This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any real persons or events is purely coincidental.

 

As Good As A Woman            by Denise Em          ©1995, 1996, 2001

 

Chapter I

The barbs were beginning to get to me. I appealed to Diane, "Look, I’ll concede that you women do have a little tougher time of it, but you do choose to dress that way. Besides, it still isn’t anything us guys couldn’t do just as well, if it were actually important."

Jean, in for another handful of reports, heard that and challenged me, "OK, prove it."

All I could do was look at her quizzically.

"Show us how you can do it just as well," she demanded.

"How?" I asked.

"Is it too simple for your complex mind?" she sarcastically asked. "Do a full day’s work, wearing a skirt and high heels."

--

It had all started on a particular government holiday, which was, unfortunately, not observed by the company I work for. The office I worked out of was somewhat special, in that the majority of its business was government related. Because many of the field technicians would have little to do, it was an ideal time to schedule several of the field technicians into the office for a "workalong day".

Thus, I found myself assigned to work with the Service Response Coordinator, Cheryl Diaz, taking calls from the customers who were still open for business. It was a function Cheryl normally shared with Diane Parker, the contracts administrator.

I had the filing system for customer records figured out by ten AM. By eleven, I was taking customer calls as though this were my normal job. Having long been on the receiving end of the dispatch process, it wasn’t especially difficult to learn how to assign the calls. Perhaps it was the way I had fit right in, that made an offhand comment lead to my present circumstances.

Several technicians, with no calls to keep them busy, were hanging around the office. Remarking on how well I was handling the job, one of them added an observation that although she couldn’t identify what it was, something didn’t seem quite right.

Knowing that the position had always been held by a female, I made the mistake of quipping, "I suppose you’d feel better about it, if I had longer hair and wore a dress?"

That drew several laughs from around the room.

Gregg Avery, another technician, spoke up, "Only one way to find out!"

I gave him a withering look.

Another call came in, breaking that train of conversation. While I was handling it, the discussion had wound down. When I’d finished, Cheryl reopened the topic.

"...really! You’re only doing part of the job. It’s a lot more difficult to do while managing a skirt. All the getting up, bending, stooping, maneuvering around desks and cabinets, all the while, tethered by the headset cord - it’s much easier in slacks."

"Then why don’t you just wear slacks all the time?" I asked. "I’ve seen you wear them sometimes."

"Just on rain days," she parried.

I had to grin, as I sprung my trap.

"Then it’s not part of the job; it’s just personal preference."

"Oh, yes, it is. The people coming through here expect a certain ‘ambience’ at the SRC desk. Maintaining that is part of the job, too."

I rolled my eyes at that response, and said no more.

Someone mentioned that it was nearly lunch time. A short discussion followed, concerning where to go.

It was Cheryl’s turn to stay behind and answer the phones, so Diane came with the rest of us. During the trip to the restaurant, she sort of attached herself to me.

While we were waiting for our orders to be served, she remarked, "Sometimes I wonder about Cheryl."

"What about her?" I asked.

"Oh - you know - that business about wearing a skirt on the job. I mean, that really is a bit much, expecting a man to be able to manage a skirt - especially in those circumstances."

I hadn’t listening that closely, so I asked, "How is that?"

"Well, it takes special skill to wear a skirt and not make a spectacle of oneself. It isn’t fair for her to put a guilt trip on you just because you can’t do it."

Some days I can be just plain stupid. Instead of recognizing her troll, I demanded, "What do you mean, CAN’T?"

Diane responded, "You don’t have any experience with it."

I became indignant. "I didn’t have any experience with our equipment before I signed on, either, but I’ve certainly shown that I can do the job."

So far, no one else in the group had contributed anything this conversation. However, Jean Cox, from the billing department, could no longer hold back.

"It isn’t the same, Ted. Girls spend years, growing up in skirts, learning to handle them gracefully. You can’t just read a manual and expect to do it right."

For some reason, it still hadn’t occurred to me to question why I should even care. "So, what’s there to learn? Don’t bend over so someone can see what’s underneath..." I quipped. I was getting sucked right in.

At this point, Gregg decided to add his tupence worth, "It ain’t that simple ..."

Jean interrupted him, "What do YOU know about it, anyway?"

Kate Nichols, another technician, who, as it happens, never wore skirts to work, admonished her, "Hey, he is on our side, here."

She then directed her remarks toward me.

"There really is a lot to be aware of. You don’t want to sit on a fold and make a wrinkle of it. You have to be careful not to snag it on anything, because a skirt doesn’t follow your movements closely, the way pants do. Outside, you have to watch for breezes, and inside, low air registers. It’s a different way of living."

Still not realizing how deep I was getting, I philosophized, "It sounds like it’s just a matter of situational awareness."

Jean couldn’t let go without a final word on the subject, "Sure, only, like saying goes: Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did, and wearing high heels when she did it. Do You think HE could have done HER job?"

I didn’t bother to answer what appeared to be a rhetorical question. While we ate our meal, the conversation drifted to other matters.

While Cheryl was at lunch, Diane guided my work. I completed the rest of the day’s work satisfactorily, although not without having to hear an occasional comment about how easy I had it.

That probably would have been the end of the matter, except that I have only one account to service. It is a production facility, and it needs two full time tech’s to keep all the equipment maintained. The second week following the holiday, my account was scheduled to take block vacation. Normally, I would have been assigned calls in other territories, to help out the other technicians.

That’s just the way it turned out, the first day. However, when I arrived at the office Tuesday morning, I discovered that Cheryl had been injured during the previous night’s softball game. She would be out at least a week.

The office manager asked me if I would mind covering for her.

Since I had been good at it, it didn’t occur to me to have any reservations about taking the assignment. Perhaps I should have.

First came an occasional comment about the nameplate on the desk, "You don’t LOOK like a Cheryl."

Jean was considerably less subtle, "At least, you could have dressed for the part."

Still, I was handling the job well enough, and by noon, Elaine Ross, our office manager, was generous in her praise. Jean had stopped by the desk to pick up service reports, and hearing Elaine’s comments, appended, "Sure, he’s almost graceful, working around the call station. If Ginger Rogers had worn flats, she could have made Fred Astaire look like a klutz."

Everyone in the office had become accustomed to militancy of Jean’s feminist rhetoric and pretty much ignored it. Elaine, however, glared at her, as if to say, "what does that have to do with anything?" Jean took the hint and went about her business.

Still, she didn’t let the matter drop. Each stop for paperwork, she found something provocative to say, until she finally got the opportunity to make her challenge.

I tried to demur, "You’re making a big deal about nothing."

"You’re the one that claimed it was easy. What’s the matter, is it too big a project after all?"

"No," I told her, "I just don’t see any point in proving the obvious. There’s nothing in it for me."

She pressed, "What would it take to make it worth your trouble?"

Elaine could hear all of this through the open door of her office. I could see that she was about to step out - perhaps to tell Jean that she was out of line - but she halted when Diane spoke.

"Hey, cut him some slack, if he weren’t here doing Cheryl’s job, I’d have to do both mine and hers. He’s doing just fine as he is, so leave him alone. You don’t even want to be the one who drives away my golden goose."

Unfortunately, neither of them had taken into account my ego. It had taken all the battering it could stand, and I was nearly ready to accept.

"How MUCH worth my trouble?" I asked.

Jean was quick, "Dinner, my treat."

"Get serious," I responded.

I think Diane surprised Jean, when she raised the stakes. "How about dinner, your choice of menu, every night for a week, the weekend included?"

I had to think about that, which was a big mistake. The question is: did I think too hard, or not hard enough? Hey, I can cook well enough, but I’m not such an ambitious chef that I don’t get bored with my own cooking. Besides, I wanted to see how far they’d bid for something this crazy.

Jean was about to break the silence, but something held her back just long enough for me to yield first.

"And?" I ventured.

Jean was aghast. It didn’t take any genius at reading body language to tell that she was ready to tell me where I really stood - which, presumably, wasn’t very high. Fortunately, she wasn’t fast enough.

"And the satisfaction that you really can do something most other men wouldn’t even attempt," Diane offered, as she gently grasped my upper arm. "All day tomorrow, skirts and high heels - do we have a deal?"

I certainly hadn’t expected such a hard sell, so I accepted without really thinking about the full implications. The next thing I knew, Diane was leading me to Elaine’s office to get her concurrence.

Elaine listened to Diane’s explanation, as though it were the first she’d heard of it. She expressed reservations about how my altered appearance might prove disruptive in the office, but, in the end, she gave her consent to the arrangement.

I suppose that if this had been a major city office of the company, she’d have been more concerned about "image". However, out here, in an predominantly rural area, nonsensical pranks were a common form of entertainment. Moreover, the very nature of the business was such that walk-in traffic was almost non-existant. Other than the on-site services provided, public contact was almost 100% by phone, FAX, or mail.

Diane quickly thanked her, then tugged me along, back to our work area. There she had a quick conference with Jean.

"Then it’s settled," Jean confirmed, "you’re having dinner at my place tonight. Be there at seven."

Regaining a little of my presence of mind, I responded, "No, that’s OK, I haven’t won my prize yet; you don’t have to feed me tonight."

"Unh-uh," Diane intervened, "We want you to come over tonight, anyway. You need to get fitted out, and learn how to get along with the articles you’ll be using. In fact, let’s make a list of your sizes."

This she proceeded to do, and, with Jean’s help, converted them to ‘misses’ sizes.

"Now, all we need," Diane advised me, "is to find people who will let us borrow the things you’ll need."

 

 

Chapter II

After work, Diane stopped at Cheryl’s and brought her up to date on events at the office, including my agreement.

Cheryl is a big girl - not fat, but 71 inches tall and size 14. Reviewing Diane’s list, Cheryl noted that she could have supplied almost everything I’d needed. This led to an animated conversation, and a trip through Cheryl’s closet and chest of drawers.

When I arrived at Jean’s apartment, I didn’t make much notice of the crowd of cars, until the door opened and I discovered that - seemingly - half of the women in the office were present.

"Dinner won’t be until eight," Diane announced. "In the meantime, you can get changed and try out your outfit."

"Why can’t we start after dinner?"

"Because we have lots of time now. Besides, then you can practice even while you are eating."

Again, I wasn’t thinking fast enough to ask what it might be that I’d need to practice, while sitting down to eat. It would be quite awhile before it dawned on me that they intended for me to learn more about femininity than just adeptness at walking in high heeled shoes.

They sent me into the bathroom with an A-line skirt to put on in place of my slacks. In a tartan plaid, which barely reached the tops of my kneecaps, it presented a kiltish appearance.

On returning, I was presented a pair of mid-height, black, T-strap pumps. When I had difficulty getting my feet into the close fitting shoes, I was given a pair of slipper-like nylon half socks, which allowed my feet to slide right in.

Then my education began. I was drilled in walking, turning, sitting, and all I would need to know to be able to handle the thin heels and flaring skirt. Just about the time I was beginning to feel accustomed to walking mainly on the balls of my feet, dinner was ready.

One thing I might have noticed, had I not been so preoccupied with my

situation, was that no one was digging at me, as had been the case during the day. It was almost as if I was being accepted into the conversation nearly as "one of the girls", even if most of what they had to say concerned my efforts to master the feminine graces, such as they considered appropriate for the role I was undertaking.

The training didn’t stop at dinner time. Comments were regularly directed my way, explaining that I shouldn’t sit like so, and to hold my fork like thus, and to leave my other hand in my lap, and on, and on, throughout the meal. It was done in such a amicable way, that I couldn’t take offense, but instead adjusted my posture and gestures to meet with their approval.

When dinner was over, I offered to help with the clean up, something which, when I thought about it later, surprised me. Kate suggested that, to make the best use of my time, the ladies would do the washing and drying, and I could put things away, with Jean’s guidance. So, I found myself rushing back and forth across the kitchen, trying to keep up with the stream of dishes, pots, and pans being washed and dried.

By the time everything was in order again, I was most grateful for the chance to sit down. Even though the heels were barely over two inches high, my ankles were screaming for relief.

It was when I passed through the doorway from the bright kitchen into the more dimly lit living room that Kate discovered a problem.

"Ted, I’d hate to say this, but you’re going to need a slip under that skirt; I can see right through it, when you’re backlighted."

Some discussion followed, about what all a slip was for, and, although I was resistant to wearing one, I finally conceded that modesty was an important issue.

Jean, having caught just the end of the conversation, hastily added that something ought to be done about my hairy legs, too, which immediately brought me to the edge of cancelling the whole deal. Diane was ready for this, too, and suggested that opaque hose would solve the problem.

When all the details regarding my wardrobe had been settled, I drove home and went straight to bed. As I was drifting off into sleep, a thought barely flickered across my mind. Just how had everything been on hand - in the right colors, even - to cover the changes they had thought up?

 

 

Chapter III

Early the next morning, I drove over to Diane’s. While I was getting into my "uniform of the day", I began to doubt the wisdom of my insistence that the change stop at the waist. Last night, some of the women had expressed dismay at the overall image I presented. They had suggested that a complete makeover might be preferable, even from my point of view, since I would draw less attention that way than dressed half-and-half.

Next, I was confronted with the problem of what to do with the things I usually carried in my pockets. I didn’t find Diane’s suggestion, that I might need a purse, the least bit funny. I decided to leave behind everything except my wallet and comb. Fortunately, the skirt turned out to have side pockets, so I didn’t have to carry them in my hand.

Diane invited me to ride to work with her, so I left my car in her parking lot. I was oblivious, at the time, to the fact that this would effectively insure that I’d have to see this through, since I couldn’t drive anywhere to change - not to mention that my pants and shoes were locked inside her apartment!

The jokes and jibes didn’t last long that morning, because there were plenty of service calls to keep the technicians out of the office. That left just the office staff. Jean, of course, just had to tease me some - although she admitted, grudgingly, that I was handling my part rather well.

By mid-afternoon, the strain of dealing with the unaccustomed clothing was beginning to tell. I wobbled on those darned skinny heels even more than I had that morning, on the way down Diane’s stairs. My calves were sore from stooping so much to get into low file drawers. Finally, during one rush to get to the phone, I tripped, narrowly avoiding spraining my ankle, but breaking a shoe heel. Finding it hazardous to be hobbling around with one heel elevated, and the other not, I took Diane’s suggestion and removed both shoes, going about in my stocking feet. At day’s end, I put them on so I could hobble out to her car and, in turn, up the stairs to her apartment.

Along the way home, Diane had expressed generous praise for my performance that day. It paralleled that which I had already received from the office manager - especially about being a good sport and all. Nevertheless, inside the apartment, with Jean, Kate, and the others, she agreed with Jean’s assessment: I hadn’t done it entirely right.

"He broke the heel on the shoe; that’s not a successful completion," Jean complained.

Kate became my advocate.

"I suppose you’ve never broken a heel? He did as well as anyone I know, carrying on in spite of it."

Jean wasn’t about to concede easily.

"He not only broke the heel - he also worked part of the day with no shoes on. The deal was skirts AND heels, all day."

"Don’t I at least get partial credit?" I asked. "I mean, after all, I did go the whole morning as agreed."

"The agreement was for the whole day."

Diane then suggested that I be allowed to make up the last part of the day.

Jean was adamant, but saw that her support was eroding. Almost defensively, she insisted, "He broke the heel."

By now, my expression must have shown that I was becoming resigned to the notion that I’d done all this for nothing. At best, they had conceded that I had a legitimate alibi for the only part in dispute, equipment failure.

"OK," Jean suddenly relented. "Teddie, do you want to try it again?"

"An hour and a half tomorrow?"

"Unh-uh. The whole day tomorrow."

I arranged my demeanor to reflect a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"We’ll throw in four more dinners, to balance the good part of today," Diane offered.

I held off making a reply, but Jean must have seen my intent from my facial or body language. I was about to make a counter offer, when she spoke with renewed firmness, "All, or nothing."

I stood up.

"Then, nothing," I declared.

Jean grinned victoriously.

"I told you he couldn’t hack it," she exclaimed to the group.

A voice from out of my line of vision decried, "Party Pooper."

"Why are all of you so anxious to get me into a skirt, anyway?" I demanded. "I’d have thought your main goal would be to keep me OUT of your skirts," I added, in an attempt to inject some humor.

Jean responded, "Who was so cocky about being able to do ANYTHING a woman could?"

"I never said that," I insisted. "I’m well aware that there are things that you ladies can do, which I, as a male, can’t even hope to."

"Maybe not so many as you were thinking, honey," advised a voice. It was Anita Wells, from the parts department.

As I turned so I could see her, she continued, "I was just reading, last week, about how researchers think they can implant an embryo on a man’s intestine,

and it will grow to term. You might not be able to conceive, but bearing a child may be within your reach."

At that description, I put my hand to my brow, while my face and neck glowed with embarrassment.

"Well, come on ‘Mr. Macho’, lets get you out of that skirt," Jean prodded. "We wouldn’t want anyone to think you were a sissy, now, would we?"

I glared at her.

"Was that the point of this whole deal? To see how much you could embarrass me?"

With the question still in my expression, I turned to face Diane, then Kate.

Diane spoke first, "It wasn’t like that at all, Ted. You were the one claiming you were capable of it; we just gave you an opportunity to prove or disprove it. And ... I did already told you that I thought you acquitted yourself very well."

"Ted," I heard Anita begin, "if you feel we weren’t fair, don’t forget that you were offered a chance to make it up."

Kate added, "Despite what Jean said, Ted, no one is going to think badly of you if you drop it. You made a good faith try, and I, for one, think you’ve earned another dinner, if not the whole week’s worth. If they don’t want to spring for it, I’ll do it myself.

"Thanks," I replied as I turned toward the bedrooms.

"On the other hand, if you want to try again," she looked around the room, "how about double or nothing?"

She got nods of agreement from the other women, albeit with widely varying enthusiasm.

I can hardly believe that I actually hesitated for a moment, considering her offer. However, I didn’t answer. Instead, I resumed my progress down the hallway.

 

 

Chapter IV

The next morning, I was back on the job with my normal appearance. The day started well enough, but, from the first time that Jean came by for the paperwork, things started going awry.

She hadn’t been the least bit subtle in telling me that I didn’t belong there. She insisted that I couldn’t hope to fill the shoes of the person whose job I was pitifully trying to do. Her criticism actually unnerved me. I began mis-routing calls, misfiling call slips, and making mistakes on the report sheets.

When the foul-ups came to Elaine’s attention, she had Diane help straighten out as many as could be found. She wasn’t happy.

"What is wrong?" she asked. "It’s almost as though you’d forgotten how to do the job. You were doing a far better job yesterday, even with your ‘handicap’."

Not wanting to be seen as trying to put the blame on someone else, I didn’t mention Jean’s influence. I rationalized to her that I’d been rattled by the rapid pace at which calls had come in earlier in the morning.

Diane tried to lighten up the mood with some humor, "Perhaps you should have taken the double-or-nothing offer after all, Ted. Maybe the job is EASIER to do in skirts."

"Oh, sure," I mockingly agreed, "without the high heels slowing me down, I go too fast and make mistakes."

"Only one way to find out," she responded.

"Spare me."

Nevertheless, I did slow down and concentrated on being more methodical about each task, as if I were learning the job anew. Another thing that seemed to help was forcing myself to make my motions more fluid as might a dancer.

At lunchtime, Diane chose the second shift. That put me on the same lunch break as Jean and Anita.

Much as I’d have preferred to decline their invitation to join them, I couldn’t bring myself to be rude. So, along with Gregg, and Kate, I accompanied them to a nearby restaurant.

I fully expected Jean to use the opportunity to continue harping on my shortcomings. Instead she was about as pleasant as I could ever remember; avoiding all mention of the previous day, or the way I was handling today’s work.

When we’d finished eating, everyone but Jean and I went their own way to do errands. That was when she finally started laying it on.

"Well, you couldn’t cut it, after all, could you?"

"What?" I asked mechanically, before her meaning had registered.

"You know, in skirts and heels. You couldn’t do a simple job that any woman could do."

"That’s baloney, and you know it. I was doing the job; I lost on a technicality. Furthermore, I’d bet that any woman would have trouble with the heels, too, if she hadn’t ever worn them before then."

"Are You complaining that You didn’t get enough practice?"

"Forget it."

"Oh sure, now that you’ve failed, you want to hush it up. Well, the next time you think you’re as good as a woman, just remember yesterday."

There was no reasoning with her, so I was silent the rest of the way to the office.

A little later, Diane was commenting on the graceful way I was navigating around the dispatch station, and I let it "slip" that I might be interested, after all, in trying for the double-or- nothing.

"I don’t know if that offer is still open, Ted," Diane remarked. "I’ll ask around."

Jean made a show of objecting to a repeat of the offer, but let herself be persuaded, perhaps with uncharacteristic ease. Kate proved to still be amenable to the deal, so I found myself being invited to Diane’s place after work.

"This time, we draw up a contract, spelling out exactly what is expected," she advised me.

Alarms went off in my mind.

"What do you mean ... a contract?" I exclaimed.

"Just that, if the expectations are in writing, there won’t be any ambiguities to be disputed after-the-fact."

Elaine, having heard part of the exchange, came out to the dispatch center.

"What is going on?" she demanded.

Diane explained.

After a moment’s silence, she sighed.

"I do hope you haven’t forgotten that this is a business, not a playground for your ‘inner children’," she reminded us.

I felt a sudden inclination to drop the whole matter.

She turned to me, however, and asked, "Why are you putting up with this?"

Now on the defensive, I found myself trying to justify the situation without any real conviction behind my logic, "It seemed like an easy way to get a couple of week’s worth of dinners."

Her stern expression melted slightly, into an exasperated grin, and she shook her head. Turning her attention back to Diane, she said, "Goddess help me, I hope I don’t end up having to justify to Region why I’m allowing this nonsense."

An hour after work, I was in Diane’s living room, negotiating the terms of my "contract".

When all the details had been worked out and committed to paper, the group dispersed. Jean offered to stay and help Diane prepare dinner.

Diane suggested that it would be to my advantage to get all the practice on heels I could, before work tomorrow, so why not start right now? That turned out to mean: with panty hose and a skirt - the same one I’d worn yesterday.

After dinner, Jean suggested, half in jest, that we go to a movie. I was willing - as soon as I could change into my own clothing. I should have known better.

Jean was interested only if I went as I was. That discussion was aborted when Kate rang the bell, and Diane let her in. The discussion turned back to the coming day, and how I simply COULDN’T wear the same skirt twice in one week.

When I asked ‘why not’, Kate observed that it was a feminine custom. "Also," she pointed out, "you spilled some of your dessert on it."

Consequently, I was presented a different skirt, white, with a linen texture and box pleats.

Then they invited themselves over to my place to find an appropriate shirt to go with it.

Kate had brought in another pair of pumps, with low, two inch heels. When she offered them for me to wear during the trip, my objections were sidetracked by Jean’s protest.

"I hope those aren’t the shoes he’s wearing for work," she said.

"I thought they’d do for the spare pair," Kate explained.

"Spares would have to be the same height as the first pair," Jean stated flatly.

Kate looked over to Diane, who didn’t object.

"OK," Kate agreed, "but these will do for the trip to Ted’s place."

I didn’t really want to go outside again, dressed as a woman from the waist down, but after Kate had taken my side, I didn’t have the heart to argue the issue with her. So, still wearing the plaid skirt and the mid-heeled shoes, I was escorted out to the parking lot, where we all got into Kate’s car.

I live in a rambling old cottage, twice extended by previous owners. It sits well back on a deep lot, shaded by a thick canopy of old trees. Because the view of passersby was blocked by heavy shrubbery, I wasn’t bothered about going from the car to the house, dressed as I was.

Inside, matters soon became a little more complicated. Although they found a dark blue oxford shirt that looked OK with the skirt they’d brought, none of the women thought it a truly suitable pairing.

Kate went out to her car and brought in a top that obviously was the mate to the skirt. It had three-quarter sleeves, a jewel neck, and buttoned up the back. It wasn’t near as much trouble as they might have expected to get me to try it on. However, after I saw myself in a mirror, I didn’t like the mixed image.

Jean started teasing me about how I was starting to look quite cute, and that a little makeup might help even more.

After that comment, I prevailed upon Diane to unbutton the top, and I went to my room to change into a jogging suit.

When I returned, Diane reminded me that I’d have to go back to her apartment for my car. Then she extended an invitation for me to spend the night in her apartment. Her housemate had two weeks to go on an overseas assignment, she explained. She was sure that Carol wouldn’t mind if I used her room.

"That way," she rationalized for me, "you won’t have to get up so early, yet you’ll have plenty of time to get ready for work."

I couldn’t think of any rebuttal to her logic - or even to ask why I’d need much time to get ready. Taking my lack of objection as capitulation, they helped me gather up the items I’d need for that night and the next day.

Back at Diane’s apartment, Kate brought up a large case, as well as an overnighter. Among the items inside were two pairs of dress pumps that had the same heel heights. That was how they got me out of the jogging suit again, by insisting that I had to try on the whole outfit for tomorrow, including both pairs of shoes.

When I got to see myself in a full length mirror, I again became dismayed at the mixed image. Somehow, the contrast hadn’t been so strong with the plaid skirt.

That seemed to be Kate’s cue. She turned on the charm, asking me to please go along with them for just a few minutes - which turned out to be two hours - and let them try a different approach.

Soon, I was back in the linen suit, wearing pantyhose which bore a faint honeycomb pattern and ankle strap pumps.

That put me at the precipice of my comfort zone. What they wanted next, pushed me right over the edge.

"It’s so close," Diane mused.

"Why don’t we see?" Jean asked cryptically.

Diane led me into her bedroom.

"Sit down right here," Diane directed, pointing to a padded stool next to a small table.

Tilting up the top of the vanity to expose a mirror and a compartment underneath, she removed a bottle. She soaked a square cotton pad with a

portion of its contents.

When she began wiping it across my face, I reached up and grasped her wrist.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Just cleansing your skin," she answered. It was in a tone of voice so absent of guile, that I let her continue. "How often do you shave?" she asked, as she gently stroked my face.

"A couple of times a week, I guess," I responded.

"That’s unusual for a twenty-five year old, isn’t it?"

"Not in my family," I said. "My dad didn’t need to shave every day until he was nearly forty, neither did any of his brothers.

When she had finished, she brought out another bottle, which I immediately recognized. It was liquid makeup.

"Whoa, there. You aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you? You’re not putting any of that stuff on me - no way."

Then the air was filled with the sweetest plea’s and "please’s" for my indulgence. Wouldn’t I just let them show me what was possible? It would wash right off, afterward ...

Their appeal to my male nature was so transparent, that it was disarming. I had it in my power to make them happy, merely by sitting there - and letting them have their way with me. Well, it wasn’t exactly in a way I might have wished for. Still, all that attention was intoxicating, so I acceded.

By the time they had finished, I was sure I knew how an artist’s canvas might feel. After the liquid foundation had been spread, blended, and set with translucent powder, they began applying other powders in various hues. Kate stroked each side of my nose, and the tip of my chin, with a brush bearing traces of tan.

Diane made me smile, then lightly dusted the fullest part of my cheeks with pink, and followed with a darker shade just below. Next she took a clean brush and went over the same areas, with an interruption to use a previous brush to add a little more color to one side.

Kate took over, and with light and dark shades of a brick colored powder, began dusting my eyelids. Next, she used a dark pencil to draw along the edges of my eyelids. She followed with cotton swab in short strokes that didn’t feel like they quite followed the way she’d drawn the original lines.

When they were both satisfied, Diane fitted me with a wig. It was a dark, golden blonde in color, and not quite shoulder length. She arranged it with an odd sort of comb which had only four, long, widely spaced, teeth and rattail handle.

Only then was I allowed to see a mirror. I found myself unable to deny that they had done an excellent job. I wasn’t exactly pretty, but my own mother probably wouldn’t have recognized me, or even - perhaps - that I wasn’t a woman.

Still, the suit didn’t look quite right; I wasn’t curved in the right places. Returning to the case, Kate removed a long- line brassiere and some pads for the cups; then she retrieved a panty girdle which had pads strategically placed.

They moved me along quickly, forestalling any questions: suit off; foundation garments on; a full slip, much fancier than the half slip I’d used at first - a little lace would show in the walking slit; then back on with the suit. Much better. Clip on some earrings. Another look in the mirror.

"This is unbelievable," I whispered.

Kate gently suggested that I was so convincing that no one could possibly guess that I wasn’t what I appeared to be. Furthermore, she insisted, this person before them was far too feminine to be even a "Teddie", much less a "Ted". Her conclusion, therefore, was that they ought to call me "Tess".

Had the same thoughts been expressed by Jean, even in the same tone of voice, I would have taken instant offense. Instead, I was so much under the spell of the moment that it entirely escaped me that a guy shouldn’t think of that as much of a compliment.

Jean decided she’d had enough for tonight.

"I’ve got to get some sleep. See you in the morning."

A round of hugs, and Jean was gone. Then Diane began to ply the "big sister" routine in earnest.

"Ted, you might want to consider going into the office like this, instead of just half-and-half."

My eyes went wide. "Why?" I said.

Kate took over "For one thing, because you’ll be less likely to get unwelcome attention from outsiders."

"Which is bound to make Elaine feel better about this," Diane interjected.

Kate continued, "For another, I think you’ll have an easier time with the in-house people, too. That gender-bent image you presented Wednesday will just get you a lot of unwanted attention."

"And you think that showing up, completely made over as a woman won’t?" I asked incredulously. "Anyway, that’s not the question I meant to ask. Let me try again. Why is it that YOU want me to do this?"

"Because you are a macho pig," Kate teased, adding, in a dramatic voice, "and we want you to walk a few miles in our ‘high heeled moccasins’ so you can know what it’s like for the other side."

As if on cue, Diane continued Kate’s thought, with equal exaggeration, "It’s the least you can do, you know, considering the thousands of years of oppression we’ve suffered at the hands of you men."

After working with me for two years, they knew how responsive I was to wry humor.

In a sudden reversion to seriousness, Kate moved in to close the sale.

"Because we want you to win."

I tried to counter, "I can win without all this other stuff," gesturing at my head and upper body. I saw a satisfied smile form on Diane’s face, which she quickly suppressed. Instantly, I realized it was because the gesture had been executed in a feminine manner.

Weakly, I tried again, "Why aren’t you on Jean’s side? You’re each committed for equal shares of the dinners. If I win, you lose."

"I only did that to make sure Jean got her hook set firmly in her own gills," Diane answered.

That left me speechless.

She continued, "Honestly! It isn’t as if you’d never been invited here for dinner, before this."

With Diane pushing my ego with the prospect of forcing Jean into providing dinners for me, and Kate assuring me that I appeared absolutely authentic, my resistance was crumbling. Add an "assist" from the image I saw in the mirror, and my defenses were overwhelmed.

Once I had committed myself to that, it wasn’t much more trouble for them to finagle me into going with them, as I was, to get frozen yogurt cones at a nearby Dari-Delite. All they had to do was assure me that we’d go through the drive-through, so I wouldn’t have to get out of the car.

I became apprehensive when Kate insisted I sit up front. She chose to sit behind Diane. However, once we were there, I realized she’d done me a favor, by putting me as much out of view from the service window as was possible.

I wasn’t sure if Diane was teasing or not, when she suggested that we take a parking place and eat right there. Fortunately, she yielded easily to my pleading and drove directly back to her place.

All the excitement - and the extra time it took to remove the makeup - rendered me one tired soul when I finally collapsed into my borrowed bed.

 

 

Chapter V

The next morning started early. The image which they had built for me last night had to be completely re-created. Kate, too, had stayed overnight with Diane, to be on hand to help with the project. Fortunately, it went faster than expected, leaving them plenty of time to attend to their own needs.

Left essentially alone, while they made ready for the day, I passed the time walking around the apartment. After Kate was ready, she appeared with a camera. I didn’t want any photographs, but she invoked the privileges of friendship. When Diane came out a little later, they double-teamed me into assuming some very feminine poses for additional pictures.

When they were finished, Kate brought out a purse to match the shoes. My wallet and a few personal effects were dropped into it, as well as various makeup and grooming items.

That was when I realized I needed to visit to the bathroom. When I came out, Kate was already gone. I followed Diane down to her car and rode to work with her.

When we arrived at the office, we were both astonished to find that Jean was most cooperative and unabrasive. In fact, she quickly assumed much of the responsibility for fending off snide comments - taking the ‘blame’ for the fact of my appearance, if not for the quality of it.

By nine, someone had kludged an overlay for Cheryl’s nameplate which had my last name with only a first initial preceding it.

Shortly after that, I noticed that several others were following the lead of Diane and Jean in calling me "Tess".

Morning gave way to midday, and I discovered that a small difference in heel height seemed much greater after three hours of up and down, back and forth, stoop and rise. Smarter now, I slowed down enough to allow for my fatigue.

As lunchtime approached, Jean dropped by to ask if I was going out to lunch.

I told her I was eating in the employee lounge again.

"What a waste," she chided. "You go to all the trouble to look fabulous, and then you hide yourself. Come along with us, and put some sunshine in your life, as well as food in your tummy."

I shook my head, and she went back to her department.

Kate returned from a service call just as I’d sat down to eat my microwaved lunch. She sat down next to me, and removed her lunch from her backpack.

We engaged in light conversation until we’d finished eating. Then she got up.

"Come with me," she said.

I was following right along until I realized she was leading me into the ladies’ room. I stopped abruptly.

"Come on," she said.

"I can’t go in there," I insisted.

"Where else are you going to go, dressed like THAT? The men’s room?"

"I’ll wait until after work."

"What if you can’t last that long. There’s no one in here to care, if you use it now."

I couldn’t fault her logic, so I followed her inside.

As I entered a stall, she reminded me that ladies sit down to do their business.

"I knew that," I drolly replied.

After we’d each finished with the necessities, Kate directed my attention to my makeup. It needed touching up, especially the lipstick. Fortunately, it only took a minute or so; the longer we remained in there, the more nervous I got.

Upon returning to the dispatch desk, I discovered that the nameplate had been changed again. This time to read "Tess" in front of my last name. During the afternoon, that drew some additional chuckles from a couple of the passersby, but I pointedly ignored them, and continued with my work. About mid-afternoon, it suddenly occurred to me that even Elaine was addressing me as "Tess". The feeling of oddness increased, when I realized that I was beginning to respond to it as though it really were my name.

As the end of the day approached, Elaine stopped to talk.

"I thought you’d want to know that I think you’ve done an excellent job, today, in spite of the extra ‘handicap’ you’ve been enduring."

I just smiled, and softly said, "Thank you."

"I had some serious misgivings," she went on, "about You showing up for work appearing so thoroughly feminized. It wasn’t what I had been expecting after Diane’s explanation yesterday."

Inwardly, I cringed a little at that remark. It wasn’t much like I’d imagined either - yesterday.

Elaine continued, "I came very close, this morning, to ending this ... wager ... and sending you home to change clothes. Do you know why I didn’t?"

Now, I couldn’t speak at all, and shook my head "no" with only the slightest motion. I had a vision of her giving me my termination notice.

"It was because you were doing it so well."

I must not have appeared as shocked as I felt, because I didn’t notice any change in her demeanor. I’d swear I had goose bumps everywhere.

"At first, I was angry," she explained, "partly because I thought I’d been deceived; and partly because I feared that you intended to act out an unflattering caricature. Fortunately, I was too involved to leave my office just then, so I had to be content with observing."

She continued, "Now, I’m not saying that you performed with perfect feminine grace. Nevertheless, I saw what seemed an honest effort to ‘be’ the woman you appeared to be."

I finally found a little residue of voice, and squeaked out another, albeit tentative, "Thank you."

"What I’m really trying to say is: as ‘Tess’, you’ve been a very welcome member of the staff today."

Jean, who seemed to have a nose for being in a place at just the right moment, had just come for another batch of reports.

"Yes, she’s been positively great," she said, "She ought to stay on permanently."

She paused, her face reflecting exasperation.

"I’ve as much as conceded that you’ve won, haven’t I?"

My smile filled my face.

"All right," she grumbled, "I’ll make it official. You’ve won the bet. I lost."

"And, I’m just as good as any woman," I prompted.

Jean paused, her expression seeming to say, "let’s not get carried away." She looked up at Elaine, and her countenance softened.

"Yeah, Okay," she said.

"Yeah, Okay, WHAT?" I pressed.

"You did just as good as a woman."

"Thank you."

A service call - the last one for the day - interrupted the encounter, and I turned my attention to getting the customer’s information and notifying the engineer. By the time I had finished, Jean was gone, and it was time to close up shop.

Elaine was still there.

I looked at her - expectantly, I guess - figuring that she had more to say.

"How would you feel about working as "Tess" for another week?"

There’s no way she could have missed the look of shock on my face. She cut off my first attempt to reply.

"If you’ll do it for one more week, I’ll make it up to you, later. "

Even though I knew I had absolutely no intention of following up on it, I couldn’t help but regard her with a rather unfeminine leer.

She saw it.

"Don’t even think it," she growled.

I returned a playful grin. Gotcha!

"You!" she burst out, in mock rebuke.

In a softer voice, she said, "Come into my office, will you?"

After she’d closed the door, she released a sigh, and then explained, "Look, we have a little problem here. You remember the regional parts manager that came in this afternoon?"

I nodded.

"He’s going to be here next week, too. I can’t have him comparing today’s ‘Tess’ with Monday’s ‘Ted’."

Good Heavens! What had I gotten myself into?

"You mean, you don’t think he already knows about me?"

"Anita says no."

"He wasn’t around my desk that much; he probably didn’t get a good look at me. If he asks, just tell him ‘Tess’ was a temporary."

"Take another look in the mirror, dear. He had more than enough reason to study you closely. Your appearance is that of a very attractive young woman."

"Oh, thanks. You don’t KNOW what a compliment that is," I replied with restrained sarcasm.

"No," she countered, "You don’t realize what a compliment it IS - to your skill, your adaptability, even your chutzpah. You’ve done an admirable job today - not the work, although that was fine, too - but BEING someone else - another gender, even. I wish I had videotape to show you. By mid-afternoon, your gestures were so feminine that it was difficult to remember who you really are. And your voice - when you first answer the phone, you sound just like Cheryl, with a cold."

"Elaine, I can’t keep this up for a whole week."

She stared in silent regard.

"You don’t know what it took to make me look like this," I persisted, gesturing down my length. "This is the work of Kate and Diane. It took them hours. I couldn’t hope to do it by myself, and they certainly aren’t going to want to do it for me every day.

She continued to stare.

"Everything I’m wearing is borrowed. I don’t have anything else to wear, much less a whole week’s wardrobe."

Finally she spoke.

"Help me out, Tess."

Her use of my adopted feminine name didn’t go unnoticed.

"I helped you win your bet, by allowing this." She gestured at my attire. "Now, it has put me in a bind, and I need YOUR help."

"I don’t know how I can," I responded in despair.

"Talk to Diane and Kate," she suggested. "You’ve got the weekend; maybe they can help you line up what you’ll need."

"What if they can’t?"

"Won’t you at least try?"

"All right," I told her as I stood up. "I’ll try."

"If you give it a good go, even if it doesn’t work - if something goes wrong, and you’re discovered - I’ll still hold up my end."

"Just what is your part in this deal - other than the consideration already rendered?"

"Well," she considered. "You’ve been wanting a promotion to Senior Engineer?"

My breathing stopped.

"I can’t make this a condition for promotion, nor can I use it against you. What I can do is put you on the fast track to getting there. That’s not a guarantee, but it’s the next nearest thing."

"Thank you," I said, with humble gratitude, "but I still don’t know if I can set it up."

I opened her office door.

"Tess?"

I stopped in the doorway and turned my head to look at her.

"No guts, no glory," she advised, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Returning an apprehensive smile, I continued to the front door, where Diane and Jean waiting.

"Did you forget something?" Diane asked.

I couldn’t think of anything.

"Your purse?" she prompted.

I went back to my desk - or rather, Cheryl’s - and retrieved the purse - I couldn’t bring myself to considering it ‘mine’.

On the way out to the parking lot, Diane reminded me, "It’s my turn to provide dinner. You never told me what you want."

"I hadn’t had much time to think about it," I told her.

"How about I buy it at a restaurant?" she offered.

"When?" I asked. "It’ll take a while to change out of all this."

"Why bother?" countered Jean. "You look just fine the way you are. Maybe a little touch-up would be in order, but otherwise you’re better attired for an evening out than any of us. We’re the ones who need to change."

Kate had just joined us, and reached to turn me around.

"She’s right; you look simply delicious."

I half stumbled from the unexpected change in motion, but smoothly recovered by pivoting on the leading foot, swinging the other behind me to stop my motion and push off again.

Jean pressed her point, "And you move well, too. It would be a most fitting way to end the day. Sort of an honors banquet."

"I can’t go out in public like this," I insisted.

We had reached Diane’s car, and it took her a moment to unlock it.

"What do you think you’ve been doing all day?" she pointed out. "None of the visitors who saw you today showed any sign that they thought anything was out of place. You’ll do just fine."

Kate added, "Your voice even sounds feminine. When you first answer the phone it’s almost like Cheryl’s."

"And, you’re beginning to sound more like me," Diane confirmed. "At first, I wondered if you were mocking me, but I think, now, that you’re just a natural mimic."

"Please," I begged, "the deal was just for the workday."

"This isn’t about the deal," Jean explained. "This is about all of us enjoying a pleasant evening meal together."

I could have resisted Jean easily, but with Kate and Diane involved - no, even just the two, without Jean - they could get nearly anything from me.

Kate gave me an across the shoulders hug, and in a Bogart-style voice said, "You’re on a roll, kid. Relax and enjoy it."

"All right," I capitulated, "I’ll go like this."

"Wonderful!" Jean exclaimed. "I’ll meet you all at Diane’s at seven-thirty. She slipped into her own car and drove away.

When we arrived at her apartment, Diane went straight to the shower, leaving me alone, nervously contemplating the idiocy of what we had planned. Fortunately, or maybe not, Diane made quick work of her shower and appeared at the edge of the living room wearing just a towel. The look on my face must have bewildered her for a moment, then she blushed.

"Oops!. I’m sorry, Ted ... Tess. I’d actually forgotten, that you’re not really another woman."

Backing into her room, she called out, "You’ll need to redo your makeup. Clean it off, and I’ll help as soon as I’m decent."

"What’s wrong with it, the way it is?" I called back.

"Evening makeup should be a little more dramatic than for the daytime."

I just sat there, thinking of all the awful possibilities that could result from going out with these women, dressed as I was. If I were discovered, I just knew that I’d be run out of town. I suddenly wanted to just shuck everything, put on my jogging suit, and leave. I’d try to collect my dinners later.

I arose and went to Carol’s bedroom, where I’d spent the night. I didn’t see my own clothes anywhere. I checked the closet with no luck. Just then, I sensed a presence in the room.

Diane was standing in the doorway, wearing a long terry robe.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, seeing the troubled look on my face.

"I can’t find my jogging suit, or my shoes," I told her as I marched straight for the door. "Excuse me."

My voice had lost the feminine lilt it had acquired during the day.

Diane moved aside to let me pass, then followed him me into the living room.

I picked up the purse that contained my wallet and other things from my pockets, only to discover that my keys were not among them. Now I really felt abandoned. Almost tearfully, I demanded, "Where are my keys? I want to go home."

I could see deep worry settling into her expression. We had become very good friends in the past two years.

Her whole demeanor changed, "I’m sorry ... Ted. Kate must have those too. I guess she put everything into her case. Do you want me to take you home?"

"I can’t get inside without the keys." The anger was fading, giving way to hopelessness.

Seeing what she later called a "lost puppy" look on my face, she reached out and took my right hand, asking, "Ted, am I still your friend?"

"Uh ... yes."

"Well, you are my friend, too. The thing is, ‘Tess’ has also become my friend - and I’d like that friendship to continue, as well."

"But, ‘Tess’ doesn’t really exist," I countered.

"In the legal sense, that is true," she acknowledged, "but you seem to be very good at making ‘Tess’ a reality. Maybe you owe it to yourself to explore that talent more deeply."

I didn’t know what to say.

Not getting a reply, Diane continued, "Did you really have a bad time today?"

"Well ... I guess not."

"Then, what’s bothering you is being out in public without the shelter of an office full of friends - right?"

"I guess."

"But, you WILL be among friends, and no one else there will even be noticing you, except, perhaps, how nicely you’re dressed. They’ll be immersed in their own concerns."

I shrugged in uncertain agreement.

"Come on, let’s fix you up, and see if you don’t feel better when I’ve finished adding some special touches. You’ll be a work of art."

That brought an immediate reaction, as my mind replayed an image. I laughed anxiously, "Not an Andy Warhol, I hope."

That brought a giggle out of her, as she gently took hold of my hand and led me toward the bathroom. I trailed along, not at all certain that I wanted this.

After helping me remove the suit top and wig, Diane dabbed cold cream on my face, then had me spread it around evenly, while she soaked a washcloth in very warm water.

Once my face was clean, she lent me her electric razor. "It’s for a woman’s legs, but it should be all right with no more beard than you have."

When I was done, she took me to her room and had me sit at her vanity table. She explained how to use the skin toner, to be followed by a moisturizer. While I was thus occupied, she busied herself elsewhere. By the time she returned, the moisturizer had been thoroughly absorbed.

Now, she guided my application of the makeup base. When the foundation had been set with powder, and the excess brushed away, she refit the wig to my head, pulling the hair away from my face and pinning it out of the way.

Next, she wrapped a towel around my neck, draping it over my ersatz bust. Then, half doing it, and half instructing me in what to do, she showed me how to apply the highlights, explaining the differences between what we were doing now, and the daytime makeup I had worn to work.

As the job progressed, she had me getting into the spirit of the affair. I was growing enthusiastic about the way my appearance was changing. When she thought everything was just right, Diane exclaimed, "There! Don’t you think you look simply beautiful?"

I was still feeling quite subdued, but agreed. The liner and shadow played up my eyes, such that they seemed larger, without appearing ‘drawn on’. The blush gave my cheeks a roundness I’d never seen before. My lips seemed to appear more full and moist. Was it just wishful thinking, a result of investing all this effort? I thought that, just maybe, I was somewhat pretty.

Before replacing the suit top, Diane sprayed me under the arms with a scented powder. Then, keeping up a patter of talk, she retreated to her closet to shed her robe and drop a slip over her head. She appeared to be a little uncomfortable, dressing with me in the room - I certainly was, about being there - but she didn’t ask me to leave. Indeed, she kept me engaged in conversation such that I pretty much had to remain there with her. So, in spite of my reservations about being in such an intimate setting, I stayed. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure she didn’t want to leave me alone again, and risk letting my fears regain control.

I turned back to face the mirror, at an angle that didn’t show Diane’s reflection, then deliberately avoided turning around until she asked a question about the dress she had slipped on. She looked so good, it became difficult for me to remember to be "Tess".

That got easier, when she took my place at the vanity. I watched with interest as she applied her own makeup, enhancing it for evening wear much as she had done mine.

Jean arrived about twenty-five after seven. Her compliments on my appearance took me by surprise in their apparent sincerity.

We didn’t have long to talk, as Kate had driven into the parking lot only a minute behind her. Quickly, we all agreed to ride with Jean.

My resolution to see this through lost some of its firmness when we arrived at the restaurant. To my dismay, there was no crowd to get lost in. Although it took only a minute or two to be given a table, I began to feel increasingly conspicuous while we were waiting. Perched on my three inch heels, I was the tallest person in our group.

In spite of my fears, everything went very well - at least, until we’d finished eating. That was when we were approached, and two of us were asked to dance. Jean and Diane accepted and left the table with the the men.

Moments later, Kate explained, "I have to go to the powder room. Want to come with me?"

I just stared at her. I didn’t really want to be left alone, but the ladies room at the office was one thing - entering a public one was, to my mind, an entirely different matter. Finally, I gave my head just the slightest shake, and replied, "I’m fine. I’ll just wait here."

Maybe I’d have been better off to have gone with her.

When the band finished its number, Kate hadn’t yet returned, and neither had Diane or Jean. The lead guitarist was going through his patter to introduce the next tune, when a guy teetered up to the table. He must have been the runt of his mother’s litter, as he didn’t have to bend much to get his face level with mine. The sour smell of the beer he’d been consuming drifted into my face, along with his words.

"Hey, babe. Wa’s a pretty one like you doin’ just sittin’ when there’s music to dance to? My, my, you ARE a big girl aren’t you?"

I froze in terror. I’d thought for sure that he’d figured out my disguise.

"Yeah," he continued, "I’d ask you to dance, but I like to look into my girl’s eyes when we dance, not her boobs." Then he laughed and wobbled away.

As my terror faded into disgust, I began to desperately wish that the others would come back soon. I even considered leaving without them, but we were on the opposite side of town from my place. I’d be very conspicuous making the three mile walk home alone, not to mention what kind of shape my feet would be in after making such a trek in three inch heels. Moreover, I still didn’t have my keys.

The band rolled right from one number into the next, without anyone returning. I caught a glimpse of Jean dancing in a most flirtatious manner, and marveled. For being a militant feminist, she sure was leading that guy along. Then I thought about it more deeply. Of course! What better "revenge" than to set a fellow’s expectations and then leave him frustrated.

Another man approached, looking directly at me. This guy had to be the epitome of what women consider a "hunk". Even though the din of the band kept me from hearing some of his words, it was plain that he was asking me to dance. Now what could I do? I wasn’t much of a dancer as a guy, and I had absolutely no experience dancing the woman’s part. Besides, I didn’t want be out there, dancing with another man - regardless of what he thought me to be. Then too, how long would he continue to think of me as a woman, once I was away from this table?

I remembered Diane’s purse. Gesturing toward it, I tried to speak both softly, and, yet, make myself understood, "Thank you, but I’m watching the purses."

The music dropped a few decibels.

"How about when one of them gets back?" he asked.

"I probably shouldn’t. My ankle has only been out of the cast a few days," I lied.

"And wearing high heels so soon?" he grinned.

"Anything for fashion," I quipped. "But dancing would be pushing my luck too far."

"You look tall enough to dance in your stocking feet," he observed.

"Thank you very much for asking," I responded, "but not tonight."

Kate returned to the table just after he walked away.

"Who was the guy?" she asked.

"He wanted to dance."

"You’d have made a lovely couple," she teased.

I gave her a deadpan glare.

Soon, there was a break in the music. We saw Jean and Diane being escorted back to the table.

Kate asked, "How about dancing with me?"

The idea of dancing with Kate was appealing, but I wasn’t so sure about trying, dressed the way I was. Which part would I take? Then again, if it wasn’t a slow dance it wouldn’t matter, would it? But, in that case would I give myself away out there in front of everyone, moving like a guy instead of like a girl? Then, too, there was the fellow who’d just been here.

"I can’t do that now," I exclaimed, "not after telling that guy I’d just got my ankle out of a cast."

Diane and Jean slid back into the booth, while their dance partners pulled up a couple of free chairs.

"You two are missing out on the fun," Jean chided.

"We need to be getting home," Kate told her.

Diane was sharp, and picked up on Kate’s intent immediately.

"Isn’t Tess feeling well?" she asked, solicitously.

"Maybe you just need to dance it off," Jean suggested.

I shook my head, but didn’t say anything.

"You’re driving," Kate reminded Jean.

Jean turned to the fellow she’d been dancing with.

"Well. I guess that’s the night. Thank you for the nice time."

He suggested that she let us take her car home and he’d give her a ride home later.

She plead a busy day tomorrow. Picking up her purse, she edged out of the booth as she talked. The rest of us followed suit.

Outside, she remarked, "Well, I can write that guy off as a loser. He must have thought I’m some kind of airhead. Like - right - I’m going to put myself in a position where my safe return home tonight is dependant on a guy I just met? As if!"

On the trip back to Diane’s, I remained silent, not responding to anything Jean said. She pulled over to the curb and stopped, so she could turn to look at me.

"I’m sorry, Tess. I wasn’t trying to be mean. Do you even know how to dance?"

She answered herself: "Even if you did, you wouldn’t be used to doing the ladies’ part - in reverse. I really am sorry about putting you on the spot. It’s just that you are so ‘on’ as Tess tonight, I have a hard time remembering that there is a Ted underneath. Please accept my apology?"

I wanted to call her a "witch - with a ‘B’", and suggest a place where she should go to find a warmer reception. Instead, I just sighed, and nodded, uttering a barely audible, "OK."

"I also want to apologize for using the word ‘sissy’ the other night. A real ‘sissy’ wouldn’t have even tried to meet the challenge."

I accepted that one too.

Jean turned around and put the car back into gear and pulled back into traffic. We rode in silence the remaining several blocks to Diane’s.

Once there, Diane reminded Kate about my clothes and keys, which were, fortunately, right there in the trunk of Kate’s car. While Kate was getting it open, Jean stepped up to me, and actually gave me a hug.

"I hope that, overall, you had a good time at dinner," she told me. "I did - because I shared it with my friends."

I smiled, albeit somewhat weakly, wondering why the urge to strangle her wasn’t stronger. Then I took possession of my clothes and keys and made straight for my car.

As my door unlatched, Diane asked, "Do you want to come up and change?"

I paused, then replied, "I just want to get home." Indicating the clothing I was wearing, I added, "Can I bring these to you tomorrow?"

"Next week is fine; whenever it’s convenient for you. There’s no hurry."

Gathering my skirt, I sat down, and, in a fairly ladylike manner, swung my legs in under the steering wheel. Moments later, I was on my way home.

 

 

Chapter VI

I awakened in surprise at brightness of the daylight streaming through my window. I had slept soundly, clear into midmorning. I closed my eyes again, and waited, listening to the sounds coming from outside. This was supposed to be a laid-back day for me. I hadn’t scheduled anything for the whole day. I turned over, away from the light, before I tried opening my eyelids again.

My expectations of a carefree day were shattered by the sight of the clothing draped over drawer. It would be rude to return dirty clothing to the people who’d lent me the various items of yesterday’s outfit, and the suit probably had to be dry-cleaned.

That was just the beginning. Jean would be expecting me over for dinner, and ...

"Oh, heavens!" I thought aloud. I hadn’t told Diane or Kate about Elaine’s request. What if they can’t - or won’t - help me?

I was overwhelmed with a feeling of doom. What if they did help me? The whole idea of working as "Tess" for an entire week was utterly crazy. It would get back to regional management, and then Elaine and I would both be fired. Wouldn’t that look great on my next job application: "fired because I came to work dressed as a woman." I didn’t dare ask for help, but, after my promise to Elaine, I didn’t dare not ask, either.

I threw off the covers and stomped into the bathroom, in the hope that I’d think more clearly after a shower.

After I dried off, I had to move yesterday’s clothing to get at some fresh underwear. The sensation of the slip sliding across my forearm raised goosebumps. As I placed the pile on my bed, I regarded the underclothing I’d been wearing several hours earlier. I had enjoyed the silky envelopment of the panties around my loins. I didn’t miss the bra, with its band cinching my torso, and straps digging into my shoulders, nor the girdle - although a pleasant side effect of wearing it had been not getting anything pinched whenever I sat down. The slip, on the other hand, had provided a delightful tickle on my legs whenever I was moving around.

I picked the panties up, enjoying again the silky feeling of the material in my hands. Suddenly, I wished that they were clean. With a sigh, I dropped them back onto the pile, and turned to my chest of drawers for my own clothing.

Still struggling with what I’d do about next week, I put off calling anyone until after breakfast - or rather, brunch.

It was eleven thirty. If I waited too long, Kate might not be home.

My phone rang.

I wasn’t even thinking about how I answered it.

"Good morning," I heard Kate’s cheerful greeting. "Is this Ted or Tess?"

My voice dropped a full octave.

"Very funny, Kate," I replied, drolly.

"Ah, it IS Ted," she said.

"Look, as long as you called," I opened, "I need to ask a favor."

"Yes, I know," she told me. "Elaine called me this morning, to ask if I would help you."

"I take it that she didn’t have much confidence that I’d follow through."

"Not at all. It was more like she feared you wouldn’t get any cooperation."

"Jean called, too," Kate added, "to ask if I could handle the dinner arrangements tonight. She has to go down to her folks’ this afternoon. It seems everyone wants my favors today."

I ignored the double entente, "Maybe I should call in sick next week."

"Why?" she exclaimed. "We can get you set up with whatever you’ll need."

"Kate! This isn’t going to work. Sooner or later, someone is going to figure me out, or someone in the office will blow my cover."

"No one did last night," Kate reminded me. "And Elaine was already asking around the office, yesterday, to see if everyone would keep their mouths shut about you."

It took a little more talking, but she eventually had me marginally convinced that I’d be all right next week. Then she invited me to her place for dinner at 4:00 PM.

I accepted - remarking that I’d had breakfast late, so why not an early dinner.

She replied that dinner wouldn’t be ready until 8:00. Better still, she suggested, how soon could I come over? We’d make a day of it.

Of what? Getting me ready for next week, of course.

I told her I’d have to take yesterday’s suit to the dry-cleaner’s first.

Kate advised that it was washable, in cool water, using the delicate cycle. Then she asked if I could come over right away.

I couldn’t think of any reason not to, so I said yes. In a few minutes, I was on my way. I had no way of knowing that it would be nearly midnight before I returned.

As soon as I arrived at her place, she sent me down the hall to her bathroom, insisting that I wear a pair of ladies’ white nylon briefs and camisole under my clothes, instead of my own underwear. Despite my feelings that morning, I was resistant. I didn’t want her to know that I liked the feel of the silky underwear. She told me to wait there, then went into her bedroom and brought out a pair of pantyhose.

"These too," she ordered.

I didn’t move fast enough to suit her.

"Better hurry, before I get more adventuresome," she warned with a mischievous giggle.

Shaking my head in bewilderment, I did her bidding.

"Come on - time’s wasting," she urged, when I came out.

"Where are we going?"

"Lots of places," she said. "We have to get groceries for dinner, arrange for you to have clothes to wear to work, and get you set up with your own makeup."

"Makeup?"

"You can’t expect to borrow someone else’s for a whole week."

That made sense, but I bemoaned spending the money.

"Look," she explained, "If you want to do it right, it’s going to take a little money. Think of it as an investment - Elaine told me what she’d promised you for this gig."

"She didn’t promise me the promotion - only her help."

Incredulously, she asked, "You think if she’s signs the request, it isn’t a lock?"

"IF she signs," I reminded her.

"Ted, paranoia is clouding your mind. Of all the people I’ve ever known, Elaine has been the most ... reliable ... at honoring her word. She says it, she DOES it. You should know that as well as I do, by now."

I mentioned that she deserved a promotion as much as I did, and that helping me with this could actually be giving me an unfair advantage over her.

Kate’s response was that she was my friend, and she was happy to help me. It would be bad karma for her own prospects if she didn’t help when she could. She said it so kindly, I couldn’t argue.

Once we were out doing the errands, I was glad I’d worn a sweatshirt. The sensation of the camisole fabric rubbing against my nipples kept them taut. Moreover, something thinner - like a T-shirt - would have let the lace trim show through, too.

Kate led me on what was, for me, a unique tour through the regional shopping center. At first we just went from store to store looking at the displays. She wanted to see what I thought looked good and what I didn’t like. Then we went into the largest department store there, straight to the lingerie section. Again, she picked out various articles, asking my opinion. Likewise, at the shoe store.

Our last stop of this trip was for groceries. When I saw the cosmetics aisle, I asked if we were getting mine there. She said no, explaining that it would be almost impossible to get the right shades on the first try. We’d be going to a specialty shop instead, where I could get a custom match.

"Won’t that be expensive?"

"Not as expensive as getting the wrong shades and having to buy more."

First, we went back to her place, to put the groceries away. Then, saying that she had some private errands to complete, she told me to enjoy a nice soak in her tub while she was gone.

"I took a shower this morning," I objected, "I can’t smell bad already."

"You smell just fine ... for a man. However, Tess will need a different air about her," Kate explained. "Besides, how long has it been since you’ve enjoyed a long, leisurely, bubble bath? Twenty years?"

I shrugged in accession.

"When you’re finished, use this bath powder all over your body. I’ll leave out a clean set of underwear for you."

I started the water running and added the bath oil.

On the sink counter, Kate deposited a pastel blue camisole and panty set, plus another pair of pantyhose.

She was away nearly two hours.

Our last trip of the day was to a little cluster of shops away from the main part of the city. It was nearly closing time when we entered the studio.

The lady inside was pleasant and unassuming. Kate explained what I needed (the works!) and Mara brought out color swatches and charts. She then steered me over to a mirror ringed by lamps which could be adjusted to different hues. By the time we were done, it was getting dark, and my Master Card debt had grown by eighty dollars.

At first, I wasn’t going outside that shop until they let me clean everything off. However, Kate had prepared for this. She went out to her car and came back with a cylindrical box and a bag. The bag contained a bra, a set of pads for it, and a pair of high heeled sandals in navy. The box contained a wig, longer than the one I’d worn Friday, and in a lighter shade.

"Good thing I had you wear panty hose, isn’t it?" Kate observed.

I was still resistant.

Kate must have been a champion debater in college, every time it came to something that was important to her, she got her way.

They had me walk around the shop for a few minutes to get used to the wobbly nature of sandals with high heels. Then Kate and I were let out of the shop, so Mara could close up.

When we got back to her place, Kate insisted that I take off the sweatshirt and jeans and wear something more appropriate. She went to her room and brought out a sleeveless sun shift, which buttoned up the back. Handing it to me, she turned me toward the bathroom.

"Hurry up. I’m going to need your help preparing dinner."

It took some doing, removing the wig without mussing it, so I could get the sweatshirt off. I also had trouble reaching the buttons at my back to fasten the dress.

After the wig was back in place, I folded up my clothes, and carried them out with me. Still in the hallway, I called, "What’ll I do with my clothes?"

Kate called back, "I hope you’re wearing them."

I reached the kitchen door.

"You told me to put on this dress."

"That’s right," she said, as she took the bundle from my hands. She walked back into her bedroom.

When she returned, she reached behind the pantry door.

"Here’s an apron to protect your dress."

I put it on, and began helping her get dinner ready.

"I had no idea, when I accepted the bet," I chuckled, "that I’d still have to prepare the dinners I’d won."

"You don’t have to help, Tess," she said, "if you don’t mind waiting until midnight to eat."

I tried not to show that I’d noticed her switch to the feminine appellation.

"I’ll help, all ready. I haven’t eaten since this morning."

"That’s how we girls keep our trim figures," she said, as she gave my waist a quick hug.

The rest of the evening - through the meal, and the cleanup afterward - she made a running critique of my actions, voice quality, and vocabulary. It seemed that nearly everything she said to me involved some variant of, "A woman doesn’t ... " or "This is the way a woman ..."

Once again, I drove home dressed as a woman. Now I had two feminine outfits that needed to be cleaned and returned - or so I thought. It would be well into the next day before I would begin to realize that I was being carefully conditioned to ENJOY functioning in a feminine mode.

 

 

Chapter VII

Sunday morning, I was awakened by a thumping sound. Wrapping a robe around myself, I trudged my front door and opened it. Kate said nothing; she just stood there.

It wasn’t necessary to ask why she was there, even at such an early hour; the large case resting at her side told all.

I exhaled in a sigh, breaking the silence, "Come on in."

"Thank you."

Observing that she was fully made up, I asked, "You got up awfully early, didn’t you?"

"I don’t mind, if it’s for a good reason."

"And you think this is?" I pointed to the case.

"Yes, it is," she affirmed.

She led the way down the hallway and into my bedroom, placing her case on my bed. Then she began opening my chest of drawers and placing everything that was inside onto my bed.

Perplexed, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"You won’t be needing these for a few days," she said, as she emptied the last drawer. Then she opened the case and began transferring items from it to the drawers. When she was done, she moved my things from the bed into the case.

"You wearing anything under that robe?" she asked.

I was too astonished to reply.

"Go strip and put these on," she ordered, holding out a pale yellow nylon lingerie set, consisting of panties, brassiere, and a half slip.

I took them, but just stood there.

"We’re not going to make this work," she admonished, "unless you become Tess, completely, from right now, to whenever this is over."

My uncertainty must have shown on my face, even though I couldn’t find a tongue to speak with.

She stepped over to me and lightly rested her hand on my arm.

"I think that will be easier if we remove from your life, as much as is possible, every evidence of ‘Ted’. If I had a spare bedroom, I’d even move you into it until this was over, just to keep you away from all the reminders this house provides."

When I still didn’t move, she added, "Everything will be just fine. Months from now, when you are enjoying the fruits of your efforts, you’ll look back on this week as a great adventure."

She gave me a nudge toward my bathroom, "Move it, girl. You have a busy day ahead."

When I returned, she handed me one of the pairs of bust pads I’d accumulated. She waited until they were properly placed, then sighed.

"We’re getting ahead of ourselves," she said. "Back into the bathroom."

"For what?" I asked.

"You’re a modern woman, honey. You can’t go around with all that fur on your legs."

My eyes went wide. "I’m not shaving my legs," I announced.

"No problem," she smiled. "I have an Epilady. They’ll stay smooth longer that way, too. It removes the hair at the root."

"That wasn’t the sort of alternative I had in mind."

"Tess, if you want to get through this week successfully, hairy legs aren’t an option at all."

"What’s wrong with opaque panty hose, like I wore Friday?"

"It’s unusual for a woman to wear them. It will call attention to you. You want to blend in; that means sheer hosiery and smooth limbs."

"What will I do until it grows back?"

"You mean Ted? Who’s going to notice? Ted wears pants!"

"This week, though," she continued, "Tess needs smooth legs. Is she going to shave them, or Epilady them?"

When I didn’t answer immediately, she added, "If you shave, you’ll probably have to do it again Wednesday. Once with the Epilady will get you through the whole week."

And several more, she COULD have told me.

Not knowing what I was getting into, it seemed that doing this just once might be better than having go through it twice. In a few minutes, I had changed my mind.

Kate warned me that it would sting a little. It didn’t. It stung a lot! She wouldn’t let me switch to a razor without trying something else. She made a dash to her car, and came back with an overnight case. With a large cotton swab she spread a lotion on my legs. They felt very strange afterward.

"It is a topical lidocaine solution," she explained.

After it dried, I could hardly feel the hairs being wrenched out. In twenty minutes, my legs were as bare as a baby’s.

Next, she retrieved the bag I’d brought back from the cosmetics shop, and began guiding me in making up my face.

When she was satisfied with my efforts, Kate handed me a blouse and skirt, made of a gauzelike material.

While I was putting it on, she gazed at me - as if in deep thought.

"Let’s try the sandals you wore yesterday," she suggested.

Getting them on was a little more trouble than it had been over stockings. The last item to go on was yesterday’s wig. It was mine for the duration, she told me, as she touched up the styling. Did I assume too much, when I thought she meant the duration of the week?

I asked if she wanted breakfast, remarking that I was starved. We went out to the kitchen, where I began gathering eggs, bacon, and frozen hashed potatoes.

"Wait a minute," Kate stopped me. "We’re not going out to dig ditches today."

I looked at her in puzzlement.

"You simply must get this fixed in your mind: you are a woman this week. You will see everything from a feminine viewpoint. You will act, and react, the way a woman does."

"For starters," she explained, "that means you eat what you need to, not what you want to - unless what you need at that moment just happens to also be what you want."

Kate opened the refrigerator and rummaged around a few moments, then started opening cabinets.

"Don’t you have any fruit around here?"

I showed her where the cans were.

"Not as good as fresh," she noted, "but it will have to do."

The whole day went like that - a crash course in womanhood. I’m amazed that I retained any of it, but I managed to absorb enough - to get me started.

--

We arrived at the office early, among the first people in the building. I went directly to the dispatch desk, sat down, and began organizing for the day ahead.

I could hear Elaine getting out of her chair. When I looked up toward the doorway of her office, I was rewarded with the vision of a manager who was obviously startled.

Still, her only response was a knowing smile, then she silently returned to her work.

Jean and Diane walked in from the parking lot together. Judging by their expressions, the sight of my car in the parking lot had left them totally unprepared for the shock of seeing me there as "Tess", particularly appearing the way I did.

I was dressed collar to calf in pink, in a sweater suit which featured a straight skirt. White hose with pink shoes and accessories completed the outfit. The bright pink lipstick provided the focal point for my face, framed by a much fuller and fairer hairstyle than I had worn before. Kate had arranged the styling to clearly exposed the white triangles that dangled from loops screwed to each earlobe. Furthermore, for the first time, my nails were enameled. Actually, they were artificial nails, the new "active" length.

Just as significant was what they couldn’t see. Kate had spent a fair amount of money to get me a matching set of lace-trimmed lingerie in a color called "blush". Even a plain girl - she had explained - feels pretty when she’s dressed in pretty, feminine things from the skin out.

The air around the dispatch desk filled with compliments and questions. Was I really going to do this for the whole week? Had I done all the makeup, hair style, etc., by myself? What had Elaine said about my appearance?

In a typical fashion, for Mondays, incoming calls for service were queueing up, leaving me little opportunity to answer.

At the first lull in activity, Elaine came out again.

"You are working the whole week, right, Tess?" she asked.

"Uh, I guess so, ma’am," I replied.

"You GUESS?" she exclaimed.

Alarms went off it my mind. I’d just said the WRONG thing.

"Honey, I’m counting on you. Show the same sort of confidence in yourself as I have in you."

My face brightened. "Yes! Ma’am."

"What is this ‘ma’am’ stuff, anyway? YOU change clothes and suddenly I’M a stranger?"

"No, ma’..." I cut myself off in mid-word, and grinned.

"Say ‘Elaine’," she instructed.

"Elaine," I responded.

"I knew you could," she affirmed. "All right then, ‘Tess’ you are, for the rest of the week."

She held out her hand, "Welcome to the staff."

About eleven, Kate stopped by to "invite" me out to lunch. My confidence wasn’t really up to it, but Kate had made it a condition of her assistance.

By eleven-thirty, when Diane relieved me of the telephone headset, our twosome had grown to five. We drove to a restaurant that we didn’t often use. Mercifully, the time spent in the restaurant was uneventful, except that we were joined by Cheryl, who hobbled in on crutches.

"I shouldn’t even be out of bed," she explained, "but, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to meet my temporary replacement. ‘Tess’ is it?" She put out her hand.

I reached out to take it and nodded.

Giving me a conspiratorial wink - which confirmed that she knew exactly what was going on - she continued, "Well, I’m pleased to meet you. I hear that you’re doing an excellent job with my position; I hope they’ll still want me back, when I get out of this," indicating the cast which covered her leg from knee to toes.

"Uh, no reason for you to worry about that," I replied in the most feminine voice I could manage. "My position there is strictly temporary, believe me."

"Well, as good as they say you are, I wouldn’t begrudge you your own spot there, as long as I don’t lose my own."

I’m sure my makeup began to show a little extra color, as the implications of that remark soaked in.

During this exchange, everyone had been shifting over in the booth to make room for Cheryl. She sat down just in time to order and eat with the rest of the group.

I returned from lunch to find that the nameplate on the desk had been replaced by an office standard laminate, engraved with "Tess" and my last name.

When Diane relieved me for my mid-afternoon break, she reminded me that tonight was her turn to provide dinner. Then she asked whether to expect "Tess" or "Ted".

Apparently, Kate hadn’t told her that, this week, I wasn’t going ANYWHERE as Ted.

Trying to sound very philosophical, I first asked what time dinner would be ready. She told me, and I noted that such an early dinner wouldn’t leave a lot of time for me to change. Adding that it was too much trouble to rush home, I sighed with resignation and told her that I might as well come over as is, and help with the preparation.

When I returned home that evening, there was another car in my driveway, just as I expected. Inside, Kate was curled up in the recliner, reading a book. Although I hadn’t known exactly what to expect, I was surprised at the extent to which Kate had made herself at home - robe, slippers, and all.

She lowered her book and grinned, "Hi! Everything OK?"

Everything had been fine, although I had been feeling a little conspiratorial, evading questions from Diane about how I’d obtained my outfit; why I’d changed my mind, and my plans for the next day.

She directed me to sit on the sofa opposite her, and continued to ply me with questions about my evening since we left work. After about fifteen minutes, she said, "I want to show you something."

My television is on a cart with casters, so it can be easily placed anywhere I find convenient.

"Stay right there," she said, as she pushed it over next to the recliner. While it was warming up, she went to a dimly lit corner of the room and fiddled with ... oh, mercy! A video camcorder.

A minute later, I was watching and listening to myself respond to her. She pointed out both the good and the bad, with respect to how femininely I behaved.

Then we went through the whole process again.

This time she turned down the brightness so there was only the audio to critique. Afterward, she reran it normally.

We repeated the process a third time.

This time she was satisfied enough to call it a night and followed me down the hall. When I reached my bedroom door, she stopped me from entering.

"Not here. The next one."

She guided me into the spare room across the hall.

It was quite a shock to enter it and find that it looked like someone actually lived there - someone with very feminine taste.

"I’ve moved all your things into here for the duration," she said. "It should help you stay in character."

Too bewildered to speak for a moment, I just looked at her quizzically.

"I’m staying in Ted’s room," she informed me.

My eyes opened as wide as they could get.

"It will save me from chasing back and forth all week."

"This isn’t that big of a city, Kate," I suggested. "Folks are going to gossip, when they find out."

"Gossip about what?" she answered with an amused expression. "That two women are house-sitting for Ted, while he’s away on vacation?"

That did sound fairly logical.

She followed up, "As long as you stay in character, who’s to know otherwise?"

 

 

Chapter IX

Tuesday morning, I awakened in a disoriented state. I still wasn’t used to sleeping in filmy nylon, plus I wasn’t in my own bedroom. It only lasted a moment, then I remembered that this WAS my bedroom, after all - for the duration of the week.

There was a knock at the door. That brought me fully awake in alarm, until it sunk in that it had to be Kate. An earlier knock had been what had awakened me at first.

"Hello," I called out.

"Shake out the cobwebs, sleepyhead," she called back. "Time to be putting yourself together for the day’s work."

Compared to Monday, I arrived at work dressed much less dramatically. Oh, it began with exquisitely feminine lingerie: a matching set of bra, panties, and slip, floral on a black background, trimmed generously with black lace. However, all that could be seen was a tweed suit, featuring an A-line skirt that didn’t quite reach the top of my knees, and a cropped jacket. The modified jewel neck of the jacket required no blouse, sparing me the unwanted warmth of an extra layer. Then again, it also offered no opportunity to get cooler by removing it. The black shoes, purse, and accessories served to reinforce a conservative image, mitigated only by the white pantyhose.

Applying my makeup had been no less painstaking. A low key makeup is - if anything - more challenging, because it has to fix the problems, yet appear invisible.

I guess the rest of the office staff were getting used to my appearance. One of the guys had even remarked, "nice outfit, Tess," without any evident sarcasm.

What was happening to me? I’d come to work dressed completely as a woman only three days, and I was THAT easily accepted? It wasn’t as if my masculinity had been questionable before this started. I’d been a "regular guy" in every way I could think of. How is it that I could be so easily accepted in a feminine mode? How well would I be accepted when I returned to being "Ted"?

Diane’s voice intruded into my thoughts.

"Tess? ... Tess! The phone!"

I quickly reached for the switch that enabled my headset. It was one of the technicians, ready to close out a service call.

When lunch time came around, Jean came by and asked me where I was going for lunch.

I was rather surprised that she hadn’t just insisted at the start that I join her. I told her that I’d planned to eat lunch with Kate in the break room, even though I knew that Kate would insist that we eat out - at least there’d be just the two of us.

"Oh, come on, Tess. It’s a beautiful day out, and you look too pretty to be hiding in there. Come along with us - I’ll buy."

"That’s a dirty trick," I accused, "appealing to my frugal nature."

"Cheapskate, you mean," she countered.

"Be nice," I told her, emphasizing my words with an exaggerated pout.

"I AM being nice," Jean insisted, "I’m paying for your lunch."

No one mentioned where we were eating, so I just went along, without asking. By the time we got to the restaurant, I’d become so immersed in the conversation that it didn’t even register on my brain that not only did we eat here often, but we’d been here just last Thursday.

The hostess had to open another section to seat us all in a single booth. We went through a shuffle to let Anita sit in the middle with Gregg and myself on either side and then Jean and Kate at the ends.

"Your waitress will be Anne," we were told.

Shortly, Anne came by for our orders, taking those of the three to my left before getting to mine.

"And what will You have, Sir?"

I was sure that she had already taken Gregg’s order, so I was surprised that I wasn’t next. I looked up at her, only to discover that she was looking right at me. Time stopped.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, "what will you have?"

I couldn’t talk.

Jean giggled.

I glowered at her. I never got to finish my stuttering question, "How ... ?"

"Oh, it was easy," Anne answered You folks eat here a lot; the same group was here just last Thursday; you’re all sitting around the table in the same order as last time; and you, dear, are holding the menu the same way you always do."

How could I be so stupid? Worse, I hadn’t even tried to deny the verity of her guess.

But don’t feel bad," she continued. "If I hadn’t known all of you so well, I wouldn’t have had a clue." Then she looked directly at me, "You really do look VERY cute."

I was anxiously searching my peripheral vision to see if anyone was listening to this exchange.

She saw it, and leaned forward, to talk in a softer voice, "Tell you what: I’ll call you ‘Miss’ while you’re here for lunch, but you’ll know that I really mean ‘Sir’. Right?" She finished with a wink.

I wished I could just die, right there, where I sat. My makeup couldn’t possibly hide the crimson glow in my cheeks.

"Hey!" she added, "that blush makes you even cuter."

I let my head lean forward to rest in my hands, as if to hide behind them. What could I say?

Kate touched my side with her elbow. "You haven’t ordered yet."

"I gotta go," I plead.

"To the ladies room?" she asked.

"Out of here," I explained.

Anne tried to reassure me, "Oh, it all right, dear. Just relax, and enjoy your lunchtime. There won’t be any problem - really."

I didn’t respond, which she apparently took to mean I was staying.

"What will you have?"

Kate put a reassuring hand on my thigh. That steadied me enough to place my order, after which Kate gave hers. Then Anne left us.

In a couple of minutes we began to notice that members of the staff were taking surreptitious glances at us. The busboy went out of his way to pass near our table, and look - at me. As it got busier, they had to pay less attention to us and take care of business, but we could tell they were observing us, and talking among themselves.

When Anne brought our lunches, she put everyone else’s on the table before mine, then proceeded to serve me with exaggerated flair.

Gesturing across the part of me she could see, Anne asked, "Do you have a special name to go along with this ... image?"

"Tess," Jean quickly volunteered for me.

"Well, Tess," Anne stated, "we hope that your food is equal to this special occasion."

I was a little puzzled over what she meant. I didn’t see how this lunch time - even with the way I looked - constituted a "special occasion".

However, she left us to take care of other customers, so I didn’t get to ask why she had said that. More bothersome, was the notion that everyone on the restaurant’s staff now knew about me, as the guy who’s dressed up as a woman. All I could do was go ahead and eat my lunch.

In a little while, Anne stopped at our table again to ask how our food was. She got the standard responses from everyone except me - I just nodded. She wouldn’t let me get by with that, and made a special point of asking me how mine was.

In something like a loud whisper, I told her, "Fine - thank you."

She offered, "If you want anything else, just ask," before she moved on to another table.

The only thing else I wanted was OUT of there, before I was embarrassed beyond endurance.

"Very good," Diane complimented. "A little more practice on that voice, and I think we could take you anywhere."

"Oh thanks," I responded sarcastically. "Just what I need is for you to be parading me all over town."

Anne came by again, just as some of us were finishing, to take away plates.

"Instead of asking for your dessert order, I have a special treat coming," she announced.

When she saw some concerned expressions, she added, "on the house."

A couple of minutes later, she was back, leading a train of staff members. One was carrying something, and the rest all gathered behind him as he set it on our table.

It took a moment for recognition to sink in. The cake had the inscription "Happy Birthday, Tess" in blue frosting over the white.

Then the staff, began singing the "Happy Birthday" song to me.

Filled with embarrassment, I buried my face in my hands, Then, wondering who had set this up, I looked up and glanced in turn at each of my companions.

All I saw was their own bewilderment.

I managed to squeak out a perplexed "Thank you," to the crew, and, except for Anne, they disbursed back to their duties.

She looked right at me, saying, "Honey, it wasn’t any of them; this is my own doing."

I sighed, then said, "Look, this was very nice, but I’d have much preferred that you hadn’t told all of them about me."

Anne started to say something, then stopped.

"Oh," she started again, "I didn’t tell them about THAT. I just said that your friends had brought you in for a birthday luncheon." Then she added, "They haven’t a clue."

She didn’t miss the "why?" in my expression, and answered without my asking.

"It just happens that I have a very dear friend, who would just LOVE to be able to do what you are doing today."

Suddenly, the eyes of my understanding had been opened. Appropriately humbled, I said to her, very softly, "Thank you - very much."

"Honey, you are so very welcome," Anne responded. "I hope you have a lovely day."

While we hurried with our dessert, Anne made certain that the remainder of the cake went into a box, to go with us. While she was away from the table, I put out a substantial tip for her.

We had to walk briskly to get back to work on time.

During the first lull in phone activity, Elaine approached me.

"I have something for you," she said, as she reached out to hand it to me.

It was a new employee badge, bearing my last name and "Tess". I recognized the photo on it as one of those taken at Diane’s, last Friday morning. At first, I looked around the room, to see who might be watching for my reaction.

"It seemed appropriate, under the circumstances," she said, answering my unvoiced question. "Besides, that and the nameplate will make wonderful souvenirs, afterward."

With a rather weak smile, I offered an uncertain, "Thanks."

On one of her visits to pick up paperwork, Jean reminded me that I was expected for dinner at 6:30.

I asked if I there was anything I could do to help her with the preparation. It was no problem for me to be there earlier, I explained. I must have caught her off guard. She didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at me with a contemplative gaze, then smiled. It was the same sort of expression that I’d seen yesterday morning on Elaine’s countenance - an unvocalized "very in-ter-es-ting".

--

When I got home from dinner at Jean’s, Kate was again curled up on the recliner, reading a book. She gestured to the sofa. I sat down, taking care to execute the move gracefully. Then we went through the same procedure as last night - interview and review. This time it only took one retry to satisfy her.

Kate stood up and escorted me back to my temporary bedroom. Opening the closet, she removed a garment on a hanger.

"It’s the same as in the catalog. Let’s see if it’s going to fit right."

Shortly, I was down to my slip. I really didn’t need the help, but was enjoying Kate’s fussing with the dress as it slid down over my head and enveloped me in luxuriant softness. It was black velvet, and would need the grey blazer, still hanging on the clothes pole, to keep it from looking too after-five-ish for office wear. At Kate’s urging, I replaced the white stockings with a pair that were off-black, then slipped on the black, ankle strapped, high heeled sandals that awaited.

Kate helped me rearrange my wig, after the tousling it received during the clothes changing. Then she guided me into the hall, where the full-length mirror would show a complete picture of how I appeared.

I studied the image, turning this way and that. It fit perfectly. Kate returned to the room and brought out the grey blazer. With it on, I repeated my study of the image in the hall mirror.

"My hips are still too small, the blazer doesn’t hang quite right," I concluded.

Kate reached over and fastened the jacket’s button.

"How about now?" she asked.

That made just enough difference.

Kate disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a large envelope style handbag, handing it to me. "This will add a much more professional look to that outfit." I fumbled for a way to carry it.

"It can’t be carried like an ordinary purse," she cautioned. Taking it back, she put the edge of it atop the inside of her forearm, tucking the corner under her elbow, to demonstrate how to hold it.

After Kate returned it to me, I walked the length of the hall and back, practicing my carry. Kate’s approving nod told me that I had it under control. We returned to the room, and Kate again helped me with getting out of the clothes.

Down to the foundation garments, I accepted a bathrobe from Kate, then we returned to the living room, where she picked up the first of a stack of records featuring dance rhythms.

--

Wednesday morning, Kate insisted that I ride with her. Considering the outfit I was wearing, it shouldn’t have been too hard to figure why. I was wearing a cotton top that was nearly as thin as a T-shirt, and the slim skirt was three inches short of reaching my knees. It proved to be all but impossible to sit down without displaying the hem of my slip, or worse. At work, I could hardly move, without Diane commenting on what, or how much, I was showing. By the morning break, I was ready to go home and change, but, of course had no way to do so.

Elaine had noticed, too, and remarked, "If you keep showing off, some guy’s going to think you want his amorous attention."

I blushed at that.

"You don’t want that?" she continued, "Then maybe we need to arrange more time for you to learn ladylike comportment."

I never did figure out if she was kidding or not.

By noon, I had resigned myself to finishing the day dressed as I was. Unlike the previous days, I asked Diane to take the first lunch. By the time my turn came, I was tense with apprehension over the provocative way I was dressed. Nevertheless, I slung my purse strap over my shoulder and walked outside and down the block. Kate was supposed to meet me at a sandwich shop we had picked out during the morning drive to work.

Even though I was getting pretty well accustomed to being out in public dressed as a woman, I couldn’t stop worrying about how much attention that day’s outfit would draw. It must have been obvious, because, throughout our meal, Kate was clearly working hard at keeping my mind occupied, with marathon conversation.

As we walked back to the office, Kate pointed out what she saw in the faces of various passersby, and encouraged me.

"Tess, a lady keeps her gaze forward, looking where she’s going," she directed. "And SMILE - show everyone you’re happy to be who you are."

As we were about to pass a department store, Kate steered me inside, declaring that we still had nearly 25 minutes. Sensing that my anxiety was rising again, she explained calmly how no one had taken offense on the street, so I could relax in here and enjoy a few minutes of "eyeball shopping". "Besides," she advised, "You might even find something you want to buy."

She guided me first into the misses’ department, where we picked through a group of dresses that were my size. She even had me take a couple of them over to the full-length mirror to hold them in front of me. I thought my heart wouldn’t ever beat again, when one of the clerks asked if she could help us. Mercifully, Kate dealt with her.

Next she led me into the lingerie department, and directed my attention to a rack of nightgowns. Sorting through them, she asked my opinion about several. I fell in love with one, but I wouldn’t admit it to her. Just as another hungry clerk was homing in on us, I convinced Kate that we were out of time, and we left.

I returned to the office with a few minutes to spare.

"Is the restroom clear?" I asked Diane.

"I don’t know."

I sighed in indecision.

"You could try the men’s room," she volunteered.

I stared at her in wide-eyed panic.

"Tess," she said, "don’t you think that it’s time you got used to being one-of-the-girls? If you need to use the facilities, go in and do it. If you will just accept in your own mind that you belong there, so will everyone else."

My physical needs were rapidly overtaking my will to argue her logic, so I just took a deep breath and went into the ladies’ room to take care of my business. Fortunately for my peace of mind, it was empty, and I went directly into one of the stalls. However, just as I was ready to leave, two women from sales came in to touch up their appearances. I just could not bear having them know who was in there with them, so I waited in the stall until they finished. That put me a couple of minutes late getting back to work.

Diane got in a dig at me over that.

"My, we are acting more like a woman now, aren’t we. Even taking longer in the ladies’ room to do our business - right?"

"Okay, okay," I told her as I made an imaginary mark in the air, "Another point for the home team."

The balance of the day was fairly routine, and I began to forget how I was dressed, other than being careful with the hem of my skirt. Just at quitting time, Kate called from a customer’s site, saying that she would be late, while she completed a repair. I reminded that I didn’t have my car. She told me to wait in the parking lot and she’d pick me up in about half an hour.

I wasn’t really thinking when I left the building - until the door locked behind me. There I was, in a thin, clinging top, short skirt, and high heels, standing around with nothing to do. My predicament was brought home powerfully when I heard a whistle from a passing car. That was when I got the wild idea to return to the department store. At least that would keep me occupied until Kate arrived, I reasoned.

It was as if I were being magically drawn back to the nightgown rack. I found a gown like the one Kate had shown me, which I’d liked so well. It was the wrong size. Eventually, I picked out two, one for myself in a mint color, and another in peach, which I thought that Kate had liked.

On my way to the service island, I realized that I still had my very masculine wallet in my purse. I stopped and carefully fished out enough money to cover my purchase, then stepped up to the counter with cash and merchandise in hand.

Even so, the youthful clerk asked whether the purchase would be cash or charge. I had to pause overly long to adjust my throat muscles, then in a soft voice I spoke just two words, "Cash, please." I hoped that the anyone listening would perceive the pause as being due to astonishment over the clerk not seeing the currency, which was in plain view.

The transaction seemed to be taking forever. Didn’t this clerk know how to process a cash transaction? Looking at my watch again, I was amazed to discover that I still had seven minutes. Finally, she handed me my change and the bag containing my purchase.

As I walked away, my tenseness from dealing with the clerk began to be displaced by elation over having been accepted, apparently, as the woman I appeared to be. That process was momentarily reversed when, to my shock, I heard Diane’s voice, just as I was about to leave the building.

"Wow! You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?"

With dread, I turned toward the sound to discover, to my relief, that she was alone. Rather than reply, I just shrugged.

"What did you get?" she asked, as she stepped up to me.

Quietly, I said, "nothing much."

She looked at me thoughtfully, but didn’t saying anything else.

We took leave of each other, and I went outside. I had to wait another ten minutes in the office parking lot before Kate arrived. It felt like hours.

Kate, too, asked what I’d bought, but didn’t press when I was evasive about it.

When we got back to my place, instead of starting dinner, she helped me redo my makeup.

"Just for a dinner at my own home?" I complained.

"No," she told me, "we’re going out."

"We’re WHAT?"

"Don’t panic. We’re just going to a little place where I know you won’t be bothered."

I was puzzled, but she wouldn’t explain any further.

"At least let me change to a longer skirt," I demanded.

"No. You look fine just the way you are." Insisting that it was an important part of my education, she pushed me along.

When we drove into the parking lot of our destination, the name of the place sparked an uncertain recognition. After we had taken a table, and I’d had a chance to look around a little, I realized why. There weren’t any men in the place.

Trying to be discrete, I whispered, "Isn’t this a lesbian bar?"

"Tess," she began, "a women’s club is a place for any woman who wants to socialize in a safe environment. It has nothing to do with her sexual preference."

Her explanation made me feel even more like an invader.

"What if they ...?"

"Anyone who looked at you closely already knows," she answered before I could finish.

A look around the room brought confirmed that I was conspicuous, in a way I wouldn’t have imagined - for a gathering of women. Of the twenty or so souls there, less than a handful were wearing any kind of skirt.

"If you behave yourself," she continued, "everyone will treat you pretty much like any other woman."

‘Pretty much’ left quite a bit of latitude, as it turned out.

At least I had the presence of mind to realize that "behaving myself" included keeping my eyes off the other patrons. Not that it took much cogitation to realize that the only thing less welcome in a lesbian environment than being ‘checked out’ by a guy, was if the guy was also pretending to be a woman.

The menu barely had enough on it to qualify the place as more than just a bar. When the server came to take our orders, Kate insisted I order for myself. I was tired and had trouble staying perfectly in character, so the server knew I wasn’t a "regular" woman. Nevertheless, she graciously gave me no reason to feel that I was unwelcome.

While we were there, several women came by the table to greet Kate. She introduced me to each as "Tess, a friend from work."

Other than receiving a thorough scan, I was treated politely. One friend, introduced as Janet, went a little farther. She took another chair and sat with us, conversing mainly with Kate.

Suddenly, she turned to me, saying, "You know, you really have a lot of nerve, coming in here dressed like that."

What could I say? I wanted to tell her that it hadn’t been my choice, but even the thought sounded so lame, that I didn’t speak at all. I looked to Kate for help, but her flat expression told me none was forthcoming. At that moment, I felt so incredibly betrayed. I’d been set up, dragged into a hostile environment - a wolf in sheep’s clothing, after the sheep had been equipped with claws and fangs. What had happened? I’d thought Kate was my friend. Why had she put me in a situation to be held up to ridicule? Strangely, my immediate reaction wasn’t an angry retort, but rather, a welling up of tears. I fell back to a defense I’d perfected as a child: play ignorant. Directing a puzzled expression at Janet, I asked, "How so?"

After a sigh of disgust, she elaborated, "Why is it you transvestites are impelled to come into womanspace trying to look like some guy’s wet dream? Who, in a place like this, do you think is going to appreciate the image you’re projecting?"

Aghast as I was at having been accused of being a transvestite, my anger was overridden by the sensation of impending overflow of the water in my eyes. I wanted out of there. Without any thought for how far I was from home or how inappropriately I was dressed for a long hike, I pushed my chair back to get up and leave, saying "You’re right, of course. I’m really sorry to have intruded." At that moment, Kate finally deigned to speak.

"Wait!" she commanded, giving me only momentary pause. No, I was definitely leaving - now. Her voice softened, "Please! Don’t leave."

I stopped, standing there with my hand on my purse strap.

With her eyes still on me, she said, "Janet, don’t blame her. It’s my fault she looks like that. And she had no idea where we were going."

"Her? She?" Janet responded, incredulously.

"OK, it’s an honorary designation," Kate responded, as she turned her attention to Janet. "And Ted isn’t a TV, he’s just a kind and gentle person, who happens to be too easily persuaded to get involved in unusual goings-on."

Janet sneered, "That sounds like an euphemism for a little boy who’s thoroughly ‘whipped’ - by every female he knows."

I lifted the purse strap from the chair, but before I could say anything, Kate snapped back, "That was uncalled for, Janet. He’s not being led around by the little head."

Janet raised an eyebrow.

Kate giggled, "Actually the truth is probably is distant cousin. Ted originally got into this situation partly because of an overactive masculine ego."

Janet’s expression demanded amplification, so Kate said, "sit down, Tess. It’ll be all right, now." Then she began to relate how I’d been challenged by Jean, and convoluted path by which that had led me to have to work an extra week en-femme.

I was still standing, torn between wanting to bail out, and wanting to hear how this conversation came out. Kate paused, and lifted a hand toward mine, "It’s all right now," she reassured me, "please ... sit down with us."

I may not have been thinking with my little head right then, but I wasn’t at all certain that I was thinking with my right head either. I let the purse strap slip back onto the back of the chair and lowered myself back onto the seat, and listened to Kate as she finished relating my story.

I’ll have to give Janet credit. As Kate progressed through her explanation, Janet’s sneer metamorphosed into an expression of respect, if begrudgingly so.

"You’ve actually been working as a woman for five full days?" she queried of me.

"No," I corrected her, "Only four days as a woman, the first day was as Ted, wearing a skirt and heels. And it’s not like all the regular staff don’t know who I really am."

"Well, I have to say, then, that you certainly have a set of brass tubes - of one kind or another."

I wasn’t sure at the time, but it sounded as though it might have been a compliment, of some sort. So I said, "Thanks ... I think?"

Kate uttered a gentle laugh, "That’s a woman’s equivalent of having ‘balls’, Tess. It’s good."

"Tubes?" I echoed, "Oh, yeah." The light finally went on inside my head. "Uh, why not ovaries? Wouldn’t that be a more accurate analogue?"

"Too many syllables," Janet responded. "And the Fallopian tube is as uniquely female as the ovary itself. "

"Look," she continued, "I guess I owe you an apology. You weren’t responsible for your circumstances tonight, so you didn’t deserve the insults. I’m sorry." She extended her hand to me.

Talk about mixed feelings. I was angry and hurt over her earlier words, but I’m not much inclined to make unnecessary enemies. So I extended my own to meet hers. She held mine in a firm grip, while she said, with a very serious face, "But you’ll have no excuse the next time you come in, if you’re dressed inappropriately. Got it?"

I don’t know where she got the idea that I’d ever want to come back. So far, whatever few good memories I might have had from this visit were still thoroughly overshadowed by bad ones. My thoughts must have been a neon sign on my face.

Before she released my hand, her expression changed to a very warm smile, and she said, "You ARE welcome here - you’ve been every bit a gentle woman, even in the face of my unkindness. I hope you’ll come again, so that I can make it up to you." Then she got up and walked away, disappearing into some other part of the building.

After that, Kate spent half an hour or so at damage control, trying to explain that she hadn’t exactly foreseen things developing the way they did. She also told me that Janet was one of the club’s owners, and, yes, she did have a reputation for being rather direct.

Rather direct! Was that ever an understatement, I thought.

Before we finally got out of there, a few more of her friends had drifted over to the table for a few moments of conversation. Those visits were pretty much like those before Janet, so I began to mellow out a little. Nevertheless, I was still a little sullen when we got into the car. Kate was quiet until we’d driven several blocks, then she spoke tentatively, "Ted, have I blown our friendship?"

I was silent for a minute or so, then answered, "I’ll be OK."

"I figured that," she said, more directly. "That doesn’t answer my question."

Several seconds of silence followed, then I added, with very little energy, "We’re still friends."

She reached over and put her right hand on my left. "Still GOOD friends?" she pressed. She wrapped her finger tips under my hand, exerting a slight lifting pressure. I turned my wrist to let her get a full grip. She squeezed my hand gently.

I gave her hand a return squeeze, and said, "Still GOOD friends," albeit not without some misgivings that I was being way too easy.

She must have sensed my reservations, and she asked, as we approached my driveway, "Would you prefer that I stayed at my own place tonight?"

I honestly didn’t care, I was still numb from Janet’s verbal pummeling - her apologies notwithstanding. I told her she was welcome to stay wherever she wanted to stay.

Kate stopped the car and, rather than release her grip on my hand, reached across the steering wheel to put the transmission in ‘park’. "One last thing," she said, then after a pregnant pause, followed with, "What did you learn from tonight’s excursion?"

A miniature gasp escaped my nose, then I countered, "Are you sure you want me to tell you?"

"You did say that we’re still friends," she responded, "Good friends, even." She continued, "Seriously, there were at least two important lessons about how women act, versus the way men do, that could have been learned tonight." She gave my hand a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "Tell me one of them."

I was tired - too tired to concentrate, really. I grabbed at an easy one. "Well, I didn’t get beaten up and thrown out into the alley tonight."

She let out a half-chuckle, "That wasn’t one of the ones I was thinking of, but it’s a good one too. And there were a couple of sisters there who could have managed it, too."

"I saw," I acknowledged.

"Got another?" she asked, with another squeeze.

I just shrugged my shoulders.

"One has to do with the way women perceive one another," she hinted, as she brought her other hand over to sandwich mine between hers.

"Can’t we do this inside?" I protested.

Her grip tightened slightly, carrying with it a definite sense of restrained power. Kate wasn’t particularly large, but I always did think of her as being a little stronger than most women I knew. Right now, her strength reminded me of a guy I knew in college. He was only 5’6" & 130 lbs., with nothing spectacular about his muscular development, but he could jump head and shoulders above a regulation volleyball net, from a static position. We used to joke that his muscles were made of piano wire.

"Nope. Once we go inside, you’ll want to get ready for bed. It has to be here. It’ll only take a minute or so."

If Kate didn’t want me to go, I knew I wasn’t going inside without one heck of a struggle. When I didn’t try, her grip relaxed slightly, and I noticed another sensation. It was as if there were some kind of circuit completed through our hands, and an inner warmth was being transmitted up my arm. With a sigh of resignation, I slumped back in the seat.

"What did you notice about the way that women see each other, that you hadn’t before?" she prompted.

I was too tired. I started to shake my head, but then caught at a thought, "The way Janet regarded how I was dressed," I offered.

"And ..."

"I ... I don’t know. I mean, she seemed to have been offended by it. She was. But then, again, it is a awfully provocative way to dress."

Kate offered another hint, "So, do you dress differently if you want to impress a woman than if you want to impress a man?"

"Yeah, I guess SO," I agreed. "I wouldn’t have dressed like this, if I’d been left a choice."

"Oh, now," Kate pressed, "didn’t you find it at least a little bit fun, at least some of the time? You didn’t enjoy the swiveling heads, the envious glances?"

"I don’t think so," I started to answer. A change in her grip on my hand bespoke a silent, "tell me the truth."

"Really! Well ... maybe if I hadn’t been so worried about being found out, it might have been a little fun."

"Now were getting somewhere," Kate announced. The pressure between her hands relaxed to barely touching. I could have easily slid mine out from between them, if I had wanted to. "Ready to go in? Or do you want to sit and talk a while?"

We got inside far later than I would have chosen for a workday eve, and I still had my feminine routine to deal with before I could go to sleep. When I finally did get to bed, I didn’t move again until Kate awakened me.

--

I walked from my car to the office, Thursday morning, wondering if my lingerie showed through my white satin charmeuse blouse. Everything underneath was pastel floral. Moreover, the short pleated skirt, in a glen plaid, fluttered not only from the light breeze, but from the sway imparted by trying to walk in pumps that had three and a half inch heels.

That day differed from the others only in the details. At day’s end, I was tired, and ached from the hips down, no doubt from being on such tall heels all day. I would have gladly passed up on eating, altogether - let alone away from home - in favor of a relaxing soak in the tub and an early bedtime. No such luck.

I arrived at Diane’s at 6:30 to be greeted with a warm hug. Dinner was still in the preparation stage, and it progressed slowly, while she tried to pump me for details of my transformation. She was full of questions about where my clothes had come from, how I’d managed to look so authentic each morning, and what I’d been doing in the evenings.

Not quite sure how much Kate wanted known, I was mostly evasive. I plead ignorance, telling her that Kate had arranged most of it, which she already knew anyway.

Kate was waiting for me when I got home. She smiled mischievously, as I recounted the way I’d sidestepped Diane’s questions. "You didn’t have to be so mysterious," she told me, when I’d finished, "I’m not trying to keep this any big secret."

Shortly before bedtime, I found an opportunity to present Kate with the nightgown I’d bought for her. I’d already gotten over my feelings from the night before. The kiss she gave me was hardly in character for a "sisterly" relationship.

Friday, I went to the office in the outfit I’d tried on Tuesday evening. I was greeted with quiet stares. Kate had done a fantastic job on me that morning. I doubt that I could have hoped for better from a Hollywood professional. My low-key makeup and minimal jewelry combined with the dress/blazer duo to produce a feminine, yet businesslike appearance.

As had been anticipated by Kate, Jean wanted to go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner, just like last Friday. Thus, after work, I found myself once again redoing my makeup to an evening style.

Again, she chose a restaurant which offered dancing. We hadn’t even finished eating when the band started, and before our dessert order could be taken, we were approached with offers to dance. To my shock, "Tess" was the first asked. To the surprise of everyone except Kate, "she" accepted.

Jean was open-mouthed. Even after she was invited onto the floor, she kept looking to see where I was, seemingly astonished at how well I was doing.

I will never forget the expressions on her face that evening. They were so precious that all the hassles I’d put up with - even the ungentlemanly attention I got from some of the guys I ended up dancing with - seemed, afterward, a small price to pay.

It was nearly midnight when our group finally left the restaurant. During the drive home, Jean was effusive in her comments about my activities of that afternoon and evening.

I was getting a warm feeling inside, partly from all the attention, but mainly because I felt accepted as an intimate friend. I had never been party to such discussions with females - as "Ted" - the way I had been involved in them the past few days, as "Tess". The feeling lasted all the way through the change of cars at Jean’s, the ride home in Kate’s car, and into bed.

 

 

Chapter X

Saturday morning, I awakened late. I wrapped myself with the only robe available in this room, a negligee left over from a previous night’s gown. Out in the hall, I discovered that the door to my bedroom - or rather, of late, Kate’s - was ajar. I knocked; she wasn’t here. Neither was her car in the driveway. A quick survey of the bedroom confirmed that she’d moved out. Ted’s belongings were back in place.

I caught my breath at that thought. I had actually thought of my male self in the third person, as though he were someone else.

I called Kate, but only got her answering machine. I almost hung up immediately, but was stopped by the message. "... If it’s Ted calling, don’t worry about the stuff in the other room, we’ll take care of it next week. If it’s Tess, I’ll call you tomorrow. Anyone else ..."

I couldn’t think of what to say, so I hung up anyway.

Jean called early in the afternoon to tell me that she was taking Kate’s turn tonight, in return for her help last Saturday.

We had an early dinner. Over the meal, she brought the conversation around to my role as "Tess", asking if that really was the end of it. She had no way of knowing that under my clothing were a most feminine set of underthings. What may have appeared to be the outline of an undershirt was actually a lace-edged camisole with wide shoulder straps.

I neither confirmed nor denied her speculations. I wanted to discourage her from pushing me toward working as "Tess" again, but I couldn’t make myself lie and say that "she" was gone forever. Especially, I didn’t want to admit - to Jean, anyway - how much I had ended up enjoying my feminine role. I settled for leaving her with the impression that my part in our arrangement was concluded.

--

I wasn’t especially surprised Monday morning, when I was told that Cheryl wasn’t coming in this week, either. Still, I didn’t volunteer to take over the board again; I waited until Elaine asked. The day went smoothly enough, calls were especially light for a Monday, but something didn’t feel quite right.

As lunch approached, Diane asked if I preferred to take my lunch first. I deferred to her. When my own turn came, I ate alone.

I didn’t know what to make of my feelings. The main sensation was a profound sadness - the reason for which, I couldn’t identify. I had a fleeting recollection of the warm glow I’d felt when functioning as "Tess". Yet, I couldn’t relate my current feelings to that experience, just yet.

It wasn’t until the subject of dinner was brought up, that I began to recognize the reason for my unease. I received some confirmation of this when I ate at Jean’s place that evening. As "Ted", I was no longer the intimate friend. It was fully confirmed at Kate’s, the next evening.

Kate had invited Diane and Jean to make a foursome for dinner. Conversation was subdued - to say the least - and Jean left early.

I still hadn’t done anything about the clothes in the spare bedroom. When it seemed appropriate, I mentioned it. Kate passed it off, saying that she’d been very busy.

"Besides," she observed, "a lot of those things are yours."

Seeing my puzzled expression, she continued, "You paid for them, that certainly makes them yours."

"What about all the clothes that were borrowed?" I asked.

"Maybe we can sort all that out this weekend," she replied.

Then, Diane asked a question that made all the difference in my life. Would "Tess" ever again appear?

I had reservations about the matter, which I expressed by saying that I really didn’t have any reason to become "Tess" again.

Diane could think of one, "How about to come over and share a meal? Tomorrow night is the last dinner you’ve earned. While I do enjoy having you as a friend, I’d go to more trouble to make the meal special, if ‘Tess’ were coming."

Thus it was, that I spent three hours, Wednesday evening, becoming Tess again, entirely on my own. Dinner conversation gravitated to my impressions of the past two weeks.

The doorbell rang.

"That’s probably dessert," Diane said, as she got up.

"Surprise!" Kate exclaimed as she entered. She laid out the shortcake and semi-frozen strawberry yogurt she’d brought. "Something light, so as not to spoil your figure," she explained as she gave my tush a friendly slap.

--

Saturday morning was spent in returning those items that had been borrowed. The rest of the day was spent by the three of us going shopping. When they finally brought me home, well after dark, we all went inside to put away my portion of the purchases. Surveying my growing feminine wardrobe, I was struck by a thought, which I expressed vocally, "Where am I going to wear all this stuff? I won’t be needing it at work any more."

Diane was quick. "You never know," she replied, "Cheryl might need a substitute again. Or, you could cover for me when I take vacation," she concluded with a grin.

She was followed by Kate, "Besides, Tess, you might be amazed at the places we’d want to take our new friend."

--

And Tess WAS.

 

{Fine, pro temporum}

copyright 1995, 1996, 2001 by Denise Em

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Denise Em. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.