The Barrette

by MJ

 

Years ago, when I was in college, I worked in the dining hall of my dorm. One of my duties as a dishwasher was to pick up silverware from the trays students left on a conveyer belt as the left dinner. The conveyer belt would roll along, make a turn through a little window, and go into what we called the "scully". The dishes were taken off in a sort of a disassembly line--silverware, then glasses, then plates and bowls, and finally the empty trays. Everything would be passed on to the loader who would run it through the dishwasher, and the unloaders would take all the stuff out the other end. Quite a process.

Anyway, my job picking up silverware allowed me to go out into the hallway, and incidentally to watch all the pretty girls as they passed by. I also had to watch out for meal tickets and other stuff that were left on trays. I would pick them up and put them in a little corner near the window the conveyer belt went through, and the dining hall manager would periodically come by and pick up anything that was left there and take to the lost and found. Just about every day someone would leave a meal ticket on a tray.

One day, in addition to the usual meal tickets, I found a hair barrette. It was very pretty, and looked to be pretty old as well. It was about an inch and a half long, had two prongs in the back that a girl could unhook, slide through her hair, and reattach. It was made of brass or some similar alloy, and had a very pretty cloisonné floral design. I picked it up and put it with the meal ticket I had already found. A bit later the boss lady came by and took the ticket, but didn’t see the barrette. After work I picked it up and intended to take it myself to the lost and found. Somehow, I didn’t. After several days, I figured whomever had lost it had already checked, so there wasn’t much point in taking it there. So I decided I’d put a notice on the bulletin boards by the student mailboxes, and she’d see it, claim her prize, and incidentally strike up a relationship with me. Somehow, I didn’t do that either, and by the time the school year was over I still had this pretty, old, barrette. I put it in a small box I kept other little knickknacks in, and mostly forgot about it.

Over the years I’d sometimes see the barrette, and wonder about the girl who’d left it, and if she was sad over the loss. It looked old enough that it might have been given to her by her grandmother. I felt bad that I was irresponsible and didn’t make sure I found its owner. Then I’d put it back in the box and forget about it for a while.

One day, about 20 years after college was over and done with, I pulled the barrette out of the box. Again I mused on the mystery girl who’d lost it, and wondered if she still thought of it. I wondered what it would look like in her hair. Without really thinking about it, I slipped it into my own hair and clipped it into place. I looked into the mirror. Of course, it looked pretty stupid on a 40+ guy with short hair.

As I started to turn away from the mirror and take it off, I noticed something rather unusual out of the corner of my eye. Perched on my bed was a somewhat plump woman with wings and a little wand. I was so startled that I just stood there, my mouth open, totally speechless.

"About time you got around to putting that on, sport," said the fairy. "It’s only been 23 years, four months, and 8 days since you found it."

I finally found my voice. "Just who the hell are you, how’d you get in my house, why do you have wings and a wand, and how did you know I’d found this 20 years ago? And more to the point, why are you so precise on the number of days since I found it?"

She laughed, took a cigarette out of her pocket, and lit up. She blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling, and smiled at me. "I’ve got wings and a wand because I’m a fairy godmother. I know all about you and that barrette, because I control the uses of this very magical barrette, and I’ve been waiting a DAMN long time to fulfill my duties!"

"Fairy godmothers smoke?" I asked.

"This one does. Don’t worry—as a Fairy Godmother, I’m magic, so the smoke doesn’t hurt me at all."

I looked at her suspiciously. "What exactly do you mean by ‘magical barrette’?"

She smiled at me again, took a deep drag, and blew smoke rings. "Well, it’s like this. This barrette, as you surmised even when you found it on the dining hall tray on January 14, 1979, is very old. More than a hundred years old, in fact. It was made by a fellow fairy godmother to help out her client—a woman of dazzling beauty who was constantly pestered by ill-mannered boors who wanted her to be nothing more than a dazzlingly beautiful woman—and kept in her place. She, on the other hand, wanted to be a scientist. Very frowned upon in 1893, as I’m sure you can imagine." She took another drag, blew some more smoke rings, and continued her story. "The deal is, if this barrette is worn by a man, he will turn into a woman the next day. He’ll keep all his memories of his previous life as a man, but to the rest of the world, he was always a woman. The idea was that our beautiful woman of 1893 would be able to turn the tables on her chief tormentor, and show him for a while what women had to go through. It was supposed to be only a temporary deal, but my predecessor fairy godmother screwed up when she made the barrette, and the poor guy had to stay a woman—until he could get some other guy to wear it. Then that guy would turn to a woman, and he would turn back. Once again, to the world he’d always been a man, but he would remember his time as a woman. Hopefully he’d be more considerate towards women in the future."

She finished her cigarette and was about to put the pack away. "Hey, you want one", she asked?

"No thanks, I don’t smoke," I said. "Please continue with your fascinating story!"

"Well, as I said, the magic got screwed up a bit on the barrette. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, for this one guy only, but the second man who put it on changed over, and HE had to stay as a woman until another man put it on, and so on. We couldn’t find out how to stop it, and it’s continued on for more than a hundred years. The whole point of the thing was lost long ago; now it just sort of floats around from man to man. We always show up to help the poor sod out, so he can change back. For some reason, most men who’ve found it put it in their hair within a day or two. Most, that is, except you." She gave me a sidewise look. "You, you dip, just stuck it in that box and fantasized about your mystery girl who lost it. She’s been in her female form for all these 23 years, wondering why the heck she never changed back."

"Who was it? Anyone I knew?"

"Can’t tell you. Client confidentiality, and all that. Even we fairy godmothers have rules to follow, y’know. Suffice to say that he was a man living in your dorm, who got changed to a woman after he found the barrette, and fully expected to get things back to normal after you fell for the barrette’s lure. Only you didn’t, not until today, you big dork."

"Well, shoot…if she planted the thing so I’d find it, why didn’t she just come up to me, get me to wear it, and get it over with? I was always a sucker for a pretty girl. If she talked to me in the right way, heck, I’d wear the barrette, her underwear, and her perfume if I thought it would get me somewhere."

"That’s one of the tricks of the barrette," said the F.G. "You can’t pick your victim out at all. It has to be random. Our original client didn’t get her money’s worth, so to speak, since we work for free. The guy she wanted to punish didn’t put it on, and instead her brother did. She had a fine sister for about two weeks, when "sis" passed the barrette on to someone else. Anyway, back at college, your poor little girl there had to finish out school in the girl’s dorm, ended up getting married, had a couple of great kids, and now a couple of grandkids as well. I think she’s pretty happy about things, and will be pretty pissed to find out she’s going back. She’ll still have those kids and grandkids, but now she’ll be a dad and grandfather. Not exactly the same, when you went through all the trials and joys of motherhood."

"So I couldn’t just leave this barrette where she, now he, would find it, and put it back on? Then everyone would be happy."

"Hmmm, that’s a thought," said the F.G. "So long as you don’t specifically give it to her, I mean him (at least, she’ll be a he again tomorrow morning, when you become a she). We might be able to bend the rules a bit so that if she, I mean he, finds it, the magic will still work. I’ll have to check with my boss on that one. But in the meantime, you’ll have to deal with being a woman for a time. I’ll get back to you. For now, good night!"

"Wait!" I said. "I don’t know the first thing about being a woman! You’ll have to help me!"

But she was fading away. The last thing I heard was, "You’ll figure it out! Good luck!" And she was gone.

I sat down on the bed. "This is it," I said. "I am NEVER going to have another drink again!" I thought for a bit. "Hmmm. I didn’t have anything to drink tonight, so that’s not it. Tired, that’s what it is. I’m tired, and hallucinating. A good night’s sleep, and I’ll be right as rain! What the heck does that saying mean, anyway?" With that, I took off my clothes and jumped into bed. Good hallucination, I thought. I can still smell that cigarette smoke, and there’s a cigarette butt on my dresser….

Next morning I got up and wandered into the bathroom for a shower and a shave. I remembered something odd about the night before, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I got into the shower and lathered up, and started shaving my legs. Still, it wouldn’t come to me. I started in on my armpits, and got the left one shaved and was just starting on the right one when it hit me. The F.G.! The curse of the barrette! It was true! I had turned into a woman. I started to get out of the shower, but remembered I hadn’t finished shaving my right armpit. I finished that and stepped out. I quickly dried off and stood in front of the mirror to take stock in myself. Yup, I was a woman. Long brown hair, firm breasts, a nice trim waist flaring into shapely hips, and long legs. I turned around, looked over my shoulder, and noticed a pretty darn good ass. Not bad for 45 years old, I thought. At least I came out good looking.

I went into my bedroom and got dressed. F.G. had thoughtfully provided me with some nice clothes to wear. There wasn’t much though…just enough to get through a couple of days. I selected a nice pair of black panties and stepped into them. They were a Victoria’s Secret style and felt pretty nice against my skin. I dug around and came up with a matching bra. Getting the thing onto my boobs and fastened was a bit of a struggle, having never done that before. I fought with it for a while, and then thought of putting it on backwards first, hooking it up, and spinning it around to the back. That worked fine, and I found a cute blouse to go over the bra, and a nice skirt to go over the panties. The buttons on the blouse gave me some trouble since they were on the wrong side, but eventually I got everything in place.

I padded into the kitchen and started breakfast. I went to the door, opened it, and got the paper just as Billy the paperboy dropped it off. "Good morning, Miss Stephenson!" he said. "I’ll be by to collect later today!" Off he trotted down the street, not in the least surprised to see a woman at the house where just the day before he’d handed the paper to a man.

This was really weird, and I had a hard time believing everything in the world was as if I’d always been Miss Stephenson instead of Mr. Stephenson. Then it hit me…Pete was not exactly what a Miss Stephenson would be called. Not even a 45 year old, apparently unmarried, Miss Stephenson. The unmarried part wasn’t surprising. I’d gotten divorced some years back. That made me think. I went into the spare bedroom and pulled down a box of old photo albums from a shelf. I dug out my old wedding album, and looked closely at the pictures. There I was, radiant in my white wedding gown, standing next to a handsome man resplendent in his tux. Just who was he, I wondered. And what happened to him, when I changed sex? A little envelope fell out of the album, with "Patty" written on it. I opened it up and pulled out a note in a flowery script.

"Hi Patty", the note said. "This is from F.G.! Yes, your name is Patty Stephenson, and your ex, who formerly was Barbara Stephenson, is now Henry Dillon. You went back to your maiden name when you got divorced, which by the rules of barrette magic is the same name you had as a man. Except for Patty, of course. We couldn’t have you running around as Miss Pete Stephenson! People would wonder!"

It was signed, "Love, F.G." and had a postscript—"P.S.—I’ll only occasionally stop by in person. Otherwise I’ll leave notes for you to help you get by. I’m still checking into seeing if we can pull a transfer for the previous owner of the barrette back to a woman. I was right, he’s pretty ticked at changing back! He’d gotten so used to being a woman, and quite preferred it!"

As I pondered all of this, the phone rang. I picked it up, said, "Hello?"

"Hi Patty," said a familiar female voice. "Did you forget our tennis date today?" It was Jill, my girlfriend. Only that seemed to have a different connotation today. Indeed, I did have a tennis date with Jill. I apologized for forgetting, and assured her I’d be there in no time at all. Now, it was off to the closet to dress for tennis.

Fortunately, F.G. had provided me with a tennis dress. It was really cute—just the kind of thing I’d liked to see on women when I was a man. Short but not too short, so that I could give a nice flash of my panties when I reached for a shot. A pair of dainty tennis shoes and a pair of little footy socks went with it. I was all set. Or so I thought. As I passed by the bathroom, I saw a message scrawled on the mirror in lipstick. I went in to investigate.

"Don’t forget to do up your hair!" It was signed with a lipstick heart and "F.G."

This made me pause. How should I do up my hair for tennis? I’d never worried much about these things as a man. I’d never thought much about how Jill, my erstwhile girlfriend, managed to make herself look so good all the time. While I was thinking, I looked at the mirror again. The old message was gone, and a new one was in its place. "The top left drawer, stupid!" it said. I pulled open the drawer and saw a bunch of scrunchies. Picking one more or less at random, I pulled my hair back, wrapped the scrunchie around it, and checked the mirror. "It will have to do…<sigh>", the message said.

 

I met Jill at the tennis courts. She gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I almost gave her one back on the lips, but remembered in time that she was my girlfriend, not my "girlfriend", and resisted. We sat down to wait.

"In a bit of a hurry?" she asked. "Your hair is a bit sloppy. And your scrunchie doesn’t quite match the outfit. Here, let me fix it." She reached over and did something, and said, "Much better. Honestly, Patty, you need to pay more attention to your appearance."

We sat and watched a while. I couldn’t help noticing one couple playing nearby. The girl was very cute…nice legs, nice little ass, cute brown hair…a really pretty young woman. Jill, meanwhile, was saying, "Wow, what a hottie he is…makes me think of what my boyfriend must have looked like 20 years ago." She frowned, lost in thought. "That’s funny. I don’t HAVE a boyfriend right now. Weird. Wonder what made me think of that?"

After our game was over, we were walking back to our cars when Jill nudged me. "Hey Patty," she whispered. "That little hottie is giving you the eye!" I immediately looked over at the cute brunette, but she was absolutely oblivious. With a start, I realized that Jill meant the GUY was giving me the eye. Jill giggled. "He must like older women, if he’s looking at you instead of his cute little girlfriend!"

"Yeah," I said, distracted, trying not to look at his cute little girlfriend’s cute little ass.

When I got home, mixed in with my mail was an envelope addressed only to "Patty", in F.G.’s familiar script. I set the other mail aside and read the letter.

"Dear Patty:

I have checked with my management and we have approval to try to leave the barrette where the previous owner can find it. We still are not allowed to give you his name, and in fact if we did it would probably screw up the magic when you leave the barrette for him to find. All we can do is help you with the drop. We of course haven’t told him anything about the possibility of getting back to womanhood, again for fear of screwing up the magic. About all we can do is help him readjust as a man, just as we are helping you adjust as a woman. Hang in there! We’ll get you back to normal soon!"

I sighed, put the letter away, and went about the rest of my business.

Sunday morning, I realized that I would have to do something, and soon, about my clothing situation. F.G. had only left me two pairs of panties, one bra, a couple of blouses and skirts, and a pair of jeans (plus the tennis outfit, which I did not think I could wear to work). This all made me pretty apprehensive. I did not know how to go shopping for women’s clothing. Okay, I could probably manage to buy some lingerie, as I’d put the odd pair of undies for my ex, and for Jill too. Then again, I realized that I was mostly buying them with sex in mind, and that kind of stuff probably wasn’t suitable for everyday use. While I idly fondled my few pairs of panties, I found a note tucked into them. I was no longer surprised by F.G.’s method of communication. "Look, Patty, we can’t provide everything for you. You have to learn to live as a woman, in case you can’t ever get the barrette exchanged. After all, your predecessor waited more than 20 years! The best way to learn is to just plunge in head first. You will simply have to go shopping for clothes if you want to wear something appropriate to work tomorrow! To help you out, we’ve given you a debit card with a $1000 balance. And there’s always Jill…heaven knows she wanted to go shopping with you often enough before the change!" That was true. Jill always liked shopping, and tried to drag me along, much to my distress. It was settled then. I called Jill, and we were off on a shopping expedition.

Jill was an enthusiastic shopper. And, to my surprise, I had a wonderful time. She really didn’t seem much interested in my lame excuse about why I needed a complete new wardrobe (I claimed to have spilled bleach on my clothes, and ruined everything from panties to casual wear). Clearly, she just wanted to have fun. Our first stop, she explained, was the basics…underwear. We went boldly into the Victoria’s Secret and started in on panties. "Second Skin Satin" was the consensus choice…Jill’s favorite, and soon mine. The feel of the silky smooth fabric against my skin was heavenly, and my clothes slid on and off with ease. Bras, of course, were next. We got a few matching Second Skin Satin bras, a Miracle Bra for those special occasions, and a couple of more basic ones for casual situations. I then started for the pantyhose, figuring they might come in handy for a gal. Jill let me pick up a couple of packages, but she quickly steered me to some more interesting fare. Garters and traditional nylons. "Garters and nylons?" I said.

"Yep," she replied with a wink. "They are really quite comfortable, and oh so sexy…and only you have to know you are wearing them…unless you want someone else to know! My boyfriend has been trying to get me to wear them for months, but little does he know I already do…." Jill’s voice trailed off. "Boyfriend?" she said. "What am I thinking? I’m between boyfriends." She looked confused, probably as much as I did, especially since I WAS her boyfriend, albeit in a different body. And yes, I’d been trying to get her to wear garters and nylons. I had no idea I’d been successful. That little minx had been toying with me!

After VS, we hit the clothing stores and picked up a couple of demure knee-length skirts for work, a nifty short little black dress for evening fun (which would be very daring with the stockings!), blouses, sweaters, jeans, you name it, we got it. I’m afraid I came quite close to maxing out the debit card that FG gave me. On our way out the mall, we passed by a makeup counter where a woman was giving out free makeovers. I started to pass on by but Jill said, "C’mon, Patty. You could use a makeover. You are certainly pretty enough without makeup, but a little bit couldn’t hurt now and then."

 

I wasn’t so sure. After all, what could this old lady know about makeup and pretty girls? But I let myself be talked into it. As I sat in the chair for the session, the woman winked at me. It was F.G., and I must admit that she was very skilled. I came out of that makeover looking very pretty indeed, only somehow looking like I was hardly wearing any makeup at all. What’s more, F.G. actually taught me how to do it myself, a skill I figured would come in handy Monday morning when I got ready for work.

That night, as I went to bed, I realized Jill and I had forgotten one thing…a nightgown. So, darn it all, I had to sleep in those sexy VS undies and nothing else.

As you might understand, my first day at work as a woman had my knees shaking. Even though FG assured me (in another of her mysterious notes that would appear out of nowhere) that as far as my office was concerned, I’d always been a woman, I was still a nervous wreck. I decided that modesty was the best policy. I passed on the garter belt and nylons and went with the standard pantyhose. A pair of white panties, matching white bra, knee length blue skirt, blue blouse. I tied my hair into a demure ponytail and went light on the makeup. My lipstick was a subtle shade of pink, and I wore no eyeshadow. A practical pair of low-heel shoes completed my ensemble, and I was off to work.

I work in an engineering firm. Just like Dilbert in the comics, I dwell in cubicle land. Across the aisle from me is the world’s biggest jerk, Bobby. He was always hitting on the secretaries and other gals in the office complex. His methods bothered me, but I never paid that much attention to it. This day, however, I had to, because Bobby, apparently, had been hitting on me all his working life. The first words out of his mouth as I entered the office suite was, "Hey, Patty babe…lookin’ good! How about a shorter skirt tomorrow though, huh?" I’d heard this sort of crap before, only dished out to women. Now that I WAS a woman, and on the receiving end, what before was only vaguely disturbing incident became very personal and very disturbing. I gave Bobby a withering glare and sat down at my desk. As I booted up my computer, I noticed him covertly glancing at my legs. I pulled my skirt down over my knees and turned my back to him. Other than this kind of crap, my job was pretty much the same as normal. Everyone treated me the same as always (everyone except Bobby the Boob, that is), and the day went by as quickly (or slowly) as normal.

As the days went by, I found myself spending more and more time with Jill, and becoming closer to her than I ever had as her boyfriend. I saw a completely different side to her. We had so much fun going out shopping (and spending F.G.’s money) that I began to understand just why women liked doing that so much, even if they had nothing they really needed to buy. Shopping for lingerie and clothes was great fun, as was shopping for swimsuits. Jill helped me pick out a couple of nice tanksuits and even a bikini or two. She talked me into getting a thong bottom, "just for fun", but I never had the nerve to wear it at the beach. I did have some fun one night when we went out on the town. I wore the standard Little Black Dress (not too short) with garters, nylons, and a thong panty. It was fun to "flirt" a bit with the guys, although since I was so recently a man I was finding the young ladies at the bar pretty darned attractive. Things almost got out of hand, though, when I’d had a couple of drinks too many and found, to my shock, that I was flirting with a man half my age. It was even more shocking when we found ourselves alone in my house. Jill dropped us off and took off for her place. She hadn’t had anything to drink, so the drive was safe enough, but I wasn’t sure how I got myself into a situation where me and the guy were messing around in the back seat kissing and fondling each other. He seemed to delight in sliding his hand up my ;eg and caressing my bare thigh above the stocking…just as I’d always wanted to do with Jill.

Inside the house, things started to get pretty serious. He had me half undressed (blouse, panties, and stockings, nothing else) and was working on the blouse buttons when I panicked. "I’m a man!" I thought. "I’m not attracted to men! I can’t go through with this!" To stall for time, I asked him if he wanted another drink. Sure, he said, so I fixed him up a very strong one. After he drank it, he began again on my blouse, more clumsily this time. Soon the blouse was off and there I was just in my undies. Soon one stocking, then the other, was disconnected from the garters. In spite of myself I was getting pretty hot. I suppose it was the female hormones, and my body, acting on its own, was responding as any female body would. But, in the nick of time, all that alcohol he had been drinking kicked in. Just before he pulled my panties down, he conked out. I left him snoring on the couch, put a blanket on him, and went to bed. I was still pretty hot, though, and had to take care of that before sleep. I imagined myself making love to Jill, only both of us were wearing stockings and nothing else.

Finally, nearly a month after the change, F.G. contacted me about the barrette’s previous owner. She lived in Chicago, and a plan had been made for the switch. That is, if I still wanted to. F.G. advised me to do it, just for the sake of the previous owner, who was still pretty sore at becoming a man again. It was my choice, though. If I enjoyed my life as a woman, the other guy would have to lump it.

I thought long and hard on this one. The one person I wanted to tell and ask advice of was Jill. I knew I could count on her, my best friend, to give me good advice. But she’d think I was off my rocker if I told her the story. I could not think of any way to prove it, so I never did tell her. The trouble was, I was enjoying being a woman. It was pretty fun to dress up, pretty fun to wear sexy lingerie underneath more sober clothes, pretty fun to go out shopping, or out for the evening and look at what every other girl was wearing (well, I liked to do that before, too). But in the end I decided I wanted to go back.

Monday morning, I found out that my boss had to send me to Chicago for urgent business. I was to leave that afternoon and come back a couple of days later. I was a bit confused, but when he handed me the plane tickets I saw a note inside from F.G. It was all, of course, her doing. I’d get further instructions once I got to Chicago. "Just don’t forget to bring the barrette, you lunkhead!" she wrote, affectionately.

As I left work, I had to endure one more of Bobby the Jerk’s sexist comments. "Nice ass, Patty," he whispered at me as I left my cubicle. I pretended I didn’t hear, but "accidentally" dropped my purse. As I bent down to pick it up I made sure he got quite a view of that nice ass…and this day, I was wearing garters and stockings, so I know he got quite an eyeful. As I sensed him leaning forward, I let out a nice, quiet but deadly fart, that got him right in the nose. I laughed all the way to the airport.

At first Chicago was just a whirlwind of business. This part was all real work, and no time for play or even thinking about the barrette. Finally when it was all done, and I had agreed to have dinner with my business counterpart, I could think about how the exchange might take place. When I got back to my hotel to dress for dinner, F.G. had left detailed instructions. I was to wear the barrette in my hair, and sometime during the dinner I was to take it off and leave it next to my plate. That was it. She’d take care of the rest. "But how will I know what restaurant to go to, where the previous owner will be?" I asked out loud. A new line appeared on F.G.’s note. "Don’t worry. We Fairy Godmothers use magic, remember? I made sure your date for tonight made reservations at the right place."

I’m afraid I can’t remember too much about the dinner. I know I talked with my business contact, apparently convincingly enough because I don’t recall any strange looks. But I really felt distracted. One thing I do remember is the waiter kept looking at me, like he’d seen me somewhere before. I put it out of my mind, though, and tried to focus on my "date." Finally the waiter brought over the bill. "I’ll pay," I said. "After all, I’m on an expense account!" My "date" smiled and said sure. I looked over the bill. Penciled in at the bottom was a note that said, "The barrette, dummy! Don’t forget, unless you want to stay a woman!" I put the bill down on the little tray, and got my credit card out of my purse. As the waiter took the card away, I casually removed the barrette and palmed it. I took some bills out for the tip, and put them on top of the barrette. My friend and I then got up to leave. As I was putting my coat on, I casually looked back at the table. The waiter was picking up the tip and suddenly stopped. I could see him holding the barrette and looking at it with a startled look on his face. I realized then that he had been looking at me earlier because he saw the barrette in my hair and thought it looked familiar. Now it was in his hand, and he had no doubt what it was. He looked up to see if he could spot me, but at that moment a woman walked in front of him, blocking his view. It was F.G., of course. After she passed by, I saw the waiter walking away, with his hand in his pocket. With that, I left with my "date" and went back to my hotel (alone…no near-seduction this time!).

I had a very thoughtful flight back home, still as a woman. I was wondering why I hadn’t waken up that morning as a man. That mystery was solved on the plane, as strangely enough an article in the airline’s inflight magazine explained once again the workings of magic barrettes. The waiter (who, the article explained, was just a few weeks ago a waitress working there) hadn’t yet put it on. The author (F.G., of course) was pretty sure it would happen, and soon. But if not, I had to be prepared to wait, maybe for another 23 years, just like he/she had to wait. Finally, I returned home, and went to bed with great trepidation.

The next morning I woke up, stumbled into the bathroom for a shower and a shave. I was halfway through shaving under my nose when it hit me. I had changed back! I was so startled I cut myself. I checked the anatomy to make sure…yep, I had all my previous parts back. I finished shaving, got dressed, ate, and went to work. Bobby, as usual, was harassing the gals in the office. "Shut up, Bobby," I said. "You make me sick, the way you treat these fine women." Bobby and the gals looked at me, stunned. He slunk back to his cubicle and didn’t say much the rest of the day.

When I got home I gave Jill a call. I had noticed that I only had clothes for a couple of days. "Would you like to go shopping with me, Jill? I need to buy new clothes…I kinda ruined most of my old ones in the laundry. I, um, spilled bleach over everything."

Just before I left to pick up Jill, I closed the drawer on my dresser. I noticed something inside…a pair of black stockings, garter belt, panties, and a bra. A little note from F.G. said, "Here’s a little memento for you. You can’t go the rest of your life without a reminder!"

 

Author’s note:

I really do have a barrette, just like I describe in the story. I really did find it on a tray in the dining hall at college, and the boss really did fail to pick it up with the meal tickets. And I really did consider trying to return it to its owner, but somehow never did. I still have it stashed away in a little box. I’ve even tried it on, but it didn’t do anything magical and looked pretty dumb in my short hair. I’ve often wondered about whom it belonged to, and how much she might have missed it. It’s sad to think that I’ll never know.

 

 

 

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