You have to keep a close watch on teenaged girls; they can change overnight. You might not recognize her, now that she has a girlfriend to consult on her style!"
Thinking about it, I let my curiosity get the better of my judgement, but first sent Sally off to distract mom while I showered and shaved. Fortunately, not too much hair had grown since the spring dance. My chest was still hairless, my chin less so, and I did my legs and arms, for good measure.
Redressing in my regular clothes, I returned to Sally. Back in my room, she'd started to set up. I motioned her to hold off, and sure enough, Mom stuck her head in, asking if we wanted anything at the store. We said no, and she left to do her grocery shopping.
"There. Now we should have at least 45 minutes. It always takes her longer than she thinks it will," I told Sally.
"And she trusts you here, in your room, with a girl?"
"It's never happened before; she's told me how she expects me to behave and what the penalties would be if I don't, though."
So I put myself in Sally's enthusiastic hands. She'd brought a bunch of beauty products with her in her backpack, having been certain that she could beat down any resistance I might put up, and, after setting up my desk lamp and moving my monitor to make room for her supplies, went to work.
First, she cleansed and moisturized my face. "Somehow, boys never seem to get taught skin care; they just wash their faces with soap and water and rub them dry with towels. Like anyone over the age of five gets like, mud, on their face that can be dealt with like that. Your skin's worst problems come from your skin, itself; all that peeling and patches of dryness. Its second worst problem comes from the stuff you clean it with. Skin care is much more complicated than merely washing for face," she informed me.
Then we got into the artistic preparations. Here, there were tricks I'd found on the internet that were not anything she'd ever needed, so I had to show her those.
I mentioned how I used an orange lipstick to color correct my chin and mustache area, and showed it to her. She had me apply that and the glue stick I used to flatten my eyebrows myself. Both were tricks I'd gotten off YouTube and the web. Then she selected a foundation color for me (something I'd always has trouble doing myself), which I applied heavily.
Once my face was an even colored blank, Sally took over. Looking me over in the light, she applied some contour to my cheeks and my nose, did my eye makeup, and finished it off with some lip lining, lipstick, and gloss.
I was sitting there, shirtless, so she also applied some contouring to my chest. I put my bra on. She put the little silicone pads I'd used in the bra, backed up, looked me over, and (shaking her head), said "Nope. Barb has developed a little since then."
She then took what looked like the same two larger pads I'd worn to the dance out of her backpack and started to position them.
"I've been meaning to ask you, where did those come from?," I said, curious.
"Secrets of girlhood. Some of us develop later than others, and we don't like it... Let's just say I knew they'd work and say no more about it."
Then she handed me the wig. It was the same color as my hair, mostly, but did have some lighter streaks in it. I pulled it on, adjusting it by feel; a lot more hair than Barb used to have, but still familiar. Some bobby pins to secure it.
Then Sally brought me my clothes from where I'd set them out before we'd started, with the dress from the dance. I sat down to put on my pantyhose and shoes.
And when I turned back to the mirror, my jaw dropped...
There was an entirely non-gawky and non-horsefaced girl looking back at me, in shock. Oh, and Sally, too.
At that moment, I heard the front door, and my mom called out, "You and your friend come and help me put the groceries away."
My resolve was formed in an instant; enough with being depressed; I'd to go for it. I replied, "Mom, I have something to show you, and you may not like it..."
"What? I swear you get more melodramatic every month..."
Sally looked like she wanted to hide under the furniture, seeing the gleam in my eye, and clearly not sure this move was the best idea.
But I was certain it was, and with that, I grabbed Sally's resistant hand, and dragged her down the hall with me to the entry way.
"Mom, my name is Barb and this is my girlfriend, Sally..." I introduced myself to my mother.
Mom looked me over, and then dropped into a handy armchair. "Well, that certainly explains the girls uniform and jacket in your closet and the odd note I got from Mrs. Phelps. So this is what you've been up to; Oh, honey, I've been so worried about you."
"I think things will get better from here. Wait; you found the uniform?"
"Yes, dear; the day after you brought it home from the resale shop, I think. You aren't nearly as good at hiding things as you think you are. Sally, I'm glad to meet you; I think I may have met your mother at PTA."
And with that, she stood up and hugged me, tears on her face. I found I was crying, too, for some reason.
"I'll miss my son, but I'll always love my child, and I'm very relieved to finally have some idea what's going on," she told me.
With that, she got a mischievous look in her eyes, "You know, you are my child, and I named you at birth. I wouldn't have called you Barbara, though," she said to me.
"Well, it started out as the first thing I could come up with, thinking about the texture of my wig. I suppose it's no longer appropriate, though. What would you name me?"
"Margaret. It has a lot of nicknames you can use, but the one with the most history in our family is Peggy."
I considered it; I'd be going back to the end of the alphabet where I'd started, anyway; a new first name didn't make that much difference...
"Peggy Walsh; Cool; I can live with that," I said.
And then mom said, "Sally, please look after my daughter; she's brilliant but a bit naive, not nearly as sneaky or clever as she thinks she is, and has much to learn."
And with that, I changed into my casual Saturday outfit. Assuring mom we'd be careful, Sally and I left to go clothes shopping. Mom gave me careful once over and pronounced her satisfied with my outfit, and gave us a few strictures on what to buy. Then reluctantly she let us go off in public.
We caught the bus; out of a sense of loyalty, we decided to start in back in Andersonville.
On the way, We discussed the minimum that Peggy needed for the summer, above what Barb had provided her with when she'd departed.
The bus made its familiar way through the city until, quickly enough, we found ourselves there soon enough. Getting off the bus, ahead lay the same wig salon that been so important in forming Barb's look (as well as, now, Peggy's). And in front of the shop, holding a package and looking nervous, was a familiar face.
"Hello, Doug, how's your vacation starting?" Sally asked.
Doug started, looked mildly embarrassed. Then he looked again, at me.
"Barb, is that you? You look fantastic!" he exclaimed.
"Thanks, Doug. It's Peggy, now. But it's all thanks to these shops and Sally here." And then, under my normal tone, I continued, "And with their help, you should be fine, too."
He colored. Sally picked up the conversational slack, "Want to get lunch? There must be someplace reasonable around here. Meet us here once you are done in there?"
We hit the lingerie shop first. I needed more underwear, so I picked up packs of plain panties, and sports bras. They did seem a little...mundane, to me. Almost boring.
But then we got to more traditional bras. The band size, ok, that's just a tape measure, but the cup size... How to estimate something that doesn't exist? Time to consult an expert. We did give some guidance: "She's a late bloomer. For next year in school, she should be the same size as me."
"Judging by those shoulders, may I suggest she should be a little larger? Nothing extreme," The clerk hastened to add, "But she will be more balanced that way." Clearly, the lady had done this sort of thing before.
Going into the fitting booth, she handed me another hanger, "And if I may suggest THIS under your panties may help them fit better?"
A lightly padded gaff. Under my panties, it helped my hips and rump curve more naturalistically, and took the place of the maxi-pad I wore to smooth things out in front. Perfect. And then I donned the bra.
She came back to show me how to adjust the straps. Finally, I put my jeans and shirt back on. There, in the mirror, was a perfectly healthy high school girl. Sally came up behind me, and I couldn't help but feel I'd arrived at last. Craning her neck to reach the side of my face from behind, she kissed me on the cheek.
I turned, and with her in front of me, bussed her properly, dead on the lips...
"Oh, my," she exclaimed.
Pausing to recover her breath, Sally then turned and whispered something to the clerk, who nodded and pointed off to one side. Sally went off, while I looked at sleepshirts, wanting something that expressed my personality.
When Sally came back, she held something behind her back. "You know, we took care of Dave's birthday earlier, but it's Peggy's birthday, too. I guess the two of you are twins, huh? I'd like to also give her a present, if I may."
"Actually, I might consider the date of the field trip as my birthday... Besides, you did give me a present; it's an integral part of what differentiates me from Dave," I said, pointing at my hair.
"Shut up and take your present," Sally said.
And with that she pulled out a lacy black bra and panty set, complete with garter belt.
"Wow. And you want to see me wearing them?," I asked, eagerly.
"Yes," she said "And eventually, not wearing them," she added quietly.
I blushed and, for a change, my makeup wasn't so heavy as to render it invisible...
While they were boxing everything up, the door opened, and in came a girl with her brown hair in a shoulder length pageboy, wearing cute round glasses. Admittedly, the effect was ruined by the clothes Doug hadn't had a chance to replace yet, but I have to say, she was cute.
"And you would be?," Sally asked.
"Denise, I think," she replied.
"Not bad, but not many nickname possibilities. Maybe Dee, though..," she said thoughtfully.
Denise had to consult with the clerk about sizes. We decided she should be the same cup size as me, though, to cut down on envy.
A side trip to another store to get her outfitted for a summer outfit later, we consulted our phones for a place to eat.
We settled on a nearby Subway franchise; I was skirting the edge of my mother's "No fast food" policy, there, but thought it was worth it this once. I could at least have them make my sandwich with spinach.
Sitting down, I took out my phone and sent a selfie, labelled "Peggy, Sally, and Denise at lunch" to Mrs. Phelps.
My phone dinged a reply almost immediately, "Peggy, it is good to meet you, you look very nice and together, dear. I must say, Denise comes as a bit of a surprise; I thought it would be a bit longer before we saw her; you've done a good deed, there. Dare I hope to see all three of you working on the fall play next year? We might be doing "Twelfth night"; meanwhile, enjoy your summer."
"Oh, what was in the parcel, by the way," Sally asked Denise.
"Actually, Barb's old wig," was her reply.
"Can I borrow that? My therapist asked to see Barb next session," I asked, immediately thinking of something amusing I could do with that wig.
"Oh, are you seeing Dr. Wilson, too? I have my first session next week," Denise told me.
Perfect; "Yes, I started just before the end of the school year," and I left it at that.
So, for might be the last time, I donned my Barb disguise, but I packed Peggy's outfit in my backpack. Seeing Barb for the first time, my mother hugged me again. So this is Barb? I'm glad you've outgrown your awkward phase so quickly, Peggy!"
At Dr. Wilson's, I signed in as Barb, giving the time of my appointment, so there would be no confusion.
The receptionist must have had this experience before; she was careful to use the name I signed in under when my time came, instead of "Dave Walsh", which the appointment was under.
When the name was called, I picked up my backpack and went into the office, choosing the same armchair as last session so as not to play with Dr. Wilson's head more than necessary.
As she entered, she stopped, and I caught her looking me over with a critical eye. "Wow. That's something! You weren't kidding when you said you were aggressively going for being not noticed. Are those braces you're wearing?"
"As I told you, made from paperclips and miscellaneous hardware, to distract attention. And they worked, too. Only three people ever paid particular attention to me this way."
"Three?" she asked.
"Sally, Mrs. Phelps, and Denise. You'll meet Denise later today," I told her.
"I will? I don't recall anyone on today's schedule by that name, and you didn't mention them last time... Mrs. Phelps warned me about you, and I can see she was right."
"Oh?"
"Yes; that you were clever, and developing quickly."
"Oh. Ask Denise about the theatre; you'll like it," I told her.
And then we discussed Barb's limited personal history; it was the same things I'd told her last time, just from a different perspective, apart from details like where I'd changed and where I'd shopped, which somehow seemed more relevant this time around. I kept one eye on my watch, though. When we were down to 10 minutes, I asked her if she minded me changing in her washroom. She looked understanding, and said it was fine.
I ducked in there, and quickly changed from Barb in my school uniform into Peggy in her casual clothes. Exiting, I told the doc, "See you in two weeks; I shouldn't have to change then, so we'll have more time."
Looking at me, she said, "Wait a second, I thought you meant change back to Dave; Barb?"
"Actually, my mother named me 'Margaret', but most people call me Peggy."
"Oh, dear; I'm not licensed for serious illness like dissociative personality disorder, you know," she said. I was pretty sure she was kidding, but thought best to explicitly make things clear.
"Don't worry about that; Barb was making a special encore appearance; I'm who you'll have to deal with from now on," I told her.
"I can see you're going to be challenging to keep up with. Already, I'll have to change your records; It's nice to meet you, Peggy. I'll look forward to our next session."
So I exited the office through the waiting room. Along the way, I saw Denise, who had the next appointment. "Hi, Denise. We still on for the Art Institute Van Gogh exhibit this weekend?"
"Yes. You'll remind Sally, won't you?"
"Certainly, when I see her later; I think she's got the tickets already. She wants to hear how it went with the doctor anyway."
"Ah; And how did it go, for you?"
"Very nicely; she's seems like a good person. You can give me your review on the weekend. Oh, and she's probably going to ask you about the night of the dance."
"Of course; it's sort of the center piece of my tale, when you left me for another girl."
"I'm so glad you seem fine with that. Ok, see you on Saturday," and I hugged her goodnight, and left.
The doctor looked at the chart, "Well, you'll be glad to know, there's nothing wrong with your heart. You've just spent too long not eating right and sitting behind a desk. I'd say you should start with walking, stretching, warm up exercises, calisthenics, and only then try something more strenuous."
So I started. It was spring, so walking was coming back into season. A couple of months, and I felt much better. And then, a co-worker, Julie, suggested we both sign up for an exercise course together, so we'd be able to motivate each other. She called the local fitness center, and, after some difficulty, found us a course. "It was the last one they had this term with two openings. At first, I had doubts, but hey, they say it's great for your heart, co-ordination, and ankles and calves."
"Okay, sounds ideal."
"The first class is tonight, that's why everything was all booked up."
I would have asked more, but our meeting was about to start. It was a long, contentious one, and left me feeling drained. With the deadline so close, we all tended to eat at our desks, contributing to our bad health.
At the end of the day, Julie came by my desk, and we left for the center together.
it was only then I found out she'd signed us up for "Stiletto fitness".
"It was the only class we could do together! Besides, I asked, they said they had guys in this course all the time."
"I don't see any of them Today!"
"I see one. I'm looking right at him."
The instructor came into the mirror-lined studio, and stood at the front of the room.
"Good evening; welcome to introductory stiletto fitness. I'm your instructor, Sarah Wilson. I see we have a man here this session. I want all you girls to treat him nicely; it's a good thing when someone is willing to step outside their comfort zone and find out what we all go through."
She told me to sit by the mirrors, in front of the room, and watch while she evaluated the others. As she went through the class, one by one, most of the women she sent to the back wall, but a few others were sent up front with me.
" Now you girls in the front, you are going to have to work at this. Clearly, you aren't used to fluid movements, and I suspect most of you aren't used to walking in heels. It's a skill, girls, it can be mastered with practice. Especially, you, ..."
"Tim."
"This is going to take particular effort on your part, Tim. You don't even move fluidly in those running shoes. I put you out there in heels, you'll probably break something and sue me." Her tone seemed to goad me.
She was trying to motivate me, but it was still getting to me.
"Try me."
"Ok. What shoe size are you?"
"6"
"That's probably a woman's size 8.". She rummaged in a huge duffel bag next to her, and came up clutching a pair of low boots with heels. "Try these, they have some ankle support. Just sit, put them on, and stand up, don't try to walk yet."
I did what she asked, throwing one leg over the other at the knee, holding the elevated leg parallel to the floor. The shoes fit well, and I zipped up the sides, and stood up, windmilling slightly to keep my balance with my center of mass thrown forward.
"Ok, sit back down."
"The rest of you, I'd like to ask you to show up for some remedial tutoring, starting tomorrow evening at 7, and an hour before class each session. I'm sure most of you, except Tim, will be caught up in no time. Everyone except Tim is dismissed."
Everyone except the instructor, Julie, and myself left.
"Miss, you did fine; we're done for today. Come back Saturday at 3."
"I'm with Tim."
"Oh. Good, I'm glad he has someone can help him practice. Pull up a chair next to him."
She pulled up a chair facing us.
"I'll be frank; if you weren't here with a partner, I would kick you out of the class. While this is an exercise class, the movements all have to do with sexuality. When I've taught men before, they were either drag performers, or transitioning individuals, and somehow, I don't think that applies to you. You are going to face a challenge; when you move, I see no sensuousness at all, no awareness of your body, of yourself as a sexual being, let alone a desirable one. And yet, that is what this is about. Now, take the shoes off and hand them to your friend, Julie. Julie, wait until Tim here is paying attention, and put them on."
I watched. She crouched forward on her seat, slid her foot in, tugging at the back of the boot, and zipped the side up, smoothing the shaft afterward.
"We teach movement as fitness, but it is still movement. It's supposed to be fluid. For you, it's all going to be a performance, not habit. To fit into the choreography, you are going to have to move smoothly, supplely. Julie, give him back the shoes, and let's see how he does this time."
I took the shoes, and repeated what Julie had done. "Too fast. You are acting like you are pulling up a pair of rain boots. These are heels, you are becoming more sensuous as you don them. Feel it. Again!"
I put them on again, this time more like I was caressing them. I noticed my breath caught in my throat at one point.
"Much better, I could tell you were starting to feel it there. You can do the moves mechanically, but it's better if your emotions, not your logic, drives you. Feel it, get into it. This is all about power, desirability! That's it until tomorrow night, same time, except you start twenty minutes early. Loose shorts. You can keep the shoes for now, to practice with, but I want you to have your own on Saturday, so you can start breaking them in. Here, here's the card of a store I recommend."
I stowed the heels in my backpack, and thanked her. Julie walked out with me, "Want to come over and practice?" She lived a couple of blocks from me, so we had the same el stop.
I sat on the couch.
"During class, those jeans are getting in your way. You have to have exercise shorts for tomorrow; I have a pair I can let you use." She left, and came back with them; They were loose, short, black with silver trim at the leg holes, some sort of shiny, slippery stuff. I took my running shoes off, skinned out of my socks, and then, surprising her, dropped my jeans, and pulled on the shorts. Julie was staring at me, a bit shocked.
I gave a rueful smile, "What? I've worn swimsuits more revealing than those briefs in front of dozens of people."
"It's just surprising."
"When you have issues with your body, you get self conscious. When you have Serious issues with your body and no social life, you stop caring."
"Wow. I can't imagine that. I've never not had body issues and never not been self-conscious."
She went back into her room again, and this time, came out dragging a tall mirror. "I've been intending to fasten this to the closet door, but it's just as well I haven't gotten around to it." She leaned it up against the tv, and pulled a folding chair out from next to the entertainment center, sitting down. "So, now, put the shoes on."
I set the shoes down on the floor, and drew them on as I had been shown. As I slid my hands over the uppers, I gave in to temptation, and continued them up my leg a little, feeling the snarl of the hair against my palms. I stopped.
"Where did that come from?," Julie asked.
"It seemed natural to continue the movement. But then it felt wrong because of all the leg hair."
"Interesting."
"Dancers wear tights; Maybe I should get some, or something."
"That might be a good idea; when you move, your legs are going to rub together differently."
I stood up.
She laughed. "Very uncoordinated. But first, lets take how you are standing."
"What's wrong with how I'm standing?"
"Apart from the fact you are slouching, and seem to have your legs braced to block the opposing player? You need to be loose, but standing straight. Let me help." And with that she pushed at my joints until I did what she wanted.
After working on my posture, we started walking the length of the living room
"Don't look down so much. Keep your weight a bit forward, and your head up.", she chastised me.
"But then how will I see what I'm doing?"
"Here, I'll put my laptop on the end table and set it to capture video. We can review it every time we reach that end of the room."
Suiting action to words, we worked on my keeping my head up and the weight on the balls of my feet.
"Slow down and take shorter steps, you aren't trying to catch a train. Also, you're looking really awkward when you turn around; try this: always stop with one foot advanced in front of the other. And then, when you turn, raise your heel and turn on the ball of the forward foot, stepping with the one in back."
"What's that called?"
"It might be a pageant turn, I don't really know. It's just just something I picked up somewhere. Done right, it makes you look more graceful, but it takes practice to remember to do it right. And take longer steps than that, that looks so awkward."
"I'm beginning to feel like the centipede."
"What?"
"The centipede who thought so hard about how he walked, he stopped being able to move without tripping himself all the time."
"Just ten minutes more and then we'll stop, I promise. You're actually making good progress."
After that, I was glad to sit down. "Man, that is hard on the ankles,"
"Well, that's part of what makes this exercise."
"Yes, I've been tutoring him."
"Good, keep it up. If you want time in the classroom here, tell me, you have the number in the course handout. Tim, any qualms before you join the class again on Saturday?"
"We were thinking that I should probably get some tights, to help avoid chaffing and make things a little smoother."
"Probably wise, unless you are going to shave, or get waxed. The store on the card should has some."
"Private fitting area, to save you embarrassment if other customers come in. Ok, show me what you've been wearing."
I pulled them out.
"Ah, Miss Wilson's training heels, I should have known. I've seen these shoes over and over again, since I sold them. Perennials. You like how these fit?"
"Yeah, they're good."
"Ok, I assume you have little experience in heels?"
"Almost none."
"Ok, I'd suggest we keep the heel height the same, add a bit of a platform. You like the toe shape? Plenty of room? Does the heel cup chafe?"
"No, that's all fine, the front may be a little more pointy than I like."
"That's a start. These are going to be your shoes; they are going to say something about you. They should make you happy. They set how people will see you."
"People are not going to be seeing me in them, outside of class."
"They still should reflect your personality, or at least tastes."
"Well, these have those studs along there..."
"The vamp, that's called."
"Right, well, I'd like it a bit plainer."
"First time a customer has asked for that," she turned and hunted briefly amongst the shelves lining the room, coming up with a pair of short boots with tall heels. "Ok, let's try these. They have a scrunched upper after the ankle support, and a more rounded toe"
She handed them to me, I put them on as I'd been trained, over the little nylon socks she'd brought with them. She watched as I smoothed them the shaft up my leg.
"Hmm, did you like those? Try standing and walking."
I did as instructed. The platform changed things a little, my movements felt smoother.
"I think these are good."
"Yes; they seem to work for you. Anything else?"
"We were thinking tights."
"Oh, you ARE getting into it.". She asked about my sizes, and brought out a couple of packages. "Ok, these are all opaque, which should cover your leg hair. We have shiny, matte, black, nude, white, pink, and suntan. Once opened, they are not exchangeable."
"I should probably get two pair at least to cut down on washing."
"Ok, as you got the matte black boots, I'd suggest you get the matte black, and for a thrill the shiny nude. Under these, your regular underwear is going to bunch up, so I'd suggest a dance belt, a sort of athletic supporter male dancers wear. This one is designed so you can 'dress up', or 'dress back'."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, it has to do with how you position, to be indelicate, your 'junk'; like when a tailor will ask you if you "dress left" or "dress right". To 'dress up', you smooth the shaft along your front under the dance belt. Some guys, under some costumes, that's a little too distinct, so they wear a codpiece, or they 'dress back', with the shaft pulled back between the legs."
"Well, I've never been to a tailor, but at least I've heard of that. Sounds useful. I'll take two of those, too, in the same colors. My class starts shortly, do you have someplace I can change, so I can try the boots on over the tights?"
"Sure. If they get too loose, we can change the size a little or you can add socks, although that last might be a little warm for exercising."
She pulled a curtain around the area we were in. Once I had the dance belt on and everything seated, I picked up the tights. They felt weird on my arm hairs And it was there I stopped. I had to ask Julie for help, as I was afraid I'd stick my feet right through the tights. She called in instructions through the curtain, about gathering the legs up into fabric donuts, first, and starting with the feet, and I was glad I'd trimmed my toenails recently. After the tights, I put on the shorts, and sat down. Then I drew on the boots, with my hands running up my tights encased legs above them, and back down to push the scrunched top of the boot down around my ankle.
THAT was more like the sensation I had been looking for! I could feel myself start to get aroused.
I pulled my hand away quickly, startled. I must have made some startled sound, as Julie said with concern, from outside the curtain, "What is it, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," I temporized, "let me try walking."
I stood up, and walked with a little rhythm, as we'd been practicing. The boots felt perfect, like extensions of my legs.
"So those are good, then?"
"Yes, all this should do fine." I decided to leave everything under my jeans, putting the boots in my backpack, and wearing my running shoes and socks over the tights. Then, I drew back the curtain, going to the register in the front of the store to pay.
"Tim, it's nice to see you're continuing to take this seriously.", She greeted me.
"Yes; I have your shoes to give back."
"Ok, let's see yours, then."
I pulled off my socks, and drew the boots out of my backpack. I went through the routine of donning them again, and sat back, legs together, ankles crossed.
"You are beginning to understand what this is about, I see. Very good. You will still need a lot of extra work, but there is hope."
She went to the front of the studio, and led Julie and I through what we'd practiced.
"And again," She directed.
As we finished, the rest of the remedial class arrived.
"Ok, everybody show me the exercise we did last week."
She moved from person to person, pushing their limbs into position as they slowly repeated the movements.
"Ok, now, you've all felt the moves, and seen me do them. Now, watch Tim."
I went through the movements.
"Remember what Tim moved like Wednesday? By practice since then, he has progressed to almost having it right. Very good, Tim, we're proud of you."
Finally, the rest of the full class came in, and started doing warm ups and stretches.
The class centered on emphasizing the rhythm of our walks, and some additional leg moves, bending the leg at the knees and kicking the foot back.
"In a couple of weeks, we're going to be doing a piece that would be better with pumps than boots.", she informed me, "You should probably get a pair and practice in them a little ahead of time."
"Thanks for the warning. Any other costuming hints?"
"Yes, for that, suntan shiny tights might be better, and as you're getting the shoes for it, maybe black patent."
"I don't know, " Julie said, "It's like you're trying to stay closed in front."
Thinking back, looking at the situation, I said, "Let me try something."
I went into the bathroom. Running back over what the sales girl had said, I pulled down my waistbands. I cupped my hand under, and pushed my shaft back. As I situated the dance belt, everything felt compressed. It started to hurt a little, and then I felt something shift into a different place. I pulled everything back up, and walked out. This time, I was more open. What I'd been unconsciously protecting was out of the way, I could open my pelvis.
"Wow, much better. What did you do?", Julie exclaimed.
"I 'dressed back', I guess. It just seemed I needed to get some stuff out of the way."
"Let me see!"
I stood loose, one hip cocked, one foot slightly advanced.
"Pull down the shorts."
"What?" I said, suddenly shy, curling in again.
"C'mon, just the shorts. What was that stuff about not being self conscious despite body issues?"
"That was comical exaggeration, before you revived my social life."
I dropped my shorts.
"Wow."
"It seems to help."
Looking down, I noticed my tights were bagging a little bit, I hadn't pulled them up well enough when I got dressed again. I put one foot up on the seat of the chair. And ran my hands up pulling at the fabric. Julie came up behind me while I was leaning over and started running her hands over me.
"Oohhh. You feel nice."
"Um, thanks. That feels nice, too."
I stood up, and turned. Her body molded to mine. Her lips, against mine.
"Ok, Tim, you're going to have trouble here. Everyone else in the class at least has the memory of having had long hair, but I doubt yours has ever been below the top of your shoulders. Watch the others carefully."
Afterwards, Sarah said, "I'd stop the tutoring for you now, except there are a couple of things coming up that are going to be totally foreign to you. The head move today is the first involving long hair, and there are some chest moves that sort of come from having something 'up there'. Girls have watched other girls with these attributes with envy and hopes, even if they don't themselves possess them, and you haven't. You need to start some intense girl watching, I think. By the way, your pelvic moves are very good! I should have had this talk with you before this, but last week, you were showing signs of becoming proficient. What did you do?"
"I practiced in front of a mirror, in front of Julie, and on video. Oh, and I learned how to use my dance belt to 'tuck'."
"I know what that is", Sarah admitted. "The men I've had in the class talk about it, a little embarrassed. But I studied anatomy as part of my degree."
"When we've had drag queens in the class before, they just know, and do that from day one. I really should have mentioned it. The final routine of the class, the one we perform in recital, the costume is a little tight. Could I see your, tuck, please? Feel free to say no, we can always stick you in the back row."
"No, Sarah, you are our instructor and costume mistress. You have to judge.". I dropped my shorts, leaving my tights up.
"Yes, excellent. You won't have any trouble with the costume there, at least."
"Well, I can think of one possibility, but you aren't going to like it."
She disappeared into her bedroom, and came back with...something.
"This is a hairpiece; I haven't worn it since college. This clip goes into your hair and attaches it."
We slicked back my hair and tried to gather it up. There was barely enough to get a rubber band around, at the back of my head. She stuck the clip into where it was gathered, and added a couple of bobby pins. Starting the routine over, I could feel the hair moving, swinging. And then I felt it fly off.
"Darn!"
"I've been looking into the problems, and I think I have answers. We're going back to the shoe store tomorrow night. They're open late."
"Good, I need to get that other pair of shoes Sarah mentioned."
"Yeah. So we'd like something that goes with his complexion, can be secured, and probably comes down to the middle of the back.", Julie replied, before I had a chance to explain.
"Gotcha."
She brought out an assortment of wigs. First we tried them on for fit, then for looks. Trying one in particular, Julie suddenly stared harder, "Oh my."
"Yes, the red notes go well against his basic skin color."
"Set that one aside."
In the end, that's the one we took. She trimmed the lace at the hairline, and showed us how the combs secured it, and how I could add bobby pins. It could also be taped or glued if I wanted to be extra secure. I moved my head. Much better than the hairpiece had been. I left it on and we asked about regular pumps.
I'd come in wearing my tights under my jeans, but not my shorts (they bunched up.). The sales girl offered me a wrap skirt from the dance wear, which I accepted, and skinned out of my jeans under it. As I went to sit, Julie said, "Wait, pass your arm under your seat as you sit.". I did, and the skirt went flat on the chair under me. I liked the fifth pair of pumps I tried on. I changed back, and went to the front of the store. Julie said she'd be with me in a second, and went with the salesgirl deeper into the storeroom. She came out awhile later with a carrier bag. "Tonight is on me, " she said. We drove back to her apartment.
"You're lucky you aren't wearing lipstick. Long hair loves to stick to your lipstick."
I went home. Checking my legs, I noticed they needed shaving again, already. I decided to make an appointment for waxing, although I seriously doubted they could get it done before class on Saturday.
When I got there, they had me strip, put on a thong, turned on some music, and gave me a glass of white wine, and started applying an anesthetic cream. I really am not used to wine, and it knocked me out.
I came to as they pulled the first wax strip, off my chest. My chest?
When I questioned, it turned out the customer with the original reservation had asked for legs, arms, chest, back, and shoulders cleared. They'd already taken clippers to the hair to shorten it, so I let them go ahead, only vetoing the Brazilian, although they had already trimmed down there, too. In the end, I did let them neaten up that area.
And left there sorer than I'd been from road rash when my bike had gone out from under me, while wearing shorts.
I put my stuff in my gym bag, The wig in a box to preserve the styling as much as possible.
"Ah, what's this?", Sarah's voice came from the door, I straightened up and whirled, losing control of my hair.
"Tim was having trouble with the head and arm moves, so we decided he needed to practice with hair."
"I see. Well, carry on. I'm going to go get set up."
So Julie and I stood loosely, a linked arm length apart, and started doing the routine together. Compensating for the hair movement was distracting at first, but I gradually got used to it, and the arm movements gathering it up, and the head shakes actually meant something, now.
Before the class filled up, I took the wig off and put it back in the box. In class, I still had the memory of it to guide my movements. It was a little rougher, in the timing, but I watched those that had long hair, and that helped.
"Ok, everyone. Today, two videos. One is a taste of what is coming up, but first, something I filmed before class. I'm sure you've all noticed how tremendously Tim, here, has loosened up and progressed. I'd like to show you the lengths he's gone to to achieve this."
And with that, she hit play.
She'd turned on the video camera during our practice session, the sneak! There, on the screen was Julie and I, practicing, me in the wig.
"Tim, I want you to know I appreciate that you are willing to take such measures to get it right, to really feel the moves. And anytime you feel a need of props to help, feel free to use them in class. That wig suits you, by the way. Ok, on to a video of next weeks routine."
The second video showed the dancer, our instructor, bending over, running her hands over her legs, over her torso, up her chest, arching her back, along with the music, then, wiggling her shoulders, and stalking forward.
"That is close to what the final routine will be. We'll be doing it a piece at a time, and we won't add the music until week after next, but I thought I'd warn you first. Get comfortable with your body now, if you haven't already, because this is coming."
"I'll try."
"Good. Julie, I know you'll help him out. Remember, I can get you the use of this room when it isn't in use for others things. See you both Wednesday."
"You know, I worried about this. My problem is that I'm too self conscious. Your problems are that you're too self conscious, and you're a guy."
"So what do we do?"
"Well, we both have to get more comfortable. And you need to learn some things. Take off your shirt."
I did that.
"What happened to your hair?"
"I got tired of shaving my legs, got an appointment for leg waxing, and it turned out the guy that cancelled to give me the vacancy had wanted more. When I woke up, they had started the chest."
"So you let them finish it."
"They'd already clipped everything."
"I see. Ok, let's try this. Get into your dance belt and wig. Leave everything else off for now."
After I did, she came out with a complicated piece of Lycra. "This is an exercise bra. The cups go in the front, the pink side goes on the outside, the white on the inside. Pull it on over your head."
I did that, having a little trouble with the wig getting trapped under it.
"It feels weird."
"It'll feel weirder in a minute." And she pulled out a blob of something soft and flesh colored. "Say hello to your right breast."
"Breast? Whoa, maybe we should talk about this."
"Too late, I already showed you your present." and she pushed that blob into the bra cup and repeated the procedure on the other side with another one. To finish it off, she took out a loose gauzy shirt ("blouse," she corrects as I type this), I pull it on, but before I can button it, she grabs the tails, and ties it under my bra.
"Here, I also got you this." It was the wrap skirt from the store. I put it on. The smooth fabric sweeping against my waxed legs felt far different than my tights.
Julie handed me my right heel. "Here, watch me.". She took her heel, bent her leg at the knee, held the heel up behind her, pushed her toe down into it, and pulled the heel on. "Now you."
I repeated what she'd done, a little slower, and with my hand lingering on my skin, a smile spreading across my face.
"Wow, just wow.", Julie said. "Your hair is tucked into your collar, fix it."
I put both hands back along my neck, thumbs thrust back, gathering the hair, and moving them straight back along the hair until it pulled out of the collar. Then, when I had it free, I shook my head, and tossed it a bit. "Ok?"
"You've been getting tutored, haven't you. Admit it."
"I don't know what you mean.", and sat down on the couch.
"Ok, I take it back. If you'd been taking lessons, the first thing she would have corrected you on is how you are sitting."
"Ok, miss tutor, show me."
"I am. Look." She pointed out the differences in how we positioned our legs, knees, and feet, and I moved to match.
"Okay, let's try the routine again."
She started. Interestingly, this time she did a little better. "Now you."
I went into the bend, my hands moved up over my naked, waxed legs, my lack of hips, my stomach, and my breast forms, cupping them. I cocked my hip, swung my hair, and stalked forward, lifting my legs high in my heels.
"Wow, 400% improvement."
"I understand it, now. The timing! The head moves, you have to wait until the hair is in the right place. And the chest thrust, that pause I couldn't figure out, it's to let the breasts settle. I get it! Yes!", and thrust a fist up in the air, posing with my legs apart. "Yahoo!"
"Wow. Your voice goes up in pitch when you get excited, did you know that?"
"Is that good?"
"Well, it goes with the package. Can you do it normally?"
"Like this?"
"Not quite..."
"So, more like this?", I said, trying hard to repeat what I'd done originally.
"Ok, let's finish you off."
"How?"
"Makeup. C'mon, don't be like that! It's designed to wash off."
So I let her put makeup on me. And a pair of panties over my dance belt, which seemed superfluous to me but she's gone to all the trouble of buying me a pair, and the black lace did look nice.
And then, from a seated start, putting on my heels, I did the routine.
Afterwards, we cleaned that stuff off my face, I changed, and we watched a movie with a lot of car chases, so I could start feeling masculine again.
After class, she called me and Julie over to where she had her stuff. She replaced the example routine video with another one, and hit play.
Julie, the sneak, had left the laptop recording setup in place for our practices, and recorded the fully dressed practice run I'd done, and slipped it to the teacher. Including my victory yell.
"You're holding out on us. You are much better in the recording than you were in class tonight. Tomorrow, 7 pm, fully dressed, here."
"I've been reading up on the Internet. We need to disguise your beard area.". And she put some orange lipstick all over where that hair grows. The heavy foundation went on over that.
I put everything else on, she handed me a purse, which I slung over my shoulder, and we left for the center.
"No offense, but it seems a little lightweight."
"Ok, what do you want to call yourself?"
I thought for a moment. "How about Karen?"
"Karen it shall be. Now, Karen, from the top. Julie, sit out for now."
I sat in the chair, with it backwards. Legs spread. Unstraddled it, did the routine, and ended up in my victory pose, held it for a beat, and stood relaxed. There were applause from the doorway, where a small crowd had gathered. I clasped my hands before me, bowed, and came back up, swinging my hair out of my face, smiling.
"Ok, very good," Sarah said, "Of course, it gets a lot harder with the distractions of the other students, and the music. Now, you and Julie together without the grace notes, although they were good additions, for solo."
When Julie and I tried doing it in sync, it did get a lot tougher.
"Ok, keep practicing. Karen, will you be joining the class this week, or will Tim be there?"
Feeling like I was on the edge of a precipice, I said, "I think I should work on getting Tim up to speed for class."
"Ok, we'll talk about it again after class on Saturday."
Finally, I said, enough. "Tell you what, let's go get something to eat. Help me change."
"Help you change? Did you sprain something?"
"No, Tim can't seem to help you with your moves, so let's see if Karen can do better. Help me get ready, and we'll go out and get you comfortable, and come back and practice."
We collapsed side by side on the couch. "It's late, I have to go.", I said.
"I know this sounds weird, but why doesn't Karen stay over."
"Well, I guess I could try that."
"Good; here", and threw me a nightshirt.
I slept better than I had in a long time, and when I woke up, there was a smooth skinned arm pinned under me. And once I'd rescued my now bloodless right arm, I noticed Julie's arm draped over me.
I disentangled myself, went into the bathroom, and moisturized everything. Then, I brushed out my wig (it was trying to tangle itself.) And stopped to consider myself in the mirror.
I preened, a bit. My panties showed nothing but a discrete cleft between my legs. My bra bulged a bit from my breast forms. The smooth skin of my body shone from my recent waxing, now that the irritation had passed. My eyebrows, well, there was not much I could do there. My fingernails, again, not much, and I pouted. My toenails? I could do something there, couldn't I? I should go back where I got waxed and get a pedicure.
"Ka-aren, what'cha doin?"
I jumped, startled, holding my hand to my chest. "Don't DO that!"
"Sorry, I couldn't resist; want to borrow a dress to hold up against you, grab a pillow to see what you'll look like, pregnant?"
"What?"
"You were standing there, thinking like a chick, weren't you? Weren't you?"
"I don't know what a chick thinks like. I was considering getting a pedicure."
"Not a manicure?"
"Despite what you might be thinking, I do have to come back at the start of the work day as Tim. Speaking of which, I'm going to grab my dance bag and get changed."
"You keep a change of clothes in your bag? You are Such. a. Girl..."
At the office, I called the salon. They could fit me in for a pedicure Friday evening.
"So, how is the waxing working out?"
"It was further than I wanted to go, but it is working out fine in dance class. I can go without tights if it's too hot."
"Dance, huh? At the center? Which course?"
"Stiletto movement."
"You needed the waxing, wait'll you see the final routine outfits. Is Sarah teaching?"
"Yeah."
"You should have said, that'll get you a discount on the touch up, she can be very picky. Tell her Amanda says Hey!"
"Ah, I will."
"So, what are you looking for?"
"I don't know. What's involved?"
"Exfoliation; as it's your first time, we'll really have to grind. Shaping, buffing, polish. Got a color?"
"Any suggestions."
"Well, you still wear tights?"
"Mostly."
"So something dark and intense, to show a little, under the tights."
"Sure."
"And we can neaten up those finger nails a bit. No one will notice. Well, no one who isn't really watching you. So they're already into you."
"Ok."
"And for the finale, we double punch your ‘lobes."
"What? No way! No guy has that many piercings, at least no office worker."
"Ok, how about one each side, and when they heal, you come back, and we punch two more. You wear the studs for those at work, until they heal, then you have total flexibility."
"You ever boiled a toad?"
"Shush. Foot up, please!"
After the pedicure, earlobes stinging, I began to wonder if the salon offered any services that didn't hurt afterwards... At least Amanda had given me a bottle of touch up polish. And when I looked in the bag, a matching lipstick.
"Oh, don't mind that, it's a set. It comes that way.", she explained.
Saturday, I went over to Julie's. She and Karen were going to practice and then she and Tim were going to class. She noticed the earrings, right off.
"I'm on the hole of the month club, and the sign up bonus is an extra one this month.", I said.
And when I went to put on my tights, she noticed the toenails. "Ah, that's how they got you to sit still long enough. Captive in the chair. I'm surprised you got out of there still recognizable."
I finished getting dressed, Julie was loaning me a leotard today, she did my makeup, and as we got to the end, I handed her the lipstick.
"Ah, what's this?"
"It came with the pedicure."
She finished my lips, I shook out the wig and secured it, fastening the combs, adding a few bobby pins.
"I bet it came with a bottle of polish, too."
"I know, I know, I wish I could do something with the fingernails, but I have to go to work. Anyway, speaking of work..."
So we started running the routine, in sync. She was doing much better. Me, the wig hair did seem oddly attracted to my lipstick.
Then we ran out of time. I cleaned off my makeup, took off my outfits, put on a freshly washed pair of tights, and we went off to class.
This was the last week without the distraction of music. Everyone knew the moves, but the timing kept being off.
After class, Sarah stayed at the front. I went up to see her. "Oh, Amanda says, Hey!, by the way."
"Oh? I see the studs, what else you get done? I already noticed the waxing..."
"Pedicure."
"Kick off those heels, Karen, let me see. Dark shadows, and Boy, are those tights thick; girlfriend, what is that, denier infinity?"
"Well, when I bought them, I was trying to hide something."
"Well, soon, it's going to be your time to shine! I'm considering giving you a solo on the program."
"No, I can't do that."
"It's a fitness class final, not the Met. You Can do it. Now, about Julie, the two of you are working on things, she's improving, but I get the feeling she can do better. What can you suggest?"
"You're the teacher."
"Not for Julie, it seems."
"So you're saying you want Karen in class, setting a pace for her?"
"If that's what it takes."
"Ok. Wednesday, we can try that."
Before I left, I phoned the salon. "Amanda, Sarah and I need a favor. An emergency makeover, Wednesday evening."
"Well, we close at normal time Wednesday, so I guess I could stay late, as long as you don't make a habit of it."
Wednesday, I skeeved out early from work, without Julie spotting it. Grabbing my bag, I got to the salon before all the offices let out for the day. At five, I called her cell to tell her I'd meet her at her place before class.
We started with a touch up waxing, including my bikini region.
Amanda looked at my breast forms, "Ah, pretty good, I can work with these.", and brushed something on my chest. She then pressed the breast form into in, saying,"Hold this."
"What?"
"Shush, we don't have much time. Hold the other one, too."
While I held the breast forms, she started working on my face, making sure I'd shaved close enough when we'd started, flensing, exfoliating, toning, applying beard cover, concealer, foundation, I lost track.
She'd painted some sort of sealant over my eyebrows, after slicking them down; now, she painted on thin arches. My wig got fastened down as normal, except there was a piece of tape at the back. She started styling the hair, "Nice one, you get that at the shoe place?"
"Um, yeah."
"I forgive you, they're nice people. They specialize in people who need to accessorize their gender. Just promise me it was before we met."
"Well, natch!", I said.
"Don't do that, just never do that. You are much classier than that sort of slang. Wait'll you see."
With my face done, she had me let go of my boobs. My chest took up the weight as they hung there. She went to work on the seams. She said, "But do keep talking."
"What should I say?"
"Well, how about about why you're doing this, and how it feels. You need to keep to emotional content, and can you jack the pitch a little?"
"I can try. As for why, Julie got us into the class, it was the last one with openings? And at first, I was awkward, and stiff, but as I started to get better, Julie started to need help. And she won't let Tim help her, but she doesn't have that problem with Karen."
"Karen? It's about time we were properly introduced."
"Oh, where are my manners; it's nice to meet you, Amanda. I'm Karen, I'm new around here, but you are definitely my aesthetician."
"Better. Keep trying."
As a finishing touch, she stuck some rubber nipples on the forms.
"Who's going to notice?", I asked.
"Just shush. You can thank me later."
And with that, her attention shifted to my hands. She glued plastic extensions over my nails, and when that set, gave them a once over with the emery board, and then started putting on polish matching my toenails.
"Those do come off, right?"
"Yes. You'll get a remover jar in your bag. Ok, time to take away the cocoon. I've taken the liberty of selecting some items for you."
And with that, she handed me a complete change of clothes. Non opaque hosiery, underwear, blouse, pencil skirt, and, "Peep toe heels. You've been waxed and pedicured, show off for once. And, voila" and she uncovered the mirror.
"This is the final look. Now, let me show you how you start out."
She showed me how to put my hair up, and secure it. "And do up two more buttons. Put these on.", handing me a pair of black framed glasses.
"Ah, I like where you're going with this."
"I knew you'd be into stereotypes. I hope Julie is too. So there you go, one librarian, complete with upgrade options."
"Thank you, and I've got to run."
"I'll add it to your last bill."
"Julie!"
"Karen? I didn't recognize you. Come in."
"Thanks; I got here as fast as I could. So let's get to it."
And with that, I grabbed my hair ornament, and loosed my hair in a dramatic head swing, taking off my glasses at the end.
So of course, strands of my hair stuck to my lipstick. "Darn it!"
Getting ready to dance involved taking off the skirt, and converting the blouse into one tied below my improved bust. Amanda had given me a really short miniskirt to go over my tights, and I put on my new peep toe heels. Then, I curled around my center, suddenly twirling, and popping open, flinging my hands in the air, palms out, facing Julie. "Pow!"
"Wow, what did I do? You were my friend, now you're practically a threat. And is that cleavage?"
"No, I'm your dance partner. And how would I know, I've never seen it before in my life. Now, let's see you shine. This is about making you work harder. I already had an offer to be in the back, doing alternate choreography. I chose to push for better. Now, let's see you push, too."
We ran through it. I adjusted her, and she got better. Finally we left for class. I'd restored my glasses and updo, smoothed out the blouse, and put the wrap skirt back on.
Julie stopped in front of the class, and made an announcement. "Everyone, Tim couldn't be here this week, so Karen here is filling in for him."
There was a chorus of "Hi, Karen!"s.
"Hi, everyone!"
We ran through it. It went good.
"Karen, would you work with Beth? I'm going to work with Julie for a bit."
I went over to Beth.
We went through the routine. I tightened her timing, fixed her posture. I repeated it with her, in slow motion.
"Thank you, Karen. One more time people!", Sharon instructed."
We ran through it. I kept one eye on Julie. She was perfect. What had Sarah done?
"Ok, everyone stop and get the cd of our music on the way out, people! Next time, music!"
"So, Karen, will you be joining us at the recital next week?"
"I will be making time in my schedule, yes."
"Good. Here's your cd."
"So, Julie, how did Sarah get through to you?"
"She just pointed out how ludicrous it was that Tim, with only a few hours of practice was sexier than I was, with my years of practice, and how I was letting down the whole gender."
"Well, you did teach me everything I know…"
We'd gotten to the door of her apartment by then; she unlocked it, and then turned to me and said, "Then show me what you know."
And at the reception afterward, over hors d'oeuvres, Julie remarked, "Well, there is another course that looks interesting. Pole dancing..."
Sarah's Stiletto fitness class at the center ended. I was awarded certificates, one for Tim, and one for Karen. Somewhere on YouTube is a recording of our final recital. Of course, in it, I'm almost unrecognizable. It garnered some nice comments and likes at the time, and then pretty much dropped from sight.
There have been some changes since then; I moved in with Julie (she had the better furniture and view of the two of us).
I put my foot down over the concept of the pole dance class, though. Things were getting too busy.
Other than the change in living arrangements, the biggest changes were at work. We'd started as a small materials handling firm, specializing in inventory control systems, all the way from handheld barcode scanners to big automated warehouses. Then we'd been acquired by a bigger corporation. They had their corporate headquarters in Pennsylvania. They'd continued the office in Chicago, albeit at a smaller scale, but rather than making everyone move to Philadelphia, they introduced "Work From Home".
"Work From Home" was actually an ideal situation in tech circles before it became necessitated by the Coronavirus disaster. Audio conference calls were the rule before Zoom (unless you had the bucks to set up Cisco gear, and a VERY high bandwidth connection.) Our company had adopted Work From Home to save office costs and retain critical personnel, given the geographically diverse nature of our workforce.
It meant no more commute. Hurrah! More time at home with my girlfriend. But it also meant we both had to carve out workspaces for ourselves in our one bedroom apartment. Boo!
Still, that seemed ideal, what with a boss now in Philadelphia, and team members in Detroit, Tupelo, Jersey City, San Francisco, Salt Lake City, and Los Angeles. But then I discovered a problem: somehow, I had lost the ability to stand before a group of people and give a presentation.
It wasn't shyness. I'd had body issues most of my life, but I'd overcome them in Sarah's stiletto fitness class; so much so that I was now sharing a one bedroom apartment with my serious girlfriend, Julie, after all. But in giving presentations, people tended not to take me seriously; my voice was too high, and with the starts and stops, and ers and ums, people didn't seem to feel it was authoritative, and argued with me critiquing my style instead of the technical details. Actually, I'd previously seldom had to stand up and formally present to an audience, as I deal mostly with technical concerns. So much so, in fact, that my problem came as a surprise to me.
And it was worse when I couldn't gauge the reactions of my audience while I was talking to them, as in an audio conference.
Exacerbating things just now was a big presentation I'd been assigned which pitched an automated parts warehouse project like we'd done before, but for a Japanese corporation. I'd done the report on the project, and that report now turned into the formal presentation to the potential client. A lot was on the line, and supposedly, this presentation was crucial to the deal. The pressure, of course, didn't help my performance any.
I first tried my presentation over an audio link to my workgroup. But (under orders) they attacked it so much that it threw me off base and things got worse in the question and answer period. They'd been instructed to see if I got rattled. And did I ever.
I then tried giving my presentation with Julie as an audience, when she sat behind the camera. Two problems there: in that case, I was too informal and gave a continual stream of comments, observations, asides, and in-jokes aimed at her, and, while we worked at the same company, and even on the same floor of the same office originally, we were not in the same department. (Indeed, that was the entire basis of our original relationship. She eventually admitted to me that she'd thought I looked "interesting" when walking past my cubicle to the copy room, so, hearing I'd been told to get more exercise, she'd schemed the fitness class enrollment as a way to be the only woman I knew in a room for an hour each week.) She would not always available when I had to make a presentation; she had her own work to do.
I thought my asides and observations were funny, but let's face it; Will Rogers, I was not. Still, I liked that we could talk that way, and didn't want to change my behavior if I could help it.
Maybe I should give the presentation to a cardboard audience?
No good; I tried it, it flopped, according to those that listened to the recording.
With music as a background to distract me, or recorded crowd noises?
Nope and Nope; I tried both, and both were no better. And then I tried music again, but different types; Ambient, classical, pop, folk, instrumental, and techno; no genre of music helped appreciably.
I was lying in bed, worrying about it, when Julie asked, "Well, when was the last time you remember feeling confident and bold?"
"I can't remember a time. Well, except... No, that doesn't apply..."
"What?"
"Well, back in class."
"When you were at university?"
"Umm, no; When we were in Sarah's class," I mumbled.
"In Stiletto Fitness?"
"Yes, Ok? I eventually came to feel confident in class. In fact, apart from the fact that the shoes sometimes hurt my feet, I felt comfortable, confident, and somehow, powerful. Silly, isn't it?"
"No; Not really. Why do you think Dominatrix's wear those boots. Hmmm, that gives me an idea for your halloween costume this year..."
"Don't you dare!"
"More immediately, why don't you check the box in your closet and see if anything in it helps."
"What box?"
"The box on the shelf, where the wardrobe that made up Karen is..."
"oh; that box. I suppose it's worth a try."
I hadn't looked in that box since we put it away after the wrap party. Frankly, in some ways, it scared me. Occasionally, briefly, I'd felt like a different person. And I'd pretty much been OK with it. In fact, mostly, I'd enjoyed it.
In the morning, after getting ready for work (or at least as ready as "Work From Home" required of me), I dragged "that box" down from the shelf. It had gathered a little dust, but the lid fit well, and the interior was dust free and dry.
In the bottom, under various things that weren't germane (such as the disks of our practices and the final perfomance) were Karen's pumps and her low boots.
I looked at them, remembering times in class.
"Memories, huh?" Julie had suddenly appeared behind me, unobserved.
"Whatever gets this presentation done."
"So you're going to just wear the shoes?" She sounded a little sorry at the observation.
"That should be all that's needed," I replied.
But of course in reality it wasn't that simple. The first problem is that wearing my regular socks, the shoes didn't fit. Had my feet spread? Was I using thicker socks? No clue.
So either I was going to have to get those abbreviated things women wear under pants, go barefoot in the shoes, or put on my tights again.
Julie said she didn't wear those things (Trouser Socks or knee highs, she told me they were called) nor have any, when I asked. And barefoot, my feet sweated and stuck to the shoes (I was later to find that there were even more abbreviated nylon things called footies, but we didn't have any of those, either).
So I donned my tights again. Of course, those only really fit properly with the right underwear. And looking back in the box for the tights, I had run across my wrap skirt...
Really, all that went together.
When I had all that on, Julie looked me over, and said "Karen! Where have you been?"
"No, only Karen from the waist down."
"Pity..."
I grabbed my printed notes for the presentation, pushed my chair under my desk, and proceeded to give the presentation while pacing back and forth. Meantime, Julie was on her machine in her workspace, listening to and recording my performance.
When I finished, she came in and played it back to me.
Better, although I still showed a lot of the meta-linguistical um, er, and ahs that I was trying to eliminate.
Additional, there was a fairly regular clicking on the recording.
"What's that noise, there?" I asked.
"That's your heels on our hardwood floors..."
"Oh. I'll have to remember to put down a rug."
"Yes, although I kind of like it...", she said, wistfully.
So, better. Not perfect, but maybe practice would improve it.
So, my heart in my mouth, I gave the presentation live at that week's audio conference meeting (with rug in place.)
Afterwards, my boss said that it was good, but I still seemed a little tentative. For the final meeting, we had to be decisive and certain.
Once I hung up, Julie, from her perch at our the dining table where she had observed all this, said, "You know what this means; drastic measures are called for."
I begged off; the next day, I gave my presentation again (with the boots, instead of the pumps, this time), and had Julie record it again; but we agreed it was no better than the last time, so practice (and the change of shoes) wasn't cutting it.
"You know what this means," she told me.
"I have to give the presentation. There will be questions afterwards which I will have to answer."
"You can give the presentation; just, not, you know, you. It's time to let Karen have a go. It's an audio link, no one will see. I'll even not peek if you insist."
If I was going to do this, it seemed I'd have to commit seriously to it. I called my aesthetician, Amanda, and made an appointment.
Waxing, eyebrow threading, nails, and a pedicure. Karen's hair was a wig. I had it checked and shampooed, but it wasn't going to need a trim, at least.
While she worked, Amanda kept up a stream of conversation; After our class had ended, Julie had started coming to her salon, and Amanda wanted to know how she was doing, and more significantly, how we were doing. But after assurances that things were well, she probed a bit further.
"I know Julie and Karen practiced together, and had class together. You two ever do anything else as a couple?
"Sure, we live together," I replied, puzzled.
"No, Julie and Karen, not Julie and Tim."
"Well, we went out to dinner a couple of times, and did some shopping..."
"So, nothing special? Well, never mind."
"Well, there was that one night I slept over on her couch." I wasn't going to discuss the other time that Julie and Karen slept together, even though it seemed to be the sort of thing Amanda was looking for; some things are private, even in the salon.
"That's sounds promising."
"It doesn't have to be promising; she and I live together; we sleep in the same bed."
"I know. Look, if you say anything about this, I'll deny it; I'm breaking the unwritten code of the salon here, but occasionally, talking, Julie will look a little wistful. I get the distinct impression she misses Karen. And you're Karen."
"Well, I'm all that's real about Karen, I suppose."
"I'm certain Julie's still really into you, from how she talks about the two of you and the little things she mentions forgiving you."
What did that mean? I decided I'd prefer not to go there.
Amanda continued, "But in any relationship, sometimes you'll wonder about a 'what-if', and I get the feeling her 'what-if' is Karen. In a way, you're kind of unique; her other is the same person, physically, as her everyday. The two of you can get that romance without straying from home. You're doing all the prep work right now, you should take advantage of it, is all I'm saying."
"Amanda! That's really shocking! Umm, how do you suppose that would work?"
"Up to you; I never said anything."
We finished putting Karen together, as I'd brought a change of clothes. As this was not a dance recital, I'd prepared with normal to formal office clothes for Karen, including a suit borrowed from Julie, as we were roughly the same size.
Back at home, all ready, I started in on the presentation again. This time, Julie pronounced me perfect. She'd fed me questions from the cards I'd prepared, and I neatly fielded every one.
In the post mortem, she gave me 11 out of 10, and fortunately we'd recorded the audio. I sent the audio to my boss attached to an email. (And made sure it was only the audio.)
Then I set the table, and started dishing up the Chinese food I'd been keeping warm in the oven.
When I sat down, Julie, looking puzzled, asked, "Aren't you going to change?"
In response, I opened the top two buttons of my blouse. "Oh, I think this suit isn't too formal to eat in. What do you think?", and crossed my legs under my skirt, at the knees, taking care to keep my calves together.
Julie looked a bit nonplussed, but sat down to eat.
Afterwards, we both stood, and I cleared the plates. Having done that, I crossed to her, set my glasses on the table, and, removing my hair ornament, let my hair down, as I swung my head.
It was such a stereotyped move. I'd practiced it. (We'd covered the whipping of hair in class, and as I said, I'd passed. I'd been marked down as exceptional, in fact.); I even managed to keep my hair from getting stuck to my lipstick, for once.
"Tim...", she started.
"Oh, let's leave him out of it, tonight, shall we?", and proceeded to grasp her by the elbows and kiss her soundly.
I knew she was tasting my lipgloss (raspberry, applied over my lipstick); as I held her close, she must be smelling the herbal shampoo my wig had been washed with, my deodorant, and my perfume, all scents selected to blend together. The final note should be my scented face powder and the baby powder scent from under my perfume.
"It's not fair," she moaned.
"What's not fair?", I said, nuzzling her neck with my lips.
"You shouldn't be this good at seduction...", she said, melting in my arms.
"I've had the very best teacher," I informed her, as I nibbled on her earlobe, which I knew she particularly enjoyed, toying with the back of her earring with my tongue.
Tim and Julie slept together regularly, but this was somehow different. I'd slept over at Julie's apartment as Karen twice, before we'd moved in together, as I've said, and even shared her bed that way, once. Tonight was a more intimate experience for both of us. I learned some things that Karen responded differently to than Tim, which was going to be food for thought for a long time, especially as, with the presentation recorded, Karen only had one more scheduled appearance, to take questions, and after that, she probably would just end up in the box in my closet again.
Pity, that.
Of course, it didn't go that way.
The next day, after the presentation audio and the question session, my boss called me back on my cellphone. I took the call with my legs demurely crossed, in my desk chair, distracted by the feeling of my pantyhose covered legs rubbing against each other.
"Tim, everyone loved the presentation, and your answers were spot on. You were perfect, timing and everything. No glitches there."
"But?"
"Well, there's a lot of local team spirit at the client's office. They are strongly pushing to hire locally and do the work there. Personally, I think your presentation adequately covers the follies of that, but we have to put that argument to them in the strongest terms."
"My research shows that, clearly. So I guess we can't just send the presentation? When have you scheduled the audio conference for? I'm ready."
"You certainly seem to be, but that's the hitch. The board decided they want you to go over there and give the details in person, and deal with any questions. They still remember that time you barged in there with that Lego thing you built to prove we'd laid the automated vehicle guideways out all wrong. It impressed them. The company is willing to give you a vacation, afterwards, there or anywhere else, we think it's that crucial."
"Over there?"
"Osaka. I think they have the remnants of a world's fair there, if you want to see that."
So the idea was I'd fly to japan, have a couple of days to get over jet lag, and then brief their company executives (who fortunately all spoke perfect English as my Japanese was limited to a few words I'd picked up in thrillers and anime), and convince them.
I was off the hook; I was to give the presentation before living, breathing people!
So we held a yet another run through, this time live (with me dressed for the office as Tim, of course) with people who still worked at corporate headquarters.
It was a disaster; worst yet. It seemed that in giving the presentation over and over again, I'd burned out on the material. I'd rushed through parts, mumbled others. In working from home, I even seemed to have lost some of my people skills, never that good at the best of times.
At home, I recounted the latest to Julie, who was suitably horrified, and hugged me to comfort me.
And then she said, "Why don't you show me, right now."
So I grabbed my note cards and stood in front of the whiteboard. As I started to talk, Julie stopped me.
"No, not like that. As Karen."
I was perplexed. Surely a disastrous presentation was a disastrous presentation, no matter how I was dressed.
But I agreed; I got out all the fixings, and put everything on. Julie did my makeup, making me look particularly nice.
And then I walked back in front of the whiteboard and started again. I worked through the whole thing, and when I was done, Julie stood up and applauded.
She said I'd done it perfectly, timing and everything. None of the asides I normally did when presenting to her.
And then she surprised me; she'd recorded the whole thing and queued it up for playback
It was perfect.
But no one but me and Julie (and Amanda; I'd told her why I was doing this, of course, while she worked on me) knew that Karen, not me, was giving the presentation when it worked. And now it was going to have to be live. And the very least of the problems with that was that Karen didn't have a passport!
In bed, I reiterated all this to Julie.
"But that doesn't do us any good; Karen can't present before this audience. Heck, I'd bet she can't leave the continent. She has no ID to even get into the airport.", I pointed out, as I was dropping off to sleep.
"It's impossible," I finished.
"Well, it seems unlikely, I'll admit," Julie admitted.
Later, in the middle of the night:
"Tim! Wake up."
"Wha...", I drowsily replied.
"This could work, if everything breaks just right..."
"You're dreaming; go back to sleep."
"No, really. We just need to be sure that your presentation only reaches home in audio form, and that no one refers to your gender in a way that can't be put down to translation error! Listen! We pitch it as, for reasons of protection against industrial espionage, we can only allow heavily encrypted feeds. We specify encryption that would be challenging at video bandwidth, and I'm there in part for data security (which gives me an excuse to sabotage any video links.) Further, we say that our "key man" insurance insists no photos or name badges, lest your contract be sniped by a competitor."
"They'll never go for that, and how can we impose those conditions and not seem weird to our company?"
"We claim these are standard corporate practices, these days."
"We can't back that up, and Jack talked about the negotiations he's done for this, and a big deal he closed last year there. He's going to smell a rat. Besides, I have serious doubts we can get Karen there in the first place. She has no passport, no ID, and I think those breast forms look weird on an X-ray scanner, even in checked luggage..."
"What makes you think that?"
"Something I read."
"Well, the beauty industry is worldwide; I'm pretty sure we can get nails, hair and boobs in Japan with some shopping."
"There are some translation difficulties I wouldn't look forward to."
Over the course of the next week, I expressed my doubts about doing the presentation in Osaka no less than three times, at varying ever increasing levels of the corporate structure. Finally, the company president, Jack, called me in; he still had an office in our old building; "Is it that you are afraid of long plane trips?"
I said no, I just didn't see why it had to be me. It seemed to me that it was out of scale with my importance here.
"The Japanese put a heavy emphasis on face to face meetings, and on competence. You're the guy that did the work, you can answer all their questions quickly. It really has to be you," he assured me.
"If they put so much emphasis on personal interaction, is the fact that I won't drink going to be a problem for them, or that I won't visit those kind of raunchy clubs that were in 'Lost in Translation'? Could my basic stodgy nature cost us the deal?"
"No, I actually have the same issues, myself, and went there for the preliminary talks with no problems, and did a deal with these guys last year, almost as big. One odd thing came up with the company president when he invited me to an odd social club, but I begged off and it was like it never happened, made no difference."
What had the company president suggested? But I didn't learn, then.
"Tim, we're desperate, here. If there's any way you can do this..."
"Well, I'm really uncomfortable with this much riding on my non-technical skills."
"Tell you what; I hear you and Julie Simons are together. Talk it over with her and I'll see if we can send her, too, to back you up."
At home that evening, I discussed it with Julie.
"Now they're talking about sending you with me."
"Well, that would make it easier to keep you away from those Geishas."
"Actually, that's a misconception, you have to build up a relationship for quite awhile before anything happens. They're mostly decorative."
"Now whose been researching?"
"I wanted to find out the protocols of big deals in Japan; the western representations are practically drunken orgies of celebration, and I wouldn't enjoy that and didn't want to insult my hosts."
"Ah, you'd pass up a drunken orgy for me? That sweet! Anyway, it turns out there is more of a culture of this there then I knew from earlier reading. I've even started noting some addresses in Osaka that I found on Google; we can start by emailing them ahead of time."
"Now, you're starting to scare me. If this goes wrong, I could be the one thing that blows this deal."
"If this goes right, Karen could be the one thing that makes this deal."
"That's just too much pressure on a figment of anyone imagination."
"You want a repeat of the other night? Imagination in bundles, but that was no figment in bed with me. That was real. Confidentially, our instructor, Sarah, wondered about Karen; you were too real, she figured you must have done this before..."
"Hand to my heart, never. Let me point out to Jack the downside once more and see if he's serious."
In the end, Jack was so serious, not only did he throw in a all-expenses paid 2 week vacation in Japan for both of us, not counting against our vacation days, he threw in enough of a bonus for a down payment on a new car.
When I accepted, I gave the board a audio copy of the presentation I'd done at home as Karen, to put their minds at ease. This was going to be tough enough without anxious calls from home. Let them wonder how I'd improved so much in 6 hours...
And with that, against my better judgement, operation Victoria was on. (What, you thought I'd name it "Tootsie"?)
We flew in to Osaka from O'Hare on a non-stop flight. Clearing customs proved to be a breeze. The flight took 16 ¼ hours, and there was even an Uber waiting as we exited the terminal with our luggage.
My first surprise was that rather than a western style hotel, Julie had booked us into the local equivalent of a bed & breakfast.
"We're going to be here for weeks; this was much more affordable. Besides, do you want to visit Japan and not get a feel for the culture? I should hope not!"
The second surprise was the hair place Julie had found. She had dealt with them through email; they were very fluent in English, and said they dealt with customers like me all the time.
But they didn't bring out a wig for Karen; instead, they started in to washing what hair I had and coloring and highlighting it, before starting in on my extensions.
Extensions? I looked at Julie.
"What? It turns out these will be easier to care for and cheaper in the end. We won't have to just waste them, like we would a wig, before the return flight, because they'll be ready to come out before that." she explained, reasonably enough.
But at the next place, things went sideways on me, again. There, after the waxed me, they started spreading adhesive, but they spread it all over my newly smooth chest, not merely where I was used to. My startled noises (that stuff was cold) attracted Julie's attention.
She explained that they'd just started using a new breastplate design instead of the old style prosthetics, and were offering an introductory price that was very reasonable
Finally, they had me pull on layers of tights, sandwiched some foam padding between them, and then pantyhose.
Julie looked on, with a smirk. "See? Now you have fine, wide, child-bearing hips! Make good wife!"
Clearly, I'd left her alone too much during the planning phase of the trip.
The specialty work being out of the way, I then dressed in some clothing we'd carried in Julie's suitcase, and went to a nail salon, where I had a pedicure and manicure with acrylic nails to all four appendages. Which was an odd experience, I'd had no idea that they did that to toenails, too. "The rest, I can figure, but the toenails?" I asked Julie.
"You should be as consistent as possible to reinforce your self image. Besides, there are beaches here; you might want to show them off," was her reply.
And while we'd been discussing that, they'd started in on my fingers, revealing to me that I was to receive nails longer than I'd ever borne before, colored a subtle matte light blue. I surrendered to Julie's plan entirely at that point, and didn't even question the choice, which made her look smug.
Finally, we went to some clothing shops. We were looking for a business suit. The one's Julie set aside had a blouse with a lower neckline than I was used to, but I guess that's what the breastplate was for.
I tried it on; I'd had cleavage before, by shading my chest, but now I had noticeable cleavage. Really noticeable. And really dimensional, too.
At the end, walking back to the B&B so Julie could see if I'd forgotten how to move in heels, or if the hip pads were hard to move in, I asked, "Ok, what was all that about?"
"What, the hair? This will look better and be more secure."
"Yes, the hair, to start with. My hair will be this color for our full vacation!"
"And the extensions will last that long too, if you want them to," she informed me, happily, "You'll have a chance to experience life with longer hair," was her answer. I was beginning to see an agenda here.
"So will the nails, if you're wondering," she added, preempting any comment I might be about to make.
The next day was the last of the days we'd allowed for adjustment and getting over jetlag. We just did tourist things around the Osaka area. Of course, part of the idea is that I did them as Karen, in her newly completed form, in a sundress.
The night before the presentation, we did a dress rehearsal, which was perfection itself.
And then, Julie bade me good night, and spread some covers out on the tatami mats by the door to our room
"I don't want you to lose your edge. Tonight you get the bed, and sleep as Karen," she informed me, firmly.
I groused about it, but she held her ground.
The morning of the presentation dawned clear, warm, sunny, and not windy, fortunately enough for our skirts, which, following local fashion, were on the short side.
We again had an Uber, this time to corporate headquarters. There, they prepared photo badges for us, sans names, color coded red to inform anyone that saw them that we were vistors.
Upstairs, we were ushered into a conference room with a large table. The directors all stood, and we made our bows. Then the company president led me to the end away from the windows, with the white board and all the media gear around it.
Julie took up her position at the production switcher, checking things over, and I saw her nod and give me the ok to start
After the president introduced me, I gave a formal bow to the board of directors, and launched into the presentation, writing my name on the white board, and pacing in front of it, making diagrams as needed. Fortunately, the room was cold, so I didn't work up as much of a sweat as I normally do (which would have been a giveaway, with the breastplate).
There were many questions. I answered them as quickly and concisely as possible, mentioning that these were exactly the techniques the company I was with had pioneered and perfected over the last decade. In the end, my sense of the room was that they agreed with me that we should do the work.
After the presentation, Julie gave me an all clear sign when all the feeds were definitely cold. I breathed a sigh of relief. The CEO expressed his thanks, mentioning that is was in no small way due to someone from my company undetaking this trip. And for a woman to be confident enough to do it counted for a lot in the decision! I felt myself turn red; I'd also seen where his male gaze had been centered while he talked to me; I excused myself to get a bottle of water.
At the food table, the company president, Satashi-san, took me aside. At least his eyes stayed properly on my face.
"I dont't know that you'll have all the words; this note is for you. If it were not for your efforts, this deal would not have gone through. Thank you for all your extraordinary work on this proposal; the merger of our companies will be strong and resolve a number of issues, and you will not find us ungrateful."
The idea that our companies were to merge was news to me, and explained why people had kept reiterating that this had been all important.
I handed the note to Julie, as she was now in the role of my assistant.
"I'm happy merely pursuing technical solutions, sir."
"That is as your chairman told me. He sends his thanks, also."
The two of them had been discussing me? Uh oh...
"He said you were a most unique, and a most modest man, and I concur and told him so. Again, many thanks. Perhaps when you get to Tokyo, I can show both of you the sight," He bowed to me and then departed. As did we, this time choosing to take a train back to our lodgings.
As we walked to the station and discussed how the presentation had gone:
"Julie? Satashi-san called me a modest man. Is that some translation problem, do you think?", I asked her.
"No, my dear; you've been rumbled. Look at the note he gave you."
I took it back from Julie.
It was folded over; inside, it read, "From one Otokonoko to another, again, my eternal thanks. I hope to talk to you and your girlfriend at more length, some day. In the meantime, you must go to Akihabara on your travels, before going home. Next trip, perhaps I can show it to you both."
"That's in Tokyo, where we'll be next week. Also, Satashi-san recommended a Geisha transformation place for gaijin in Kyoto he says is a lot of fun. Won't we be in Kyoto end of this week?", she asked me.
"He knew all along..."
"Yes, but he seems to have kept all the secrets."
"I should have known; he was the only one not staring down my cleavage..."
I said, just as we passed through the entrance to the station, together.
"Tomorrow, let's go shopping and at least get you a good pair of walking shoes. Those office heels will ruin your feet," said the woman who was the only reason I knew how to walk in heels in the first place.
She continued, head down over her smartphone, "And I think I even found a good swimsuit for you."
It did take her several seconds to notice I'd stopped dead in my tracks as she continued on...
That night in the hotel, "Where did you put the solvent for this breast plate?" I asked her from the bathroom, cleaning off my makeup and getting ready for bed.
"I'm not sure which bottle it was, it didn't come with any at the store. How do you write "solvent" in katakana, again?"
Uh oh...
Homecoming. The most miserably cold and wet game yet. The sidelines churned to a sea of mud, and I had to go and slip.
Waving goodbye to the rest of the cheer squad, I snuck into the girls showers. I unpinned my muddy wig, and ran a hot shower.
Sudsing my sweaty, flattened hair, I heard a scream. Clearing my eyes, I saw that Brittany had come back, for some reason.
"I just ducked in here to grab a shower," I claimed, "I didn't think any girls were here."
"Nice try, ASHLEY, but you left your locker open. You're busted. Still, I shouldn't be surprised, but I did think it was only me," she said, removing her wig.
There was a exclamation from off to one side, "What??!?"
We looked. Tiffany was in the locker area. Behind her, the rest of the squad was filing in.
Tiff continued, "You guys are guys, too?"
"You are all boys," said Miss Landmeier, our coach, entering from the hall, "And I had Thanksgiving in the Teacher's Pool for you discovering it, so I guess I lose the pool again."
Sitting Pretty
Lynda Shermer
I was earning a little extra pocket money by babysitting. These particular fraternal twins responded best, it seems, to the supposed extra authority of a male.
Beth and Sam were fraternal, but still quite similar.
The second time I sat, they had been messing about in the kitchen, and had two glasses. One held grape juice, the other pink lemonade.
Beth drank the grape juice, and Sam the pink lemonade, and for the rest of the evening, they pretended to be each other.
Next time I sat, they repeated this, but offered me a glass of pink lemonade. I drank it, but didn't change how I behaved.
"Why doesn't it effect you?," Sam asked.
"The mature person has elements of both genders in their behavior, so it doesn't affect me as much."
"Gender?"
"Boy ness and girl ness."
The time after, we repeated this. Clearly this game had staying power. So next time, I came prepared.
Talking to my girlfriend, I borrowed certain props.
Once again, they gave me a large glass of pink lemonade. I drank it down, and started rubbing my neck, "ah, that was good. Did you change the recipe?"
"No, same as always."
"Odd. I'll be back in a moment."
In the bathroom, I pulled my backpack from the hiding spot. Stripping, I pulled on my dance belt and panties, and panty hose, and a pushup bra. Then I put my outer clothing back on.
I went back out to the children, and we started a game of monopoly. After half an hour, we stopped for more to drink. Again, when I excused myself, I effected changes, this time, girls running shoes, mascara, and a silkier blouse that buttons on the other side.
By this time, the children were squirming; they kept stealing glances at me, and looking at each other sidelong.
I reversed the alterations, in reverse order of steps before the parents came home.
A day later, I got a call from Sharon, their mother.
"The kids adore you, and we have a major social event next weekend. I was wondering if we could hire you for next Saturday. There would be extra money in it for you."
"Sure. I have nothing pressing then."
Then I started thinking about the kids. I'd have to plan something special to hold their attention. I called my Talli, with an idea. She agreed to help.
Starting that evening, she helped me practice and learn.
On Saturday, I went over, said farewell to their parents, and suggested drinks. They looked at me weird.
This time, as the afternoon progressed, I gradually added more makeup, changed my mannerisms and speech, and at the ultimate step, changed to a skirt and casual heels, and put a wig over my hair with an Alice band. When I came out, they stood stock still with their mouths open.
"What, sillies?", I teased them in my higher pitch voice.
Just then, my phone rang. It was the children's mother. Their father had taken seriously ill at the event, and they were at the emergency room. He might have had a heart attack.
I promised to bring the children immediately. She spoke to them, and told them to go with me.
I'd transferred my usual pocket clutter to a purse as part of my outfit, so I grabbed that, and herded the children out to the car.
Arriving at the hospital, there was an attempt to block me. Thinking, I explained I was the sick man's niece, and that his children were in my care. They reluctantly let me in as far as the ICU waiting area.
Sharon was there. "Thank you for bringing the children," she said.
"Oh, no trouble."
"Oh, it would seem to be a little trouble, maybe. I see that the children are still playing that silly game. How should I address my niece, dear?"
"Oh, aunt Sharon, always kidding. As Alice, as always, of course."
She took the children in to see their father, who was unconscious, and then I took them home, where I distracted them with monopoly, as usual. When "aunt" Sharon came home to report their father had regained consciousness, and been diagnosed with chest pain but not a heart attack, and then fallen asleep, every one was quite cheered.
I left, and drove to Talli's place.
I explained the events of the day to her.
"How terrible," she said, "But that doesn't explain why you are still dressed up, my dear...?", she asked in leading tones.
"Alice, I guess. At least, that's what I told the hospital."
"Best to be consistent then, but still, why?"
"Well, I just seem to be better deal with the emotions like this. I don't know why." and started sobbing.
She hugged me. And when I was cried out, she held me.
And started nibbling on my earlobe. And then, squirmed around until I straddled her. Her hands wormed up under my blouse and cupped my bra cups. I could feel some pressure as she rubbed them. It felt good. No, it felt wonderful! I abandoned myself to the feeling on my chest, of my flattened pelvis pressed against hers, of my bra straps, of my pantyhose, the arches my shoes forced my feet into, the brush of hair on my shoulders, the taste of my lipstick, the scent of my powder.
In that instant, legs spread on my favorite person, I was a girl.
And I liked it. And I orgasmed. But it was nothing compared to our orgasms later, when we were both in nighties.
The next day, I got a call. "We're going out of town next Saturday, for some tests, and we wondered if you'd sit the kids again, but for the whole weekend. Only..."
"Yes?"
"Well, the kids wondered if Alice could sit for them."
"I suppose that could be arranged. It might be her farewell performance, though."
"That would be ok, I'm sure. It would give the kids closure, I guess."
I mentioned this to Talli. "You'll need a more serious look. Stilettos and tight jeans, and cleavage. Let's go all out, seeing as it might be their last meeting."
We went shopping again, and this time, afterwards, I had good breast forms, a corset, padding for my lower body, tight jeans, and three inch heels. My new wig was shoulder blade length.
I went over to my girlfriends place Friday afternoon, and we went to work. She attached my breast forms to my chest, and glued my lace wig to my scalp.
"there. Now, you're set for a month."
"A month? This is just for The weekend."
"I mean, it would hold for a month if we wanted it to."
This time, when they poured, we all had pink lemonade. Sam started acting girly.
About half an hour later, Sam started crying.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't do this as well as you do," he pouted.
One of the more unusual jobs I've held was for an answering service. I am Paul Burrows, although as you'll see, that can be optional.
Located in a small room upstairs in a building in Chicago's "Loop" that also housed a hotel, it offered a human touch to business and professional people seeking a more personal approach than voice mail or recording systems, which some customers highly valued.
We worked in shifts: early morning, afternoon and evening; and in the late night, when we went home, the computer took over and acted as an answering machine. The crew on each shift was usually one male and two females, as some clients didn't care who answered the phone, and others wanted to make a very specific impression, and that frequently included a female receptionist; this resulted in me being needed mostly when things got busy, so I had lots of time to study in the office. I was preparing to return to college, after having dropped out to care for my elderly parents for three years, until they passed away.
We all worked at desks, wearing headsets, with a computer in front of us. The computer routed the call according to the database, providing information about the client, any specific instructions, and the caller id information, if received, although we were trained not to address the callers by name; people found it disconcerting to be named before they announce themselves.
Clients either called for their messages, or (more rarely) picked them up in person. Mail could be held, as well. We actually had several clients who lived in the residential parts of the hotel, and would show up for their messages wearing slippers.
One day, while I was still new to the job, I'd been insulted by an insistent caller. As soon as I'd gotten rid of them, the phone rang again. Still irritated, I'd answered with something other than the calm professional voice and prescribed greeting. It was a doctor named Willis, calling to pick up his his messages, and he had his instructions amended to specify female only on his line. Then, a few weeks later, when everyone else was busy, he called again, and getting me (although much more politely), went ballistic. He complained to the boss, and the instructions were further amended to bar me from answering his line. I got a black mark on my employee records, and was warned, officially, not to do it again, "or else."
The day the whole thing started, I was working with June Sommers and Alice Blake. Alice had seniority, and was my shift supervisor. She was a bit of an enigma, not revealing much about her life outside the office, and always dressed in a very professional, conservative manner, despite the hours we worked, typically early afternoon, into the evening. She'd hand picked me and June, and kept the schedule so that we mostly worked together, three afternoon and evenings, and one morning, every week.
June, on the other hand, was very casual and informal, dressed accordingly, and was quite verbose about her personal life and preferences. She seemed to constantly have boyfriend trouble, and would discuss it during breaks between calls, if you didn't distract her.
As I say, most of my shifts were spent with Alice and June. When I'd first trained, I'd worked with Alice, another girl, and Phil Richards. Phil was one of the other two males working in the office, and clearly a major annoyance to Alice. As soon as I'd gone through the shakedown process, Alice moved to my shift, leaving Phil to the mercy of the assistant manager.
Initially, I'd worried about making friends at work; I was just there for a couple of years to earn money, while I prepared to return to college and my CS degree. I'd heard about the job from a friend who'd installed their equipment, and I guess they liked my voice, because I was hired shortly after my interview with Alice.
Initially, I'd tried to break the ice with all the employees at the service, even inviting my them to an improv show put on as a final exercise for a drama workshop I took to keep my hand in before returning to school. (My degree would be in CS, but I'd enjoyed my involvement in theatre and theatre tech in high school, and kept it up in College, volunteering for stage crew.) Phil proved to be a loud and obnoxious audience member. June had had a little better luck, getting our shifts to loosen up (except for Alice, of course) when she started dragging us to the bar around the corner after work, before we all went our various transit assisted ways. I don't normally drink much, but I would have one for the sense of camaraderie.
That day, June was complaining about this Ethiopian restaurant her boyfriend had dragged her to the night before.
"I mean, isn't Ethiopia where they are always having famines? How do they even have a cuisine?"
As the afternoon progressed, she was feeling queasier and queasier and starting to look a bit green, when finally she became nauseated. Alice rushed her down the hall to the ladies washroom, and left me manning the phones. It was a slow day, so there was a chance we'd get away with it. But just then, the phone rang. I hit the override, and the record came up on my screen. The totals showed several messages which claimed to be urgent. And then I saw who it was: Dr. Willis, presumably calling to pick up his messages. Worst case, realized. He was one of the longest standing customers of the service, so I had to do something. What had gotten me in trouble before? Too informal. The sheet said, female preferred, and most of all, Not Me... Formal and female. Well, I certainly couldn’t do anything about the "not me" part... Closing my eyes, my mind came up blank, until finally, one lone idea popped into it, born of an exercise in acting class. Taking a deep breath, and recalling years of Masterpiece Theatre on PBS, I said, "Good afternoon, Dr. Willis' office," in my best attempt at a cultured upper class British woman's voice!
He asked for his messages, and I read them off the screen, hoping he wouldn't figure anything out. But then, unlike the few times I'd dealt with him before I'd been banned, when I finished the messages, he continued.
"Thank you, young lady. And may I ask your name?"
"We don't generally give out that information, sir."
"But I am a client."
"Very well," I temporized, trying to think of an appropriate name. "My name is Felicity." Ummm, "Felicity Martin."
"Well, thank you, Ms. Martin; this was quite a pleasant call. I hope to talk to you again."
"Thank you, sir, but I am just a temp here."
And thought nothing more about it; Alice came back, having bundled June into a cab, to go home until she felt better.
Or at least, thought nothing more of it until the next day, when a call came in for Dr. Willis, and after June (feeling much better after a nights digestion, and some soup) had dealt with it, she froze the screen, and asked us in general, "Who is Felicity Martin?"
Alice, unwittingly acting as straight man, asked, "Who?"
"Dr. Willis' instructions say that Felicity Martin is to handle his calls, when possible. Do we have a Felicity on the schedule?"
Alice said, "Not that I can recall, and I do all the training."
"Ummm," I interjected, "Actually, that's me."
"You? But the rest of the instructions say female only, and specifically bars you.", June reminded me.
"Yeah, well, remember yesterday, when you were so sick?"
"Yes...", Alice led off, in a worryingly supervisory tone.
"How could I forget. I had to pay to get the back of the cab cleaned...", June said, at the same time.
"Dr. Willis called, to pick up his messages, and you two were gone. You know how picky he is, and what a major client, and he had some urgents, so I had to do something, but I couldn't risk being myself, after what happened before, so I made something up."
"It must have been quite something, if old sourpuss is asking for you by name, 'Felicity'! How about a sample?"
Embarrassed, I demurred, claiming it had been a stressful moment, and couldn't remember quite what I'd done.
I had not reckoned with how determined Alice was, nor remembered that she had access to the recordings made for quality control purposes, being the supervisor. She called it up, and put it on speaker phone.
They both listened, eyeing me. It had been me speaking, of course, and recordings of your own voice never sound quite like you think they will, so this was the first time I was able to objectively judge my performance, but I thought it was ok.
June was staring, "Listen to him compliment you! He never says things like that to me. I bet if you'd flirted with him more, you'd get a nice tip come Christmas!"
"Flirted! I just wanted to get off the line as fast as politely possible. I was the only one left in the office."
"You have hidden talents, it seems", June said, eying me speculatively.
"Well, you've seen me do improv."
"Yes, that's why I said hidden", Alice replied, "Were you trying for Jean Marsh there?"
"Something like that; something masterpiece theatre-ish at any rate. I was just trying to avoid my voice breaking in the middle."
"Do it again."
"What? No. It was an emergency."
"It could open up whole new angle to the business. Can you do any other voices?," Alice asked, sounding suspiciously like a supervisor looking to assign more work.
"As I said, I can't even do that one."
And with difficulty, I got them to stop picking at it.
Until, that is, we went around the corner after our shift, for a drink. With my defenses slightly lowered by the one drink I allowed myself on such occasions, they both pressed me again. Finally, I caved in.
Trying hard to recapture my mindset, I closed my eyes, took a breath, exhaled, and said, "What would you like me to say?," in the voice I'd used as Felicity.
"Why, hello, Felicity; it's good to meet you," June replied, "You've made quite an impression on Dr. Willis, evidently."
Alice chimed in with, "So how long do you think you'll be temping at our office, dear?"
"I thought you knew; that was my last day. I doubt you'll see me around after this," I attempted.
"Oh, I think something might be arranged, if you would stay. Dr. Willis is a very good client, and I feel certain a bonus for handling his calls falls within the purview of the supervisor’s discretion."
A bonus? What was going on here? Bonuses were rare indeed in our office.
Staying in character (I had had a drink, which is probably the only reason it seemed like a good idea), I mentioned how unusual that seemed. It seemed, Alice continued, automated answering services were cutting into business and incentives were now being contemplated for client retention.
A few afternoons later, when I came in, Alice greeted me as usual, and June added, "Hi, Felicity!"
I answered, noticing that June was doing her nails, as she tended to, between calls, "Hello, June. I like that nail color on you, what is it?"
"It's called Provence. I was hoping it would be a bit more matte, but it does look ok."
"Can't you just apply a top coat to make it matte? I think Sephora makes one...," I said, trying for a musing intonation.
"Freeze!," Alice said.
I should never have invited my co-workers to that Improv show. This wasn't the first time Alice had taken advantage, but my training held, and I froze.
"Ah, good to see people still keep up the classic exercises... June," she continued, "look at him."
"What?"
"The tilt of his head, what he's doing with his finger?"
"Oh, now I see it. Scary!"
"What?," I asked, recovering the power of speech now that it was clear I was neither on stage or in imminent danger if I moved.
"Your body language when you said that was TOTALLY feminine."
"No way. I don't even know how to read feminine body language, let alone mimic it."
"Actually, you've seen the same cultural conditioning we have, it just isn't aimed at you. Everyone is exposed to it in movies, school, tv, books. Your subconscious seems to have been paying attention, is all."
June added, "And how did you know about the Sephora, anyway?"
"I think I saw an ad somewhere." Actually, I built models, and when you wanted to dull down a paint job to age something, there were a variety of tricks used, and the matte coat was one of them. I had a bottle in my toolbox at home.
"Anyway, June, stop playing with Paul, you'll break him, and then we'll end up with Phil all the time."
"Ewwww. Ok, I'll stop."
All this was at the end of summer. As fall came in, the staff was invited to the Halloween costume ball at the hotel downstairs, a long tradition, with prizes. The offices in the building were eligible as groups. And Alice, in a rare moment of openness, seemed determined to win, and had a concept in mind.
"Typewriter girls," she said.
"Like the play?," I asked. The whole concept of 19th century office melodrama was very fresh at the time, with that play, and “Thoroughly Modern Millie” undergoing a revival in town, the road show of the broadway production.
"Yes. Between the theater, and this steam punk trend I see in the news, clothing that invokes Victorian or Edwardian fashions is quite in."
"Ok, so what's my part? The dashing employer, straw boater at a rakish tilt, who sweeps the girl off her feet and marries her?", I offered up, hopefully.
"Well, Felicity, you ARE part of the office,” she said, wickedly.
"No, no way am I going to something like that in front of an audience."
A day or so later, looking at the call I'd just handled, I was suddenly annoyed.
"Alice! That's not fair!"
"Ah; took you long enough to notice, girl." she replied, with a smirk. I noticed that June was barely restraining a case of the giggles.
Alice had set the computer to route Dr. Willis' calls to my station, and my subconscious, noting the instructions, had been dealing with them as Felicity.
She took me into the managers office, which actually mostly gets used to store spare office equipment and supplies. After talking to the big boss, she had indeed negotiated me a small bonus, if I was willing to deal with Dr. Willis' calls as Felicity, when I was on shift. He was a very good client, but nobody liked dealing with him much. He could be quite mercurial, and had the ear of the services owner. But I now suspected he was a closet Anglophile, and I'd accidentally tripped over the ideal way to deal with him. And the money would be useful at school, I told myself, as I acquiesced
So despite my earlier pleas to the contrary, Felicity hung around. A week later, I was on shift when Dr. Willis called in for his messages.
"Felicity? Is that you? Am I to understand you decided to stay on, after all."
"Yes, well, the other job I was after fell through, and a girl has to eat."
"I don't suppose you'd be interested in working in a medical office, would you?"
"No, Dr. Willis. My true field is tech writing, I only do office work when I have to."
"Pity; since you started taking my calls, I've had a number of patients linger after their office visits, trying to meet you. They seem quite disappointed when told you are just with my answering service. I can't help but think that with you in the office, they might actually start remembering to cover their co-pays on the way out, and when their next office visits are scheduled." Oh! The old schemer!
"Why, Dr. Willis, you flatterer."
After the call ended, June, who had overheard all that, said "You're a shoe-in for that tip in your Christmas card now, girl."
There were attempts to convince me to branch out further, explore whether my theater training could enhance the office ambiance on calls, and relieve the load on the girls on shift by filling in as Felicity (or someone else), I rebuffed them, although one evening, under the influence of a rare second drink, I did extend the repertoire with Susan, who was just a typical soft spoken girl from the midwest. But that was a temporary aberration, or so I thought at the time.
Conversation in the office had gotten a little odder since Felicity first appeared, with June making occasional attempts to involve me in the banter of girl talk, which I steadfastly maintained I was not equipped for. I did find I was paying more attention to my clothing and appearance, as well as that of my colleagues. I could now identify more than seven colors, for example.
June started talking even more about her boyfriend. They were having some trouble, and at times, the details she confided bordered on the intimate, making me blush. I could not understand why she felt comfortable confiding them in me. She certainly never shared with Alice, who remained above such petty concerns. Alice remained relatively closed, an enigma.
So, typewriter girls. Needless to say, I was not having any part of it. Alice tried to persuade me, on one of the rare evenings when we were short handed, running with just the two of us.
"Oh, come on, Felicity. This is perfect for you. Extremely prim and proper. Demure, even."
"And what makes you think I'm demure?"
"In all the time you've worked here, no mention of a girlfriend, no talk of dates. You go with us for an occasional social drink, and other than that, all I see is studying. You've never even hit on any of the girls you've worked with here in the office, that I've heard about."
"I was with a girl, back in school, but she died of cancer. I've sort of been in mourning ever since. I have my social circle, it's just that their interests aren't shared with any of you at the office."
"Oh? I suppose these are friends of yours from college. So, gaming, comics, SF books, and movies?"
"Yeah, things like that."
"What did you think of the latest Neal Stephenson? I thought he dealt with his problem with endings better than usual. And were you able to get all the way through Anathem? I'd swear I did, but can't remember a darn thing after the initial setup. And, I'd guess you are a Stross fan. And Pratchett? Bujold?"
"I've been reading Pratchett since before Discworld became a series. I bought Falling Free in the original paperback. Now you're scaring me. What, did you hack my Amazon account?"
"I hate to break it to you, but you're a stereotype. In fact, my dear," she said, archly, "so far, I don't think I've seen you deviate from it once. How you dress, the things you like, eat, read, and watch. Your studying, your limited social life. I have a cousin who was in marketing, and she taught me the profiles marketing people use to categorize people, and you fit your little market niche perfectly. You are utterly predictable."
It dawned on me that she was calling me a sheep! I wanted to try to prove my individualism, but the few things I could think of were really personal, and I found myself at a loss. So I tried a different tack.
"Well, I may be a stereotype, but you at least knew it. You could predict I'd know what you were talking about, and that all my friends would, too, I bet. And you and I merely work together. But you! You knew those things, too, and no one here would have a clue. How many of your friends would know those things, let alone know you liked them? So I'm predictable, but you are lying to those people, and HIDING parts of who you are!"
"For that matter, you've heard me speak of gaming, parties, dinner, and movies with my friends in my time here, all of which stitched me up in your stereotype, but I've never heard you speak of your life outside the office, and June assures me that, in all the time she's worked here, neither has she."
She was thunderstruck. I could see her mentally tabulating her friends and considering, and I didn't like what was happening to her face. Finally, she started sobbing, and ran out the door. Before it closed, I could see her turn for the ladies room and not the elevators, at least. Just then the phone at her station rang. I sighed, hit the override, and looked at the screen. Female requested. Barely realizing what I was doing, I dredged up my Susan voice, and dealt with the call. Then, I did something we were only supposed to do under the direst of emergencies, and put things on divert. All the screens turned red. Everything was going to the computer, which would deal with it like an old fashioned answering machine. I went down the hall, and taking a deep breath, entered the ladies room.
In passing, I noticed that it was in better shape than the men's room next to it: better lighting, fresher smelling, the wallpaper was in better shape, and there was a couch where the urinals would have been.
The strained voice of Alice came out of a stall, "Get out of here, this is the ladies room! You can't be in here!"
No way I was going to let her go sit there alone, she was a 'mate. Without thought, I called upon Susan again. "I have to pee, really bad!" and entered the next stall, dropped my jeans, and sat down.
"What are you doing? Get out of here!," Alice said, outraged.
"I'm peeing," I said, still as Susan.
When I finished, I stood up, pulled my clothes up, and flushed. Stopping at the outside of her stall, I rapped lightly, and said, "I'm sorry I said those things. You should come back to the office and berate me some more. Or ignore me, but please, please, PLEASE come back to the office. I put it on redirect."
She gasped, and opened the door, I turned away, so as not to embarrass her, and crossed to the mirror. Waiting to get behind her to herd her back to the office, I needed to kill a little time, so, in a silly mood, I went to the big mirror, and played with my hair, and pooched up my lips, like girls do at the mirrors in the movies. It must have been the right thing, as Alice kept coming, looked at me, and, rolling her eyes, did something to her face with some stuff from her purse, and then led the way out.
Back at the office, I checked the counter; one call, and not for someone that would hit the roof at having been left at the mercy of a machine. Good. "Oh, I took one call before I came after you. The details are on the machine," and with that, started transcribing the recording so it could be read to the recipient when they called for the message.
After which, two calls came in at the same time, and things were busy for a bit.
In the next quiet period, Alice turned to me at the desk, and said, "I'm sorry I called you a stereotype. I'm certain you are an individual. Stereotypes have the characteristics they do because they fit people, people don't try to fit stereotypes; at least, smart ones don't. We good?"
"You know it!"
"But... may I ask a question?"
"Sure."
"Why am I still talking to Susan?"
My jaw dropped. I was still talking like Susan?
Alice walked around the end of the desk, "Look at how you are sitting. Normally, you sprawl in that chair. But you are sitting upright, straight spine, feet together, no! Now, legs crossed at the ankles!"
She was absolutely right. I nervously brushed some of my medium length mousy brown hair behind my ear, and then stared, aghast, at my traitorous hand. And "mousy"? Where had that come from? I had brown hair. It was brown. Brown hair was brown hair, wasn't it?
"Wow, I've been working with only you girls for company for too long," I observed.
"No, earlier tonight everything was normal. And now, it's different. Oh, and you're still doing it, by the way. You also took that last call on your phone as Susan."
I closed my eyes, summoned up my self image, and said,"Right! So how about now, back to normal?"
"No, now you sound like Susan with a sore throat."
"Darn!," I said, and stamped my foot, starting to panic. I was breathing hard, and started to hyperventilate. But instead of just a classic frantic panic attack, my body blew a safety valve I'd never realized I had, and I started sobbing.
"What is wrong with me," I cried, spasms rocking my body. Alice, looking aghast, came over, after hesitant attempts to position herself, started hugging me, making soothing noises, and stroking the top of my head.
Finally, I more or less stopped. She handed me a handkerchief, and I unconsciously dabbed at my eyes. "Yep, still doing it," she said. "Ohhh, you little...", I replied, and pouted, which practically had her rolling on the floor.
She went back to her desk, and a little later, a call came in on my screen, I looked. One of the customers that requested a man answer their calls. I hit the button with fear, "Good evening, tri-bar associates," I said. In my normal voice!
"Ah, good. Professionalism can pull you out of it." the voice on the line said. It was Alice; I looked, she was on her cellphone, and had blocked caller id.
"That was a dirty trick, and I thank you for it."
"Careful, your pitch is rising."
I gave her a dirty look, and hung up. "How about now?" I tried.
"Back to normal. Pity." I left that little statement alone, just glad to be cured.
We closed out the evening normally, and went around the corner. Breaking with tradition, I had two drinks, as I was shaken. Ah, well. At least I wasn't getting stuck as Felicity.
"So what was that all about?", I mused out loud.
"Stress. You enter what you have been conditioned to think of as the sacrosanct of sacrosanct, the ladies room. And your mind just did something weird as a stress reaction. And why were you so harsh on me?"
"When you called me a stereotype, it felt like an attack. So I could ask you the same question. You claim to be so much better at reading people, and all."
"Yeah, well, I think you managed to poke a few holes in that illusion. Call it a draw?"
"Done!" And we shook on it.
Although, there was a follow up. As I came in the next day, June called to me, "So I hear Alice broke you yesterday. What happened?"
"Yeah, she broke me, but fortunately, it seems I have an emergency spare.", I observed, sardonically.
Alice spoke up at this point, "Emergency spare? You're really going with that analogy?"
"Well, yes. Apart from the panic attack, I was able to function as Susan."
"In the office, in the evening, sure. Out in the world, I think you would not find it so easy."
"So, do I get to meet Susan? I'm feeling left out." June pouted.
"I'd rather not; it wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, and we had trouble resetting me," I said, to continue the metaphor.
A week or so later, I was pulling one of my extremely rare shifts with only June. She seemed depressed about something, so after work, at the bar, I asked her what was wrong. She'd broken up with her boyfriend, and I lent her a sympathetic ear, but in there somewhere, attempting to deal with the situation, my mind shifted me to Susan again, without either of us noticing at first. I was comforting one of my best girlfriends, and suddenly we realized that I must be extremely conspicuous. June tried calling my cellphone and asking for Paul, but without either the reinforcement of the computer, or the formal work ethic, it didn't work. I was stuck. She helped me home, wanting to make sure I was safe, and then I was alone.
I sat on the couch, seeking to summon up my strongest male memories. Then, I stood up, and walked to the kitchen. No good. I was taking short steps, feet almost in line, I turned to go back to the couch, and it was a model's turn. Back on the couch, I drew my legs up, hugged my knees and buried my face in them. Clearly, this was going to have to work its way out. Then the phone rang. The caller id said it was my aunt Phyllis! My favorite aunt, sole remaining female relative. Surely talking to her would fix this!
"Hello?"
"Oh, sorry, dear. I was trying to reach my nephew, Paul Burrows, he is usually home about now. I must have a wrong number; I'm sorry to have rung so late."
"No, this is his number," drat! I wasn't resetting, what to do?
"He's just not in at the moment," I temporized.
"And who am I speaking with?"
"My name is Susan, I'm just a neighbor. Paul had to run out to get milk, and asked me in to keep an eye on something simmering on the stove."
Why was I reluctant to tell her what was wrong? It seemed too complicated to cover on the phone, without her being able to see it with her own eyes.
"Oh. Well, when he comes back, have him call me on my cellphone, I need to ask him a favor. It was nice to speak to you, and perhaps I'll get to meet you, next time I visit. Goodbye, dear."
"Goodbye."
And as I hung up, my body was wracked with sobs. That SHOULD have worked.
Finally, I went and prepared for bed, slipping fitfully into the oblivion of sleep.
The next morning, I jumped out of bed, and ran to the bathroom as though the mirror might show me anything. Instead, the trip revealed two things: that I was running on my tiptoes, and that getting ready for bed last night, I'd donned my longest t-shirt and a pair of men's bikini briefs I'd bought out of curiosity and then thrown in a drawer.
I was still stuck, and was going to have to be very careful. It was a good thing none of the extremely rare females who'd slept here had left anything behind, or I might have been subconsciously dressing in it.
I figured there was nothing to be done until I got to work, so I tidied the apartment, and made myself a cup of tea. Finally, I got dressed for work, and made my way in to the office. There, I greeted Alice, and glared at June. "Oh, dear. Susan?", Alice said.
Before I could reply, June piped up with, "Yeah, I broke him this time. Last night."
"Overnight? That seems like a bad sign. Any odd effects?"
I related the catalog of things my subconscious had managed to do to me without my permission.
"Well, enough's enough. Let's reset you.". She sat at her station, I sat at mine, and she called in. My screen lit up, and I took the call.
"Um, Susan? It didn't work.", she told me, as it concluded.
"What?!!?", but indeed, I was still talking and acting as Susan. This was beginning to look serious.
"Well, let's just do our work, and hope that it still works when it happens spontaneously. We'll treat you as Paul, so that if we miss the shift, you don't fall back in response. Ok, Paul?"
"I guess it is all we can do. And June, I'm going to get even for this!"
"You and what girl scout troop?"
As I've said before, about two thirds of the customers preferred females answer their phones, so we didn't get too many specific requests for males. I dealt with a number of calls as Susan, when one came in for Dr. Willis.
Maybe this would help! I'd never done Felicity as Susan, only as Paul. I took the call, the familiar voice and cadences of Felicity coming to the fore.
As soon as I finished, Alice sharply called out, "Paul! Look out!"
I stopped, and looked around, "What?"
"Drat. Still Susan."
Oh, she had just been trying to startle me back into myself.
"Good try, Alice," but Susan was still very much present.
Finally, a male specified call came in during a busy period. I dealt with it, and as I hung up, Alice pounded on the override key, cutting my station out of the system.
"Paul?"
"Yeah? Oh, thank goodness."
"Keep going. I want to be sure."
"So far, the switch back is pretty binary. Once I'm back, I'm back."
"Yeah. Both times. So far. Not a great sample size."
Noticing, June started apologizing, and made to come over to hug me.
Alice stopped her, "No! None of that. If he gets to comforting you back, he might slip. Suck it up, both of you!"
Pleading an important family call, I went down the hall with my cellphone, and called aunt Phyllis back.
"I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to you."
"Oh, no problem. But do tell me all about this Susan I talked to yesterday. She sounded quite pleasant. Are the two of you an item?"
"No, auntie, that would be quite impossible. It's complicated. I'll tell you all about it next time I see you."
"Ah, you might not be quite as safe as you imagine, trying that old dodge. Here, we come to the favor I mentioned."
It seems she had fallen and had emergency hip surgery. She would be released a little before Halloween, and it was recommended she have someone to watch her for the first week or so, and all the usual therapists were booked. Was I willing to come and stay?
"Of course. Email me the details, and I'll get my schedule fixed to allow it."
"Good, I can't wait to hear about your work, and this Susan!"
"Don't get your hopes up..."
And we said our goodbyes.
I got through the rest of the evening ok, although I did feel a little resentment at how Alice had treated us. She always held herself so separate, showing so little. It was annoying.
"I'm thinking it might be a good idea to pull Felicity out of the system," Alice started, when we were at the bar, after work (I was only having a virgin Mary, as letting down my critical faculties seemed like a bad idea just then). "Even though you don't have issues with her, it was sort-of a gateway that led to this whole Susan business. Dr. Willis will just have to make due with the rest of us."
"I should probably just go see an analyst."
"Well, if you get stuck again, it might be good to have one you can call. What if this had been a holiday? You could have been stuck for three or four days. We might not even have gotten to you before you developed fashion sense."
"What, you don't like this lime green t-shirt?"
"It's the one thing that gave me assurance that Susan had not moved in for good when you came in today," June chimed in with.
"And," Alice continued, "I think we have to let you off the hook on the Halloween thing. Too dangerous."
"Ah, about that. It turns out, I have to beg off anyway." And I told them about my aunt, "I guess Phil will be filling in for me. You can check how he looks in a dress."
"Wow, breaking a favorite aunts hip just to get out of dressing up? Pretty extreme.", June said.
Alice chimed in with, "I'm not really convinced Phil has the figure for this. You're really letting the side down here, Felicity. Take photos, we'll need proof. And entertainment, I suspect." The office opinion of Phil was not high, which is why they had arranged things to share shifts with me.
So I was out of town for all of halloween, which is one of my favorite nights of the year. My aunt Phyllis wasn't any trouble, being an eminently practical person, and didn't object to how we'd have to rearrange things in her house so she could live entirely on the ground floor for awhile.
While I was looking things over to plan this, she brought up the subject of Susan, and I started telling her about the office, how each shift had one man, and two women due to customer preferences, and how Felicity had been invented, and how, later, Susan came to be.
"Oh, so that woman I spoke to on the phone..."
"Was me. Sorry. That time I got stuck overnight."
"My, my. And you came up with the story about the neighbor to avoid the subject."
"Well, it seemed to me that, just telling you the whole thing, cold, would have taken a long time, particularly to convince you I wasn't just playing a really elaborate practical joke. And it was late, I was stressed, and I'd been crying pretty hard."
"Yes, that might be so. You were quite convincing. I had no clue it was you on the phone. And the only thing that has snapped you out of it so far was an absolute requirement to do something that has to be done by Paul. A duty, as it were."
"That seems about right."
"Sounds dangerous. If it happens again, you'll have to come up with a better solution."
On Halloween, she sat on the porch glider, covered with an afghan, and praised the costumes and handed out the candy. She had a wound dressing on her head, and a tall pointy hat, and when people asked, she said she was a witch who'd had a broom accident. She would cackle, and say, "See? Totally ruined my nose," fingering her cute little button nose. It broke everyone up.
Once the rush thinned out, she asked for more details about my coworkers. After I told her some stories, she mused, "June doesn't seem to take things too serious. I'd watch out for her, she might trigger Susan just for fun. I'd like to know more about this Alice, though."
"Everyone would. She's the major office enigma."
"Some sorrow in her past, I wouldn't be surprised. I hope she recovers. Susan... You know, if you had been a girl, you mother always said you would have been named Susan Marie."
"Weird. I wonder if that's how I came up with the name Susan. I might have remembered that, subconsciously."
"It would be dangerous to ask to speak with her again, so we shan't experiment that way. But you say that don't have issues with this Felicity, so..."
Well, as I said, she was my favorite aunt. So I prepared myself, and said "Hello, Phyllis, it is nice to meet you. I am Felicity Martin. Paul has told me so much about you. You know, you are his favorite aunt."
"He's a sweet boy, but I believe I am his sole surviving aunt, as well; still, I worry about him, off in such a big city. It sounds like he is doing alright."
"Well, he has his old college friends."
"As well as some at work, it seems."
She had me talk about work and my co-workers, again, after which we exchanged a few pleasantries, and then I went back to Paul, with great relief. "Well, you don't get stuck as her, at least. I wonder why? Still, did you notice? While you were speaking as Felicity, your posture changed and you moved differently."
"I'm sitting in a chair! How did I move?"
"You sat up straight, extending your neck, partially turned on the seat toward me, placed your feet, closed your legs at the knee, and played with your hair, holding your hands in your lap otherwise. In short, you held yourself as a correct young woman. Bravo, or should I say Brava?"
"This is just getting weird. After this, I'm going to have to go to a football game, belch a lot, and get into a bar fight to re-establish my street cred as a guy."
"I don't think it's quite that bad, but I must say, while you didn't strike me as gloomy before, while you were channeling Felicity, you were smiling more."
"Channeling? It was just acting."
"I'm not sure it's acting if you aren't consciously thinking it through. Also, it’s interesting, there were differences in how you described your co-workers, as Felicity. And I'd swear it was just flowing organically. Somewhere, inside you, you have a considered self image as Felicity, which you were calling upon. I don't think it was too detailed a self image, and you seem to have created it from too much BBC, but it was there. And I think the reason you get stuck as Susan is you have a much more detailed self image of Susan. I think you need to let her out and see what happens, in safe surroundings, and soon. She's leaking."
"Phyllis, I hate to remind you, but your degree is in nutrition, not psychology. You worked in a hospital dietary department."
"True, but irrelevant. I'm right, you'll see," she said, airily.
"Yes, aunt Phyllis," and with that, the subject was dropped.
A few days later, I drove back to Chicago, and forgot all about it. My first day back at work, June and Alice showed me pictures of the costume group, which had come in second, behind a group of zombie personal injury attorneys, which I had to admit was tough to beat. Phil had been there, but they'd let him off the hook, letting wear an Edwardian suit, complete with straw boater.
"Now, that is what I'd have wanted to do! The costume is exactly what I'd visualized, although I dare to hazard, Phil played it a bit more, um, grabby?"
"Yes, that's right," June admitted.
"That's hardly acting for him. I worked a few shifts with him for training, and he kept wanting to compare notes about conquests. I would have played it gallant and oblivious."
"You'd just have been cribbing from 'Thoroughly Modern Millie', you mean," Alice objected.
"Well, it's a good interpretation of the role."
"Still, you seem to be good at that visualization stuff alright. I mean, between Felicity and Susan...", June hinted.
"Yeah, my aunt said something about how I made up a whole internal self image for each of them, on the fly."
"Well, Felicity, maybe, but I suspect Susan is a bit different."
"I can't imagine how," I said, and changed the subject.
And a week after that, June, working on her nails, engaged me in casual conversation. Without my noticing, she started calling me Susan. Fortunately, before I absentmindedly started to respond, Alice reprimanded her, "Bad June! Naughty girl. Paul is not a toy!"
I spent the rest of the evening glaring at June. Which broke them both up, every time I did it.
After work, in the bar, where I was continuing my new tradition of not drinking by having another Virgin Mary, Alice turned to face me, and grabbed my hands. "Seriously, I never apologized for getting you in this whole mess, or thanked you for coming after me."
"But I'm the one who upset you."
"Only after I attacked you. At any rate, I feel I should make it up to you. How about you come over Friday night, and I'll make you dinner, and you can subject me to one of those games you claim you play with your friends," clearly goading me to get me to accept, but I had always said I wished I knew more about her, so...
"You're on. I'll try to figure out what to bring to beat the pants off you!" Oops! Not quite the note I wanted to hit.
"Hmm, it seems I've triggered your latent vein of competitiveness. How's Italian sound?"
"A lot like Latin, or French spoken rapidly, I find. Oh, you mean, as food. Sure."
"Don't get your hopes up, I'll probably wimp out with spaghetti and frozen meatballs."
"Well, can we at least heat them, first? Just kidding, that sounds fine."
So it was that, come Friday, the early evening found me standing in the hallway in front of her door, carrying a bottle of wine and a potted plant.
"Oh, my," she said when she opened the door, "You really went all out, I see."
"Well, I figured there were amends to make on both sides, and if I brought a peace offering, you might take it easy on me and be more vulnerable when we played."
"Not a chance, buster. Still, the plant might not have been a great idea. I have a bit of a brown thumb."
"Ok, but at least it will give you something to talk to, if I freeze up."
I entered the apartment, and was promptly amazed.
It was compact; no one could afford a lot of space on what we made, the couch was worn but looked comfortable, the coffee table was a trunk with some fabric thrown over it. The tv across from it had the current panoply of video game systems attached (each with only a single controller in evidence, I noted), but it was the bookcases, reaching all the way to the high ceilings and covering the walls, that caught my eye. They were overflowing with books, and game boxes.
I had a copy of fluxx stuck in my coat pocket, figuring than an authority figure like Alice would have been rattled by the extreme mutability of the rules, but there were already three of the variants of fluxx on her shelves, in worn boxes, along with a copy of illuminati. I was going to have to rethink my strategy here, pretty drastically. I put my coat on the couch, and followed her through to the kitchen, where she was opening the wine. She had indeed just made spaghetti and meatballs, although I could see she had put some effort into making her own sauce.
"I'm sorry about the store bought meatballs, but this is spur of the moment."
"They're fine; I normally just use those myself."
"Now go back to the living room, I have a little left to do here."
I went back, and browsed the shelves. In one book, I noted a stamp from a familiar used bookstore.
"Hey, did you go to the University of Illinois in Champaign," I asked her.
"No, I went in Urbana. Sorry, bad joke. Yeah, why?"
"How did you end up answering phones?"
"I could ask the same of you."
She was dodging again; I was standing in her living room, and she was still hiding. Hmmm.
"I had to come back and take care of my parents for a bit, before I was finished at school."
"In my case, it turns out there are fewer jobs for aerospace engineers than I'd assumed when I declared my major."
Wait a second; went to U of I, reads, games, aerospace engineering, name of Alice...
"Were you married?"
"Yeah, very briefly. It didn't work out, and turned out to be a very emotionally painful detour."
That explained why the last name had been unfamiliar; and the hair would not have naturally been that purple...
"Wait, I'm seeing something on the astral plane. I'm seeing blue, pale blue... Alice blue. And now, a green field, a field of alfalfa? Soybeans? No, Grass, no, more yellow, straw, hay. A block of hay. Alice...Hay, Alice...bale; Alice Bailey?"
"Wow, that's some trick! No, wait a second, did someone scribble my name in one of my books when I wasn't looking?"
"No, they're still ok, Mike said you always hated people writing in books."
"Yeah. Wait, how did you know that? You knew Mike?". She ran out of the kitchen, stirring spoon clenched like a weapon, glaring at me like she was about to attack.
"Relax! Mike Wells was my dorm roommate. You changed your hair color. It used to be purple."
Her body went slack, as she looked incredulous.
"Oh, god. Paul. You're THAT Paul. Mike always called you Edgar, making fun of how your last name sounded like Burroughs. How embarrassing..."
"I tried returning the compliment by calling him H. G., but it never caught on. Don't worry about it."
"Actually, I changed a lot of things. Now I owe you a whole bunch of apologies, suddenly. First, for not remembering you, and second, do I recall correctly that you ended up reading ALL of Lord of the Rings on the couch in the floor lounge while Mike and I were, er, using your room?"
"No, really just The Two Towers, although it did take me two tries to get through it. And I happen to know, YOU only started reading Pratchett when you stole my copy of Men at Arms."
"Borrowed. Yeah. It's in the bookcase there, if you want it back."
"No, I've replaced it. Consider it a gift."
"Good, I wasn't serious; it would have made a hole in my collection. I prefer the British covers."
"But, wow, you really Have been hiding. I only dimly remember you back then, because you and Mike always snuck in and out of the dorm, but you've been totally different."
"My wild child phase. I've settled down."
"Even that wouldn't account for it. Even allowing for it being at work, you've been concentrated, reserved, while I've known you. You were a lot more outgoing back then."
"Yeah, well, it really wasn't a good marriage. He called me childish, told me to grow up. That rant I threw at you was practically a direct quote of things he said to me. I haven't been the same since. I'm not sure I'll ever be the way I was, again. In part, I asked you here to see if I can, at least for a little while." She looked shaken at all this openness. I went to the table, sat, and reached out to touch her hand.
"I'm still going to beat you," I said, tenderly.
"In your dreams," she smiled, her eyes flashing.
The food was good. After we ate, I cleared the table, putting the dishes in to soak with the sauce pot. We went back to the living room, sitting on the floor on either side of the coffee table/trunk. Despite her home court advantage, now that I saw she had more than Monopoly, I gave her the choice of weapons, er, games; she took her original fluxx off the shelf, and I listened to her explanation of the rules, suppressing a smile, nodding when appropriate, and looking studious. Fortunately for both of our fragile egos, we came to a close fought draw, which she ascribed to beginners luck. We went back to finish the dishes.
As I was leaving, I pulled out my own copy of fluxx.
"Ohhh, next time, the fight is ON, buster. You tried to hustle me, pretending not to know the game."
"I never said that. You just assumed it. Ok, next time, something simple, familiar to both of us again. It shall remain your pick," I offered.
"Ok. And until next week, consider this: even though neither of us remembered we'd met before, you knew just how to take me apart with five sentences."
I started to reply, but she laid a finger against my lips, and kissed me on my forehead.
And with that I smiled and left. Fortunately, I could take the el; I was not used to that much wine.
At one point in the next week, when Alice was down the hall, June turned to me, and asked, "What did you guys do? I've never seen Alice so relaxed. Is this what she is like, happy?"
"I didn't do anything to cheer her up THAT much; It turns out we went to the same university, and hadn't realized we'd run into each other back then."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, she used to go out with my roommate."
"And you guys didn't realize it? What was wrong with both of you! Oh wait, he wasn't the idiot she married, was he?"
"No, evidently he came later, but I can't help but think that she repressed the whole period of her life, and that explains why she didn't realize."
"Still, it's pretty weird. What did you guys do?"
"Well, she cooked, we played a game, and then we did dishes."
"Ohhh, dishes. I usually don't even show my date the dishes until the fourth date. You guys are moving fast."
"And then, as any gentleman would do, I left."
"Yeah, I figured, that must be why I don't date gentlemen. My bed is too big for that much waiting." I blushed, and turned my head. Why was she being so open?
Next weekend, the game was called on account of movie. There was a new science Fiction movie opening, which we went to see, and afterward, I got to hold forth my opinion on why it was so hard to do a good Mars movie, in discussion as I walked her home. I left her at her apartment door, although I did accept a hug and a peck on the cheek. As I left, I ran into one of her neighbors, a motherly figure, in the hall, and it seemed that function followed form, as she gave me a thumbs up, and I heard her say, under her breath, "About time..."
The next week, June continued to look at us with suspicion, but nothing much new happened, until Friday. I went to Alice's place, and brought along a pizza from my favorite pizzeria, which she'd never tried. We'd agreed on toppings ahead of time, an arduous negotiation that resulted in pepperoni and red peppers, and then, she prepared the game, laying out...
Monopoly.
I looked at her, quizzically. She said, "Ok, finish your wine first."
Obediently, I complied. She finished hers, and poured full glasses for both of us again. She looked a little flushed.
"Now, are we in agreement that this constitutes our third date?", she started.
"Ok, for the sake of argument, I accept that, although I am hazy on the social constructs attached to that," I said.
"We need to explore our comfort zones here, I feel. So with a little research, I found the rules, online, for the game I propose...Strip Monopoly."
"I see. Well, I accept your challenge, good knight! As you had choice of games, I get first choice of tokens. I choose...the race car."
"No fair, I wanted the race car," she objected.
"Tough," I replied.
By these rules, you start out with less money, but every item of clothing has a monetary value. You could pay the bank with clothes or money, and if you were paid in clothing from another player you had to wear it. We both managed to get pretty solid positions on the board. We both got bad chance cards, and lost our shirts and pants to the bank (besides, what's the fun of a mixed strip game while you still have your shirts on?) Before she could rebuild her savings enough, she hit illinois, which I'd developed with a hotel. Looking things over, she had to pay me money, and her bra.
"You have to wear it," she said.
We'd made solid inroads into a second bottle of wine while we played, so I said, "I should be proud to wear your token into battle, milady."' and clipped it around my chest. It was lacy, and had something in the cups. I was out of shape enough that I had some chest flab that it pushed around, although I barely noticed it at the time. I was too busy planning how to consolidate my empire. She lost boardwalk to the bank, I mortgaged it, developed it, and she hit it, losing everything. I'd won.
She stood up.
"Game over!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah," she said, stripping off her panties.
"Um, game's over." I hinted.
"Who said anything about the game," she said, launching herself at me, nude, "Fuck chivalry," she muttered.
We got me naked except for her bra, for some reason, and got to know each others body. She insinuated her hands under the cups, rubbing my nipples, as I repeated the notion on her. Her breasts were small, but proud, a handful, maybe a little more. Cute. In fact, the whole package, in contrast to her office demeanor said cute. Keeping herself aloof at the office must have been a strain, and now, all at once, she was unwinding.
We did those fumbling things that two people do when they first make love. We both dove to our piles of clothing, and emerged triumphantly holding a condom at the same time, and broke down laughing together, "Well, at least I can be pretty sure I'm not being presumptuous, here," I said.
"Or that you aren't the only one, at least," she riposted.
For both of us, it was the first time in some time, and we were not familiar with each other, physically. Still, it was pretty good, for a first attempt.
Afterwards, still on the living room floor, my head cradled on her stomach, her hands on my hair, face, chest, we relaxed. My eyes were half shut, my breathing deep and regular, more drunk than I could ever remember being.
Alice said, "I want to try something. Don't freak out."
"Ok..." I answered, drowsily.
Her hands went to my chest and played with my flesh in the cups of her bra, which I was still wearing, rearranging my flesh, pulling it towards the middle, letting the push up pads do their jobs. Then, she started running her fingers around my aureolas in circles through the fabric part of the cups, and said,"Susan?"
"Yes?" I said.
"Do you have a middle name?"
"Strange you should ask. I only found out recently from my aunt. It's Marie."
"Susan Marie Burrows? That's nice. So you discussed all this with your aunt?"
"Yes, she was curious about my work. She'd called that time I was stuck overnight, so she'd talked to Susan without knowing it was me. I told her about you, and June, and Dr. Willis, so I had to mention Felicity, and that led to the rest of the details on Susan. And then she told me my middle name. We felt Susan should be avoided, but she had a chat with Felicity. She thought I should find a way to let Susan out a little more, in safe surroundings, and see what happens; that Susan was "leaking". I guess this qualifies."
"You think so? I'm glad, and appreciate the faith you have in me."
"Well, it turns out, I've known you since college, and you've never done anything mean that I've seen. A little oblivious, but not mean."
"So, your aunt thinks you should let Susan out more, and here, I've triggered her. How did that make you feel?"
"A little scared of getting stuck this way again, I think."
She topped off my glass of wine, and held my head up so I could sip.
"I don't think you have to be scared. Your mind was craving something that Susan gives it. I'm sure you are both the same person, and once we find what is missing, you'll have no trouble. You did say you thought you could function as Susan. Did you mean it?"
"Yeah, mostly, I just get scared of getting stuck."
"Would you do something for me?"
"Anything, Alice."
"You won them fair and square. Would you wear my panties?", and with that, she handed them to me.
"Sure," I said, and slipped them over my feet, flailing my legs a bit from drink, one at a time. Eventually, I had to hike my butt up, and pulled them snug. "Bulgy!", I said, "Oh wait, I can fix that." And shoved my hand down the front pushing everything back. I felt the pops as my testicles ascended, something I'd last felt when donning a dance belt so I wouldn't bulge beneath an ill-advised superhero costume someone had talked me into, and pushed my recovering penis firmly back. My palm smoothed the front panel, and I was flat.
"See, all better.", I said with a drunken giggle. And fell asleep.
Alice's eyes were bugging out of her head. She eased herself sideways, replacing her stomach under my head with a pillow.
"He's going to hate me for this, but I just have to see," she thought. So while I slept, she applied makeup to my face, and polish to my fingers and toes. She put additional padding into my bra, bringing me up to a B cup, and which my sleeping brain interpreted as a fondle, which caused me to turn my head and catch the side of her face in a kiss, after which she had to fix my makeup again. Finally, she pulled a wig from her costume supplies over my head, arranged it roughly, pushed me onto my side to spoon against me, and feigned sleep.
And then, pinched my butt, really hard.
THAT woke me up. I woke up to find myself on the floor, a warm body spooned against my back, with an arm draped over me. I gently disentangled myself, and went looking for the bathroom. That was when I noticed the unusual underwear. I looked down at my groin, looking bemused. I felt the padding in the bra jiggle while I walked, brushed hair from in front of my eyes, and in the bathroom, poured my self a cup of water. Drinking it, I noticed the lipstick marks on the Dixie cup. My eyes widened, and I finally looked in the mirror.
First out was a soundless exhalation of a scream. Then a screech of indignation. "YOU!!!!!!"
Alice came in behind me, "What, Susan? You don't like the colors? I was a little limited by my selection."
"You tricked me. Got me drunk, and had your way with me."
"I have to say, this look works for you, Susan. Did you notice your voice?"
"Yes, my Susan voice is back. I'm sure that will tell me something once I recover from the shock."
"So far, that tells me you're WAY too analytical. C'mere."
She grabbed me and pulled me into the bedroom, spinning me around, and letting me fall onto the mattress. She pushed my legs apart, lay between then, and started fondling my breasts. I couldn't help it, my eyes closed, my back arched a bit, and I moaned.
"Where did all that come from?," she asked rhetorically, and started licking my cleavage. One hand dipped into my panties, and she started rubbing the top of where my penis joined my pelvis. My moaning got deeper. She rubbed faster, wetting her fingers from between her own legs, and then picking up where she left off. My back arched severely, I let out a scream, and there was fire in my brain. My muscles went rigid, my toes curled, my fingers clenched on the blankets, and then I went limp. "Wh..what was that?" I asked shakily.
"Congratulations, that was an orgasm."
"No, I've orgasmed before, that wasn't it."
"Silly, that was a female orgasm. Was that your first one?"
"It felt good. But why are you doing all this?"
"Well, it seemed to me that, with all your mock chivalry, and manners, you were holding back. And I wanted to get you out of your comfort zone, and see you going all out. And it was worth it."
We got comfortable on the bed. "And the verdict?", I asked.
"Not done testing yet. Say something with your Paul voice."
"I don't have a 'Paul' voice; I AM Paul. But you know that when I get stuck talking like Susan, I can't talk like myself anymore," I said, only realizing afterward that I'd spoken normally.
"Ah. I think your days of getting stuck talking like Susan are over for good. Your mind was playing tricks on you, craving some comforting attention. When did your mother die?"
"Six months ago. She and dad died close together, of unrelated cancers. That's why I haven't done my senior year yet. Wait, how did you know she was dead?"
"Other than your aunt, she was the last comforting female presence in your life. Your mind felt, sorely, that lack, and started pondering a solution. Your overly developed sense of the dramatic allowed your subconscious more leeway to create one, that's all. Tell me, have you ever...crossdressed before?"
"God, I can't believe I'm willing to admit this. Yes, when I was in grade school. I managed to suppress it."
"I don't think that was healthy for you. Your subconscious invented your formal demeanor, chivalrous manners, and extreme distance from others from that suppression."
"Ok, but you read parts of me like a book, and yet nobody has you figured out. What were you suppressing?"
"No, no. Believe it or not, the next day is going to be all about YOU. Don't get used to it. And then we have to get even with June, for messing with you so much."
"Hmm, hiding again, I see."
"Ok, time for bed; let me show you how to remove that makeup, and moisturize, and find you a nightshirt."
We got cleaned up, put on our night things (both cotton nightshirts, me still wearing a bra and panties), and went back to bed. Between the physical exertions and the emotions, we fell asleep almost as soon as we hit the bed, she curled around me from behind, a comforting human warmth and presence. In the morning, I woke second, flat on my back. There was a moment of disorientation, not recognizing where I was. Then I remembered, and kicked off the covers, grinning. But I got hit by a second wave of disorientation when I sat up. The unfamiliar shifting on my chest, the lack of anything between my legs was... weird. I went cross eyed for a second, and heard a giggling from the door, with an accompanying flash of light.
Alice, having anticipated some disorientation, had been waiting with her camera. "Good morning, sleepyhead! The first picture for your album looks good."
"Um, we'll have to delete that and put the camera in a plasma incinerator for reasons of security..."
"Oh, what are you worried about. Even with that hair and without makeup, you look cute. If worse comes to worse, we'll airbrush out the beard shadow."
"Beard shadow? I have to get changed!"
"Relax. I'm ashamed to admit, I'd planned on getting you into the sack, and made preparations, assuming that, like most guys, you wouldn't think enough ahead to have the necessary supplies on hand for a morning after. Girls can't let themselves get caught that way, so DON'T let it happen again, Susan."
"Yes, ma'am", I said, with a mock solute.
"That's better. Now, come to breakfast; we have a lot to do."
"A lot to do? I didn't have any plans for today."
"Well, Paul may not have, but Susan has several appointments."
"How can Susan have any appointments?"
"They were made on her behalf by an anonymous friend, as a birthday present. A belated birthday present, as I think you should use the first day you got stuck in Susan's voice as her birthday."
"My imaginary sister has a birthday?"
"Of course, silly, everyone has a birthday. But that is just my opinion. I'm just the contractor on this job, you keep final approval."
"I'm glad I get to keep something, as I seem to have lost something, along with some dignity, yesterday."
"Oh, you'll hardly miss it. Look, as it happens, I agree with your aunt. I think you should give Susan free rein for a bit. Now, how can you do that safely, if you want to do more than stay locked in an apartment? Just think about that, while we eat."
We had waffles, syrup, and bacon, with orange juice for breakfast. "Enjoy it; chances are good you're getting salad for lunch."
"I thought you were supposed to be turning me into a girl, not a rabbit."
"That is, indeed, todays theme: making you a convincing enough girl to be seen in public. If you want to forget about the whole thing, now's your chance to say so."
"No, this is opening up things I'd bottled up. It's probably good to do this."
"I hope you still think so in the evening, but ok. I did some research, and first, we're going to a wig shop in the city, to help you with your hair. After that, a fitting at a place that deals in supplies for medical patients and crossdressers, and then, we go shopping."
"This doesn't all sound like something you did this morning, while mixing batter."
"No, I've sort of been planning this since just after you came over the first time.
"Clear evidence of entrapment, your honor!"
"Yes, you are turning into a trap..."
"Too old. Wait, you don't know that terminology..."
"Wanna bet?" She walked over to the side of the bedroom, and pulled aside a hanging piece of cloth. Behind it was a bookcase, containing Manga and Anime.
"The books and games, most people can handle, but the manga lost me a guy when he innocently started to browse while I was out of the room, and ran across some Yaoi... Now, I keep that in here."
"Ah, another thing you've been hiding! Success! We'll get all those pent up emotions dealt with yet, Alice."
"Who is therapizing whom, here, Susan?"
"I'd hoped that it was mutual. Even June thinks you've been happier lately."
"June, huh? The two of you talk about me behind my back? I'll get her; I'll stick her on a couple of shifts with Phil."
"Well, it's June, she talks about anything to anyone. She made an observation about her bed being too big for just one, the other day. Seemed an odd thing to share."
"No, she was just reacting to you on a subconscious level as Susan. Girls will talk about anything with each other. I was always a bit aloof, so when you would get stuck, she'd get a girlfriend to talk to."
"Right, sounds dangerous. She'll have to go into the plasma, too."
Alice had me draw a bath, and soak for awhile, and then told me I needed to shave my legs, arms, and chest. After I did that, she laid out clothing. Bra, panties, pantyhose, half slip, top, skirt. The bra was the one she'd lost to me the night before in the Monopoly game.
My feet were fairly small for a guy, so Alice's shoes fit without pinching too much. This whole thing had started with my voice, so we knew we were good on that front. That left movement. And costuming. At least for today, costuming was Alice's department, so she coached me on movement. It turned out, I did seated fine (again, we'd already noticed that), and as I'd found when stuck, I walked like a girl. So mostly, that amounted to reminders to keep my knees together when sitting. My subconscious had evidently been girl watching for years, and taking notes, exposed to the same cultural influences without performance pressure.
Once I was dressed, Alice did my makeup, and brought the wig back out, which, as I was upright this time, could be fitted better. A few bobby pins to secure it, and I was declared fit for brief public contact.
It was late November, so it was cold out. Alice loaned me a coat. It was red, and fitted oddly. But looked ok, when I cinched in the belt a bit.
We drove to the wig shop, where the wig I'd borrowed was declared as just not me. The woman examined my original hair color, looked at my face, and declared I needed more red in my hair. Shoulder length, and brought out some examples. The first two or three were fine. The fourth one was...scary. She fitted it onto my head, fiddled with the brush for a second, and turned me to face the mirror, giving me back my glasses.
Looking into the mirror, at first, I didn't see anything other than me, Susan. And then I remembered, I wasn't Susan, but looking into the mirror, I almost couldn't see anything else. Clearly, that was a keeper. She added some caps, a brush, some cleaning supplies, and a storage case, and we were done.
At the next place, we were dealing with shape. There was a thing like the dance belt I'd worn years ago, called a gaff, for starters, which held my front "flat". From there, we moved into breast territory. She declared my surplus chest flesh, and Alice's pads as inadequate. Looking at my shoulders, she said I needed to be a C cup to compensate for the breadth on top, and brought out a waist cincher, and hips pads to construct my lower torso. She said my butt was fine on it's own, but that I wasn't wide enough "down there".
Putting it all together, I was beginning to feel as upholstered as a cheap sofa. I asked how much all this was going to cost, but she said the other woman had said there was to be NO discussion of prices in front of me. Evidently, the day was to be on Alice.
Still, once I put my clothes back on, they all fit better, and looked more normal than before. It got easier to keep my knees together, the more convincing I looked. I noticed a little bouncing in my chest, when I walked, and Alice claimed my butt was moving around more, as it should.
When we got back into the car, I asked how much this was costing. Alice refused to discuss it, saying she had resources to more than cover it in her mad money account. Also, the store owner had given us a discount, saying she might want me to come back to do some catalog modeling for them. Modeling? THERE was a foreign concept; Paul had never looked together enough to consider something like that.
Back in the car, composing myself, I tried speaking as Felicity. Alice declared it a success; she said I held myself differently when I was Felicity, but that the clothing all worked, although I could have used a higher collar and a longer skirt.
The next stop was the optometrist. I went solo there, while Alice ran an errand. Without optical insurance, everything was going to be cash, and they checked my eyes, noting my regular prescription was a little out of date, and remarking out loud that I should never have chosen those frames. I liked large lensed aviator glasses, although they were getting harder and harder to get, but had to admit, they were a bit at odds with my current appearance. They were having two for one, so while they prepared the lenses, I picked out two frames, one thin and gold, another thick and black with large temple pieces. Serious office girl power glasses. Both used lenses that were of a style I normally considered akin to mail slots, but adjusted so they stayed up my nose (for a change) they worked as well as my regular ones. The woman working there observed that I should consider contacts, and thought that green would go well with my hair. My hair was changeable, of course, but I said ok, and she said I could get a trial set in my prescription later in the week. The glasses were done, and Alice came back and paid for it all, not noticing the contacts were on the bill. Which gave me an idea for later.
It turned out, Alice's errands were to get me some jewelry, a purse, and some things related to that, and generally accessorize. I put my spare glasses, in a case, into the purse. Alice added a key ring with copies of my keys (and, it was to turn out, some of hers), some make up, a pen, a pad, a pay-as-you-go cellphone. And a rectangular pouch, with something in it. They were cylinders, too big for pencils. What was it? Then I realized.
"Alice! I hardly think I'll be needing tampons..."
"Hush; everyone carries those. It's mandatory, a requirement of sisterhood."
Finally, a shoe store. By this time, I was wearing a dress, shaped as a woman, in a good wig and wearing makeup; as far as I could tell, the store clerks took me at face value until I took out my credit card from my purse to pay. Then they gaped and called their co-workers to come and see. Fortunately, the staff was entirely female. They marveled at me, and snapped photos with their phones. And then complemented me on my choices, and gave me a 10% discount and bade me to come back soon.
We’d bought work heels, running shoes, strappy heeled sandals, boots, and higher heels for formal. I thought it was too much, as Paul only tended to have one or two pairs of shoes at a time, for most of his life, but Alice assured me that this was just a starter set, and a woefully inadequate one at that.
All this had taken until the early afternoon, so we went to lunch. She made good on her threat to make me eat salad, with iced tea, as it turned out. My capacity was reduced by the waist cincher, anyway. We talked over lunch on generalities. Unlike a lot of new couples, we couldn't talk about our relationship (too complex for public), and work (potentially too risky to discuss in public.) But we had a lot of books, movies, games, let alone music, to discuss.
After lunch, we returned to shopping. I tucked my purse under my arm, for security, and we looked at clothing to suit my new shape. We went to a boutique, I got dresses, skirts, tops, a couple of belts, a different purse for formal, Another place for jeans, which fitted...weird. Too low, although they rested on the hips the padding gave me. Fitted tightly in the back, cut in at the front, and TIGHT in the legs.. From there, it was a lingerie shop. Panties: utilitarian, lacy, a thong (impractical as that seemed to me at the time). Slips, camisoles, pajamas, shiny and flannel. Sleepshirts, long and short. I noted a couple of items that Alice seem to be particularly interested in for later, but I firmly turned them down.
"How big a wardrobe do I need? This seems like a big deal just for a day out and an evening in with you."
"You should have choices, that's all. Besides, we have to consider dealing with June. She'll want to see you, and we want to get even for her breaking you."
A shop specializing in makeup did my colors and suggested a couple of changes from what I had on, which I promised to take to heart. Body wash, bubble bath, deodorant, soap, shampoo, rinse, scented talc. Alice said that a girls smell was made up of all these things, and they had to co-ordinate. You couldn't just rub down with Dial anti-bacterial and throw on speed stick in sports talc, and be ready to go. Even a "low maintenance" girl needed maintenance. And I was going to need more maintenance than most. We looked for a scent for me, but gave up in frustration. I wasn't using the body products yet, so we decided we just couldn't judge it properly.
Finally, a relatively high end shop for a work suit. I didn't notice that, as we decided on the pieces, Alice put aside two of each.
And with that, we were done. My feet were starting to hurt me, despite the better fitting shoes. Alice declared me a wimp, and we went back to the car, already overflowing with all my shopping. I seriously worried how much all this was costing Alice; as I said, I knew what the pay was like at the service. I was determined to pay her back for all this, eventually.
We went back to her apartment, where we struggled getting everything up the stairs. She'd already made room in her closet, somehow. After we got all of it put away, she went to get dinner ready, kicking me out of the kitchen. I curled up on the couch with one of my favorite books, borrowed from her library. At one point, there was a flash of light again; another shot for the album; cute girl curled up on couch with book. She said I'd looked like a young innocent girl in her late teens. I thought she was pushing it a bit.
That night, we played Scrabble in our nightshirts, and then just cuddled.
Sunday, we mostly lazed around the apartment, talking. I'd used the grooming products we'd selected, so I smelled more feminine today. Alice brought out some fragrances she had, and we found a nice one for Susan to use. We also set up Susan's Flickr, gmail, and Facebook accounts. And finally, Alice broached the question of Monday. We were going to be working with June. Alice wanted a full-dress Susan to show up, instead of Paul. I wasn't sure that would do the trick, but if I WAS going to show up in a nice business suit and heels, I didn't want to use my Susan voice, June had already heard it. So we started to invent Carol, and I started to think I was going to need a scorecard to figure out who I was. We came up with a voice I could sustain, and which was different enough from Susan and Felicity to hopefully work. We got into bed, made slow, gentle love, and fell comfortably asleep. Why had I gone so long between girlfriends, I wondered, as I drowsed off.
Hours at the service for our shift Monday started in the early afternoon, so we had lots of time. I was very nervous, and for the first time had trouble staying in a voice. Maybe adding Carol had stretched things too far, I thought. Well, she was a temporary expedient. The wig we'd gotten was a full lace wig, able to be glued, so it could be put up. Akice showed me how put it up into a bun, and I put on my black framed glasses.
When it was time, We gathered our work stuff, did one last inspection before the mirror on the way out the door, and walked to the el. Alice gave me instructions on what to be careful of when traveling, in a whisper, holding close to me. In the loop, we walked to the office. I noticed a lot of people watching, which made me nervous, so I mentioned this to Alice, who admitted we probably should have downplayed my look a little, but it was a normal interview look. The idea was that I was supposed to try out at the service, and had been briefed on the system. Alice had used her admin privileges to add me as a temp to the system.
Alice went up first, and I lingered for a bit at the news stand in the lobby, so we wouldn't arrive together. I took the opportunity to pick up a few magazines: Scientific American, Vogue, Glamour, and something that seemed to involve working out called Self. Cosmo. The perfume samples clashed, and could be smelled even through my bag, which I figured would have been true for anyone and was good cover. We'd applied "sports length" fake nails to my fingers last night, and co-ordinated the colors, but I still had a way to go in understanding what we'd done, so I picked up a beauty magazine as well.
Arriving at the office, I opened the door, and walked in. "Hello?", I said tentatively, in my new Carol voice.
Alice took the lead, "Hello, can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm Carol Marshall, I was told to be here starting at two to cover phones."
"Yes. You can take that desk over there." Which was not my customary station, but rather, behind June, so she wouldn't look at me enough to get suspicious.
"This is June," Alice continued.
"Hello, Carol."
"Hello, nice to meet you."
I went to the desk that Alice had pointed to, and Alice showed me how to log in.
June addressed Alice, "So, we have no male colleague today? That is a little odd. What happened to Paul?"
"I'm not sure, I haven't heard from him since Friday."
"Oh, spooked him, eh? Funny, he didn't seem the type to run, and normally, he's so good about calling in. This will cost him."
The call volume picked up. As Paul wasn't around, Dr. Willis' calls were distributed amongst us at random. I got a few, June got some, and Alice got some.
Part way through the afternoon, I said I needed to use the washroom. June offered to show me where it was, so we went together. While I was in a stall, I heard a minor curse from the one next to mine.
"June, what's wrong?"
"My period has started, and I forgot supplies."
"Do you need a tampon? Here." I dug one out of my purse, and handed it to her under the stall wall.
"Thanks, you are a lifesaver. I hope you decide to stay."
We both came back to the mirror.
"So how did you hear about this place?", she asked.
"I answered an ad, I was having trouble finding work, writing press releases, and decided to give this a try. I imagine it will be good life experience for my other writing, too."
"Oh, yeah, we have some real characters. Phil the philanderer, and remind me to tell you about Paul and Susan some time."
"Phil and Paul are our male colleagues? Is Susan Paul's girlfriend, or a co-worker I haven't met yet? And who is this Felicity I saw on the system?"
"That's complicated, too. We'll tell you once you've met Paul. You'll like him, but there are a few things you should know after you meet him. You'll have to be careful not to break him..."
We walked back. Alice asked to see June for a minute, and I took all the calls while they used the office, which as I've said, was mostly storage. Coming back, Alice said "Well, June assures me that the two of you can get along, so conditional on meeting the boys, you have a job if you want it."
I said thank you, and hugged June. Then, backing up, Alice and I both broke into laughter.
"What's so funny?" she said, suspiciously.
"I'm afraid we've been playing a prank on you. You see, Carol here would normally be better known under the name Susan."
"Susan?"
"Yes, June, it's me." I said in my Susan voice.
"But, but, Susan is just some odd corner of Paul's mind," she started.
"Yep, that's right." I said, in my normal voice.
"Oh god, this is just getting too confusing. Wait, you're not stuck?"
"No, I don't get stuck as Susan anymore."
"And Carol?"
"We needed a way to introduce Susan into the office without you catching on. This is payback for breaking me."
"Not fair! Alice broke you first!"
"We're dealing with that, separately."
"And when did all THIS," she waved her hand up and down my form, "happen?"
"Saturday."
"You've only been doing this for 2 days, and I just spent 15 minutes in the ladies room with you? I borrowed a tampon from you? Girl, you are just WASTED as Paul. Or ARE you wasted? Alice, what have you been up to?"
"Under advice of counsel, the witnesses decline to answer any questions at this time," she said with a smirk.
"Gorgeous and taken, the story of my life. Can I at least have Carol? You can have Paul, Susan, and Felicity..."
"Sorry, it's a package deal."
"I'm happy for all of you, although it sounds crowded. Is there anyone else I should be introduced to?"
"No!" Hopefully not, at any rate...
After that, I went back to being logged in as Paul. Alice hot-wired the system so that I could also fill in on female required calls, and June was going crazy as I went from Susan to Paul to, occasionally, Felicity, "If we're not careful, you'll end up covering two people's jobs, and we'll be laid off..."
"This is temporary, you'll see," I placated her.
"If it's temporary, can I have that suit you're wearing?" she riposted.
The next day, I showed up as Paul, as normal. I just did male and nonspecific calls, and those requiring Felicity.
I called Aunt Phyllis, on Susan's pay-as-you-go phone.
"Hello, Phyllis Wallace speaking."
"Hi, aunt Phyllis, it's your niece, Susan. I just wanted to give you my new number."
"Susan? I don't have any... Oh, Susan! It's nice to hear from you. Is Paul there? May I speak to him, please?", She sounded worried.
"Sure, just a second."
"Hello, Aunt Phyllis?", I said in my normal voice.
"Oh, thank god. After what you'd said about getting stuck, I was afraid you neuroses had eaten you. You don't sound panicked, so I assume you can turn it on and off now?"
"The voice? Yes. The person? Well, that is a little more complicated. As you'd suspected, it turns out Susan is nothing but another part of me. I owe you a good dinner next time I'm in town."
"And you found a safe place to let her out?"
"Yes, and hopefully next time you come to visit, I'll also be able to introduce you properly to Alice."
"Alice, your supervisor, the one you said no one could quite figure out? My, my. When you start taking chances, you go all out, don't you? I quite look forward to meeting the woman who could get Susan out of her shell, possibly at Thanksgiving, which I was calling to mention I'd be visiting over, before you quite trumped that news with yours... Now let me talk to Susan again."
"Aunt Phyllis, it's not like I have to hand the phone to her; it's all one mind, one body...", I said as Susan.
"Yes, dear, but you yourself keep doing it when you call, don't you? It's just a cross I bear because my nephew has an overly developed sense of the dramatic. Besides, as Susan, you are subject to different social strictures. It's convenient to maintain the illusion that there are two of you, and a useful reminder. And you always did enjoy acting, and entrances and exits are SO important. I do wonder, though, if you won't find that there are some differences in how you think."
"Well, I did notice that I was treated differently in public."
"You've gone OUT? You are moving quickly. When I'm cleared to travel for Thanksgiving, I am going to drop in for a visit, as I said. I can't wait to see my niece in the flesh. I don't suppose there are pictures?"
"Yes, I'll send you the URL of my Flickr page."
After work, I started down to the bar.
"nuh-uh, girlfriend." Alice stopped me.
"What?"
"You need to prep a little. A girl doesn't just go straight from work to a place like that."
With that, she and June pulled me down the hall to the ladies room, and proceeded to change my daytime interview look into a night time one. Making my eyes more dramatic, lips bolder, and my face a bit more contoured. They showed me how to roll the waistband of my skirt to take it up a little, unbuttoned blouse buttons, shaded cleavage.
Alice pulled a set of 3 inch heels from her bag, "It's time to take the training heels off."
My hair came down from my bun, and was brushed into a draped arrangement.
And I put my thick black framed glasses into my purse, taking out the gold framed second pair.
"Ah, she's been thinking ahead," Alice observed.
That night in the bar was...different.
We inevitably experienced some male interest, but we handled turning them down with humor, and didn't have to resort to mean spirited comments. There was one rather inebriated individual, but the three of us dealt with him with the aid of a hostess.
"So, what do you think, any of them look attractive to you?," June queried.
"No, the male physique still leaves me cold. I guess that's invariant," I replied. And it was true; I still was interested only in women, even if one of the candidates was, narcissistically and from a purely aesthetic standpoint, me.
Leaving the bar, we hugged goodnight, June copping a bit of a feel, wondering about my boobs, I think, before she went her way, and Alice and I departing to catch the subway train together.
Wednesday, I had off, but Alice had to go in, working with Phil and Beth, another co-worker. I got dressed, and did a little...Special shopping, at some of the places we'd gone on Saturday. Thursday, I went to work as normal, although June seemed a bit disappointed to see Paul again so soon. Friday was another day that Alice worked, and I was home. On Susan's keychain was a key to Alice's apartment, I went early, got ready specially, and started cooking. When Alice came home, I called to her, and she came to the kitchen.
There was a meal cooked and on the table. After dinner, I escorted her into the bedroom, and my dress fell to the floor on the floor, showing the lace body suit and thigh highs she'd so clearly liked at the lingerie shop. I curled on the bed, posing for my lover.
"Nice cleavage, by the way," she observed, noticing the breastplate I'd gotten.
"Thank you, but I really can't take any of the credit," I said, and giggled shyly.
In bed, we got to nuzzling each other, and the sort of affectionate play that couples do as an alternative to making love, and just before we both dropped off, she asked me, "Any other surprises, or are you the last sibling I need to meet?"
"No, Paul was an only child. Carol was just for the sake of the gag, and is gone. Susan and Paul are the only ones that have any sort of existence, although I guess I'm stuck with Felicity for the duration."
"She'll be perfect for Steampunk cosplay. Victorian/Edwardian finery. We should think about that, when the season starts up, next year. We'll need a nice hat, though. So who is going to work tomorrow? Paul, or Susan? Nobody new, please. This week has been confusing enough as it is, and right now, I'm just worried the payroll system will start spitting out checks to Felicity and Susan, and I'll have a lot of explaining to do..."
"Paul it is, then."
"Not Albert, or Sam?"
"Not unless you want to volunteer. My male identity is the least mutable, there you're stuck."
"No, you mean Paul is stuck. But at least, we found out how to fix that. Oh, by the way. Speaking of siblings, are you busy weekend after next? Want to take a trip?"
"What do you mean?"
"My sister is having a little trouble with my parents over her fiance and their commitment ceremony. Originally, I was going to give it a miss to express my displeasure with their meddling, but I just thought of something better. I have a plus one, and would like to support her. "
"So you're asking me to be your plus one."
"Well, no. I'm asking Felicity to be my plus one..."
So. Felicity was to be my girlfriend's plus one to a wedding, er, "commitment ceremony". To be fair, in support of her sister and her girlfriend, taking Felicity did place a distracting shot across her parents bow, which was evidently what was desired here. A distraction. And I AM Felicity. Saying that didn't make it all seem more reasonable, somehow. But it was a little early to be meeting the parents.
The ceremony was to take place at Allerton Conference Center, in mid state Illinois. That should have told me something, right there. Allerton includes a large formal garden, hedge maze, and a conference center on the grounds of an old robber baron estate (most of which, being early December in the midwest, was of questionable utility, being so dependant on the weather), donated to U of I by the family, and operated for meetings and events ever since.
A friend of mine in college had been a volunteer there, and thus I'd hiked it extensively before my parents illness, enjoying the plants, hedge maze, and local birds. It is a pretty site, even in December.
But still, why there?
Alice called her sister and pledged her support the next day. Assuring her she'd found a plus one (and failing to explain further), they got to talking about how things were going. Their parents were living up to their end of the bargain and had booked the site (although they were not happy about it), and catering was dealt with, but it seems a couple of the wedding party, sensing the strife, were no shows. While it was not too slavishly based on a traditional wedding, there was still a wedding party, but a couple of the bridesmaids had made their excuses and would not be attending. Before I could stop her, Alice had volunteered herself as maid-of-honor, and Felicity to be in the party.
After a brief further exchange of details, she hung up.
"What are you thinking? I've never been in a bridal party, even as a ring bearer!" I started.
"Relax, there won't be anything to it. We have to go get fitted for our dresses tomorrow, you'll hate the shoes, but it's mostly harmless. This late in the fall, the ceremony will be indoors, so you'll probably be spared the ordeal of walking on grass and gravel in heels."
That sunday, we started to plan. I was going to stay Felicity from now until after the ceremony for practice, and Alice started teaching me to do my own makeup.
Going in to work as Felicity, the next day, June was thrilled for me. "You get to stand up at someones wedding! This is one of the penultimate rites of girlhood. You're lucky! You'll get a dress, some pampering. It'll be fun. Just promise me there'll be pictures." I remained unconvinced.
Tuesday was uneventful, except that Phyllis called, saying her doctor had advised at least another week of convalescence, so it seemed she was to miss Thanksgiving after all. She was a bit bemused to find the phone answered by Felicity, but I begged leave to explain later.
That Wednesday, before our shift at the service, we went to the bridal shop. We were graciously ushered into the fitting room, which was the FIRST thing that made me nervous.
"Relax, Felicity! Jeez, we're to be in my sister's ceremony, we've a right to be here," Alice reminded me.
"YOU'VE a right to be here. The fact that four days ago, I didn't even know you had a sister is only the START of what's wrong with this picture, and me getting undressed to try on dresses is only going to show some OTHER issues with it."
"Gee, if you have trouble with that, how are you ever going to get through the spa day Friday? First of all, the bridesmaid dresses only have to be altered, not selected, at least, and I checked you over this morning and you don't show at all!," she told me, in a whisper.
I had some dresses, and some suits, but this would be the first dress chosen not to serve primarily as camouflage. In the fitting rooms, we saw the base dress, and the underfittings; a longline bra, corset, and garter belt and stockings.
If we fastened the breast forms with glue and covered the seams carefully, the bra was no problem, but I eyed the corset warily. "Won't my waist cincher do?"
"Not for this dress," Alice replied.
Despite the reputation of Bridesmaid's dresses being monstrosities that sit in the closet and never get worn again, these were fabulous. To gaze upon Alice in hers, I was torn between a purely aesthetic pleasure, and the desire to unwrap this ravishing package and make love to her, then and there, which is probably not the usual reaction in the fitting room. What I forgot to realize is I was wearing one of these fabric confections, as well, and that it was having an effect on Alice.
Standing next to me, laying a hand on my hand, she came in to kiss me, I had trouble catching my breath, and fainted (I'm sure the corset didn't help.)
When I came to, I felt funny. I had trouble letting Alice help me up from the floor where I'd crumpled. I seem to flinch away from her touch.
The attendants marked where the dresses had to be altered, and took them away, as we re-donned our street clothes. I examined my suit with a new appreciation.
On the street, waiting for an Uber back to the office, Alice looked at me, "Felicity, you seem different somehow."
"Oh, come, call me Paul."
"No, somehow that would seem wrong. I see less of Paul in you than I usually do. I'm beginning to wonder how good an idea this was. Just to be on the safe side, you'd better give me your aunt's number."
"Of course, but I think you're worrying about nothing." I was in no way as assured as I sounded, though.
"We'll see."
That night, after we'd made our way back to Alice's apartment, to be our base until after the events, in bed, staring at the ceiling, I was troubled.
"Alice," I said, "ask me something about work."
"Why?"
"I can't seem to get in my Paul mindset at the moment. My other voices seem inaccesible as well."
She hugged me, and I shied away from the intimacy. Something was up indeed.
"Well, I'd worry, but if we try to change anything maybe Felicity WON'T be able to make the ceremony, and that would be a problem at this point. Better to leave you broken until we get back, and then work on it. We've always been able to get you back before. I hate to leave it this way, but it seems safest," Alice decided.
And with that pronouncement of hers, I took a pillow and a comforter and went to make a bed of the couch, feeling very alone.
On Friday, we caught the early train to Champaign, making our spa date. As my hair was a wig, I wasn't getting anything done to it, but still getting facial waxing, eyebrow shaping, a leg wax, and a manicure with nail extensions was on the menu.
As we filed into the spa, Alice introduced me to her adopted sister, Jasmine.
"Happy to meet you, and glad to fill in. I've never been in a bridal party before," I told her.
"Goodness, and you seem so at ease! However did you manage to avoid that?"
"It might have something to do with the fact that my name is actually Paul..."
"You mean you're transgender? I was going to try to fix you up with a couple of the guests from across the aisle. How did Alice meet you?"
"What I am is a little unsettled at the moment. We actually are co-workers, although she dated my roommate back at University."
"You mean, YOU were the one who was stuck in the floor lounge reading 'Lord of the Rings' all those nights?"
"Does everyone know that story? It was just 'The Two Towers', really."
"I think we'll have to have a reunion after the honeymoon to get the rest of these stories for the album."
"I just hope you don't feel my participation in any way detracts from your ceremony."
"Quite the opposite. Under the circumstances, that may be the high point of the afternoon. You look lovely, and I'm a little jealous of my sister. And I can't wait to tell Joan."
Then her mother, Elizabeth, arrived, and we started in on our afternoon of beauty.
We had a pleasant time, punctuated with a few moments of pain; I almost forgot my worries about Paul, and when we were done, Alice and I both had half inch nails that matched our dresses for tomorrow.
We left for Allerton as a group, assuring that we'd be in time for the rehearsal if anyone was.
And the rehearsal went fine; I met Jasmine's girlfriend, Joan, for the first time. And...
As we arrived in the hall, Alice ushered me up to meet the minister, with a disturbing twinkle in her eye.
"Felicity, I'd like you to meet Minister Mike Wells, the nondenominational minister from campus who'll be officiating tomorrow."
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, miss..," Mike started.
I moved forward to take his hand, and as I did so, a heel caught on the carpet. I only saved myself from tumbling to the floor by catching the floor with the palm of my hand, a save I had picked up in grade school gymnastics. Which, as it happened, Mike had seen me use before...
"Where did you learn to recover like that? It's a very unusual move; I've only seen once before..." Mike said, rushing to my side to steady me.
"Yes, Mike, it's me," I replied.
"Paul? It can't be. Let me look at you; I must say, you look lovely in that dress. How long have you been...Felicity?"
"Not long, it's temporary, and you could say it's Alice's fault."
"I see. No, I don't see. I have some congregants that could probably benefit just from seeing you, let alone talking to you, you seem so at ease and happy. How long have you been transitioning?"
"I'm not. This is just to show support for Alice's sister and her fiance."
"You look this good, and you AREN'T in transition? No hormones? What an unusual case..."
"I'm not a case."
"That remains to be seen," Alice said as she came back to our little group.
"Well, if you feel need of counseling or just talk, give me a call; this seems like exactly the sort of thing I deal with, most days... Heck, give me a call anyway; you're with Alice now? I have to hear this story sometime," Mike said, slipping me his card.
Which I stuck in my clutch purse. It would be good to catch up with Mike, despite the protracted explanations called for to stave off his professional side.
Alice led me to our starting position for the rehearsal and, after the announcement that her father would be joining us at dinner but not before, we started the rehearsal, joining the procession and ending up in front of the (hoped for, tomorrow) crowd.
Mike said a few words afterwards, and then we went to the rehearsal dinner; even with my diminished capacity (due to the corset), I was looking forward to something to eat, after all today's surprises.
As we entered, and after I found our seats, Alice continued forward, heading for the head of the head table, where a group was clustered, centered on one man that I suddenly realized I recognized.
There, ahead of me, was one of the toughest professors I'd had as a CS student; I'd had him for Compiler Construction, CS 341, a class used to weed out the weak students. I'd been forced to leave before the final when I withdrew to take care of my parents, and the interview with him about that decision stuck in my mind.
"Hi, daddy," Alice greeted him.
She made my introduction. I couldn't help being perturbed by the professor's "male gaze"; he seemed quite taken by my (false) bust line and hips... As we turned to go, he pinched my (padded) rear.
"I apologize for daddy; he's quite the inveterate womanizer, a trial we family members have to bear," Alice excused him.
At the hotel, we'd been booked separate rooms; Alice promised to check in with me before we left for the ceremony tomorrow. I cleaned up, changed for bed (flannel pajamas with flowers), and felt lonelier than ever, as I dropped off to a troubled sleep.
In the morning, I showered, and made a start at the parts of my makeup I was competent to do myself, and hoped Alice would be here soon, getting dressed to save time later, draping a towel around my neck against anything rubbing off.
Alice knocked shortly after, there to help me tie my corset, and finish my look. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt a certain satisfaction that I looked so together. If I was going to be stuck doing this for awhile, at least I looked good. I wondered how long it would take me to learn to do the rest of my makeup by myself, so deeply was I in Felicity mode.
We took the limo back to Allerton, this time the two of us alone.
The ceremony itself went off without a problem. We all milled around in the aftermath, to give the happy couple a chance to get some photos in.
And there, at the back of the hall, with her cane, was Aunt Phyllis.
Alice had taken advantage of my giving her Phyllis' phone number to call her, after the incident at the bridal shop; she, herself, had been so disturbed by my manner during the call on Tuesday that, when told of thes ceremony, she'd disobeyed her doctors instructions and travelled to Champaign by herself, arriving at Allerton just before the ceremony. Alice had invited her; when I'd been made part of the party, I'd ceased to be a plus one, leaving Alice's free again (and gaining one of my own, if I had but known; I could have invited June...) Phyllis was Alice's guest.
I hugged her; she must have sensed something wrong, "Well, Felicity, it's good to see you, and hear from you again. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, nothing has worked so far. Felicity seems to have more of a hold than she used to have."
"Pish, tosh. I've said it before and I'll say it again; these episodes just manifest something you're felt the lack of and I'm sure once that need is realized and met, you'll be your normal well adjusted self again."
"And I say again, you were a dietician, not a psychiatrist."
"Pooh."
Then someone came to get the wedding party members together, Jasmine turned her back on our group, and something came sailing at me. I reflexively caught it. It was the bouquet! I'd gone and caught the bouquet. Alice congratulated me. "Um, Alice? I don't think this applies to me."
"There's nothing in the tradition that says anything about your gender. The key is that you caught it. Oh, and that you have to be a bride. You certainly look the part..."
We waved good-bye to the rest of the wedding party; we were going to be returning to Chicago instead of going to the reception, due to the vagaries of the Amtrak schedule.
I waved as the parents passed us, and I heard:
"At least some of the younger generation know how to behave at a wedding," rumbled the professor.
"Oh, be quiet, you old fool; that's a boy," rejoined his wife.
was the last thing I heard as the limo's drove by and then we drove off ourselves to catch the evening Illini back to Chicago.
"I told mother after the rehearsal dinner," Alice told me.
As Alice, Phyllis, and I left the park, looking at all the barren corn fields, not yet covered with snow, I finally realized why Allerton. The professor had gotten the venue at a preferred faculty rate! Undoubtedly with a handy off season discount, as well. The old fraud!
All the trip back to Chicago, we discussed Paul's plans, trying to recenter myself in them: going back to school, which courses he needed to finish his degree, gaming with his friends. To no avail; my mind and voice stubbornly stayed in Felicity mode.
That went on until we got back to Alice's place, where my change of clothes was (we'd given Phyllis the run of my apartment, and the key, for the day). We'd discussed and got nothing but the female perspective on Paul's plans. I started to get a bit frantic; I'd never been stuck this long before, and certainly not as Felicity. Maybe taking part in the ceremony had been tempting fate; participating in such a feminine event. Alice, holding my hand, and occasionally laying her hand on my head, in turns, kept me from dispairing until we were in private, back in her apartment; there, on a chair were Paul's clothes, and I'd never been less attracted to them in my life. Instead of changing, we decided to pull the covers over our heads, and see what the morning brought.
I got ready for bed, removing my makeup, moisturizing, and putting on my night gown, without thinking. I was so drowsy, I crawled into Alice's bed automatically instead of the couch, and turned on my side, facing the wall, sobbing a little.
As I fell asleep, I heard Alice say "Paul, Susan, Felicity, whoever you want to be; I love you and I want all of you in my life from now on." And with that, she kissed my cheek, and lay down next to me. I felt comforted, turning to spoon with her warmth, and dropped into a more contented sleep than I'd had in a week.
In the morning, I went into the bathroom and started the shower. Noting the redness of my chest where the forms were still attached, I picked up the solvent from where we'd left it by the sink, and applied it to their edges. As I peeled them free of my skin, I realized what I'd done in my half-asleep state.
"Alice! I'm back," I said, in my normal voice.
"Did you go out? No, wait, you mean YOU'RE BACK!"
Feeling confident, I quickly ran through the gamut of the voices I'd been using, even Carol. I could do all of them, and none of them exerted a lingering influence over my voice or state of mind.
"It seems you've cured me, Alice."
And needless to say, all of us were drenched in gravy, and the Mystery Machine was going to need a thorough hosing-out tomorrow. But that's tomorrow. And Scooby Doo is going to have some great dreams, at least until the smell fades from his coat.
Me, I just want a bath and a good nights sleep, but I have other things I have to get done tonight. No rest for the wicked.
But I could take time for the bath. I unbuckled my shoes as soon as I was through the door, padding all the way to my tub in my trademark orange kneesocks. This apartment isn't huge, and all the wall space is covered with my books, but the bath tub is truly sybaritic. And the rent is low, and I never have to worry about the other tenants.
In the bathroom, I plugged the drain, started the water going, lit a couple of scented candles, and went and undressed in front of my big mirror. My legs are a little thick, but under that bulky sweater, I do have curves, and that IS a miniskirt I wear. But everyone remembers her as the sexy one. Ah, well, Daphne is a friend and compatriot; I could always count on her to have my back, unlike Freddie. (No, despite the rumors, Daphne and I are not Intimate friends, in that way. Maybe if things had been different, if not for my ...personal problem... But no.)
Oh, well; I slid into the water, rested my head against the back of the tub and closed my eyes. Bliss. I could feel the warmth, and flickering dim light, erasing the tension from my body, and loosening me up for what was to come.
I dozed off for a bit, but fortunately, I'd set a timer before getting into the tub. I dried off, donned my robe, and blew out the candles. Then I went to the mirror.
In the dark, I touched the secret spots on the frame, which caused the mirror to swing inward, revealing a narrow space with the top of a ladder descending into a hole in the floor.
At the bottom of the ladder, I stood in a sort of locker room, wooden bench in the middle, lockers along the sides, and a mirror at the end, next to a door.
I opened my locker, removed my robe, and hung it up. Crossing to the mirror, I looked myself over again, stretched, and ruefully pinched the small fold of skin at the base of my neck.
Which I then grasped, stretched, and pulled. My face in the mirror distorted, and then the mask came away with a sucking sound, obscuring my vision.
At the back of my neck, where it had previously been hidden, the top of a seam was revealed. Reaching around awkwardly, I opened it, and spread it downward. The loosening of my "flesh", started earlier in the bath, increased, as I pulled at the end of my fingers, pulling on the gloves of the bodysuit, as my shoulders came free through the back opening.
My breasts are always reluctant to let go of my true chest, being somewhat adhesive to keep them from shifting around too much, but they let go, and the front of the suit started to slump away from me. I put my hands along my body, and eased down my hips, carefully releasing the relief tube in there. Finally, working off the legs like removing a pair of tights, I was out of the suit.
Free of the suit, I took a moment to luxurious scratch myself, and then stepped into the shower, scrubbing away a weeks worth of salt and dead skin. The suit will pass most sweat, but there is still an accumulation. Then I dried myself, donned a pair of Y fronts and some overalls, and stepped into the lab.
Whenever I stop being Velma, I feel sorrow. She is popular, but yet not so popular as to be unable to move about in public. And there is her work, revealing creepy creatures for the frauds they are, which is satisfying.
And almost sinfully easy, as their costumes are no where near as sophisticated as the one she herself is wearing.
Well, except for Jacobo. Jacobo is a special case. Back in college, Jacobo was an instructor in the theater department. Special makeup.
So it was for his class I first made my lifecasting of my face, and sculpted the melting flesh on it in clay, to be cast in silicone gel. I got a good grade for that, although part way through the job, the casting got ruined, and I had to stay after to re-do it.
Secretly, of course, the cast was fine; I'd made another lifecast, and molded a different set of features on it, with a cute little nose, and nice cheeks; a female face. And in the time I had the lab to myself, I prepared that.
When I had it finished and painted, I pulled it on, careful to avoid bubbles, and painting the seams around the eyes with makeup to blend. I dug around the lab, finding a cheerleaders skirt, kneesocks, a sweater, and many shoes much to small for my feet, until I found that fateful pair of Mary Janes. With the addition of a wig actually meant for a performance of Hamlet, Velma was born.
And I would have quickly put her away, except there was a sudden sound from the corridor; going out without thinking, I found two students chasing a figure in a heavy cloak toward me. So I grabbed at him, pulling the cloak off, and spinning him around. He made good his escape through a fire door.
The two in pursuit, Daphne and Fred, of course, stopped to make sure I was all right, which allowed me to feign having the wind knocked out of me; I had done nothing as yet about my voice. They examined the cloak, and I tugged on the label, which said the cloak was to be returned to costume storage, room 306, when finished with. Clearly, the figure knew it's way around the department.
I only realized it had been Jacobo later. Through the years, I'd helped the gang catch Jacobo and Jacobo supplied villains time and again, and he'd never revealed that he knew my secret.
And now, he'd shown me up; his blonde reporter disguise had been almost perfect; the mask alone had shown the subtle flaws I looked for in all his works, ones I'd managed to eliminate from mine years before.
But his body work was perfect, surpassing mine. Velma is a bookish nerd, but as I said, I have curves and a body. But beneath the trimmed triangle of pubic hair there is just a crease and a urethra. No vaginal opening, and no real labia. Whereas Susan was, er, "fully equipped", a careful geometry of the hips creating sufficient depth for her to go "all the way" if the situation warranted it.
And I wanted that for myself!
The suit he'd been wearing when I'd unmasked him was in storage as evidence, but a foe as careful as Jonathan would never have only one suit. Myself, I have several spares, and for that matter, I own this small apartment building, and all the tenants are, in fact, me.
Including the new girl that moved in last week, an asian american student. Actually, she was a spare identity of Jacobo's I'd been modifying, getting rid of the mask imperfections and making a few other improvements. And tonight was the night she was finally ready to take on the town.
Velma had started out chunky, because that was how I'd looked in a skirt back then. Since then, I'd actually had to start padding the inside of the suit. But Amy was made to conform to the norms of beauty of modern society, so it was into my corset I got. After that, the process was the reverse of what I'd just done, apart from having to do a little more adjusting around the crotch. But soon, I was finishing up tugging and pressing around the ears and the eyes, and putting in my green contacts.
Then, I stepped back, and twirled to face the mirror, swinging my long silky black hair and smiling. Almost of it's own accord, my hand reached between my legs, and entered the softness it found there.
A frisson of tingling sped up my spine as my fingers encountered the moist membranes of my crotch for the first time. Down, boy, I thought; save some for some lucky guy later tonight.
I went to another niche in the wall, climbed the ladder there, and emerged in Amy's apartment. Her wardrobe is a bit sparse, but what there is for now is well suited for partying. I pulled on her tanga panties, B cup bra (how strange not to have valkyrian proportions for a change, but I could get used to not having to worry about people running into my boobs all the time), and completed the outfit with a leather mini, bustier, torn fishnets and a pair of mesh arm warmers. Then came the hard part.
Any makeup artist would call the masks a masterpiece, but all my other makeup experience was theatrical (Velma hardly wears any), and far too heavy to be what a woman would have arrived at after 15 years of applying her own makeup. And particularly not an Asian-American woman. Possibly I'd bitten off more than I could chew, but the goth appearance of my clothing had been selected on purpose. Goth makeup tended to be more dramatic and heavy handed.
Sitting down, I pulled on my high heel boots with the big metal buckles up the sides, and reached up to press against the sides of my throat. I inhaled, and went "Ahhhh."
Not quite right; I slid my index finger down and towards the center my throat. "Ahhhh."
This time, it came out a throaty purr, just like I'd wanted.
Throwing a jacket over my shoulder, I went out into the hall, and locked my door. I glanced over my shoulder at Velma's door, and said "Don't wait up for me, sis." So far, it was proving easy to keep my identities distinct in my mind.
Tak, tak, tak, tak, went my heels as I walked out the back door into the parking lot. Velma has a car, although you'd hardly know it from the amount of time she spends in the van with the gang. She has a nice, slightly elderly Honda Civic.
My car, on the other hand, is a Mazda Miata. Laundering the funds for that so they couldn't be traced back to Velma's savings had taken some doing. The gang actually do make a lot from rewards and such, but it's not like any of my other identities could hold down a full time job. And a bunch of patents from someone that just HAPPENS to be Velma's neighbor might look funny.
I crossed to the bar, and sat down on a barstool. Years of miniskirt experience stood me in good stead there; the heels, on the other hand, were still something I was adapting to.
I ordered a glass of white wine, and swiveled slightly to look around; One thing I quickly noticed was that most of the girls here were sitting in groups at tables. They all seemed to be serving as mutual "wingmen", and here I was, all alone, as I had to be.
It gradually dawned on me, in shock, that I had no idea how to do this; no idea how to be a single girl in a bar, looking to flirt and maybe get picked up. After years of being a girl, full time, I was suddenly out of my depth.
The first couple of guys were real losers. I mean, I was desperate to get laid, but a girl has to have some standards. Their pickup lines were tacky, tired old saws that I remember people using the few times I'd gone to bars with my roommates in college. Clearly, the better catches were waiting to see what these over eager types got.
I contemplated this as I finished my wine; was i reading this correctly? The flaw in my plan was hopefully just sloppy research; I had been so eager to see the world from my new viewpoint, so anxious to get this underway that I had failed to do the reading.
In fact, this was all wrong. I wasn't ready for this! I started to hyperventilate. I had to find a way to go into this gradually, but I had! To! Get! Out! Of! Here!
NOW!
I set the glass down, empty, tucked a bill under the base of it, sufficient for the wine and a substantial tip, and slipped off the stool, turning to go home for a bubble-bath, and an intense night of googling, and fearing this was one of "those" things, which mere research would have a hard time quantifying, such as when I had decided I needed to have a menstrual cycle, when I ran into someone.
Reflexively, I started to bend over to search for my glasses, before I remembered I wasn't WEARING any glasses. But it turned out to be the right move, because as I bent, two strong hands loosely grasped my shoulders, and a deep voice enquired, "Are you alright? I didn't see you there."
I straightened up. "I'm fine," I said, "Are you alright? I wasn't looking where I was going."
"No, no; it was my fault; as long as you are alright, though. Can I buy you a drink?"
"No; I really have to go," and twisted to remove myself from his grasp.
"At least let me look to see if there's any damage; we might need to exchange insurance details." he said, with a grin.
Ah, I thought, this might work...
He ordered me another white wine, and had a beer himself, and we got to talking. Score! Clearly, he's interested. But as we talked, I realized he was too interesting for a one night stand! Frustrated, I pleaded a need to make an early night of it. I did manage to give him "my" telephone number, though.
I texted him back. Dinner, dutch treat, were my terms. We agreed to meet at a Chinese place he suggested, my second favorite, as it happened. We ate, we talked, we adjourned to the starbucks down the block for coffee and desert. And there, we parted. But he did kiss me. God, what a kiss! Being Velma, I'd missed out on so much.
Friday, we met early, grabbed a quick dinner, and went to a movie. In the theater, making up for years of lost time, we quietly made out during the movie. And right then, I decided the heck with it! I was going to go for it. I'd purposely taken a cab to the restaurant, so we took his car to my place.
As I unlocked the front door, he grabbed me from behind, spinning me, and pushing me back against the door. I groped for the knob and half fell into the place. We passed through the living room, shedding clothing, and fell onto the bed, stripped to our underwear. And then further.
It was fantastic.
Afterwards, with my forearm trapped behind his neck, I felt something. I thought back to while I was kissing him, and realized he was wearing a mask! It had all of Jacobo's little "tells".
Was this an enemy? Was it Jacobo himself, escaped?
I tumbled out of the bed, and backed away crabwalking backwards, warily, on my hands and knees.
"Wait, wait!," he said from the bed, "How the heck do these things come off again?"
And the figure on the bed squeezed the little bulge at the base of the neck that is where Jocobo's masks come off, and lifted.
A bunch of blond hair tumbled out (the wig caps never stay on without something sticking them down), and underneath was Daphne!
"I've wanted you for so long, but it would have really messed up things in the gang," she said, "and then I caught you going through Jacobo's lair. In one of the rooms in the basement, I found another escape tunnel, and at the end of it was this suit. I took it, and having seen what YOU'D taken, I started staking out your apartment building. So when I saw you leave, I followed you to that bar."
She has a reputation as a bit out of it, but no one in the gang is a slouch at the detective work.
"So," she continued, "now do I get to see what you're really like?"
I peeled off my Asian-American face; underneath was revealed the face the gang had never seen.
"Cool!" she said, and finished peeling off the suit she'd been wearing.
"C'mon," she said as she reached for me, "we need to get to know one another, and then I want to see Velma! I know she isn't "complete", but we can still snuggle!"
In a world without ghosts, sometimes human beings are all the mystery you need.