When I read Maryanne Peters' story "A Special Kind of Revenge" (https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/86869/special-kind-revenge), it enraged me so much, I couldn't keep myself from painting darker and darker plots of revenge on behalf of the brothers. I got so worked up, I had to write it out of my system. While writing it down, the story became less and less dark than in my first intentions. (But) I hope you will (still) enjoy it.

Further remark: Of course, the copyright of the original story and characters belongs to Maryanne Peters. Since she didn't name her characters, I had to come up with names on my own. Thus, while she didn't name the surgeon, but wrote it from the ego-perspective (first person) I named the surgeon after her (just in honor to her as an author, not because she is that surgeon (at least as far as I know or not know)).
Anyway, please be aware, this is a work of pure fiction, any resemblance with dead or living persons (especially Maryanne Peters), with any objects, places and events are completely coincidental and unintended.

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In "A Special Kind of Revenge" (https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/86869/special-kind-revenge) Maryanne Peters lets a surgeon deal with males by performing MTF transformations on request as salvation, punishment, revenge or prophylaxis, if the price is right. One of her customers orders the transformation of a pair of brothers into sisters. The surgeon wonders briefly, if the customer bit off more than he could possibly chew. The 'sisters' were quite a handful on delivery. This is where this story took off from and is written from the customer's point of view.

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A Special Kind of Revenge gone cold

Hi, my name is Humphrey. Yes, I know, but my parents are a bit old-fashioned and some might call them 'old money'. From that point of view, you might categorize me also 'new money'. Although I had many benefits from my parent's monetary halo, it earned me as much pain. Benefits of course, because I didn't miss a thing during my childhood and got the best education I could dream of. On the other hand, pain because of what this triggered in other kids. I have always been a pretty skinny and pale kid. Although healthy, most people surely thought of me as a sick child or such alike.

Truth is I have always been more intelligent than other kids my age or a few years older. Therefore I liked to immerge myself into science. In contrast, I strongly detested outdoor activities and other kids in general, because they were so boring and into childish games and stuff. I would rather read or do my experiments and stay in my room. My parents were not too sad about that as well. I suspect I was brought into this world to inherit the family’s wealth and to continue the family's name and tradition than to fulfill a longing to pamper and spoil a child.

My mother and my father often told their friends, they would be more than happy to have me around when I finally become old enough to enjoy the opera or social events of the rich and famous. But as long as I appeared to be a little child, I was rather an annoyance and left in care of our butlers and maids. (Yes, plural and as in more than one at a time!) However, besides serving meals, supporting hygiene, clothing, transportation and occasional errands they left me alone and I them. As said, I rather stayed in my room and educated myself.

Thus, no wonder, when I started school I was fast ahead of all the others in my class although it was a very expensive, private school. In consequence, I became kind of an outcast pretty fast and stayed away from the other kids anyway. Consequentially, I had no objections when already half a year later and despite it being in the middle of the school year, I was transferred to the third graders to be less bored. Still there was little new and challenging for me. I eluded this by dreaming up lots of things to experiment on while the lessons progressed. When in fourth class, I won first prize for chemistry and biology experiments at the state's junior science fair for those aged 10 to 14. I was 8 and a half at that time and won the Most Enthusiastic and the Most Creative of all participants prize, too. Thus, it seemed the reasoned next step to attend some high-school courses and even some university courses as well in parallel to starting fifth grade. That was when I meet Louis and Carl.

They were two brothers and although Louis was almost a year older than Carl, they were freshmen and both in my chemistry classes. They were a handful for the teachers and the terror of the high school. When they became aware, I got better marks than them, had more money and was much younger, I became their favorite target. Since I refused stubbornly to share my knowledge as well as my money, this resulted in lots of pain and terror. Luckily, I brushed through my courses and left them behind rather quickly. Not that the time in between didn't seem to stretch indefinitely.

When I became 15, I got myself a lawyer and started the process to gain emancipation from my parents. It was not because I didn't love them or they didn't love me. In fact, our relationship was the best ever since I was born. For one, now I was more on an equal level going mature and second, they were able to share most of their favorite things with me. No, it was mainly because I wanted to found my own research lab company and didn't want to endanger my parent’s wealth and name should I go bankrupt.

A year before that, I had had a major breakthrough with one of my science projects. Easy speaking, I managed to plant a catalytic component in a bacteria culture, which enabled them to 'fart' hydrogen while digesting water, ammoniac and carbon dioxide. Although it was working in lab conditions only at that time prospects were gigantic. Think hydrogen-fueled cars and combined in-house heat power units producing no more greenhouse gases. Far from it, my bacteria would 'suckle' carbon dioxide out of the air. On the other hand, endangering the business of the oil companies could be dangerous enough to ruin one's life and those of all his beloved ones, too.

Through the next years, I worked on my degree, setting up my business and improving the production process. I had not much time for anything else. Foremost of all, I had no time to spend on a relationship with any member of the other gender. Growing up being the youngest one around and an outcast most of the time, I was a bit on the shy side (okay, understatement of the year) I was heavy on the shy side, so that I could hardly speak to girls without starting to stutter. Additionally, it didn’t help, that most nights I would wake up from nightmares all sweaty and panting. My personal shrink found out this resulted from the treatments I had received by Carl and Louis during high school. I couldn't really remember that much, but one ‘joke’ they performed quite regularly. They used to pull down my pants and underpants in front of the cheerleader clique a lot. Leaving me standing there unable to flee, embarrassed and laughed at my tiny weenie. Hey, I was nine!

§§§

Now close to 20, puberty had donated an adequate and sizeable equipment to me for some years, but I still got panic attacks imagining others seeing my crutch and possibly laughing about it. It didn't help that at 5'5" I was smaller than most girls I knew. Working in a lab didn't help make me a hunk in girls’ eyes either.

Therefore, I was more than a bit surprised to be approached by this beautiful girl one evening and even more astonished when I didn't start to stutter right away. To make my confusion complete, she told me, we knew each other from high school and she went by the name Brian at that time.

Obviously, his/her mother found out his/her father cheated on her big time. Which caused his mother to become an evil man-hating nut bitch. (Her rating not mine, mind you!) For whatever reasons she projected all that hatred for his father and men in general on him. After a lucrative divorce settlement and gaining sole custody of him, she accidently met a surgeon performing SRS even or especially on unwilling males if the price was right.

Contrary to most stories you would find online, where the victim would have some hope of escape because the SRS is done as last step of the painfully slow transformation, this surgeon would start with 'cutting off the dick' and performing a vaginoplasty, if requested, right at the beginning. Thus, Brianna looked like any other girl a month later - at least below her waist. Without any hope to pass or perform as a boy ever again, she gave in to the nagging and treatments. She started on hormones and attended classes in the female arts and ladylike behavior, dressing, make-up, dancing as a girl and such.

First, she was truly depressed, but when she became friends with some of the girls at the courses, she accepted her new life and became happy again. Maybe even more so than as the nerd, she had been before. Now she had girls as friends and lots of them. She were no longer shy in public or hunted down by jocks (or when for completely different reasons, mind you). She could be an eager beaver, organized and high-flying, with ambitious aims in life and not been beaten or shoved down the toilette bowl or in a locker for it. Now she was the one to toy with the jocks and cause them sleepless nights (again for completely other reasons but maybe just as soul torturing since the jocks got nowhere with her but not out of her red lacquered 'claws' either). She laughed a lot about that part.

Maybe she will never forgive her mother for her betrayal and she still intends to make her mother's life as miserable as only a in the beginning rebellious teenager brat and now a lavish, reckless and money-wasting bitching daughter can do, which on top is driving off or making fun of all her mother's friends and lovers. Flaunting her new assets in their faces, teasing them mercilessly, provoking sexual assaults to be witnessed by her mother, but being the well-behaved daughter when her mother is around them. This also helped spreading discrete little lies among the higher circles her mother so wanted in, but prevented by the bad reputation pointing at her mother. Unbeknown to her mother, Brianna had found the love of her life, too. Secretly, she is planning her lesbian marriage ever since and then adopting only boys, but not before torturing her mother a while longer and then some more.

§§§

While listening to Brianna's story and during the next sleepless nights, a plan started to form in my head. My shrink once told me, I still suffered a severe inferiority complex. I have always reckoned, the only way to get rid of the ghosts hounding me from the time Carl and Louis mobbed and taunted me, was to apply a special kind of revenge on them. Now Brianna had shown me a way to do so. I tortured my favorite search engine and 'ducked out' (sorry, I couldn’t leave this pun alone) her surgeon's contact data.

When I met the surgeon, I was a bit intimidated. She was surprisingly tall for a woman or at least lot taller than I am. Having said, many women are taller and even more muscled than I am, this might not account for much. Despite her clearly feminine features and style, I seemed to catch tiny bits of masculine vibes, which gave me the creeps. However, as soon as we sat down to discuss my requests, I found out she was a really nice woman and easy to talk to. Although she radiated some hatred against men and the male gender, too, she was very friendly and even a bit flirtatious towards me. So maybe I mistook those vibes from before and projected her strength and her intimidating me from my male punishers onto her. Since I couldn’t make a rhyme of it, it confused me a lot and probably therefore frightened me a bit. (Okay, okay, a bit more than a bit) In retrospect, I am afraid it also affected my usual analytical and clear thinking. Because, I might not have made the best decision that day. (Understatement of the century, when I read it now!)

In the end, I really asked her to transform the bullies of my past into the sex kittens of my future. That’s why, I asked for them to be made into anatomical correct girls - sisters - as pretty as possible. Furthermore, they should be as girly as possible, too, and for that as weak as kittens. To hit home their new destination and meaning in life they were to be delivered naked and to be placed unconscious on a bed in the cottage I would be renting for their delivery in the middle of nowhere.

Maryanne never bat an eye upon all those details and further specifics I asked for. She didn't question my motives, motivation or rightfulness. I guess she felt my resolve and hurt and wasn't disturbed to right something wrong by such a tremendous act. She even told me, she had done such jobs on brothers, buddies, sons and fathers, cousins and from time to time on small groups of boys. She even went as far as to confess that she liked doing multiple transformations at the same time better. In her opinion, the results were far better, easier to obtain and faster settling deeper in the 'victim's' psych, when they had someone else to see the uselessness of resistance as well as being able to compare and to understand their own inevitable progress on. Additionally, it seemed to resolve the male pride and shame more efficiently when they were aware, they were not the only one no longer fit enough to be a manly man but a little girly girl.

In the end, Maryanne seemed only interested in the generous sum I would pay for all this. On the other hand, she didn't seem interested in the money per se. It appeared to me as if she would do it for free, too, if there weren’t bills to pay. However, after all, there was a lot to be done and many equipment and facilities to be used as well as many professional people to be employed. All quite expensive and would take a big share of my payment. The rest would finance research, development and other special projects of her. Should she, even if after paying all that, still have an even not so small amount of money left over to provide her a nice living, I wouldn't complain either. Matter-of-factly, I had made enough money with my inventions so far to pay her five times the price without seeing much more than a tiny dent in my portfolio.

When we separated, I offered to pay her completely in advance. She told me then, she would 'invite and pick up' the brothers herself instead of waiting for me to have them 'win' a 'visit' in her clinic. Lastly, she had to confess, it would probably take between half a year and a bit over a year to have them ready for delivery from the first operation on. No problem. I was in no hurry and thus I had more time to anticipate the promised results.

$$$

In October the next year, I finally received the long longed for message. Carla and Louise were ready to be delivered. It had taken Maryanne more time and costed her more nerves than estimated but finally she had succeeded and she allowed herself to boast, with even better results than anticipated.

Although the operations had been as successful and as perfect as only a hopeless optimist could imagine or dream of, the brothers refused to accept their new reality. They refused to be dilated and somehow managed to rip out the trainings dildos every time and fight over it endlessly. Thus, they had to be drugged and kept unconscious until their new plumbing had healed completely. This had to be done to keep the stitches from tearing open or become infected as much as to keep the new cavity from growing the wrong way back together. While they were knocked out, an ultra-high dose of long-term estrogen and testosterone blockers caused them to grow a nice pair of soft, large breasts each. The hormones cruising their bodies now and being bedridden that long caused them to lose maybe half their muscle mass, but despite all that, they still stubbornly refused to behave other than as the males they no longer resampled and for sure no longer were.

Their pelvises had been widened implanting bone extensions. Body fat had been redistributed to enhance the female shapes further. The fingers had been slimmed down at bone level as much as had the bones of the feet been shaped and aligned to resample the female ideal. The tendons at the heels had shortened themselves from the long time the feet had been in a cast pointing downwards. Thus, they should be more comfortable walking tiptoed or in high-heels and due to the wider hips and changed center of gravity naturally give in to a sexy swing. Still they refused and were determined to stomp along as probably only heavy-built bikers or lumberjacks out for a fight would do. Even if it looked rather funny and not intimidating or manly at all, it was as far away from sexy or female as well.

Since they had to be unconscious for such a long timer, Maryanne had the chance to even experiment with reshaping their skulls and facial structure to more female proportions. Eyes, noses and lips were adjusted to match the girly image. The Adam’s apple was long gone and the voice cords had been altered to produce a higher, sexy mezzo-soprano voice. The hair had grown to reach down up to five inches below their shoulders in the meantime. It had been permed into long, springy, wavy curls and colored honey-blonde. Stubbornly, they still stuck to their male behavioral patterns.

As last resort, Maryanne kept them drugged with a further female hormone cocktail to induce more female longings, although she hated to have to rely on such. The success would be deeper and more immersive when the subject would learn the lessons by acceptance or defeat. With the hormones, it would be more like putting tapestry up and hoping the wall would suck up the pattern deep into its structure. Opposed to it, learning would be like a sponge squeezed in ink again and again and again.

Unexpectedly, there was a sudden break-through though. When one brother (or should I say sister - no, I guess brother was still correct then, although they were female in every other way than their stubborn male self-images) hurt himself severely. He once more had tried to stomp all macho, despite walking on tiptoes and still refusing the support of the sling-back high-heeled stilettos as well as the necessary help of a nice C cup-sized lace-covered soft bra for his magnificent rack. He ended crashing heavily on the edge of some stairs next to the vanity. 'Unfortunately', he broke his lowest set of ribs 'beyond repair' and they 'had to' be removed. After that he had to wear a corset until his ribcage was fully healed and 'unfortunately, too,' the corset had to be laced rather tight to give enough support. When the corset could be removed, 'Louise' had a much thinner waist than Carl and 'Carla' suddenly didn't want to be the fat cow with the barrel-waist.

Soon Carl had an 'accident', too, (remarkably, even without Maryanne's 'encouragements' or 'help', this time) and 'strangely' 'lost' the same lower set of ribs as Louise had, too, as well as some significant inches of waist. This then was, of course, in the process of Maryanne's 'selflessly' provided 'help' and 'care' to repair the accident’s damages. Suddenly, Carla had something to compete with Louise again, but while Carl(a) had been knocked out, Louise gained another lead.

Louis had been bored tremendously and started to notice to 'her' mirror image. First he talked to 'her' as if chatting up his next girlfriend, but then (s)he began to talk to her 'sister' about where she(!) lacked in looks and could use a little help and improvement(!!!) and not much later she started to apply makeup on her own doing to fix those shortcomings. Of course, first, the attempts were rather like a child's using her mother's makeup for the first time, but some strategically 'forgotten' fashion journals and teen magazines showed her, where she went wrong or too far, how to coordinate, how to apply and how to find the suitable stuff.

Thus, when Carla came back from her ribcage surgery she felt the ugly duckling and left behind again. In no time, she were struggling to learn herself about the makeup artistry, her sister could already master effortlessly. Once more in human history, a fight triggered by (male) pride and/or stubbornness brought down and sealed its participants' doom - funny enough, this time it was the doom of their male/macho/bully minds. Soon Carla and Louise (since at latest now, only the female form could apply in earnest) competed for the best looks, sexiest clothes and gait, the most seducing makeup and best flutter of the 'most perfectly' glued-on false eyelashes. They competed on everything - how to sit, to walk, to talk, to be the most girlish or ladylike. They challenged each other who could the flawless make-up the fastest and who could reproduce a certain look from the Glamor Girl the most accurately. Surprisingly, no matter, who won, they ended up giggling and snickering like schoolgirls. No one could honestly see the former bullies in those girly-girls, tickling each other, anymore.

The tickling became more and more sensual and sooner than not climaxed in hot make-out sessions or lesbian lovemaking or sweet exploring of their new female anatomy. That always ended in long caring embraces and falling asleep in each other's arms happy smiles still plastered on the cute faces hours later. Especially, when some vibrators (loaded and safety released, so-to-say) 'appeared' conveniently in previously empty drawers of their nightstands and came into play for a few hours. After that, the brothers were gone for good and replaced by sisters and sex kittens.

§§§

As foretold all those months ago, I had rented a cabin in the woods. It was more than 30 miles away from any settlement. It sat at the shore of a lake surrounded by thick forest and high steep mountains. There was no creek draining the lake with its only flow subsurface. Thus, no one could follow the course of water to get back to civilization. No one was the wiser in which direction to climb the mountains either, because even from atop of the surrounding mountains you just saw more mountains but no path, no street, no sign of human live. The only suitable way to get there and away was by helicopter or tiny hydroplane, which could land on and take-off from the water of the lake.

I told my parents and employees I would be gone for the winter months to work on a new technology. I carried on, it would require my undivided attention and since I trusted no one in this delicate phase, I would be out of communication and at an unrevealed location for some time and they could save their energy attempting to find me because they won’t.

I would leave all my communication devices, computers and such at home. I bought new ones - each in a different town quite aloft from my home. I avoided buying this stuff while on business trips or on private trips, people knew I was undertaking. But while on the business trips, I would always withdraw some extra money, which that way wouldn't seem too unusual. After collecting it and carrying this stash of cash around, it surely couldn’t be traced back to me or my accounts. I would only use cash, fake addresses and IDs when purchasing new equipment. Thus, I could even prevent buying a burner phone, since this would probably attract more attention in a deserted area than an ordinary one but registered on an inconspicuous name.

When I went on those shopping trips, I would go by public transport not carrying any electronic devices with me. The purchased devices went still dissembled in a rented underground container until I transferred them over to the cabin. Probably being a bit too paranoid but probably not, I avoided to carry any of my old devices close to where the new ones were as well as I avoided to bring the new ones anywhere close to my home, workplaces or favorite places. Last on my list, I bought a small 1980 Toyota town car with virtually no electronics beside the digital clock in the dashboard and the EFI. It didn't even possess a radio. Overall, I was as sure as one could be nowadays, that no one would be able to track me down the next half year, and hopeful no one would be triggered to try to begin with.

§§§

With everything prepared to my liking, I drove with my new old car to the small town closest to the cabin using back roads only. Since everything else was already up in the cabin, I parked 'down town', grabbed my little overnight bag and started walking. Not slowed down by deadweight, I managed the five miles through the nearly empty suburban streets to the small airfield in no time. I chartered a helicopter flight and was on my way not much later. We landed out of sight of the cottage and I sent the pilot back. I hiked the short distance to the cottage and took in the view. Everything seemed undisturbed. No footprints, no strange objects or other indication of any human being ever around beside the huge block cabin. I carefully walked over to the terrace avoiding sand spots or muddy patches. I looked around one last time and took in the scenic view of the lake. Then, not able to withstand my excitement any longer I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door.

Stepping inside I would have thought no one had tempered with the interior for the last months if not for the new round French bed in the middle of the living room and the two sleeping beauties on top of it. As agreed Maryanne had delivered the brothers - uhm - sisters right prior my arrival and left no visible traces how they got here. True to her word, both girls were still sedated and sleeping completely nude huddling in each other's arms.

I walked over to the bed and took in all there was to see. Carla and Louise were simply perfect. Lithe and lissome, womanly hips, pert, round and most impressively naturally grown breasts. Long slender legs and not a single hair on their bodies below their thin, arched brows beside two heart-shaped patches of soft hair above their changed sex. Their faces were perfect and incredibly cute. Their arms had lost all manly contours and the bulging muscles, which inflicted so much pain and the feeling of inferiority on me. Now slim as pixies’, they for sure lacked their former power. To round things up, their feet were now slim and feminine, too, and even when relaxed, pointed downwards. I could almost hear them craving for beautiful high-heeled pumps.

Originally, I had planned leaving the newly minted sisters naked for the first few days. Probably, having them soon begging for clothes and shoes or if I was lucky enough for my cock. However, at that sight, I was drawn to change my plans slightly. I went to the bedroom and opened the closet. There was not much inside. Some flimsy, short, lacy nightshirts and teddies and some see-through lingerie. Apart from that, one side held pairs and pairs of sexy high-heels, stilettos and sandals - none with less than four-inch high heels. I picked up some beautiful black strappy high-heeled sandals. They looked rather delicate and soft, but they were enforced with steel cords in most of the thin leather straps and next to the buckle there was a tiny but sturdy lock.

Excited, I rushed back into the main room. The sisters were still asleep. I slipped the sandals on their tiny feet and was surprised once more, how accurate Maryanne had met her own specifications after my suggested sizes. I locked the sandals in place and sat myself in an easychair facing to the bed. I spent the next 30 to 40 minutes just sitting there and watching them sleep while admiring the manifestations of my special kind of revenge. I was just about to guess what would lay ahead of me in terms of sexual future when they began to stir and to wake up.

They woke up almost at the same time, slowly first but then with vehemence. At first, they cuddled sleepily as if waking in a safe place from a pleasant dream on a Sunday morning, but suddenly they had bolted upright within seconds apart from each other. They looked around a bit frightened taking in their new surroundings until their eyes met mine. They tried to crawl away and then to cover themselves as they discovered the bed was round and left not much space between them and me. However, the day cover was tucked under well and they were still sitting on it. Still keeping an eye on me, they jumped off the bed from the far side off me and fled to the door. I watched fascinated as they moved gracefully like nymphs or does although they had just woken up and never worn those shoes before. Nevertheless, they didn't struggle the tiniest bit. Maybe, they were too accustomed to running on tiptoes to register the shoes in their panicked mindset.

I had left the door unlocked intentionally. So they turned the knob, opened the door, possibly surprised it actually opened, and then stopped after a few steps out still on the terrace. They took in the magnificent view and incredible huge wilderness although I am sure rather shocked than appreciating. There was a sudden gush of cool evening breeze and suddenly, the girls became aware of their state of undress.

Hanging their heads, they slowly returned into the well-heated room and to being protected from the ruthless elements and looming wilderness. Then Louise closed the door leaning against it from the inside and catching her breath. Carla was leaning against Louise's shoulder looking frightened and for support. I observed them fascinated and impressed upon their perfection and ostensibly natural womanhood. If I hadn't known better - no, make that - although I knew better, I would never guess or had any oh so little reason to doubt them being anything else than they appeared to be. Beautiful, perfect women! The fright and the cold breeze had triggered their nipples to go erect. It was unbelievable how complete and real the transformation had become and in what relatively short time at that. Their nipples were pink and as big as pencil erasers and the areolas as big as quarters. Just the size I love.

I kept sitting motionless and taking in the sight. Now Louise watched me, too. I think it took some time and grinding wheels, but finally you could see recognition grow on her face.
"Humpdee-Dumpdee! Humphrey!!!", she shouted half of surprise and excitement, half of relief, I guess. I twitched slightly at the almost forgotten nickname, but soon recovered from its impact. After all, I had won and got my revenge and played the winning trump, hadn't I.

Their faces fell back to more frightened expressions after the short-lived joy of recognition had passed and yielded to sorrow of what I was doing here. Probably, they even regretted bullying me, but maybe it was just shame for being naked in front of their erstwhile victim. Like captured wild animals, they tentatively came back to the bed and sat down, all the time facing me and keeping their distance and a bodily tension as if ready to flee again. With their lithe and weak bodies and those big eyes, they reminded me off does. I smiled at that inwardly and had to fight hard for not showing on the outside. Yes, I had my revenge. I had won!

I laid down what lay ahead for them from now on. They were weak. They were female. They were naked. They were at my mercy. I didn't tell them exactly where we lived now, only that the cottage was now their whole world. They were free to go, but it would be more than 30 miles through tough wilderness to the next settlement and I wouldn't tell them in which direction. There might be wolves, bears and cougars out there just waiting for such tender meat. Furthermore, even if they could avoid or escape them they would still be naked and the mountains around would be covered in snow soon. I would be the only one around here wearing clothes. Since they were still taller than me and had much more up front as well as much wider hips and tights nothing of my clothes would fit them. (Tactically, I had brought only no-stretch textiles and rather skinny ones at that with me.)

Meaning they would be naked and in high-heels out in the woods and mountains trying to climb or outrun predators while not freezing to death. Or they could fulfill my needs, stay here with me, will be looked after and taken care of, with a place to live, maybe even clothes - make that sexy, lacy, flimsy clothes, but clothes anyway, something to eat and somewhere to sleep (with me). Finally yet importantly, with me they didn't need to pretend to be some big, male bullies, gone missing and somehow re-appearing as some kind of pixies. Also, no need to pretend to be some kidnapped or missing girls without memory or whatever story they would come up with to explain their existence or the absence of IDs. Instead, they could live a careless life in luxury with only minimal effort to satisfy me and keep themselves sexy and ready.

With everything in the open and all I intended to say said, I went to the master bedroom to leave them to mull over the facts and proposals. I was already sure of its outcome. Therefore, I undressed and slipped under the heavenly soft and cozy comforter. I had lowered the setting of thermostat in the living room a few degrees when I left them. As soon as Carla and Louise began to shiver and found the day cover of their French bed wouldn't move, I was sure they would join me rather sooner than later.

It took a surprisingly long time but when they finally entered the master bedroom, they were shy, demure and submissive. I was astonished, but happy. Probably Maryanne had succeeded far better than we both thought and hoped. The girls apologized timidly and almost childish, before asking for permission to share the bed with me and to crawl under the blankets. When asking me this, they grew beet-red and looked at the floor. As if impersonating 4-year-olds, shy little girls if that image had not been betrayed by their womanly figures.

Like performing a noble act, I waved them over and lifted the comforter on both sides of me. The message was clear and as much as Louise or Carla wanted to lay next to each other at least, they obeyed. Louise slipped in left of me while Carla rushed under the covers to my right. I shoved my arms underneath their backs and pulled them closer. I got another pleasant surprise. As I said, I have never been a work-out guy or into fitness or muscles, but I had no problems at all to pull both girls to me at the same time. They were not only much weaker than before but also much more light-weighted. I could easily handle them or take them on now. Now I was sure, Maryanne's worries those two could be too much for me, had no foundation anymore. They weren't a handful, but because they not much more than a hand full now.

The next and even more pleasant surprise came after I pulled them to me. They had turned on their sides and now two beautiful full and pert pairs of magnificent breasts pressed warm and soft against my sides. It overwhelmed me anew how perfect they had become. Their skin was as smooth and as soft as any girl's I had ever met. They were as real as they could get without being born as girls. Even some genetic girls might not be as close to the ideal as they were. After a few stiff moments (no, not that stiff moment! Although there clearly was some blood working on it) they relaxed a bit, threw their arms over my chest, and snuggled closer. They kissed me tenderly, one on each cheek, then laid their heads on my shoulders and were asleep just seconds later. I guess they were exhausted from the drugs and excitements of the day and their lithe bodies could not store so much energy.

Now it was my uncomfortable situation keeping me awake. Aroused and in bed with the most beautiful girls I had ever met and then pinned down by their cute heads, soft breasts and bodies and wrapped by their long, slender, smooth and hairless legs. My erection was standing at attention but did not receive any. I couldn't reach it and I would not get anywhere that night. Finally, my frustration and excitement of the day took its toll, too, and I fell in Morpheus' arms.

When I awoke, I felt two heavy weights pressing on my chest and a tender but strong grip around my shaft. I think I even felt some long sharp fingernails. That hand was not my hand! My eyes flew open and I saw a wicked smile close up. Carla and Louise had each positioned one of their boobs on my chest and while Carla still slept against my shoulder, Louise was watching my face while gently stroking and kneading my morning wood. I was just about to relax when Louise dove under the covers as her hand was replaced by something warm and moist. Some sucking and the bobbing of her head told me it were her mouth and tongue. I couldn't stand it very long before I shoot a big load down her throat which she consumed without stopping her motions as if she had greedily waited for it or even appreciated it.

Louise returned to lay next to me, snuggled closer smiled and then started kissing me. First my neck, chin and cheek, then my nose and finally my lips. When she kissed my lips, her tongue darted in my mouth and I tasted something musky and salty. Before my overloaded one-track-brain registered, I had a mouthful of my own cum in my mouth. As stunned and off balance as I was, I could't come up with anything but to swallow. Louise stopped only shortly to smile at me then continued ravishing my lips with hers.

Carla must have awaken, too. Because suddenly I felt soft lips engulfing my flaccid dick again. Only it didn't stay flaccid for long. As soon as he started to harden, Carla climbed on top of me and brushed her clit with my glans. After a few strokes she lowered herself onto me - engulfing my inches with her other lips and moist cavity. Louise still tortured my lips and tongue with hers. Therefore, it was hard to keep track of all those hot inputs and to divide my attention between those two hot girls. Any thought about the former bullies or original gender vanished and was replaced by insatiable lust for those 'as real as they get' girls.

Over the next two weeks we made love, we had orgies, we ravished each other full of pure lust and sexual hunger. We did it in pairs while the third was watching. We 69ed while the third found ways to heighten the others' pleasure. We often fell asleep in each other's arms, only to be awaken by the first one awake testing ways to get us going again.

Dear god, the girls really kept us going and going. Soon, fear crept up to me I couldn't keep up with them for much longer. I still got as hard as fast and as often as at the beginning of our adventure, but I became more and more exhausted, a bit sore in places and I seemed to fall asleep much faster and then would sleep much longer. When I 'finally' woke up the girls were always eagerly waiting for me and our next romp in the sheets. I tried to slow them down or to decline them their fun, but the girls wouldn't take a no as a no and continued to integrate me in their games and challenges as before or maybe even more so. Of course, it couldn't go on forever. I am only just a man and as I said no honk or top-athlete. Thus, the inevitable happened. One evening - I think after satisfying each of them the fourth time that evening - I simply blacked out on top of Louise.

§§§

When I became conscious again, I was cold. Something felt wrong, but I couldn't pinpoint, what it was. I just lay there on top of the covers a few moments longer, before I opened my eyes. I was facing the high wooden ceiling of the main room of the cottage. So obviously, I lay on top of the French bed and therefore I had no covers, of course. The temperature was still set to rather cool. Beside from the cool, there was still something else disturbing me rather well, but only on a subconscious level. Not so subconsciously, something was strangling me a bit around the neck. I moved my hands up there and my fingertips brushed something like a dog's collar. When a 'What?' escaped my lips, I got a severe electric shock from it. Muttering 'WTF' in consequence earnt me another shock this time with a much higher intensity. I almost fainted and that luckily kept me from ushering further endangering noises.

When I had calmed down some I investigated the collar. It was made of heavy leather, seemingly fitted with studs and rivets, and some kind of electronics in a thickened part, but, as far as I could tell by now, not with a lock or a buckle. I raised my upper body and propped myself on my elbows to look down at myself and this time fainted for real.

When I became conscious once more, I wasn't sure I was awakening from a really bad dream. So I kept my eyes shut as daring fingers found the collar as subconsciously and fearfully expected, before they went on a quest south. Beyond a soft patch of pubic hair, they only found a void. Okay, not really a void - more a stump of what there had been once before. My numbed brain registered an alien feeling from my fingers and from what my dick was left of my dick. My eyes snapped open again and I looked down. I got the impression my dick was chopped off right at its base. What was left of the cavernous body and spongy body of my erstwhile penis seemed to remain in form of just a little nub the size of a dime with a tiny hole a little off-center. The skin covering it appeared to be still heavily scarred and pinkish, as if burnt and badly healed. I guess, the hole was what was left of my urethra.

It took quite some time to take in the shock I got from just looking at the ruins of my once male pride. When I was able to process further impressions, I became aware that my ball sack was still there and intact. Only difference from before (if you overlooked the absence of my little man - and no there is absolutely no pun intended) was a silvery band running around its 'neck' like a tie. It didn't hurt or prevent the blood circulation, but it was too narrow to pull it down or shove even one of my balls upwards through it. I am sure since I tried a lot of times and THAT hurt like hell.

Finally, I gave up. I would obviously be living with a silvery band around the base of my ball sack for some time. How hard could that be? If I leave it alone it will leave me alone kind of logic, but then again what could I do and what would it hurt to leave it there? It is not as if anybody would be seeing it out here in the woods.

While I tried to get rid of it, I had felt some kind of tucking between my bottom cheeks. The silvery band ran straight to and vanished between them into my sphincter. Confused I had to admit, all this stress, fear and tucking got me somewhat aroused. It felt like a hard-on approaching. Despite this, all I got was some strain and a draw in the skin where my buddy once had been. A few drops of precum appeared from the tiny hole and ran down my scrotum. As if it shed a tear about what was lost.

I was still cold. I looked around, but there was nothing to cover me up. In a corner stood a chair and something black was thrown over it. I walked there and became even more aware of my cold feet and the cold floor. When I picked up the piece of cloth it unfolded some more and presented itself as something black and white and lacy and satiny. I turned it a bit this way and that and thereby discovered, it was a tiny French maid's costume. Maybe just a part of it? There was a black skirt sewn to a short bodice. Both made from soft, black satin or silk. Under the skirt some white lacy stuff bobbed out pointing in all directions like a disc.

I tried to cover myself with it, but it was nearly impossible to cover anything with the lace sticking out quite rigidly. I held it in front of me - between thumb and pointer finger only at the top of the bodice on each side. The skirt immediately formed a perfect disc supported by the lace underneath. While the bodice seemed wide enough to probably fit me, it would barely cover more than my belly. I wondered what girl would fit in such an attire when the curiosity hit me hard. I strained my ears and looked around but I was sure I was alone. Quickly I stepped into the bodice and drew it up over my hips.

The black skirt stood out like a tutu of a ballet dancer. The lace below supported this impression, too. The bodice hung rather lose to the front. Therefore, I searched around the back a bit and when I found the zipper, I zipped it shut. The bodice fit snuggly now, but as I had assumed barely reached my rips. At least, my kidneys would be covered now. However, this was not in focus of my mind at that moment, but the zipper was. When I pulled it up, it had suddenly made a clicking noise and as much as I pulled, pushed, turned and tore, it didn't move the tiniest bit any more. Despite its delicate appearance, I was not able to tear it apart or loosen it in any way.

I was stuck in this attire. At least my kidneys became a bit warmer and I felt a bit warmer and somehow (strangely enough) more decent. On the other hand, my chest, my buttocks and pubic region especially my lonesome ball sack were still in plain view and for all the world to see. Luckily, I was still alone and maybe could come up with something before exposure to the world.

With the piteousness of my pubic leftovers out of sight - at least my view was blocked by this tutuesk skirt - I could think a bit clearer. I began to wonder where Carla and Louise were. Cautiously, I creeped in direction of the master bedroom. Still, there were no noises beside my own breathing and the elements outside. I peered inside and the room was empty. The comforter was missing and the closet was empty. Only a single pair of red stiletto sandals remained in the back of the closet.

I observed them for a while as if they would jump at me any moment. Unexpectedly, the remained unanimated, silent and absolutely not in the mood to savage me. I picked one up and had a long look. The pencil-thin and ultra-long heel fascinated me. I could not imagine how anybody could walk in such impractical footwear not to mention on such high and thin heels. At the same time, this thought intrigued me more and more. If 1 millions of women could achieve this, why should men or more precise me not be able to do so, too? Would I be able to stand or even to walk in such shoes? I laughed at the thought of stumbling around and finally breaking my neck and then someone would find my dead body in high-heels and tutu.

Immediately, I put the shoe back down. But curiosity kills the cat - or those heels me? I picked the stiletto up again and sat down on the bed. Still no more dangerous than say a toothbrush or a sock, I studied the shoe some more. It was a plateau sandal with probably three inch plateau and the heel therefore was eight to nine inches long but not as thick as my pinky. Despite or maybe therefore, it looked still delicate and elegant. The straps were thin and soft red leather and would enclose the foot above the ankle. There was a small buckle designed like a butterfly with its wings apart while open.

I put it down in front of me and slipped my foot in. Surprisingly, it fitted like a glove. My heel was lifted and my calf was strained but this caused it to look sexy rounded, too. I turned my foot a bit to have a better view from the side, but since the straps weren't closed the sandal slid around and almost off. I pulled at the straps and held the butterfly wings close to each other, careful not to close them, but suddenly they were drawn to each other as if by a strong magnet. They connected, snapped shut and a click confirmed my fear of locking them in place. I struggled with the wings, but there was no visible lock or release and now it appeared as if made of a single piece of metal.

When I turned my foot then the stiletto stayed on as designed. Wouldn't it have been sprouted from my foot I would thought of it as sexy as hell... okay, I still found it incredibly sexy then - even on my foot. The remains of my dick thought so, too, and I felt a strain and pain from the scarred skin between my legs.

With no way to get rid of the shoe, there was nothing left to do but trying to stand up. It was easier than I thought. With the other foot flat on the floor I was still balanced and simply stood up. A bit like as if on a step. On the other hand, now the shoed leg felt 10 inches too long. I had to keep the knee bent quite a bit and couldn't really place my foot down. When I tried to straighten the knee the other foot rotated freely in the air as if slacklining. Sighing, I gave up and wobbled back into the closet. I stepped into the other sandal. Since the hold without closing it was again too weak and the second shoe would not add much on top of my current dilemma in form of the maid's dress and the first high-heel, I snapped the second one's straps close, too. It fastened itself and was not to open again.

A bit more wobbly than on the way in, I left the closet. Nevertheless, it was surprisingly easy to walk in those skyscraper-heels. That is, as long as I could stabilize myself with one hand against the wall and slowly walk the flat hardwood floor. On the other hand, it felt surprisingly high - much higher than I had expected. In the end, it were just shoes, right!?! For a man, shoes are not related to elevated heights. I felt like 6'8" to 7" tall. Okay, it was more like 6'3", but I felt like Gulliver.

I walked around the room some more trying to find my balance. It became a tiny bit easier with every step and soon it was okay as long as I moved. I had to concentrate on not to twist my ankle or stumble when lifting and lowering one foot, but it was more or less okay. Only when I stopped I started to wave like a willow. Always in danger of toppling over back or forth.

I felt the need to relief myself, so I went to the bathroom. I was no longer afraid to collide with somebody or about someone could see me like this, but I was again walking slowly and carefully. Only now, I did so to not break my neck or some bones. Additionally, the tutu didn't make it any easier since I could not see where or how I placed my feet exactly.

When I finally entered the bathroom, I was shocked to the bone. I faced the large mirror and thereby myself or what was left of it. My legs appeared to be incredible long and slender due to the additional height of the stilettos. The maid's dress slimmed down my waist visually without actually slimming me even a single inch. Since the tutu still spread out in a circle around me, I could clearly see my groin region and it looked even more ridiculous facing it from that angle than before.

Even when growing up I had already thought the male genitals were a joke of nature. One ball hanging lower than the other one, the ball sack strangely shriveled and wrinkly and then the strangely formed dick hanging bent to one side and tipped with the strange formed glans. Everything else in nature usually seems aesthetical, symmetrical and fitting. When you look at slim young girls or women with pert breasts, they appear as well designed as a dolphin or a panther. Sleek, streamlined and flawless. Men on the other side, look like the penis was added on a whim or as a last minute change without asking the chief designer. Maybe it really was meant as a bad joke to see how men would cope with this.

Anyway, now it looked even more ridiculous. There was no neat triangle, but a void, scarred, bald spot with the tiny hole in it and underneath the scrotum now in plain view. This didn't exactly help its visual presentation - quite the opposite. Do you remember the alien in MIB with the scrotum below his chin? Yeah, that ridiculous!

Luckily, I could not waste much time looking at me since my bladder actually called for its right with vehemence then. So, I sat down. What else should I do with nothing to hold or to aim with? I wasn’t embarrassed by this. Why should I? Okay, it is nice to be able to stand and point while taking a leak e.g. in the wilderness or a public restroom and I always peed standing when it was possible before. On the other hand, I guess all men have sat on a toilet seat at least once in their life without being ashamed. Like most, I have always sat down when I had to poop and it wasn't as if sitting down to pee was a woman-only domain or a faggot thing to do. I know of 'non-gay' men doing it because they have to clean the toilet themselves and like to do so as few times as possible and sitting down certainly helps there, too.

Anyway, I sat down and let go as I was used to and it felt and worked almost the same. It sprayed a bit more. Maybe the most embarrassing thing was, now the stream shoot out straight ahead and I over the bowl. Thus, I had to lean forward quite a bit to not wet the floor in front of me (further). Beside that, there was not much to write home about. That is until the pressure diminished. The remaining fluid started to tinkle down the scarred skin and the front of my scrotum. Now that was strange and humiliating. It felt as if I had wetted myself and the warm liquid tinkled down and stimulated some nerves and reflexes in the sack’s skin. When I tried to shove it back out of the way, I peed on my hand. Uhhg! Humiliating plus one as it clashed with my upbringing.

Disgusted, I cleaned myself when I had finally finished and patted myself dry. While I touched the paper towels to the skin below my peehole I brushed the silvery band, too. This reminded me of the string and the tugging from before. I placed a knee on the edge of the sink and then started to pull gently at the string. The tucking at my butthole intensified and the resistance inside my bowels increased. I tucked a bit harder and felt something bigger press against my sphincter from the inside. I tried to concentrate on and to relax those muscles and finally managed to pull a silvery egg out of my derriere.

The egg was connected to the silvery band. Beside this, where that left the egg, it had no seams and no lock and no other disturbance or something to remove it. The band could not be detached or loosened as far as I could see. Soon, I got distracted, when only half a minute or so after I had retrieved the egg from my insides the band started to warm up. Slightly noticeable at first, but after a bit it heated gradually up some more every few seconds. Now I tried to remove the band even more furiously than before, but nothing worked. When the heat and pain got almost unbearable I did the only thing I hadn't tried - I vehemently shoved the egg back where the sun don't shine. The heat and the pain vanished immediately.

I left the bathroom without another look around or in the mirror. I was too occupied with those last experiences. I was deep in thought while passing the bedroom and entering the main room to sit down exhausted, that I noticed just much much later, I had been walking around on my stilts without much thought or effort. Soon after that, I started to examine the cottage.

Basically, it was more or less as I remembered before falling asleep. A bit more chilly and the closets were empty. My phone and stuff was missing and so was the key for Carla's and Louise's high-heels. In the fridge, there were some salad and some vegetables, but most of the other food was gone. When I glanced outside through a window, I could see Indian summer had progressed quite a bit and would end soon. The leaves were yellow and red, hardly green anymore and partly gone. The lake gave a chilly impression, too, and the mountaintops had an icing of snow in some spots. Had I really been out for three weeks if not more?

My expedition brought up not much more than that I might starve or freeze to death here and now I was the one with no chance of rescue or escape. Nobody knew where I was and nobody would start looking for me or would even think I could be in need of help or rescue. The thought made me shudder some more and reminded me of the cool air inside. Thus, before I broke down crying I stalked over to the front door and turned the knob. It was still unlocked. Then again, where should I go if not back inside? Still, I stuck my head out and looked around. Everything was void and silent. Nobody nearby here, too, as far as I could detect.

I opened the door some more and stepped out on the porch. I looked around again and listened intensively, but I appeared to be the only living creature beside trees, bushes and grass in miles around. Hurriedly, I tip-tapped around the veranda to the side of the cottage. There I still found the firewood I had stacked there in summer. I cut down some scales with a hatchet leaning there against the wall, before picking them up together with a few big logs and soon was tip-tapping even faster back inside. I left the hatchet where I had found it. If it would be good for anything else beside the firewood, whoever took the rest of my stuff would surely have taken it, too.

Already chilled to the bones, mentally and bodily, I hurried to the fireplace and started a fire. Luckily, it worked on the first try and soon my shaking from exhaustion and cold stopped.

While I sat in front of the fireplace hugging myself and slowly getting warmer, I had heard a faint noise. I wasn't too sure but it could have been a helicopter taking off. I ran to the porch window, but there was nothing to see but darkening void and spacious nature. I was about to get back to sit in front of the fire when the door opened and Carla and Louise came in. They were both dressed to the nines in pantsuits, women’s business pantsuits that is, hugging every curve and accentuating their perfect bodies. They were carrying a small flight case each and rolling in two big suitcases.

They stopped dead in their tracks and dropped their luggage. I was about to flee the room, but where to and why. After all, they most likely cause my current predicament and surely planned to get me in the stuff, I was wearing, anyway. Therefore, I just stood there like a deer in the head lights of oncoming traffic. After flashing shortly a startled expression, Louise' face morphed into a sugar-sweet, motherly, but surely fake smile. She told me, how nice it was to see me up and dressed adequately for my new position. Then she informed me, that Humphrey or Humpdee-Dumpdee would no longer seem appropriate. They would start calling me Heidi (pronounced Hi-Dee) or Deedee. I was expected to call them Mistress, since I obviously 'chose' and 'wanted' to be their maid. Why else would I be dressing that way? My attempt to deny or explain differently, was cut short with an enraged look and non-negotiable instructions.

First, they ordered me to take their luggage to the master bedroom. Then I would have to go outside, pick up some boxes and store their content in the kitchen cabinets and fridge. I was too startled to move, so Louise did something with her watch and suddenly my butt started buzzing. This startled me some more. Therefore, Louise touched her watch again. This time the silvery band heated up significantly and then I received what I reckon were mild electric shocks back and front. Louise smiled at me with bared teeth. I couldn't really place that smile. Malicious, sneaky, superior, expectant, amused or maybe disgusted or a mix of all or some of them morphing into each others.

Louise tapped her watch once more. This time everything going on down there stopped. She pointed at the luggage, gave me an upwards nod. Without giving me any further look, she then turned around and went over to the fireplace to enjoy its warmth herself. Carla giggled at me before joining Louise. Both their backs remained turned to me. I felt like in twilight zone and as if in trance, I fulfilled my assigned tasks. I was even only mildly surprised that I had no issues with the weight and my heels - afterwards. While I was at it, I simply fulfilled my 'job'(?) and it was as if I had done so in this my outfit all the time.

When I had put all the clothes and food away as ordered, I went where the sisters had settled down on comfy chairs near the fireplace. I performed something rather resampling some kind of the-restroom-is-engaged-dance, since I was unsure if I had to and if so, how to curtsy. Louise noticed and erupted in barks of laughter. Carla followed her lead only seconds later. To me, this was the closest to the bullies or boys I had known, that I had seen in them in weeks. I had almost completely forgotten their origin and our strained past.

Louise told me, we - meaning I - would work on this. Among a lot of other things. Then SHE told ME what my future would be like - as I had done to them all those weeks ago. She didn't really have to mention, that I was far far far away from any help and from any human outpost. Nevertheless, she mentioned the snow, which was expected the next days. Probably we would soon be snowed in and for the next three to four months, there wouldn't be any way out of here - apart from through the air. Except of course, one of us - me - would be an experienced high-alpine mountaineer or an ice climber or something similar. But even then, I would need the proper equipment, which I hadn’t. That brought forth new and louder barks of laughter due to their pun.

Anyway, I would have a lot of time to learn how to be a proper maid and they would have a lot of time at their hands to help me. For sure, they would point out my flaws and maybe they would even stoop to bring me on my way to be a devoted sex slave as well. Should that be 'my wish', they would love to provide me with all the toys, I would ask for or even 'not dare' to ask for. Regardless, first I could prove myself beneficial and prepare some dinner and the table. Since 'we girls' would have to watch our figures - me more than them regarding my 'surprisingly' male-like appearing belly and waist - a nice salad would be just right.

I did as told and was allowed to join them for dinner. On one hand, because we had just one dinner table and on the other hand, they wanted to revel in my new prospects of live.

It began, when they informed me that while I had been asleep during our first two weeks, one of them would have left the bed to search the cottage and surroundings. The other had watched me sleep and petted me gently to help me relax. That way they had found all my keys, equipment and most-importantly my phone. I learned I had severely underestimated their intellect. Obviously, they were into computers and hacking and stuff. Since I am not, I didn't understand most of it, but condensed it came down to 'they won - I lost everything'.

First, they had unlocked my phone thanks to fingerprint authentication (stupid me thought this was the safest! Though they just needed to press it against my thumb while I was sleeping!). From that point on, they had systematically found out where we were, how to get hold of my accounts and properties, order stuff, get away and back here and so on.

As a juicy bit of information, they gloated over how they recorded me alone at home today. Hence, they could easily proof, that I had dressed myself that way and completely on my own free will without them forcing me and not even in the same building. Obviously, the best-of showed how I had searched for the shoes and put them on as deliberately as later I had shoved the vibrator egg up my rectum without being asked to. Further, it showed how I left the unlocked cabin and returned without anyone around.

While I was still digesting that, they told me more about their doing, while I was out. When they came in possession of some of my money, they started to order things online and had them delivered by drones. The deliveries were dropped outside without me perceiving. Most likely I was too exhausted at those times or asleep. While I was sleeping like a rock one of them would pick things up and hide them for later use. Thus they got sleeping pills, clothes for themselves, surgical equipment and else. When I finally fell asleep that last time, they could knock me out for longer with some black-market shots.

Next, they boasted, how they cut off my dick since I had cut off their dicks before. They cooled it down with ice cubes and surgical ice spray before they cut it off with one sharp cut. Then they quickly sealed up everything by cauterizing it with a wide, burning hot, stainless steel knife, before I could bleed to death. To their on surprise, it worked far better than they expected - not that they cared much after me castrating them. As last step, they had stitched up the left-over skin and shoved in a catheter for the time I was healing. When I stupidly asked, why they left my sack untouched, Carla grabbed it, encompassed it with her hand in one quick grasp and squeezed it. Not really hard, but hard enough to fill my eyes with tears and had me stand on my toes in seconds. When she released her grip after a short eternity, I didn't need to ask no more nor why my skirt stuck out like this or why I had no panties or such.

While I dried my eyes with the back of my hand and tried to find a way to sit down again without further pain, Louise smiled and told me, my balls might fall off rather sooner than later anyway. Somehow, they found out how Maryanne had drugged them with testosterone blockers and high-dosed artificial estrogen cocktails. I received the same dose as Louise in my left buttock and another such dose like Carla's in my right buttock. Consequentially, I might feel the beginning and some results much faster and more impressive. Alternatively, my body might just use-up the same amount of hormones and progress with a similar development instead, while flushing the excessing chemicals out. They had ordered them through darknet channels and one could never be sure what one got.

With the atrophy induced by the hormones, my balls might get sterile, die a silent death and fall off black and shriveled like raisins, joked Carla. At least, I hoped she joked. Not that they did much good without the penile extension, but at least then I could still donate some sperm and father kids. Big IF - if I was rescued somehow. Slim hope, but a hope anyway. However, Carla continued to tease me mercilessly, that I would never get a hard-on again. Same as I had denied them and since I did it to both of them, they had decided to cut of the tip as well. Double revenge by denying me any penile relief for the rest of my life. I would get excited with no vent to blow off the steam. I guess that was the main reason to leave the balls untouched. I still would feel the itch that I couldn't scratch, if you know what I mean.

To prove this, Carla did something to her watch and I felt something buzz inside me. The vibrator buried inside me stimulated some sweet spot. But every time I felt something close to excitement the silvery band grew hot or zapped my balls like a stun gun or a hot needle. Despite all that, I soon began to moan and sweat and swear and shout for relief. Carla tapped her watch and everything stopped. Beside my horniness and frustration! I had never been as frustrated and as aroused as in that moment in all my life before. My body begged for relief but I had none to give. I even skidded on the cushion back and forth like a lapdog on the carpet. That did nothing for me, despite being mercilessly laughed at by the girls.

During the evening, they told me more about their preparations. They had equipped the cottage with lots and lots of spy cams and detectors. I would never be alone or without being watched. There was no place to hide and no place to go. They could zap me, stimulate me and watch me from everywhere they were and as they saw fit.

If I thought I could manhandle them because they were weaker now, I better should think again. They had been trained in jujitsu since they were kids. Their advanced level would not require lots of muscular power. It was more about skills and techniques, which they had plenty still. They might not be a match for their sensei but for a bookworm like me, it would be more than enough. Further, they had more ways to control me than the watches and I better would not insist on figuring them out. Because learning those ways the hard way would be much more painful for sure.

During the next months I learned some of those anyway, when I felt I had to draw a line and was stubborn or reluctant and sometimes simply too tired and I can tell you painful and humiliating they were. Too humiliating to write them down here. This might be my last dignity after all the things I have gone through during those last months.

I became their maid and their project and their distraction. They had me train to deep-throat and shove things up my other end. I learned to lick them to ecstasy and clean afterwards. I learnt to use my fingers on them the most satisfying way (for them) or to stand still or hold still for hours. I learned to cook, to clean and to do all the chores that came to their minds. Since the cottage wasn't that big and it was just the three of us there wasn't much of housework, but plenty of project time. With them bored and inventive and me the project to work on!

I was on diet most of the time. Additionally, I had to cut firewood and chop it as a workout. As long as the lake wasn't frozen over I had to swim 5 minutes every day. This might not sound much but I wasn't allowed to take off the shoes and the water was freezing cold. Soon my maid's costume would become too big for my waist. Then a drone would arrived with a new costume of similar style, but now it contained a corset. The next time a smaller one and the third time an even smaller one not so much later. Thus, in spring I had a rather shapely figure - kind of an hourglass figure even despite my narrow hips. My derriere had filled in a bit and so had my chest. I wasn't sure since I was always bare chested, but I might sport A-cup-sized breasts or small B-cup-sized ones. As said before, the corsets had no cups, only cloth around my midriff and a stiff skirt like on my first costume. Therefore my new roundness were always accessible and in plain view.

Due to the hormones, I had stopped shaving around Christmas and my skin was soft and my hair long, healthy and shiny. My face had soften, too. Not that there was much male squareness to soften from the start. As 'Christmas present' Carla had plucked my brows into thin arches and Louise had filed and polished my nails to an elegant, female shape. I kept them in a slutty red as my lips now - not by choice, mind you. As their guinea pig, pupil and 'willing' victim I had to test all sorts of styles and make-up while learning the finer arts with me as canvas.

Then as spring came around, I had an androgynous look with big amplitude on the female scale. Only male reminiscence was the rather tiny sack with the tiny marbles inside. Thus, when I passed a mirror I more than once registered a girl walking next to me and even on looking in the mirror more intense I failed to see the boy-me more and more and accepted the girl-me staring fascinated back at me. When the snow was mainly gone so was my mind’s image what me the boy and man had looked like. It was just a passing though I could no longer grasp or focus on. Just some blurred reflection of an afterthought.

§§§

Then came the day my tiny world crumpled and my slowly inflated comfy bubble of Stockholm syndrome burst. I had settled into routine and found reassurance in my protected isolation and carefree, undemanding and controlled-by-others piece of world. I lost any ambition, but also any sorrow. I lived from command to command my mind at ease and not a threat to worry about until Carla and Louise told me to pack all their belongings.

When I was done there was not much more than the food in the kitchen, my meager belongings in corsets, make-up and sex toys and what was part of the cottage. They had me sit down at the table with them and then they told me what was to come next.

Obviously, they bought the cottage, the lake and everything in view up to the rim of the mountains around this secluded valley. With my money, of course. After that, they bought a private island somewhere near the Bahamas or Cayman Islands. (They weren't too clear about it, probably to keep me from finding them or sending someone after them and I don't know the Caribbean Sea at all. Are those islands in the Caribbean?) Anyway, I was to stay here. They would hire out the cabin and me as a luxury(?) sex retreat for the rich with me as gofer/maid/slut/sex-slave/furniture.

Somehow, they had found Maryanne and would 'pick her up' on their way south. Then they would find a way to take vengeance for all she did to them before finally selling her drug-addicted body to some whorehouse in Polynesia.

I begged to take me with them and I would be a good girl (yes, I really said and meant it). I pleaded on my knees. I felt like a little girl when the parents go out dancing the first time after being close to them all its life - only twenty times more intense since it would be forever. They told me I would die here if not sold off to some client, too. I cried real tears and endless streams of big tears. My heart ached and my tummy felt empty beside some burning coals in my bowels. But nothing helped.

I sat there on my knees and looked through tear-stained eyes at the closed door hours after they left and took a helicopter. I had been too weak to get up and probably stumble after them begging and calling for mercy. When it became dark, I fell weeping to the floor and lay there until sleep caught me. In my dreams customer after customer hunted me. I was running through the woods on my high-heeled stilettos like a deer, but every time I stumbled and fell I would land on the bed inside the cabin next to the customer smiling like a shark. I would run again and again only to end in bed with him. Finally, I would do all I could to satisfy him and the next customer and the next flight would take over.

Suddenly, Carla appeared in front of me. Huge like a grizzly she stood there laughing. Barking with laughter she told me, I was dead. On my way back home, my helicopter had crashed and all the world knew me gone. She described how my parents and employees had wept at my funeral and how they had wept, too. Then they had inherited all my belongings and left for good. At that, she started laughing and laughing and laughing again until I woke up sweating all over.

Weak I dragged myself over to the kitchen and onto a chair. I contemplated my dreams and I think there was a grain of truth or a look into my future there. Maybe I was too stubborn or too afraid to die alone here. I pulled myself together and made some breakfast. Next, I took inventory of the cabin and my life. I found some pieces of paper and a pen and wrote down all that happened to me so far. Maybe someone would find this 'diary' when I was long gone or I could slip it some of my customers' staff in hope of rescue. But most likely I will be too afraid for this and I won't get this chance anyway. But at least I would not vanished without trying to let the world know of my errors in life.

§§§

I think I am here on my own for more than two week now. I have lost track of time. I do my chores, I eat, sleep and take care of my body. I even swim twice a day just to have some routine and something to occupy my thoughts.

I am not sure what is worse to wait for my first customer and the things he/she/they will do to me. Or is it worse to wait and imagine all those things, going crazy about expecting even harsher and more outrageous treatments every time? Will I become bored enough to wish those things to happen? Will I become addicted to the humiliation or will I blunt and go numb and indifferent to whatever they dish out after a while? Will I be like a caged animal or like an introverted patient of a psychiatric ward? And which would be worse? To vegetate or to be in full awareness of one's own doom?

§§§

Now I sit here and read it all for the hundreds time maybe, when I hear the distinctive sound of chopper blades cutting the air. This means, I will have to hide these pages quickly, then hurry over and kneel next to the door like a slave, arms stretched out in front of me. My palms and elbows flat on the floor as my forehead. My nipples might even brush the wooden planks since my breast still dangle freely and my bare round ass will greet the sun. When the door opens, I will welcome my new master or mistress the way Carla and Louise told me to do firm but submissive. From then on I will be at his/her/their mercy. I hope that I will be able to write some more from time to time, but now I have to hurry as I hear the chopper circle over the cottage.

------------

Epilogue

From my submissive position on the floor I hear the distinctive sound of high-heels on the hard-wood veranda. Confidently coming closer until they stop in front of the door. My heartbeat is booming in my ears. I hardly hear the door open, but my closed eyes register the rays of light suddenly fighting the dim darkness of the cottage.

I take a last breath to find enough strength and say:
"Welcome to the cottage at the lake! I will be at your service whenever you need me. I am here to please you in every way I can. Feel free to ask, to command or to demand anything any time. I will do my very best to fulfill every wish. If I am not up to your expectations, you may punish me in any way you see fit. I am just a humbled slave, a worthless maid, a mere furniture. I am not worth your thoughts or attention. You may call me Heidi, Humphrey, Humpdee-Dumpdee, Deedee or anything you prefer.
Welcome and enjoy your stay! How may I be of service?"

There is a moment of silence. I keep my posture on the floor face against the wood. Then I hear the most angelic sound:
"Heidi, you may rise!"

Trying hard to keep my hopes from rising and my body from trembling I pull my upper body back up and push myself in kneeling but upright position. Slowly I lift my head and open my eyes. Fearing what they will see and confirm or not. There are some fancy high-heels and beautiful legs in front of me. The legs have a slight bronze taint and vanish under a flowery skirt. I look up further and my eyes finally meet Louise's face and a small, but pleased smile. My eyes must have expressed my hopes and worries. Is it real? Am I hallucinating? Is it wishful thinking?
But then the same angelic voice, the one I missed all those long last weeks alone comes from those smiling lips:
"Yes, Heidi, it is me - Louise! Carla is waiting outside. Please, stand up!"

I stumble to my feet like in trance. I seem to have more problems standing up than the first time in high-heels all those months ago. It seems like a lifetime ago or like from a previous life, which it really may be. Louise takes my hand and gently pulls me up. I stand there and stare at her. It must be a dream. Will I wake up soon? Louise has never been that nice to me. She even seems to really care for me.

She walks me over to the table and brings me a glass of water. I gulp it down like after a week in the desert. Louise sits down with me and pats my hand gently.

"Heidi, we are here to take you with us. Not as slave but as friend or mate or at least someone who would enjoy to live with us. You see we have not been very nice or honest to you in the past but your special kind of revenge was our salvation, our rescue - a dream fulfilled."

Over the next half-an-hour or so Louise explains everything to me. When they were kids, they discovered, they were born in the wrong bodies - the wrong gender. They both thought, they should have been born girls instead. Despite having been as close as only siblings or twins possibly can, neither of them confided to the other or to their parents. Instead, each tried to be as macho in front of the other as he could possibly be. They each became the worst bully one could imagine just to outdo the other. They started martial arts to become tougher and stronger and later to harass the kids around.

They thought they could never pass as girls or women. Therefore, they especially hated those kids looking rather feminine and those, which could pass as girls more easily if they wanted (but didn't). Since I was much younger than they were when we first met, I didn't look very male and being small and slim triggered their hate of their pubescent male bodies and my body seemingly mocking them with its potential.

Aside from school, they became very introverted and self-loathing. They even kept distance to each other and secretly (even unaware of the other) they started hacking and stuff. One day the FBI was on their doorsteps but somehow they could deflect this since nobody knew about it. As one brother didn't know the tiniest bit about it from the other the FBI hadn't been able to play one off against the other. Each thought, they tried to trick him with questions, why his brother had done, what he knew he had done himself, and thus to not incriminate himself or to confess, each one remained silent or played clueless and dumb. (Gosh, even trying to write this down boggles my mind!) Further, since their parents and all kids and teachers at school never saw them doing any computer stuff, as bullies and challenged to reach the next grade, maybe the FBI thought some hacker had masked his IP address with theirs. Maybe the FBI just rested their case until they got better evidence. Anyhow, they were lucky and got away with a black eye or a slap on the fingers. Make that almost.

When the FBI was off their heels, their parents called for a family gathering. They told Carl and Louis in absolute clear words that no matter what they told the FBI or that the FBI withdrew the charges, both parents believed Carl and Louis guilty. Further, they were fed up and over with fending off charges for their bully sons. From now on Carl and Louis would be on their own.

They next morning they got the sack. To their parents they were as good as dead. The tuition fee for their next four years of college had already been paid and so was a single room apartment on campus, but beside that, they would have to pay and fight for themselves. They could forgo college or live somewhere else, but then they would have nothing more than the clothes on their backs and a suitcase full of clothes each. They could do in college whatever they wanted. Their parents didn't care. If they failed college, they would have nothing.

Thus, they started college with majors in finance and computer science and electronics. They had jobs waiting restaurants and cleaning offices at night to feed themselves. After college, they started hunting for jobs but the financial crisis from 2008 still lingered and shadowed their chances. They shared a small apartment with two single bedrooms and kept above the water by day-to-day jobs and as freelancers. They still hadn't confided to each other about their gender disorder or whatever it was. With their male pride, meager income and too much shame to confide, there was no way to solve it or get help anyway. Hence, all the money they could afford they rather put into computer parts and small SW projects. They hoped that would drag them out of the morass of financial dependencies somehow in near future. Further hope was it would give them a little freedom to do without the other or at least live separate lives and dressing to their own liking in private then.

They still hadn't reached their goal, when Maryanne's goons caught them off the street and Maryanne did her magic. It wasn't so much resistance to become girls Maryanne was fighting so hard, but the long-imprinted fear to be discovered by the other brother and seen as a sissy, a fag or whatever by the only soul left close to them. That and probably the shame to confess of wanting the transformation Maryanne forced on them.

When that barrier was torn down by Louise's better looks due to that ribcage OP and head start on makeup the competition was on. Finally Carl(a) confessed to Louis(e) and vice versa. Unfortunately, Maryanne didn't catch this or missed it while reviewing the progress. Probably also because Louise and Carla kept fighting the process as they were as Carl and Louis. They thought whoever did this to them, planned to sell them as sex-slaves or such. Further they thought, if they didn't give away, how comfortable and convincing they were or could be, they had a better chance to escape and vanish as soon as they were out of Maryanne's claws and 'feminization jail'.

Therefore, they waited for their move until they were delivered to my cottage. First, they discovered, they were still into girls and were wondering if that made then straight or lesbian. In the end, they didn't care much about it since it was too much fun to discover their new bodies. That also applied to the question of incest. As soon as they had undergone those first 'fatal' operations, they were challenged to see the other still as their brother and thus as family member.

First, they perceived the other one like just a random girl, albeit both knew it was the other brother. But that way, it seemed easier to them to accept their own changes and feelings - in front of a stranger and not the one you were hiding things from all of your life. Then they became kind of girlfriends and lovers out of curiosity and due to missing alternatives. Lastly, that transmuted into true sisterly feelings and love. Maybe some male concepts survived this evolution. Because they still see lesbian sex as okay and hot, but gay intercourse turns them off and caused them to freak out. Strangely, when they joined me in bed, they were as curious as they were turned on, too. They really had the hots for me or at least wanted to be laid for real. Their minds saw them and a male like a threesome with a hot girl or just common sex but nothing disgusting.

They really enjoyed sex with me and now they feel like they are really bi, but with strong accent on the lesbian component. But in the(ir) butt is still disgusting to them since they see that as gay. They had no issue to shove something up my butt though. If they would still own the right tools, they would do it to any girl that way, too, just no boy and not to themselves.

That led to the next big revelation. Although they and even I saw me as a girl, I was none. Okay, you might say 'no news there, aren't there', but that's not what I or they meant. Okay, meanwhile I sported a nice rack, a rather girlish figure, shapely legs and derriere, long hair, arched eyebrows and even a level of estrogen high enough to compete with that of a suburban book club, but beside the obvious eggs-in-a-bag, I still possessed the sausage to go along with them. If I hadn't sat already, latest then I would have crashed helplessly to the floor.

As Louise described it to me, they really intended to cut off my dick as revenge. Nevertheless, they were truly afraid, I would bleed to death and they had really enjoyed my dick during those two weeks before. In the end, they saw it as a bit of a waste and much too harsh, too, since in the end I had (unknowingly) fulfilled them their biggest wishes. I think there was still some male fear of losing what 'defines' a man ingrained deep in their subconsciousness. All that aside, they still wanted to hurt me and didn't come up with any suitable idea but to cut it off. Therefore they started to look for ways to stop the bleeding afterwards or to chop it off with causing the least bleeding wound.

Luckily, they stumbled onto a forum for SRS and transgender specialists. There was one doc describing a solution he used on men - I mean transwomen ready to undergo the RLT. It was mostly reversible and still close to the real thing. He would cut the suspensory ligament of the penis and then would be able to push the penis inside the body - if need should be even behind the pelvic bone. He would push the balls inside the body's cavity, too, and would use surgical glue and a few stitches to form a very rudimentary resamplance of the labias. There would be no vagina and no clit, but it would look like a woman's vulva on not too close inspection. The risk was pretty low and when removing the stitches most would pop back in place on its own. Then a bit of correction surgery and voila as good as new. Although, clearly this wouldn't be the intention of the RLT.

Unfortunately, Carla and Louise were not such (great) surgeons, but still they found a solution. They cut the suspensory ligament, too. For that, they had to cut the skin above my penis. Then they kind of circumcised me and shoved me dick inside. After that, they somehow managed to stitch together the skin from both cuts and leave the glans and urethra unharmed. They entered a tube in the urethra and kept the wound clean for over a week. Since there was a lot of tissue which hasn't been outer skin before and since they didn't dare to cover the healing skin with Band-Aid, compresses or something like that, I ended up with the 'raw' skin which looked like that of a burned victim. Therefore, they came up with the story of cutting and cauterizing.

In summary, if I got that correctly, my whole penis (beside a tiny bit of foreskin) was still there - just inside of me! My tummy did somersaults on that news.

They left my balls alone. For one it was easier to control me with them dangling there, then they still were afraid of an infection and lastly the effect on my psych seemed to be bigger and more useful.

After almost half a year living with me 24/7 in such an enclosed environment and with so much intimacy, they had grown an affection, if not even love for me, too. They weren't sure it was a sisterly love or the love between close female friends or the love of lovers, but there was a kind of love which hurt them when they were hurting me. On top, they regretted what they had done after all I had done - not to them, but FOR them - by making 'real' girls out of them.

Hence, when they left it hurt them as much as it has hurt me, but they wanted to get clear with their feelings and wanted to end my punishment with a big bang. Additionally, they wanted to give me time to come clear with the new me. Little did they know they almost destroyed me completely, but I wouldn't tell them - at least not now.

That's why, they told me what they told me when they left and most of it was true. Despite telling me they went to find Maryanne to seek revenge, they went to find her for my salvation. Yes, they bought that private island. Yes, they took all my money. Yes, the cottage, the lake and the mountains around it were theirs now. But (and this is a big BUT (still with only one 'T' though)) they converted the island and they will soon convert the cottage, too, into a retreat for people like them. With my (their?) money they founded a hotel and a small clinic on that island and had Maryanne fit out the OP room and clinic with all the required stuff to help those in need. Those could go on a holiday, enjoy the Carib and after recreation come back as the new person they had been all their lives despite their body's shortcomings to present them correctly before.

Now the helicopter was idling outside and waiting for us. I should go and pack my things, then we would fly out of here and down to the island (not all the way with the helicopter, of course) and there I would meet Maryanne again. Then it was up to me. Since I was still 'dead', I could decide whatever I like.

Maryanne could free my dick and put it back in place. Or Maryanne could work the same magic on me like she had poured over Carla and Louise. I could keep my girls or go back to my nerd's chest. I could decide to stay on the island anyway as a friend, girlfriend, male or female lover. Or I could go back to my old live or start a new life as man, woman, girl or something in between. They would share my (their/our?) money with me. Or they would even give me back most of it. They only asked for enough money to keep the island and the clinic running. All that was completely up to me.

§§§

Now I sit here, look out the window of my patient's room and wonder how life will be from tomorrow on. The white sand and the azure blue water of the Caribbean Sea seems to calm me down a lot more than the tranquilizer in my IV drain. As slowly as I drift into sleep as fast I gain a clarity which is only met by the brilliant blue sky and the crystal-clear water. Now I am sure I asked for the right...

When he came home, he found his wife had already retired to bed, though she had the bedside lamp on and was reading waiting up on him. He stood in the door frame and watched this vision of beauty for a small eternity. Taking in every little detail he loved so much about her.
Finally, noticing the disturbance in the atmosphere of her realm she looked up from her novel and discovered her loved hubby watching her silently and full of admiration. She smiled at him and at the effect she still had on him after 15 years of marriage.

"Go, get changed!" she smiled, "and don't let me wait too long!" she called after him, watching his sexy buttocks disappear. Sighing to herself with a lovestruck smile, she returned to her book although not as concentrated as before.

He went into the bathroom and undressed quickly. Then he admired himself shortly in the mirror. 'Not too bad for a mid-forty married guy' he chuckled. Then he turned around and walked over to the medicine cabinet. He took a little leathery bag out of its hiding place and went over to the sink. He pulled a little chain out and fastened it around his neck. Then he opened the cloth hamper and pulled out some undies. When he found the ones he had been looking for he touched them against the little pendant hanging from the chain.

When the tiny electric shock subsided, he took the chain off, placed it back into the bag and that back into the cabinet, before stepping into the shower and washing down the day's sweat and dust. He towelled himself dry afterwards, brushed out his long hair while blowing it dry and giving it volume and shape. Then he donned the bra and panties and chuckled as the flesh on his chest started to fill up the cups. One last look into the mirror he saw everything was perfect and finished.

She stepped into the door frame one hand on her hip and one arm raised against the frame trying to look sexy. When her wife finally looked up from her book and her wife's look became shocked, she asked: "What? - You said: 'Go! Get changed!' You don't like?"

Her wife looked at her twin which had been her husband half an hour ago fighting for composure and words. In the end, she managed to utter: "It is not the change... it is... the bra! I wore it last week... when... ehhmm... Just, you might want to wear it ... ehm ... the next week... and I think I will have to be you for ... during your time of the month..."

'He' blushed slightly when 'he' caught on what she was trying to say. Then 'he' jumped into the bed and turned to 'his' wife called out laughingly while trying to look seducingly: "Go, get changed! And don't let me wait too long!"

Spells are us

Georg was working through the mall. No, he corrected himself, walking. Although he lived for ten years in the states now. No, although he lived in the states for ten years now he still has problems with the Englisch - English. Damn it. If he could not even think properly how should he teach his son the language.

Since his wife had left him some months ago he struggled to keep up with the teachings and homework of his 6 year old son. Writing, counting and simple arithmetic was no problem at all, but how to teach a language other than German was a mystery to him. German was easy. Most words were written as pronounced and pronounced as written. He could speak English sufficiently enough for daily use and work, but with the spelling and pronunciation he had to fight.

His wife had been almost as good as a native speaker. Thus, soon he had become lazy and relied on her when it came to official communication and stuff like that. Now she was gone - off with a new love and neither Georg nor Tommy, their son, fitted into her new phase of life.

Georg was on his way to the toy store hoping to find some educational game or something to playfully teach his son the language. His train of thought was interrupted when he bumped into a man crossing his way. Startled he looked up, excused himself and then looked around for where the man had come from.

Where there had been a plain wall between the food arcade and the pharmacy before, there was a small shop now. It looked a bit out of place in this modern mall. Its storefront was more like one of those little shops in the small towns of mediaeval origin in Europe or maybe out of Harry Potter movies. Along the window he read "Spell" and below a strangely long list of articles in small print followed by a little bigger "We have something for everyone and things you're looking for".

"Strange!", he thought. "A shop for spelling, when I was looking for something to teach spelling."

He turned around and entered the store through the still open door. It closed behind him automatically. Had the door been closed before, he would have read the "s 'R' us" and "ward to or should" below completing the texts of the window. Oblivious to this he proceeded further into the store.

It looked more like an antique market or junk shop. The shelves stuffed over and over with this and that, almost no space to walk between left and no scheme or categorisation obvious. Ignoring that strangeness and the lack of educational material he went to the counter. Out of nowhere - at least it appeared to him that way - an old bearded man appeared behind the counter.

"Must have been blocked from view by the big counter", Georg thought.

The old man just smiled and said: "Welcome George!"

"It's Georg. 'gay-org' actually. Hmmm, but George is okay, if it's easier for you.", Georg answered completely missing the point, he hadn't told the man in the old, faded bath robe his name nor did he wear anything with his name on it.

"I'm looking for something to teach spelling. Ehm, to learn how to spell uhm to a six year old?"

The old man smiled and answered: "I understand. I think I have just the right thing for you."

With that he pulled a little cardboard box from underneath the counter. It pictured a boy and a girl, both laughing, holding square formatted cards in their hands showing single words and a corresponding picture. Above it read "The Spell Game". "From 6 to 99 years" was the only other text visible. The box looked a bit worn and old already. Still it looked like something useful.

"How much would it cost?", asked Georg.

With his enigmatic smile barely hidden by his long grey beard the old man answered: "Oh, just 8 dollars. It is a bit worn already."

Georg opened his wallet and since he didn't use much cash these days found just 8 dollars in it. Exactly 8 dollars! Still too focused on the unexpected finding of such a helpful game Georg didn't care about the coins matching the amount requested. He payed, took the game and left the shop happy after thanking the old man.

"Enjoy!", called the wizard to the exiting Georg barely able to contain his laughter from escaping his lips.

____________

Tommy and Georg sat at the kitchen table. They had finished dinner and cleared the table. Now Georg opened the box. It contained six piles of picture cards. Tommy took the first one and looked at the picture and the text below.

"A P P L E. Apple!", Tommy read excited and grapped the next one.
"B A L L. Ball."
"C A T. Cat"
"D R E S S. Dress." Oblivious to Georg and Tommy a kitty chased a ball from under the table into the hallway. The ball had been an apple moments before the cat hit it with its tiny paw. Before that the apple and the cat had been Tommy's left and right slipper. Georg and Tommy also failed to notice, when Tommy's shirt and trousers became a frilly colorful dress.

The next card read: "F L A T SHOES. Flat shoes" and while pink ballerina shoes materialised at Tommy's feet he continued with: "G I R L. Girl"

Tammy brushed her long blonde curly locks behind her ear to look at the next word. "H O S I E R Y. Hosiery" Now that was a difficult one and it took Tammy a few tries, but only when daddy helped her she managed it flawlessly. Daddy had to show her his nylon-clad feet to make her understand that not only her white cotton hose was meant by this word.

He could snatch the next card just in time while Tammy compared her hose with his nylon stockings. He wondered why a game for kids would contain a card like "Intimate shaving". Not that he didn't like the cute rose design shaved neatly into his pubic hair right above little Georg, but that wasn't something Tammy should learn existed for the next 20 to 30 years if ever.

"J E W E L L E R Y. Jewellery" they had to read together again. Georg wondered once more if those words weren't a bit too complicated for a six year old. Nevertheless, he showed Tammy his dangling teardrop shaped diamond earrings and his big diamond engagement ring. Then he pointed at her pink butterfly earstuds and her pink butterfly ring.

"K N I C K E R S. Knickers", read Tammy.

"'nee-kers'", snickered Georg while his boxers transformed into soft women's silk-panties and Tammy's boy briefs into cotton panties with Minnie Mouse print. "We say rather panties, sweetie."

"L I P S T I C K. Lipstick", beamed Tammy, when Georg repeated it, too. While Tammy's was pink and just an exception for today's trip together, Georg had 'chosen' a deep red colour and to be on the safe side a kiss-proof one.

Tammy looked into her daddy's eyes after she had read the next card and squeaked: "Mommy!!! "

When I was about 12 years old, my mum told me, maybe it was time to go and visit a hairdresser. Not because my hair was too long or in a style she hated nor because I was rebellious or such. No, up to that time, she was the one cutting my hair and I was okay with it. I thought, so was she. However, she winked at me conspiratorially and told me: "You know, to attract the ladies!"

Yeah, my mum is pretty cool! Although sometimes a bit embarrassing. But then whose mum isn't sometimes when you are a teen?

At that time, I was your average boy. Okay, maybe not really average, but not extreme in any direction either. Mid-class origin, white, medium build, ash blond hair, not too ugly, but no chick-magnet either. More the boy next door - loved and trusted by all the mums, grannies and aunts in the neighbourhood - on the other side no girl magnet, because too boring, tame and average. Further, a bit on the short side of the average maybe. 1.40 meter at that time. 45 kilo, but then mainly muscles and no fat.

I was in the athletics and gymnastic team. I started gymnastics when I was five, because my doc said so. My spine was as straight as a viper's - meaning not at all - and he advised to take gymnastics lessons to build up my back's muscles. Thus after more than 6 years training 2 to 3 hours a day and 3 to 5 days a week and a lot of competitions on the weekends I became a hard body and as straight as a rod.

Gymnastics and later athletics, too, did not only develop my back's muscles, but my whole body's quite nicely. I had wide, round shoulders and strong arms, 'six-pack' abs and strong legs. Muscular thighs, since above all, I loved to ride my bicycle, too (although I shouldn't - due to my spine). I drove it as often and as far and as fast as I dared and I went everywhere on it.

Some would call it a swimmer's build and since I like swimming, too, maybe they are right.

Oh, and by the way - name is Steve, but most call me Stevie.

Sorry, I guess, I got a bit sidetracked. Okay, so as I said, my mum proposed a professional haircut to me and as chances were, she had already a hair salon in mind. It was not too far from the city centre and right next to our biggest swimming bath in town. It is not such a stylish new one with slides and tropical oasis somewhere, but one for swimming and competition from before WWII with that special flair. Same for the salon. It is kind of glued to the side of the swimming bath and lacked in style, but had its old-fashioned charms.

There were five seats - three to the left and two to the right and a reception counter and waiting area in between. The chairs were more like the ones at a dentist's - big ones with foot and neck rest. Although the later one was rather small and low. I guess to have better access when cutting and styling the hair. Further, you could turn them in any direction, adjust the back and so forth.

It was the same salon my mum went to and that mainly because an old friend of hers was working there. She liked to meet her once in a while to talk to her a bit. When I went there, it was no issue, that Karen did my hair as well.

I can almost hear your thoughts! But no! I was not there to get feminized or such!

You see the salon was for men and women and nobody thought much of it at that time. It was quite practical for me, too. During the summer, I could go there by bicycle and in winter or when it was rainy, I could jump on a bus or tram and get almost from door to door while staying dry.

Everything went on like this for some years. I grew up and became 15. My interest in girls became a bit more intensive and I was glad to have a professional haircut and styling. When you are 15 even boys get obsessed with their hair sometimes. I wasn't really obsessed, but everybody kept styling their hair. This were the eighties and styling meant lots of hair spray and mousse and wet gel. I wasn't one to carry a comb in my pocket, but I checked if the hair was still set correct occasionally.

The hair at the sides and the back of my head was rather short, but the upper half was a bit longer and styled in a wave. Think early Depeche Mode, Billy Idol, Bros or (a shame to say nowadays) Rick Astley. I think you get the picture. I didn't dare styles like Limahl or Bon Jovi. I would neither have gotten away with such a look anyway nor was I cool enough for it. I didn't want it, too. Instead, I was quite happy with my style, thought I looked good and hoped some chicks thought so, too.

On the other hand, I felt I lacked a bit in the 'look department'. Not the 'bad boy'. Too much 'nice guy'. Looking younger than I actually was. Sometimes people commented, I resampled my mum a lot. I didn't think so and couldn't see any resemblance, but I heard it a lot and naturally hated it. *I am a guy, dammit. How can I look like my mum?!*

I tried to grow a beard but by then it was just some fuzz on my upper lip and not very visible since light and blond, sparse and no thick hairs.

Anyway, Karen was really a kind woman and tried many styles to help improve my manly image. Even some 'rock star styles' I didn't think were too 'over the top'. Unfortunately, it was no big help regarding the girls. Most still saw me only as a friend or too nice a guy ('Aww, you are such a teddy bear!'), but I felt better and more confident, nevertheless.

Thus, it was a no-brainer when one day Karen asked me, if I would help her. You see, at that time you had to be a master to open your own handcraft business and she wanted to open a salon of her own. Therefore, she needed to become a master hairdresser first. She was almost done with her degree but the practical exam was coming up and she would have to find three models to work her skills on. Two women and a man to present a casual feminine look and an evening look for women as well as a sportive or business look for men. She would like to have me as her male model there. She said, since I had such soft hair with no swirls or whirls or how she called it, it would just be so easy to set. Moreover, it would be just the right length, volume and such.

Of course, I said yes. She explained to me, we still had almost three months left to prepare and I would get some cuts for free to get the 'preset' trimming. Further, she would bleach some of my hair then to dye it back some the day of the exam. That should get me some nice highlights and shine. In addition, I would have to let my hair grow a bit. You can hardly get there with hair already cut and tell it was her skill make you look like that.

Bleached and a bit longer? I saw myself with a style like Billy Idol on the Rebel Yell cover already. Mind you, I was no punk, but that would suit me just fine and best of all my parents would have to agree to it. As I was only helping THEIR friend here. *Teen logic!*

Long story short. I became a lighter shade of dirty blonde and my hair got maybe 2 inch longer. I styled it like Billy for a while and the girls said it looked 'so cool'. But beside that, it didn't score me any points in their 'manly-man friend' book or got me out of the 'you're such a nice guy and good friend' drawer. To them I was still the guy you could pour your heart out to when your boyfriend treated you like rubbish or two-timed or you know what else.

Anyway, the day of the exam came and I went to that big red brick building you can hardly describe if the other doesn't know it already. It looks like an industrial building, a big old school gym, some strange textile mill or even a theatre and to tell the truth, it had been all that and more during the last 150 years or so. On that day, it housed a big hall with a stage on one side and on the other side, some floors with office-like rooms. They had been converted into dressing rooms, hairdresser and cosmetics rooms, storage rooms and else, but I was too nervous to really look around or take anything in.

Originally, I thought, I would just sit there for a while. Someone would come by and check my look, then Karen would start to work on me and finally that someone would come by again and grade Karen's skills. Then I would be released and be freshly styled on my way home. Wham - bang - thank you, man!

Now I learnt, it was more like a fashion show. There were hairdressers and cosmeticians, tailors and designers, shoemakers and what else. Basically all the crafts their school was educating. Further, the models - that included me too (!) - were to do a catwalk in front of the jury!

Before I could process this new piece of information a guy with a SLR jumped in front of me, pointed the camera at me and 'FLASH' shoot a picture of me. The flash light was such a big professional one with a diffuser lens the size of a saucer and a battery pack the size of those early 'mobile' phones which would only halfway fit between the front seats of your car. *I can really see the confused looks of the kiddies of 'generation iPhone' 'what is this old man talking about?' But if you lived in the eighties I think you got it*

Anyway, I stood there even more confused now, almost blind and with, I am sure, a not-too-intelligent look on my face. I was dressed for comfort - black Oxford slippers, white tennis socks, light-blue stone-washed jeans (*look them up, kiddies! That's what we found cool!*) and a white RUN-DMC shirt. *So I guess, now you can pinpoint the year down to 1986. It's tricky, tricky, tricky! NOT!*

Karen took me by the hand and guided me over to her vanity mirror and sat me in that 'dentist's chair'. I still couldn't see much. That flash must have burned away my retina. Therefore, I closed my eyes and had her do her magic. First, she draped a cape over me and washed my hair with lukewarm water and a sweet smelling shampoo. Then she gave the skin underneath my hair a gentle massage while rubbing in something cooling and smelling of menthol. She explained each steps to me, maybe to settle her nerves, too, before she stated, since I had to 'model' on stage the hair alone might not be enough for a successful presentation.

I guessed, that surely related to my puberty-driven teenager skin because mere moments later she arranged a rather hot, damp cloth on my face, before she started the preparations to dye my hair later. After that, she told me she would get me a cosmetician to work on me while she was preparing her two female models.

Not much later, I heard another woman approaching. She introduced herself as Ellen.

I replied: "Stevie."

I guess holding my head backwards for so long and nothing to drink made my vocal cords dry or maybe it were all the chemicals in the air. Anyway, my voice was barely a whisper and a bit hoarse. However, before I could say anything else or clear my throat Ellen lifted the cloth to start working on my face.

She began working around my nose. While she had one hand almost resting on my chin and lips gently pushing, pulling, squeezing my skin with two or three fingers while her other hand skilfully guided a small wooden tool like a toothpick to get me rid of blackheads, pimples and such. *Puberty! Okay? So sue me!*

Ellen was doing her gentle job and I was dozing off. I hope, I didn't snore! Occasionally, I would wake up a bit when she changed places or when some spot became warm or cold or she was brushing some Sulphur-smelling powder onto the treated spots to reduce the risk of pimples and infection. Still it was so soothing and relaxing I was in dreamland again only seconds later.

On my way in, I had seen some of the models getting dressed by designers or tailors or whosoever. Females, only clad in their undies. Therefore, I assume you can guess what my 15 years old male mind was dreaming about. Gentle hands caressing me. Perfume and scented cosmetics wafting through the air. Bright lights and warmth like at a Caribbean beach...

Suddenly, I was awoken by a stinging, ripping, tearing. 'OUUUCH!' I shot upright facing the mirror. At least, I thought, 'I' would be facing the mirror, but in front of me was a young woman's face looking back at me in shock and anguish. On second look, she had beautifully made-up eyes, a little blush on her cheekbones, red lips (not pink, not ruby-red, not pale red but a healthy red without being too obviously lipstick-enhanced), some decent eye shadow and a peachy complexion without blemishes or moles. One eyebrow was plucked into a beautiful arch, while the other and her upper lip was covered with a strip of paper, it seemed.

Ellen said: "Sorry, honey, if I hurt you and woke you up, but I couldn't postpone it any longer or it would get too late!"

With that, her hand went in direction of my mouth. I felt her grapping something and rip and 'OOOOUUUUCH!' My upper lip was stinging and hurting like never before. The girl in the mirror looked in pain now and the paper strip above her lips was gone. My mind must have gone numb by the pain or the adrenalin or something, because it still didn't compute the visual inputs and those hints from inside and outside of my body.

At least, not until a hand shortly passed my eye, followed by "Last one! There we go, honey!" and more pain penetrating from above my other eye and my (a bit blurry) vision of the girl came back on. This time with instead of a paper strip sticking above her eye a similar beautiful curved eyebrow as above the other one. I watched shocked as both curved eyebrows went up in surprise, when her eyes got bigger by the second, when my numb mind registered her(?) eyebrows raising in direction of MY(!) still bleached and washed but not-styled-yet hair!?! That girl was ME?!?! Her (?) MY (?) mouth stood open, gaping like a fish on land and couldn't utter a word.

Ellen interrupted my mental lockdown saying: "Sorry, but there is simply no way to rip those hairs off much less painfully! Best to do it with one fast rip."

Then she asked: "Do you like it like that? I wasn't so sure about your intended hair-colour and your eye-colour, since you had your eyes closed all the time..." She trailed off, maybe unsure because I still looked as shocked as I looked as I looked at the girl-ME in the mirror.

"But... But... I... I'm a boy..." was my first 'eloquent' sentence.

Her (Ellen's - not girl-ME's) eyes went wide in shock now, too, (I think, mine couldn't have widened any more without falling out of their sockets) while Ellen whined: "But you said 'Stevie'!"

"Yeah! Like in Stevie Ray Vaughan! NOT Stevie Nicks!"

"OH MY GOD! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..."

Ellen was close to tears. The tears, which had begun to form in my eyes, when the pain and stinging started, were too frighten to come out and were absorbed back into my body. That was the moment Karen came back from the other side of the vanity, where she had taken care of her other models, I guess.

"What in heaven's ..." she shut up and stared unbelievingly at me, mouth agape like mine seconds ago. She stood there frozen and I was about to get away from a villain with a freeze ray gun, when she relaxed. (No, that's not right, she still looked kind of rigid when she moved again)

Then she pointed at me: "He... He... What... Whaa... WhathaveyouDONE?"

The last part, although shouted, didn't carry much further than where I sat and vanished in the noise some 100 or so busy people are causing in such a narrow space with bare walls.

"I just thought, you could spent more time later, when I give the make-up part a head start, while you were occupied over there and you said, I should try to clean Stevie's skin and hide the impurities for the show and", whined Ellen in rapid succession - close to nervous breakdown: "with the bleached hair and only the face visible and Stevie saying 'Stevie'… I just never thought he was no girl...", she bubbled on.

"OhmygodwhathaveIdone???"

Now she hid her face in her hands and started sobbing silently. I couldn't stand her crying and patted her gently on shoulder and back. After a while which felt to me like minutes she looked up into my eyes - hers full of hope and asked: "Can you forgive me?"

I had to choke down the suddenly forming clump in my throat before I could reply, but even then only a: "Huu? What? Uhm.. yeah?" came forth. A tiny tear-stained smile was my reward.

"But how should I present myself to the jury now? With those eyebrows, no one will see me as the male model! Even if you remove the blush and eye shadow and all that! Can you, I don't know, paint me or glue me some bushy ones or something like that?"

"Uh-oh! No! That won't work..." Ellen mussed already deep in thought: "but if we go all the way? I mean 'David Bowie' or … girly-girl?"

Before I could respond due to my still mushy brain, Karen stated matter-of-factly: "'David Bowie' wouldn't work, I don't have extensions for that! But - uh-umm - let's see... yeah, a teenage-girl - uh-umm - ready for the disco... or a young business woman ... yeah, I think, we could manage that!"

Again, I was just too dumbstruck to reply to that as she had already started pulling my hair this way and that, mumbling to herself. She vanished behind the mirrors once more only to re-appear with a bag, pulling out strands of hair and holding it next to my face. Frozen in place by the surreal situation I watched in a mixture of horror and fascination until she stopped at framing my face with strands somewhere between honey-blond and strawberry-blond.

"Yes, that's it! I guess I could make this work."

She looked me in the eyes, but I could not pull my gaze away from the blond cutie in the mirror.

"Cute, isn't it?"

Karen laughed and even Ellen smirked now. Like in trance, I nodded. Who was that girl in the mirror? Was that really me? Could I look like that? I am not sure to this day, if I agreed to anything, but suddenly Karen jumped into motion. She started clipping hairs this way and that, combing and brushing and doing things to my hair I couldn't name or understand. Within seconds or was it hours my hair filled in, grew, spilled over my head, exploded into a mass of honey-blond locks. I assume she glued the strains of hair to my hair using some kind of wax, because she placed the strands where they should be, then she did something and I felt a bit of heat radiating there and then the strand had been like soldered to my head. Later when she pulled or combed that new long hair of mine nothing came loose and it felt like she was actually pulling at my hair (I guess, she was because in the end or at the end it connected to the hair connected with the skin of my head).

She also did something to my hair, which I couldn't see, but when she was finished I couldn't see any difference in colour between the lately bleached hair and the new honey-blond mass. The she started working with hair spray, blow dryer, scissors, combs, brushes and what else like there was no tomorrow. In the past, I was used to a bit of combing here and a bit of cutting there, having the sides and the back cut with an electric razor, but now there was a blur of arms and tools going back and forth around my head. Soon my hair resampled Kim Wilde's mane and Karen set it in a similar style.

When she finished Ellen took over again. She painted my lips and started on my eyes once more. I had to open or close my eyes, focus the ceiling or the floor, then again look left or right. While I had to hold my eyes this way or that, she painted my lashes and finished my eyes' make-up. She was poking with sharp objects close to my eyeballs and I should not blink, shutter or look away. (Pure torture, I still can tell!)

Finally, she finished by using a pencil on my brows and turned me around to face the mirror. Had I thought, I looked like a girl - a cute girl before - I looked fabulous now. My mind negotiated if I would date this girl or if I would be way out of her league and intimidated by her beauty. I brushed that numbing thought away and kept on staring at loss of what to make of this visual impact.

While I still stared in awe and fascination not believing my own eyes, Ellen ripped away the cape, gasped and muttered: "Oh, boy!", then snickered: "...literally!"

Baffled, I looked at Ellen, then following her gaze back at my body and guessed her dilemma immediately. Underneath the cute made-up head clearly shouting girl sat the body similarly clear shouting boy. My mind was immediately flooded by pieces of pictures of Frankenstein's mad science or of aliens doing 'funny' experiments on human bodies. Karen was as confused as Ellen was and obviously disturbed by this ill-fitting human jigsaw puzzle.

Stage: Linda. As I later learnt, Linda was a friend of Karen and a fashion designer attending this school as well. She and Karen 'shared' their female models to present each other's work. While Karen did the hair, Linda fitted the clothes and Ellen provided the make-up. I guess that was another reason Ellen mistook me for one of the girls and had had no second thoughts. Perception follows expectations or something like that.

Anyway, Linda came by to clarify something with Karen but when her field of vision brushed me her brain started struggling with mixed contradicting information. Only seconds later, she exploded into guffaws of laughter. I almost expected her to explode for real, but somehow she managed not to and even avoided rolling on the floor instead. Still she was gasping for air and holding her stomach when she got herself back under control. More or less. Because every time I came into her line of sight she giggled, choked back more laughter or snickered and snorted. She couldn't stop it other than looking away until she calmed herself by breathing deeply in and out.

When Linda finally came down off it, Karen and Ellen could explain the mix-up. Only seconds later she proposed some stuff from her collection. I tried to block this. I waved my head and hands 'no' and 'no way'. I tried to show a way out of this. However, I could have done it in a room far far away for all it was worth. They simply ignored me and were in deep discussion what would suite me best.

While Linda went to get the stuff, Ellen and Karen made me strip out of most of my clothes. Shoes, pants and socks were easy enough to do it myself with a bit of encouragement, but they removed my tee ignoring me anew. They just pulled the hem up to my shoulders and made me pull my arms out of the tee's. Then they gripped the hem of the neck, too, stretched and pulled the shirt carefully over my mane of blond hair without disturbing it as far as I could tell. That left me sitting there in my sport briefs. In ONLY my sport briefs! Now I looked even more disturbing - almost naked male body and female head on top. Still, I was much too confused to be ashamed or what. I simply sat there void of emotions.

Linda came back and the three masters of my doom were again discussing stuff leaving me out of the loop. In the end, Linda made a point and came over to where I sat as dumbfounded as could be. Without further comment, she handed me a grey, shiny blouse, which I donned and buttoned up.

The buttons were big enough and I struggled only shortly with the first one before my numbed brain discovered they went the other way than I was used to. Kind of like when I had to button-up my grandpa's shirt when his hands were hurting or too stiff.

The top-most button was a bit below the line of my nipples and from it the neck went up like a V. Thus left a bit of my breast muscles visible, which that way seemingly resampled the rounding of tiny breasts. Next, I was given woman's suit pants in white. They had a high waist and lots of vertical pleats as well as narrow legs giving them a carrot-like shape. I guess, on an average woman they would disguise wide hips a bit. Nevertheless, on me they were rather making my slim hips look wider.

I stepped in and pulled them up, but when I was about to close them, Linda made huffing noises: "uhmm, uhmm,... no! Ahm, you have to... ahmm ... tuck ahm you know ..." and she waved her hand vaguely in front of my briefs.

I wondered shortly what that was about, but when I glanced down I discovered the zipper framing a prominent bulge in my briefs. I bet, I grew as red as a fire-truck within a fraction of a second and the blush on my cheeks was the least red colour on my face. When I think back to that day I'm still surprised the make-up didn't burst into flames by the heat I felt radiating from my face.

Nervously, I cleared my throat a few times, turned around and tried to tuck the content of my briefs' front between my legs. All the while trying not to lose the grip on the pants and dropping them to the floor. Somehow, I managed and luckily, it was hard but not hard - if you know what I mean. I think, I was too afraid and confused to be aroused.

When I finally turned back around, everything was tucked properly away and I had a surprisingly flat front as seemed required. The soft and light fabric of the pants still had enough thickness and rigidity to hide the outlines and colour of my briefs and things underneath.

Linda slapped a wide red, glossy patent-leather belt with a big chrome-plated buckle around my waist. She set it very loose and let it hang in angle halfway down my front further covering up. The large eyes of the belt were rimmed with chrome-plated rivets, which sparkled and contrasted the glossy red leather.

Next came a big shoulder pads jacket with a single red button right above my navel. The jacket was single-breasted, black, but with wide, large, white, triangular lapels on both sides of the wide v-neck opening. The V-neck of the jacket left the V-neck of the grey blouse and thus the upper part of my flat hairless chest visible. Did it hint or hide small breasts somehow? I wasn't sure which.

The big shoulder pads ended in slightly puffed sleeves. When I donned it, the sleeves came just down to my elbows. They hid my muscular upper arms and gave the impression of slim arms, while the puff sleeves and pads let my wide and beefy shoulders appear as if they were only wide and beefy because of those pads.

I was about to slip my black men slippers back on, when Linda tsssed me. She dug through her bag and produced a pair of red patent-leather pumps. Just my luck - they fit rather well. Obviously, I had a women's size 8 at that time and that was what Linda had in stock for me. When I tried to stand up, I almost fell flat on my face. They seemed incredible high to me and threw me out of balance, but Linda assured me, two-inch-heels are rather low and easy manageable.

'As if', I thought, but after three or four steps and trying to walk rather tiptoed than heel first, it became really easy. Maybe due to gymnastics and walking on tiptoes at home a lot. Once I had adjusted, it was not so far off from walking from and to the gymnastic apparatus before and after presenting oneself to the judges at gymnastics contests. It felt more like walking tiptoed with supported heels. Only standing in one spot with legs closed seemed to tip me over. Then I had to take a step forward to stop me from falling.

Linda dove again inside the bag and then snapped something shut around my earlobes. When I looked into the mirror, I sported two big red discs where my earlobes should have been. Linda had clipped button-like ear clips with more than an inch in diameter on me.

I gapped and stared into the mirror but 'I' had vanished. All I could see was a girl with big hair, made-up face and stylish outfit from head to toe. As unbelievable and as unreal as it occurred this still was me - well, kind of. Ellen and Karen came back just to repeat my stupid, open-mouthed, I-can't-believe-it expression. When my consciousness returned to working level, my wicked sense of humour returned as well. On sudden spur of the moment, I threw my right arm in the air keeping my wrist limp, while shoving my left arm down and turning the hand 90 degree to the outside before asking:

"And? How do I look?"

I would like to say I managed the pose of Madonna in that video where she imitates Marilyn, but I had never been in heels before and so I wobbled and stumbled struggling for balance. Thus instead of "ooo"s and "uhhh"s I earned some giggles and snickering. However, I started giggling myself and soon we were all laughing real hard.

While Karen had done some fixes and correction to my hair, Ellen got me some red acrylic nails and glued them in place. A bit of filing later, I sported almost an inch long ruby-red nails, too. Karen clipped a few silver loops around my wrist and Linda placed a red leather clutch in front of me.

When all that done, they made me pick up the clutch and walk up and down the aisle until they were satisfied, I could handle the shoes and myself. I was quite happy that Linda got no skirt for me. Otherwise, I might have landed on my nose a few times. It was hard enough to keep my balance when turning around and when being on the softer carpet without being hobbled at the knees.

I was on my own while Karen, Linda and Ellen were occupied with their other models. Hence nothing else to do I walked around the rooms and took in the girls in different stages of dressing. No one gave me a strange look and no one was shouting 'kill the pervert' while pointing at me. There were no medieval villagers waving torches or pitchforks running after me, so my mind settled at ease bit by bit a little more.

Obviously, I still was out of mental balance, since I did not appreciate most teen boys' dream of wandering around unnoticed in rooms full of girls and women sitting around half-naked or were in state of (un)dressing themselves. Maybe my mind went numb by overload and tilted most of the time.
It's a bit like my grannie's cat that one time. Some kids from the neighbourhood and me had rounded up some mice in the backyards and put them in a big tin tub. Then we lowered the cat in the tub. She saw the 30+ mice around her feet and was out of the tub like a flash on speed. Then she came back very cautiously before she jumped on rim of the tub. There she watched the mice quite a while before fishing them out one by one.

I guess my mind was still in the stage of getting away, because even later I just got blurry impressions and not much of nightly excitement out of it. Maybe it was for the best at that time, too, because otherwise my briefs might have not been tight enough. As surreal, as it may seem now, it felt like a completely normal every-day-experience at that time. I got smiles and appreciating looks when I crossed someone's scope. I would smile back when I was smiled at or got thumbs-up signs.

Therefore, when I returned I was as relaxed as if wearing my own boy clothes while hanging around with my best friends. Short time later, Karen came over with her other (?) two female models trailing behind her. I got just a little bit nervous again, but they waved, smiled and nodded their heads wolf-whistling 'woo-hoo'. The one in the floor-long evening gown and elegant evening-hairdo grabbed my elbow, hooked herself in and before I knew it, we were walking together down to the backstage area. Sabrina - as I learnt later - whispered conspiratorially: "Thanks! I am afraid to stumble and fall. I am not used to long dresses and high-heels - especially when they are not my own!"

"Me neither", I whispered back and had to fight laughing out loud when adding: "and it's my first time in high-heels, at all!"

Sabrina had no such reluctance and puffed and bellowed snickering "Oh my, what a lucky strike! One in a million! Heehee!"

I giggled and tittered now, too, and I really had to concentrate on staying upright and not falling down pulling her with me. Luckily, we had reached the stairs and waiting area behind the stage where Karen and Ellen were already waiting with the other girl. Sabrina and me gathered all our will-power to look somewhere else and not at each other to keep from bursting up in laughter again. It was hard but we managed.

The girls in my class giggled a lot all the time. I wondered if this could be because of the make-up and the clothes. Must be! Surely, there is something in all that female stuff - chemicals, maybe? Because why else would *I* giggle that much - so short after I came in close contact with all this - but never before? There really should be a research in action or could it be it is already common knowledge but to only evil scientist and the secret world government? (Uh-oh, I hope there is no killer brigade out there to subdue or silence me now!)

Anyway, as we stood there watching the ones before us I slowly calmed down. The models one by one went up the stairs, waited for a sign and then walked through the open curtain. There they walked to the front of the stage on some kind of catwalk, stood there for some seconds, then turned around, waited another few seconds and came back behind the curtain before exiting to the other side. Along the catwalk and in front of it there were some tables manned with the teachers or judges or whatsoever. The judge had clipboards and took notes.

Sometimes a model had to turn around a second time or wait a bit longer. While watching them my nervousness started to grow again. I guess it was more stage fright than fear of exposure this time. The clothes and the make-up didn't disturb me much any more. Maybe the mascara a little. Because it made my lashes feel heavy and I had to fight continuously not to wipe the 'dirt' out of my eyes. If you are not allowed to scratch, it will tick you to do so just the more.

Eventually, it was my turn. Because of my stage fright growing, I had missed the two or three girls in line before me completely. My view ahead was that narrow I could have worn blinkers and not lost a square inch of visible space. Still I somehow managed the stairs a bit shy but safely and then somebody I hadn't noticed before nudged me to step onto the catwalk. I managed with timid steps first and then a bit more self-confidently to walk over the plank. At least it felt like it.

I stopped at the edge and waited for what felt like an eternity while the noise in the hall grew louder and louder. I didn't know what it was about but I caught glances of the teachers whispering to each other. I forced myself to smile, but I felt my face heating up and surely becoming redder and redder by the second. My smile must have looked as rigid and as fake as a ballroom dancer's, while I noticed judges flipping through some pages and others sat there staring agape. I tried to use this as an excuse or a chance to flee the spotlight and turned around and ... saw myself!

I was facing myself - my SELF - my BOY self! In front of the curtain there was a projection screen and a diascope was beaming the *BEFORE* me there. I froze now staring at ... me!?!? I was just about to run off stage and hide in the darkest closet I could possibly find, when I heard someone clearing his throat and a deep voice calling out: "Excuse me, ... uhm Mi..., uhm... What's your name, please?"

Somehow being confronted by my picture crashed the walls of self-confidence and the hope or illusion or whatever it was that if I could hardly discover the boy in that entire girl's attire and make-up, nobody would be the wiser. Just to find, I was betrayed by my own image or was it the real me or was there a conspiracy of sorts?

"Stevie..." I breathed and then a little louder again: "Stevie?"

I don't know why I made it a question. Maybe I wasn't too sure anymore and was looking for confirmation? My mind came up blank and shrugged its metaphorical shoulders.

"Sorry, to have to ask this... But are you a boy or a girl?" The deep voice boomed again.

"Uhm, a boy?" *Stupid! Why make it a question again!*

"... you identify yourself as a boy?" the booming voice sounded more confuses and less booming now.

"Uhm, ... uhm, yes... sir?" *What-the?* "I am a boy…", I trailed off.

"Then why are you dressed like this?"

"Aw, uhm, you see… there was uhm this... I fell asleep and I woke up like this... uhm, NO, not like this… ehm, I mean uhm made-up … like the eyebrows and eyes, you know? Uhm… and then we simply had to follow what uhm, ... uhm what was already done and..." *Can somebody smack me in the head or shoot me, please?!? What am I saying?*

"Uhm, SIR, uhm, I was here for a boy's haircut, but somehow was mistaken for one of the female models and ... I don't know ... before we discovered the mix-up I was already too far ... uhm for the ... uhm to present the boy cut. You know?" *And the Oscar for the greatest fool in a supporting role goes to Steve! Bonus points for eloquent speech, too!*

Luckily, I could stop myself from face palming and finally shut up. So did the deep voice. A female voice peeped in instead: "Okay! Thank you, uhm, Stevie! You may leave now..."

If my mind's capacity had not be almost completely occupied by processing the inputs and replaying the speeches over and over, I would have raced off, but as it was my legs got only that much processing power to shift to automatic. What was left was used to balance on those heels. I assume I walked more like a zombie off-stage.

Karen was waiting for me and so were Ellen, Linda, Sabrina and the other girl. Karen took me motherly in her arms and the others were bubbling things I couldn't understand or process. My heart was beating like a drum and I thought they others could heard it, too. It took me quite some time to calm down. I reckoned, Karen, Ellen and Linda were very worried about all this dressing me up as a girl, while Sabrina and the other girl seemed to be rather shocked to learn I was a boy. I hadn't thought, they didn't know or anyone close could have missed it. They were beaming at me and congratulating me. I think they even nominated me 'part-time-girl', but I was too blurry to be sure.

Eventually, we went back to the dressing room. The girls still sputtered over each other. I went along as if in trance, but I became wide-awake when I found my tee missing and my jeans gone, too, since it meant, I couldn't change back and had no keys, no ID and no money any more. Thus, I couldn't ride my bike. I couldn't ride the bus with my school season-ticket and couldn't buy a ticket either.

On the other hand, without my boy clothes my missing identity card was almost no issue. If I couldn't change back I would not look anywhere near my own picture there anyway. We searched every corner, turned everything over, but my stuff was gone.

Linda assured me I could keep the clothes for now anyway and Sabrina proposed to drive me home with her car. What would have been the alternative? Of course, I accepted.

Sabrina and I managed to squeeze my bike in the trunk without messing up our clothes. While driving, Sabrina seemed to forget my real gender completely pretty soon. She talked to me, as I would have expect she would gossip with one of her female friends. She was enthusiastic about the show and how she had performed and her nervousness and clothes and the makeup and everything. Lastly, she came back to that she would never have guessed me a boy and how she was shocked and how I fit in so much better than her and that she liked my shoulder pads. Oh right, that were my actual shoulders, not all pads. Oh yeah, due to all the sport and my actual gender. And on and on and on…

Before I knew it, I was at home. Sabrina helped me with my bike again and was about to leave when she became aware of my nervousness.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yeah, I guess. I have no keys and my parents... how should I convince them to open the door for me ... or rather this strange woman here?" I mumbled looking away from Sabrina at the totally awesome gravel next to my heel-clad feet.

"Oh... Ohhhhh! You know what? I will come with you. Fact one two woman might not seem so out of place and fact two... Ireallyhavetoseethis!!!", Sabrina laughed at the last part and I couldn't help to look back up and snicker myself.

We half pushed half carried my bike over to the door, since we haven't been able to unlock it without key. Thankfully, we found the door open. Usually, people tended to lock the entrance door when it got dark, but not that day. However, we left my bike next to the door and climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor. The click-clack sound of our heels on the stone floor echoed through the silence of the early evening.

Steeling myself one last time, I took a deep breath and Sabrina pressed my hand reassuringly as I pushed the bell button. The door opened a few moments later and my mum appeared, looked back and forth at the two of us before she cocked an eyebrow inquiringly. Immediately, a lump formed in my throat before I could utter 'hi, Mum! It's me!' Thus, nothing came out.

Sabrina took over cheerfully: "Hi Mrs. M! We came over because of Stevie! Could you spare a minute?" and then she smiled a nice-girl-next-door-oh-so-innocent-smile. A timid smile crept onto my lips, too. Sabrina must be contagious or something.

My mum muttered a bit bemused: "Stevie is not at home and I don't know when he will be back...", but she stepped aside to let us come in anyway. We walked in and Sabrina steered us both over to the couch as if it was the most common thing to do or as if she had done so million times before. While she sat down onto the couch she was still clutching my hand in away that I was forced a bit backwards, too. As soon as my calves met the seat, my heels and the couch endangering my balance forced me to go down, too. Somehow, I managed to sit down with much more grace then I would imagine. Sabrina let go of my hand in time to sweep her skirt correctly into place and for me to neither topple over nor crash land on the cushions. I even managed to smooth my pants a bit before ultimate contact with the furniture.

My mum still cocking an eyebrow - and, I would swear, completely unaware of it - took the chair facing us when Sabrina continued bubbling: "You see, Mrs. M., me and ...", she nodded her head in my direction: "ahm, ... Louise... ahm, we both think Stevie is awesome and like totally cool! And we both like him a lot and we can't decide who would match better with him and we don't want to fight about him because we are like BFF but he is so cute and seems like such a nice guy and we were wondering if you could help us somehow and this would be like so totally cool and then we could still be friends and Stevie he is just so..."

If I wouldn't have known better I would think Sabrina a total airheaded teenager and a bit boy crazy, too, but in a nice kind of way. Nevertheless, I was a least as speechless as my mum. She just sat there and looked as if she was still processing what Sabrina said half an hour ago. Okay, it were mere seconds, but with her flood of words, it was hard to tell. Further, it seemed there was a string attached between my mum's eyebrow and her jaw. The more her mouth went agape her cocked eyebrow went up.

"But Stevie is just 15! ... You ... you look, excuse me, much ... older ahm mature ... ahm …" *My mum lost at words! That must be a first in a lifetime!*

"Yeah, as my mum always says, 'you have to take them on when they are still young and not spoiled! Then you can train them properly and get them housebroken! Later, when they think they are god's most precious gift to women it is just too hard to succeed!' or something like that, you know?" Sabrina bubbled airheaded and excited again.

"EXCUSE ME! Stevie is my son and NOT some some..." mum was fighting for words without losing her manners. I pitied her immediately, but were still not able to contribute. I just smiled a bit since it was the first time I had seen her as shocked and out of words. Beside that I felt proud she tried to defend me like momma-bear her cubs.

Unperturbed, Sabrina knocked her elbow in my ribs: "Louise, say something, too!"

Flabbergasted, I stared at her then at mum then back at her while "awesome" escaped my lips. *Talk to me, brain! Someone call Dr. Frankenstein! I think we got a rejection reaction here or a total shutdown ... flat line ... beeeeeep ... We need a new brain fast!*

As if this was the correct and only valid answer Sabrina took the lead once more: "See?!? Told you! Awesome! We think he is like so awesome!"

As I saw my mum fighting for words or air or both I knew I had to do something fast.

"Ahm, mum ... MUM, it's me... Stevie?"

To this day, I still see the stop-motion-slow-motion-single-frame playback of my mum's emotions running at a snail's leisure speed across her face when I think of this moment all those years ago. Confusion, bewilderment, processing suspended, wondering, mental rewind and replay, verification, confusion, synchronization, re-evaluation, investigation, counter-check, exploration, search, dawning, recognition, doubt, re-evaluation, doubt some more, realization, acceptance, wonder, confusion, helplessness, lost, tilt... :"WHAT?"

"Mum, it's ME! STEVIE! Your Stevie! ... Mum? Mum?"

She just sat there and stared at me. I was afraid she was shock-frozen or she might have a heart attack or even died of shock and I was about to walk over to her when she burst out laughing so loud as if she lost it.

Hey, maybe she really lost it, but then so did we. We laughed and laughed and I was endangered to fall off the couch or choke on lack of air myself. My tummy hurt. My ribcage hurt. Tears of laughter were filling my eyes. Not much longer and I was gasping for breath and so were my mum and Sabrina. If we as much as shortly glanced at each other, we would erupt again. Therefore, it took us almost 15 minutes to calm down to halfway normal. (Or whatever normal is with me dressed like that?)

Eventually, Sabrina and I told my mum the story of today's fails and errors and wrong assumptions. My mum smiled, giggled, laughed, oohed and awed, looked at me in wonder and curiosity. We three simply had a good time.

We were almost finished, when my dad came home. Still in the corridor, he rumbled something about Steve had left his bike where it fell out of his hands and if it was such a big effort to put it away first when coming home and then some more about the youth of today would not value what they got because they had it much too good for their own good and so on and so forth. But then he stepped into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks and ranting.

"Uhm, sorry... I was not aware we had visitors!" Then he came over and shook our hands - much more tender than he used to with me - then he went over to mum, pressed a peck on her cheek before asking: "Where is Steve? He left his bicycle right next to the entrance..." before turning to Sabrina and me: "and who are those lovely ladies brightening our home and evening?"

I never knew my dad could be such a flatterer, but then again he got mum somehow and that must not have been easy with her brain and looks... *giggle*

Dad must have thought he scored some points, because he settled on a chair next to mum and smiled contently. That is, until he looked at me for more than 10 seconds in a row. His face slacked and so did his jaw, before he breathed voiceless: "Stevie?"

I smiled mischievous: "Hi Dad!" and smiling even brighter added innocently: "Do you like my haircut? Or is it too short? Sabrina thinks it suits me just fine, but I think longer would be better. Then I could have more curls and more variety. What do think about this designer suit? I think it is awesome. I feel so grown-up! They were all like 'Oh, this is just so you!' but I was more like I definitely NEED a skirt with that. Maybe knee-length? Or better a bit shorter? It would show off my legs and those beautiful heels so nicely! Have you seen my high-heels, daddy? They are like so totally awesome, too. I never thought, I could walk with them on, but they are like so totally sexy and comfy. Oh, daddy, what do you think? You like?" With that, I tilted my head a bit down and to the left and batted my eyes at him, trying a daddy's-sweet-little-girl-smile, too. *Ooh, poor dad(dy)! Giggle*

Now Dad was shocked even more. As if, someone had clocked him a heavy pan right over the head. You could almost read 'TILT' in his eyes. Mum was almost as shocked and speechless until Sabrina giggled. Quietly at first, then a bit louder and when I lost it due to her giggling, we both were laughing so hard again I was sure to die this time from having a stich or from suffocation. Mum joint in and this time tears of laughter were running down her cheeks. We guffawed until we could stand it no more and had to settle down a bit.

My mum set up a straight face and stated matter-of-factly: "Stevie! If you keep this up, I will continue where the midwife left!"

"Huh?" I looked at her blankly.

"She asked me your name right after your birth and when I answered 'Steve', she asked me what your name would have been had you been a girl instead. When I told her 'Michelle Eve', she said: 'Oh, that is so much nicer! You sure, I should not make him a girl? You know, when I cut the cord I may slip just a tiny bit too far south and et voila - it's a girl...'"

Now it was my turn to look flabbergasted and shocked, but soon, we were all laughing again. Even my dad boomed with laughter when he saw my face as mum told her story. I heard this family tale several times before. It was kind of a family insider, but I never considered it to be more than a joke about my name. I had never thought about it in regard of my gender or the few inches related to it. I winced a bit waving my hands in front of me as I hurried to sputter: "Nononono! I'm sorry! Itwasjustajoke! Just kidding ... haha-haha!"

In milliseconds, those three rascals were back laughing their heads off and I joint-in only moments later.

In the end, we had a real nice evening. We let dad in on the events of the day and why his son now looked more like an adult fashion model - female fashion model - and all that. Then we had a nice little dinner with Sabrina to thank her for her help. Dad suggested to go to a restaurant instead as it was his one chance to go out with three such beautiful ladies dressed to the nines, but when this earned him THE EYE (you know the one girls and women seem so genetically prone to when men do something stupid) from the three of us, he just grinned and waved his hands defensively in front of him, telling us he was just pulling my leg and kidding around.

Instead, we just gathered around the dining table and ate and talked as if it was the most normal thing to do. Eventually, Sabrina had to leave. We pecked each other on the cheeks three times and promised to keep in contact. Then I went to bed exhausted, but not before mum showed me how to take off the makeup without poking my new longer nails into my eyes.

Since we couldn't do much about the hair and the nails my mum winked at me when she dropped a black, silky nightgown on my bed and said something about another chance for a first one on the other side of the fence. Despite the slippery and unusual feeling, I slept astonishingly and quite well. At least, I thought so until I saw, I looked more like a lion after a twister passing through in the morning.

Ellen and Karen came by later that day and brought me back to normal - boy-mode that is. They also handed me my clothes and my keys. Somehow, they ended on a cleaning cart when someone needed space to vacuum all those cut hairs lying around and when the janitor noticed them Sabrina and me were long gone.

How my life went after that day? Let's just say I never ever fell asleep at a hairdresser's again. The rest is up to you to imagine, because I won't tell...

The Letter

It was getting dark outside, when the key slipped hesitantly into the lock. A few seconds nothing happened. Then the door opened slowly. A tired looking man walked in. No, he dragged himself in. Although maybe in his forties, he dragged himself in as if he was in his late seventies. Close to the end of his power, he scuffed his feet over to the kitchen table. There he broke down in the chair closest to the door.

After a while his shaking hand went up to his black tie. The stiff fingers hooked into the knot and loosened it painfully slow. First a tiny bit, then half way down to his chest. Then his hand fell down powerless onto his black-clad lap. It slipped further down and his arm slid over the side of his black jacket. The slight swishing sound of the clothes droned like a starting jumbo jet in the ear-numbing silence of the house.

He didn't register any of this. His almost lifeless eyes starred straight ahead without any emotion or tears left. They were red and they had been for days now. Had they focused on anything at all, it might have been miles and miles beyond his kitchen's wall.

Maybe it was a drop of water hitting the sink, which rang through the house like a boom of a kettledrum. Maybe it was the coil of a spring, expanding a fraction inside the wall-mounted clock, scratching like an earth slide? Whatsoever, suddenly the man's ears pricked up. He listened attentively into the house - a quantum of a spark of hope glistening in his eyes and dying even faster than a single photon passing through it.

His head, which had turned a bit to listen, sunk back down and towards his chest. Now his eyes met the letter in front of him as if for the first time, despite they had seen it, what must have felt the thousandth if not millionth time. Although he knew every word as if carved into his mind, he had read it again and again. He had stopped reading, just to begin to read and reread again. Stopped and started. Finished and not. Again and again and again. The paper was worn and torn. It had been crumpled and flattened, held tenderly and full of rage. It had been in danger of being torn to pieces or being burnt to ashes countless times, but was saved from that fate by being the last connection and his only hope to ever comprehend.

His eyes rushing back and forth through the text, which they already knew and which he knew by heart. A text burnt deep into his soul and each single character still burning with the might of hundred hell's fires deeper and deeper into his inner-most being:

____________

Dear Dad, My beloved Dad, My Daddy,
 
I am so sorry! I am more sorry, than I can possibly ever say or write. Please don't be mad at me! It is not your fault! It's mine and mine alone! You didn't do anything wrong! It was me or maybe it was the world, we living in. I don't know. But I know with all my heart: it wasn't you!
 
Sorry, I should probably stop with all those exclamation marks, but I wanted to make sure, you believe me. I don't blame you. So please don't blame yourself.
 
When you read all this gibberish, I am most likely dead. Hopefully, I am dead. Because I can't go on any longer with all those lies. I can't live any longer with those lies. I can't live those lies. I am a lie. I am a fabrication. I am not real and never was and I am at the end of my powers.
 
Please look at it that way. I didn't die. I didn't kill myself. I never existed in the first! There was no 'me'. At least, not in the way you saw 'me', not the way, I wanted to be 'me' for you and not the way, I hoped I could be for you. But as hard as I tried, I couldn't - not in the long way, not anymore, not any longer. I am sorry, I really tried to be your son. The son you could be proud of at all times. But deep in my heart, I always knew, I failed and could never truly be. Because, deep, deep down, and if I am true to you and myself, in every cell of my being, I am and have always been your daughter. In everything but utter appearance.
 
Yes, as long as I can think, I felt as if I should have been born a girl. That I am a girl and that I am a prisoner in my own body. Although a great body for a guy - tall, muscular, good-looking. I would have loved to see it on any guy I met - but it has never been anything other than an ugly hull, torturing prison walls, a cruel joke of nature to me.
 
When I was small, I didn't understand it, when other girls were running around in their beautiful, frilly and colourful dresses, blouses and skirts and I couldn't ... wasn't allowed. They were allowed to wear ribbons and beautiful things in their long bouncing hair. All I had was short hair, no ribbons and no clips and no combs and no scrunchies. I had only those dumb, stupid boy clothes. At that time, I thought the other girls detested me for my clothes and didn't want to play with me because I didn't own clothes as nice as theirs. I never understood, their 'ewww's were because they thought me a boy and not because of my clothes.
 
But then boys were always 'eeeeewww' to me, too. (Never you! You were the only 'boy' then, which were not! You, Daddy, you have always been my hero!!! XO XO <3 )
 
I guess ... I hope, you never noticed, you never knew, but I have always been a loner in school. Since I kept my distance to the boys and the girls kept theirs to me. They boys probably saw me as strange, as not one of them and therefore rejected me. I pretended, everything was fine. And I guess, I got really good at it and you never found out. I put up a wall, an illusion, an image of my perfect little world. To prevent you from finding out. To save myself from hurt and embarrassment, from facing my short-comings, from facing you.
 
Luckily, I was into sports. I was as strong as them and could stand my ground. I could have hurt them badly. I could take them down. At least, they most likely thought so. Therefore they left me alone and didn't bully me like those other 'losers' and 'loners' like me, the ones different to them. Fortunately, they never tested me. Only one guy ever got me so in rage, I wrestled him to ground and turned his arms across back until he cried for his mummy. He was four grades above me. Maybe this gave me a 'don't-mess-with-me' image and prevented any further thought, me being an easy target. They didn't know, I cried myself to sleep the next few nights. That I detested myself for being such a brute - such a BOY. Probably not only in body, but maybe in mind, too??? I swore to never lose control like that ever again and became even more reclusive.
 
Unluckily, I was into sports. When I was little, you spent so much time with me running, playing ball, jousting, swimming, diving, skiing ... And I loved every minute of it. You were my hero and my role model, the only male, I was really close with. I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to stay as close as I was with you then. Above all, I loved sports. So in the end, I became as strong as you and grew up to be a man like you. Tall, wide-shouldered, slim waisted, with strong, muscular arms and legs, angular chin, wide neck, with strong, wide hands. I guess, I inherited your good genes. Only, they didn't do me any good for I so longed to become ... to be a woman.
 
Sometimes we went shopping together and I was looking at some girls. You would wink at me, playfully slap me on the back or nudge my arm. You would smile and whisper, whether I was looking for 'the' special girl and ask, if I had found it already. Or if I knew one of those girls from school and if I would rather go over and ask them to go on a date with you, instead of hanging around with your old boring dad. Of course, I was never after them and you were never old or boring to me! You have always been my Daddy, my hero.
 
On the other hand, this made it even more impossible for me to tell you, I was looking at the girls not because I wanted to be with them, but because I wanted to be them or at least more like them. That I longed for being a girl and that I envied them for what they were. I was sure, confessing it, would drive a stalk through your heart or that it would drive us apart, if nothing else. But I could never take the risk to tell you, since we only had each other. I couldn’t allow myself to be so selfish and thus risk hurting you. You didn't do anything wrong. It was me and my stupid body and my stupid mind and... oh I don't know ... I ...
 
Instead, I kept smiling. Sometimes I would even point at a girl - probably the one I envied the most - and then pretend to be secretly in love with her (which somehow was true, but for so completely different reasons) and then I would sometimes add something like that she had already a boyfriend, probably one much older or richer or a real jock or something like that. Sometimes I would avoid your 'motivational' speech. But more often than not, I got them anyway. But then, I didn't really loath them either. For whatever little they helped with my real problem, they undoubtedly proved to me, we were still close and you really cared for me. You were as much my buddy as my dad.
'Hey, you don't look so bad yourself', 'Every girl should be glad to have you' or 'You will see sooner or later the girls will wake up and notice what a great guy you are.'
Sometimes accompanied by a 'You just have to come out of your shell and start talking to them. You know, they don't bite. Even I got lucky and got your mum - the best girl in the whole wide world!'
 
How could you have known, that every single one of those sentences hurt, hurt me so much more than I could ever let surface or describe. But I could never let you know. I could
never let you see my hurt. As I was sure, it would hurt you so much more. Instead, I would make a joke, punch you back laughingly or just vanish in the next store, because of some cool sneakers, a tough jacket or a must-have video game. Whatever was closest and could cover my change of topic best and fastest.
 
I so wish, I had known mum. You seem to put her on a pedestal. Glorified her like an angel. Maybe she really was that lovingly and cool and beautiful girl and I wish, she was. Maybe I think of her as such a shining light, too, and place her on a pedestal of my own. I maybe idolize them even more then you. It’s easy to paint only the positive and best characteristics on someone you never got to know, but only dreamed of. Maybe therefore I wished, I could be like her, too.
Did you describe her like this for my sake? For yours? Was it just your rose-tinted view of her after all those years? Or was she really that wonderful? I really hope so. Although in the end, it piled up my problems some more, when it comes down to me wondering what she would have said about me being a girl.
 
Would she have seen ME? I mean, the real ME. And even if not, could/would I have come out to her? I like to think, I would have dared then. Because in the worst case, even if both of you detested me for being me, you would still have had each other. I could have run off, vanished from your lives. Sad maybe, but somehow happy in knowing, you wouldn't need me. But since it were just the two of us, I didn't dare risk you detesting me. I could never have run off and left you alone. But then, I guess, I did now, right? Oh, sorry, but it all becomes too much now and I can/could not postpone it any longer.
 
Anyway, I always wondered, if I had the balls to confess to her (pun intended - sorry), would she have accepted me and then dressed me up, maybe played mummy and daughter, beauty saloon, tea party with the queen or something like that with 'ME'? Could we have gone shopping with me as her daughter? She buying me my first bra or my first make-up, a prom dress or high-heels? Would we have spent weeks you were on business trips as girls? Or would she have paved the way to introduce 'me' to you? So you may have accepted 'me'. (Okay, maybe you would even have accepted me without her, but as I said I could never risk to try you.)
Many nights I dreamed, we might have moved to another town and I would have started on hormones and school as your daughter. Eventually, I would have had the operation and you both would have been so happy and proud and I would find me a husband as great as my daddy and we would give you two grandchildren - two granddaughters to spoil...
 
There my dream always shattered. No daughters for me and no granddaughters for you! Yes, I know, you always wanted a granddaughter. I saw your looks, when girls my age passed by with a beautiful baby-girl in a stroller. Or when those girls sat at a table in the restaurant tending to such a baby-girl. I am absolutely sure, you weren't looking at the teenage girls like some perverted old man. Therefore it had to be the baby-girls, right? Often you would try to cover your watching by saying something like I should take my time or that I am not old enough for kids of my own. I would surely settle down soon enough, when the right girl comes along and we would give you the best grand-kids a man could want. But I should take my time!
 
Sometimes, you would give me tips like I should respect the girl and not force me and my wishes onto her. A marriage should be a partnership. A partnership should be of equals in rights and minds. Yeah, I heard all that and I took it to my heart. But I always wished, I was the girl in the partnership and the boy would be someone as great as my daddy.
 
But I couldn't be a girl or become one. Not with that body of mine. Sure I read about the wonders of medicine today. Skilful surgeons, complex pharma, established training and rehab. All those laws about diversity and equal rights and even the change in society... But with the way I look today? No, without a fairy godmother - no girl body for me. I could maybe get close but it would never be close enough for my longings. I would always want more and better and closer and ... just to be a real girl.
 
If there haven’t been that event, I guess one day my resistance would have weakened, my depression become too much or just my longing become bigger than my logic mind could suppress. I would have probably given in and despite better judgement and knowledge, I would have begun the journey to get as close as I could in becoming a girl - what ever little bit this would have been, but all changed for ever, when I saw that woman.
 
I was walking down our little road and a red roadster was about to park on the other side just then. I don't know why I looked, but I watched her stop and exit the car. She was tall with long blonde goldilocks hair. She had a feminine, stylish, black leather jacket with a wide belt slimming down her waist, an expensive, grey pencil skirt and black mid-heeled ankle-boots. But between the skirt and the boots I saw big, round, muscular calves like those of a rugby player or heavy-weight lifter. I stopped mid-step and observed closer. She must have noticed or felt my look and turned around. I saw well-manicured hands, but as big as a butcher's. Her face was immaculate made-up, but possessed a square jawbone, heavy-set features and the oh-so obvious shadow of a late middle-aged man, with wrinkly skin, male eyes and receding hair.
 
When she saw me looking, this big, tall man brave enough to present himself - no, I guess - herself for all the world to see as a woman ... the woman, she hoped to be or at least tried to be as best as she could. That woman got a frightened, hounded look. Although, I just stood there two lanes and two car length away.
 
I was too shocked to move or to look away politely for a few seconds. Seconds, which felt like minutes to me and maybe hours to her. Fascinated and intrigued, I soaked up every little detail - the jewellery, the clothes, the figure, the style and to my utter shame the irrational fear. The tired, aged beauty. The clear male feature, which might have once been hidden by youth, tricks and a better shape, but now fought their way back to the surface.
 
Right there, every fibre of my brain seemed to cry 'this could be me - this will be me in about 20 years if I try to become a girl / a woman!'
 
Finally, my consciousness hammered some sense of decency into me and I turned and walked away without looking back. But my mind was in tumult. My thoughts went riot. If I didn't walk the way of nature, but the way of my heart and my soul, this would be what I would look like in some years. I would most-likely become as obvious and as frightened. On top, I might be alone in the world, if I would lose my Daddy over it. Further, I am not sure, I could then find someone to love if I would look similar to her then. And if I did, would I want someone, who wanted someone, who looked like I would look then? Would I think of him as a pervert and ignore it just to be with someone, anyone? Would I love someone back, who would think of me as a pervert? Or would I love someone despite thinking of him as a pervert for he didn't see me as one? Would I stick to the first man, showing me any affection, because I was too lonely or too afraid to wait any longer? Would I rather stay alone - as alone and unhappy as I am today? Would I try to find a community and if, which one? Could I live that way? What would I live from? Would I find a job? Would I live on the streets? Would I vanish one day without anyone taking notice or care? Would I...
 
Such thoughts and many more hunted me for weeks, for months now. In the end, I came to a single conclusion. I am sure, I can't go on any longer as a boy, as your son. But with the same clarity, I am sure, I could never live, being like that woman. I can't see a fraction of a chance to become the girl I long to be - not close enough anyway. Afraid of young boys on the other side of the street? Probably shunned by society or at least persecuted by still unbelievable many small-minded, red-neckish hypocrites and stooges. Too obvious not born with the female genetic blueprint attached.
 
It would simply not be enough - not sufficient in the long run. But then, still too hard to carry on with what could be gained at max. Dangling above all, the danger of hurting you, of losing you and being all alone in the world.
 
I am absolute devastated, but for all my thoughts and thinking, I don't see any other way out and I don't know how to go any further. To tell the truth, I don't even see any way at all any more. I am surrounded by infinite high walls - coming closer and closer - ready to smash me, no matter if I go on, turn around or stay. I am suffocating like a fish in Death Valley or a candle in a vacuum.
 
I am so terribly sorry, Daddy, to hurt you like this!!! I love you so much and if I only could avoid it, postpone it any further or just have faith there would be an acceptable solution in the future, I would have done everything to prevent it. But I hope, it will hurt you just briefly, instead of both of us for years. Like you rip off band aid - fast with a quick pull. I can only hope, you will understand it sooner than later and forgive me. Please, please, forgive me, daddy!
 
Dear Daddy,
I sent you all my love, I hug you with all power left in me and thank you with all my heart for all that you have ever done for me, to make me happy, to love me, to protect me, to support me!
 
In true and deep love,
your son, Terry
Your Daughter, Terri

____________

The letter lay there as if nothing had happened. As if it was a bill or a commercial flyer or a letter from a friend. It lay there oblivious to the world. A world it had shattered and burnt down. A world it had destroyed and ripped apart like hundreds of thousands of atomic bombs. Almost shattered it as much as the act it went ahead. The act, which threw the world of the man into a black hole. Reduced the world to a space tinier than a single atom, tinier than a single electron, tinier than a photon, but its significance with a mass to pull all the light, colours, love and happiness into it to never be released again.

To the man it felt as if he had been pulled back before the Big Bang, because even the time had stopped. Nothing moved. Nothing jiggled. There was no dimension left. Just this incredible huge huge huge amount of pent-up energy. Then the dawning perception, grasping the new reality, triggered all this energy to be released and like with the Big Bang the man's world expanded - exploded in a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a millionth of a millionth of a second - expanded larger than the universe and taking every atom of the life he knew with it. After that the time went on, but for him without love, colours or happiness.

Still, the letter just lay there. It didn't shout at the man. It didn't blamed him. It didn't accuse him. But accuse him, it did. Blaming him for all he was worth. Shouting louder at him than a chorus of banshees. Still, it just lay there - unmoving and moving so much.

How could he have been so blind? How could he have known? Why didn't he know? Did he know, but chose to ignore what was obvious? Was it obvious? He should have recognized it. How should he have recognized it? Had he soothed himself or had he been soothed? Did he bow to the values of society too much? Were he broken down under their weight and had the pressure go on? Where did he turn left and should have turned right or vice versa? When did he sat down instead of standing up? Holding his way instead of opening a way for others? Did he? Did he not? Why... In the end there was only WHY?

He could stand the letter and its silent accusing shouts no more. Slowly, like a giant marble statue becoming alive, he lifted ever so slowly from the chair. Swaying like a willow while standing up, it seemed taking years until he was erect. Had someone watched, he would have thought for sure, the man’s joints making grinding noises similar to ancient millstones. Then with motions as fluid as those of a stop motion animated puppet in a seventies fantasy movie the man started his trail to the stairs. His motions became slightly more fluid, but lacked that happy spring it had for decades and the power his big frame usually promised. It was obviously the walk of a broken man.

The stairs caused another significant effort to the man. He struggled, he fought, he dragged on. Even more, once he reached its upper end. He had to pass the place, where he had seen his son the last time. Not looking there and the unseeing eyes locked on the ground in front of him, he passed the spot even slower than he had entered the house. At the end of the aisle he struggled anew. This time with the fold-away stairway to the attic. He simply didn't possess enough power to lift his arm high enough to catch the eyelet with the hook. A few days ago, his friends would have seen this as him doing slapstick or at max a case of lumbago. A man, built like an ox and pressing 200 lbs for warm-up, now fighting to lift a broom-like stick overhead.

In comparison, pulling down the stairs had almost been too easy. He more or less collapsed due to the energy-sapping broom-lifting and missed the energy to let go. Panting, he sat there for what felt like hours. Finally, he managed to pull himself up again. He was on a mission and now that he had made up his mind, nothing would stop him. Not even his own lack of power and his weakened spirit. Like a twelve month old boy using furniture to pull himself up to stand for the first time on his own, he used the rungs to haul himself higher and higher. Later using his legs, too, he crawled up further, sliding on his stomach like a huge lizard inch by inch upwards. Eventually, making it through the opening into the attic, he collapsed once more.

Minutes later slightly reposed, he was finally able to stand up. Still swaying, he walked slowly over to the darkest and most distant corner. On his way, he stopped slowly at a cloth rack. He carefully lifted the covering sheet, which had collected a significant layer of dust over the years untouched. His shaking hand tenderly brushed the two garments underneath. One was the dress of the wicked witch of the west and the other one was a little child's dress. Sweet memories lifted his spirits. At the age of four, Terry wanted to go t'ick or t'eat'n as Dorothy so much, that the father had pretty soon caved in and dressed him as that little girl.

A blue dress with a blouse like the one Judy Garland wore in that movie, similar stockings and some ruby-red shoes. Terry's hair had been pretty long at that time anyway. When he became aware, his hair should receive a cut, he would always cry all day long, making riots and clinging to furniture. So his father had scarcely insisted on a trip to the salon to save nerves. Thus, parting Terry's hair in two bunches and tie them with big lacy ribbons had been easy. Without any reluctance, he had dressed himself as the witch to accompany Terry. If people wondered, why this brick of a man hadn't gone as the tin man, lion or even the wizard of Oz to accompany his daughter, no-one dared to ask. He didn’t notice any strange looks and hadn't heard one comment in this regard. People were just smiles and nodded their heads or even gave him a thumbs-up.

On the other hand, they didn’t get very far from their house, when disaster struck. Some bigger and older boys living down the street, had teased Terry mercilessly. Although, his dad had immediately tried to protect Terry it was too late. The boys had split and surrounded the two trick'n'treaters. They retreated just a few meters and after standing at a safe distance and apart started to call Terry and the Wicked Witch names, laughing nastier then. Terry was in tears in seconds, had thrown away his plastic pumpkin, turned and run back to their house. Once inside, he almost ripped off the costume and had never wanted to dress as a girl again. At least, it appeared like it to all the world. Instead, he had thrown himself at all kind of sports. He became tough and strong.

A few years later, when most had forgotten about the Halloween accident, Terry had given those boys a good trashing. All of them at once. In consequence. he got suspended for a week, but nobody dared to bully him ever again, too. The man's spirit was numbed once more by those last thoughts, but still the touch and view of the dresses lit a little light in his soul again.

Terry had always come after his father in more ways than one. Where his father was build like a trunk, he was trunk jr. and if one thought his dad was as strong as an ox, he would surely see Terry as a young bull. So much power and energy to release. Thus his father had never thought back to that day. Rather, he had suppressed any reminiscence and feeling, kept it hidden deep inside his heart and mind. Now he felt the original pain again, the helplessness and the later relief, when Terry found a vent in his sports and didn't seem to care about that Halloween any longer.

But all that came back hunting him again and this time stronger than ever. Feeling like van Helsing, as having driven a proverbial stake through his daughter's heart, burning her soul and dreams, when he felt relieved. When he failed to investigate to find out for sure, if Terry rather wanted to be a girl, felt like a girl, was a girl. He could have been supportive. He would have been supportive, if he only had known. He should have been supportive, even if he didn't know! How couldn't he have known ... felt ... recognized this? He failed big time - BIIIIIIG time. The man sat down again. Frail. Broken. Powerless.

He sat down on the old chest which contained his late wife's possessions. Mainly clothes and little things he could not give or throw away after she died. Short after their son's birth. Some doctors said, it was her liver and other thought her kidneys had stopped working. In the end, he didn't care why. For whatever reason, his loving wife and best partner, the likely to be best of all mothers had lost her fight and left him alone with their son. He had sworn to her soul, to whatever god there might be (if there was a god, cruel enough to steal him the love of his life and now his innocent son, too) and most of all to himself, he would be the best father their son could possibly have. Up to a few days ago, he was as sure as a single dad could be, he had succeeded and done all to give Terry a happy life, all the love and support he could give and Terry would ever want. Give them roots to feed body and soul, give them wings and a home to start from and come back to...

Now the veil of ignorance before his mind's eyes was lifted and the hurtful truth beaten home with destiny's biggest sledgehammer.

For the past years, he had imagined, he would look through the chest with his son one day. Telling him about the beautiful, loving, intelligent woman Terry's mother had been. But until today, it had always been too hurtful for him and now it was too late. How could he have stood the pain, when touching that stuff again, brought back so many beautiful memories of his wife and their wonderful time. Further, it would probably have caused hurt and envy in his son's heart for never having met her. Thus, even today the chest remained closed as it has been for almost twenty years now.

Instead of opening the chest, he turned to his left and reached behind the chest. He pulled a big suitcase from its 'hiding' place behind the chest. A thick layer of dust masked it former colour with a mousy grey. The first time today, he felt powerful and showed some determination. He lifted the big suitcase one-handed above the chest and his leg, before placing it in front of him. Then he stood up and carried the suitcase back to the opening. He snatched a rope, tied it to the suitcase and lowered that to the floor below. Climbing down himself, he followed immediately. Had someone seen him just now, he would have found nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, despite the dust-covered face with the reddened eyes and the trails his tears had dug through the dust layers on his cheeks like a miniature version of the Grand Canyon.

The man pulled the suitcase trailing behind him into the master bathroom. He laid it on top the toilet seat and opened it with its lid coming to a rest on the bidet. He took a deep breath, steeled himself and unzipped the left side. When he removed the inner separator, his eyes browsed the content lovingly and ashamed at the same time. There was a mixed array of woman's clothes. No specific style - if you don't count old-fashioned a style. They were a bit more colourful than one would expect today, but apart from this there was hardly anything matching. There were panties and bras in different styles and colours. There were some pairs of pantyhose, some of them even sported tears, runs, holes and ladders. The blouses and skirts could hardly be combined as a tasteful ensemble. Only on top, there was a dress - a royal-blue dress - carefully put away and catching the observer's eye.

With shaking hands, but nevertheless as careful as if the dress was made out of a single spider's thread, the man lifted the dress from its long-time resting place. He arranged it tenderly on a hanger and hung it at the bathroom's door. Gently caressing the cloth, lingering in long-forgotten feelings and recalling times long gone by.

After some minutes, he turned back to the suitcase and dug deeper. Finally, his fingers brushed two boxes he had been looking for. One contained a - for once - matching bra and panty set. A simple white and with sparse lace, but still of classic beauty. The other smaller and transparent box proudly announced its content as the softest and most erotic stay-up stockings, just 'the' stockings for a special evening with a special man. Regardless of all the stress and grief of the day, this brought a brief giggle and a flash of a smile rippled his lips due to its ambiguous meaning. Only to be replaced immediately by a deep pain in his heart.

Hastily, he focussed his attention to the other side of the suitcase. There he found a small overnight bag, a card box and a linen bag. He placed the overnight bag next to the mirror, before he opened the linen bag. From it he pulled out two royal-blue pumps with 4 inch heels. After caressing the soft leather, he set them down underneath the hung-up dress. If one looked closer, they weren’t really the same colour as the dress, but close enough to match beautifully, nevertheless. The soles were a bit worn, although they had never seen anything but wooden floors and carpets. And despite them obviously being a few years old already, they were still in pretty good shape.

With a heavy sigh, he went back to the mirror again. He observed the face it contained closely. It was nothing he identified himself with. Hollow, bloodshot, tear-strained eyes. After washing off the layers of dust, he found pale skin, smooth and clean shaven with a hint of a 5 o'clock shadow. On a closer look the cheeks seemed as hollow and the skin overall as wrinkled as the skin around his eyes - haggard was the word. The nose red from cleaning away tears too often today. Although not that old yet, his sparse hair was slowly turning grey or white - accelerated by the lost in the last weeks. Cumulating all of this, the face was merely a shadow of the man he had seen in this very mirror for the last odd twenty years and now even less the face he hoped to find reflected back there.

With still shaking hands, but renewed termination, he took his shaving kit and started slowly, but carefully, to get rid of the hairs in his face. When satisfied, he took a neutral moisturising cream instead of the after-shave, he usually applied. While he waited for the cream to be aspirated fully, he looked again in the mirror. A bit of colour had found its way back into his face. But more from skin-irritation and cool water than from feeling better.

Once the skin had dried enough, he opened the over-night bag and picked up a tube of foundation. Not really his colour before, it matched his skin-tone even less now. Still it helped to cover the grey tone and all blemishes and imperfections quite a bit. Next, he rummaged through the bag again until he found a half-used palette of eye-makeup. Since he had found it at a bus stop years ago, it was not his recommended colour, too, but at least the bluish tones would match the dress. Hesitatingly, he applied the eye-shadow with unskilled hands. Short before having to clean everything off and start all over again, he finally managed to gain the look he wanted.

A bit more relaxed now, he took on the next challenge. Mascara and eye-liner. Relatively sure, he would manage the mascara, but not so sure about the eye-line, he started with the later one first. Stabilizing his shaking right hand with the left placed against his cheek, he soon finished a perfect line. At least for his longing mind. Collecting all his courage and mental power, he took on the other eye. Not as good as his first one, but sufficient symmetrical and still well enough. He released the breath he had hold in unconsciously and breathing a few times in and out to regain his confidence and power. As expected, the mascara proved easier than all the other eye-makeup before. Years ago, mascara was the only makeup he had dared to use, thus he had the most experience there and it slowly came back to him.

Watching his head turn slowly side to side in the mirror, he began to see a tiny bit of the image he had longed for all his life. Analysing his features, he looked for imperfections and spots he was already satisfied with. Especially his lips emerged as his biggest shortcomings compared to his self-image. Missing a pencil to outline his lips professionally, he used a dark red felt-tip pen instead. It was risky, since every error would be almost incorrectable, but his new-gained confidence gave him wings. Much to his own astonishment, he succeeded to his best capabilities and as he imagined it should look like. Filling in the contours with a ruby-red lipstick proved almost too easy in comparison.

The next part was even more easy, but still not without risk. For the first time ever, he would apply rouge. Too much and he would look like a clown. Too high or too low and the effect would be disastrous or at least not as prettifying as hoped. Worst would be, if he had to clean everything off and start from scratch again. He wasn’t sure he could stand it or reproduce all he had done so far. But when he rummaged through his meagre deposit of makeup, first he came across a powder puff. His heart skipped a beat and his hopes sank like a lead ball. He had forgotten to use powder after applying foundation to his skin.

Scraping together the suddenly little energy left in him, took out the almost empty powder compact. As tenderly as exhausted he slowly swiped the puff over the powder and then as careful as possible without touching any of the already finished spots applied as much or as little powder as he dared. After what felt like hours of heavy work and Sisyphean labour, he let his arms sink and observed his reflection with awe and sceptically. Fortunately, he couldn't see anything too out of line and was as happy as could be.

This seemed to bring back most of his sapped-away energy. Almost joyfully he stood and picked up all of his makeup. Placed it back in its bag and cleaned the area around the sink. Everything packed away, he closed the suitcase and hid it behind the door. Now he took his clothes to the bedroom.

After undressing completely, he stood in front of the bedroom's mirror. A muscular man with short hair, but a woman's face starred back at him. Beside his pubic hair, his body was hairless from neck down. He started to shave and later wax his body when he was 16. First the legs only, then the chest and not much later everything else. He was on the swim team and liked to ride his bicycle and used both of it as an excuse to do so. In reality, it was the other way around. He joined the swim team to be able to use this excuse. Later, he would say he was so used to being shaved all over, that he felt dirty and impure with hair. Or that the hair growing back was simply itching too much to not shave before the itch started.

He stepped in the panties and donned his bra. He hooked it behind his back as he had seen his wife do, done before her and the way he felt was the only correct way. Then he checked his nails and fingers before bunching the stockings and rolling them up his legs. Carefully and thus avoiding any nicks or runs, he pulled them in the correct position. He had to repeat the pulling a few times, since the size was not right and his muscular legs deviated quite a bit from the female optimum. But after moving around the room the stockings relented a bit more and he was able to ease them further up.

The look into the mirror now presented an effeminate version of the man with the woman's face. Somehow the stocking alone made his appearance a lot more feminine. But the empty cups of his bra destroyed his illusion. His started back to the bathroom, only to stop himself after a few steps. Worried, the wooden door steps or the tiles could nick his stockings, he stepped into his blue high-heels. Swaying shortly back and forth, he took a few uncertain steps, before the muscle memory came back and he was on his way without any problems.

Opening the suitcase again, proved to be a bit more problematic this time. In high-heels the weight was harder to handle. Still he managed well. He found the ziplock bag and this time didn't forget to take out another cardboard box, too. The box he set next to the sink, before hid the suitcase anew, picked-up the ziplock bag and headed back to the bedroom. The bag contained two flesh-coloured blobs of silicone "flesh" - livelike replicas of female bumps. He inserted them into the cups of his bra and immediately his appearance was feminized further.

Next came the blue dress. Lovingly caressing it, he took it off its hanger, pressed it against his enhanced chest and swayed holding it to himself in front of his mirror. His eyes became a dreamingly glance. Pulling himself out of his trance, he stepped into the dress and pulled it up. Twitching it here and there in place before zipping himself into the dress. It was stretched a bit since he had gained quite a few pounds over the years, but for one it helped his feminine look some and on the other hand it still looked good enough.

Back in the bathroom, he opened the cardboard box and took out a dark-blonde wig. It was made of Japanese silk, whatever that should be. It was artificial hair, but as close and as silky as possible to real hair, if not even softer. He had bought it via ebay when ebay was still young and user probably too inexperienced. He found the offer in China with hundreds of similar offers starting at 1 dollar. Just dreaming how it would be to have long hair and in such a style like that, he bid the dollar to keep his dream alive a little while longer. But when the offer timed out, he was shocked to find to be the only bidder and thus received the quality wig of his dreams for one dollar including the postage from China! Then he had to pick up the package before his wife got home and hid it.

He only dared to don the wig a few times since, because he was always too afraid his wife would find a long, blonde, telltale hair and accuse him of two-timing. So he would wear the wig only a few minutes and then spend hours checking every corner of the house for stray hairs from it. Thus the wig was still almost in mint-condition. Using his wife's brush he gently brushed the wig in shape and restore its waves and curls. Then he carefully lifted I onto his head. His short hair did not disturb it much. When he had donned it in the past, he avoided the clips and the rubber band fasteners, because they soon gave him headaches. This time he used everything to fix the wig in place and adjust it as it was intended.

When his eyes met the image in the mirror, all he could see was a woman. Long, wavy dark-blonde hair framed her immaculate made-up face, highlighting her feminine shapes and accentuate her medium sized breasts by following their contour. It nicely contrasted her blue dress. Now only a bit of jewellery was missing. She clipped a pair of her wife's pearl earrings to her ears and fastened a pearl chain around her neck. Then she brushed her hair back in place a last time, checked her look and then left the bathroom.

On her way out the bedroom's door, she picked-up a picture placed on top of the armoire. She glanced lovingly at the portrait before heading down the hall. Her heels making a hard, firm click-clack sound, announcing her returned determination. When she reached the end of the aisle and thereby the begin of the railing, she stopped this time and looked long and sad at the spot where her life had imploded. Where she had lost her son - where she had lost her daughter.

With power, minutes ago she would doubt she still had in her, she grabbed the rail, stepped closer, then tried to lift her leg high enough to step across it. Not able due to the restriction of her dress, she changed tactics. She slid her bum aslant the railing, grabbed it even tighter and then flipped both her legs onto the other side. Carefully lowering herself on the small sill and finding the space to place her high-heeled feet there, she stepped further along the railing. Reaching the spot, where the man had fastened a rope with a strong knot this morning before leaving the house. Only the feeling of guilt, honour and duty to escort his son - no, her daughter on her last way had prevented him from using the rope right then right there.

But she had no such restrictions any more. She had nothing to lose, but memories, sorrow and a meaningless life ahead. All what had a meaning, all what could become valuable to her in the future all there could ever be was damned to become insignificant as insignificant can get. All was gone. Joy, love, hope, peace, luck, happiness, even health - all gone to never come back.

She lifted the rope and fitted the slip knot around her neck. She took the picture in her hands again and looked long and longingly at it. She held the last and only picture she ever had got of her daughter - sleeping peacefully on the white silk pillow, dressed in a beautiful, colourful, flowery summer dress, the long, wavy hair done in a feminine style suitable for a young woman, the face professionally and beautifully made up, a small bouquet of pink roses held in her manicured fingers with the pale pink nails and a peaceful smile around the pale pink painted lips, her eyes closed as if dreaming of true love. The picture, that had been taken short before they closed the lid of the coffin.

The woman kissed the print one last time, smiled at it and then placed it close to her heart between bra and dress. She took a liberating and calming breath, looked upwards and said:
"Terri, your mummy will be with you soon and then I will be there for you for always and ever!"
With that, she released her grip on the rail and took a last step forward.

************

As the rope tightened, the weight rocked the railing, shook the whole house and caused the kitchen wall to resonate a few times. The bell in the kitchen clock chimed twice.

At the same time quite some towns away, two beautiful little baby girls were delivered by the newly-minted mum. As the twins were placed on the chest of their exhausted but oh-so happy mummy one little girl moved her arm and wrapped her tiny fist around her sister's thumb.

Despite her 48 hours shift and knowing it was all but possible, the nurse tending to the little family would swear on all there was for as long as she lived, it looked for sure as if the twin baby girls smiled at each others happy and content...