Crossing Your X's And Dotting Your Y's

by Young Ovidius

Part Three

  

Scott and Debbie Raghetti had found some newfound relief and satisfaction, having shared their painful secrets with each other in a very close and personal way. Their commitment to each other and to maintain as normal a life as possible through their genital switch would soon be tested, however. Unlike the luxuries of some, they just couldn't abandon the outside world and cloister themselves. They'd ordered a gaffe and a strap-on device to help conceal their awkward conditions, yet even rush delivery wouldn't get the items to them for a couple days. Listen as they each describe their first ventures away from home following their confrontations with new, very unfamiliar parts down below.

 

DEBBIE:

I tried to convince Scott that we didn't absolutely have to wait for our new devices to arrive. They didn't operate on Sunday, so we weren't going to see them until Monday afternoon. But being the devoted religious people we are, I at least wanted us to attend one of the Sunday morning services at our church. I was of a mind that it would be more difficult to explain why we didn't show up for church than to have to look our fellow parishioners in the eye while hiding our bizarre little secrets. After all, we did have to do it sometime. And neither did I really want to get caught up in lies and excuses. Not that I was prepared to make some sort of announcement before the congregation, but it was a step forward just to go nonetheless.

When I woke up and rolled out of bed, Scott was still curled up sound asleep. But I was more occupied with an unexpected condition, that of my new package at full attention. I knew right then that getting used to this unwelcome appendage was going to be even harder than I could have first imagined. Walking around with that potency between my legs filled me with a newfound confidence but at the same time it left me with an awkward uncertainty. How did you know when it was going to stand up at attention, and what could you do about it? I was already having second thoughts about heading to church.

I watched with fascination as the powerful stream shot from my new penis and hit the open toilet lid. Getting used to the distance and trajectory of urination was a challenging experience. Reacting to the misfire, I grabbed it with two hands much like a little boy first learning how to take care of his business. Only as the stream died down did I take off one hand then both of them. It felt like taking the training wheels off my first bike. I was slowly starting to get the hang of peeing standing up, and the sudden realization put a lump of excitement and fear in my throat. It was time to move on and clean up.

My morning shower was more of a sensual experience than I ever had before. To have my own sensitive breasts as well as the out-of-place dick and balls hanging between my legs made every drop of water that hit me amplify the sensation. I couldn't help but play with it, bringing it back to erection and marveling aloud at how easily aroused it got. It gave me a new sympathy for men, one I'd never had before. After the shower, toweling off wasn't as easy as usual either. More and more I realized how sensitive the male genitals are and understanding why those guys I'd seen take a knee or a golf ball in the crotch just double over. It made sense in a very real and visceral way.

When I emerged from the bathroom half-dressed and half-made up, Scott was awake but still lingering in bed, moaning and groaning. "What's the matter with you?" I thoughtlessly called out, before giggling as I remembered his uncomfortable and unfamiliar situation. "Oh, sorry." His fierce facial expression was priceless. "So how do you like having a period?"

"Leave me alone," he grumbled, obviously having just come out of a semi-conscious stupor that confirmed yesterday's shocking discovery.

"You might want to change your pad, dear. Just a suggestion...." I went on to explain how the second day would probably be the worst for him, but that the next two were almost sure to be considerably better.

Having watched me dress and primp for a minute or so, it finally clicked with him. "Are you going to church? Like that?"

"Well, no," I joked back. "I'm going to wear more than this." The cream-colored blouse was nice, but I didn't think my fellow parishioners would appreciate seeing me in just my bulging panties below the waist.

"You think you can hide it?"

"I have an idea!" I fought back a snicker. "Can I borrow one of your maxi pads, dear?" He was speechless, as I expected, not sure how to handle that question so early on a Sunday morning. So I took the initiative and grabbed one from the box in the bathroom.

"You don't need those anymore," he muttered pathetically. "I - I...."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll buy you some more. This will do until that thing comes in the mail."

"The gaffe," he corrected.

"Yes, the gaffe." He watched as I tucked the maxi pad into my panties like I'd done so many times before, only on this occasion to tuck my new external genitalia between my legs and create the impression of a flat front. Then I put on my pantyhose and a pair of relatively loose maroon slacks, a reasonable fashion among the females of our congregation. I wouldn't look out of place. "This should work, more or less."

Studying it from his seated position, Scott concurred. "Yeah, I guess that works. It does look a bit more like, well, you used to...."

I looked over at the alarm clock. "Are you coming with me?"

"And have to run into the men's room to change my bloody pad?" he shot back caustically.

"I can see the cramps are getting to you!"

"Getting to me? Getting to me? Why...." It was just then that he stopped himself, as if he figured out that he'd been acting as one who just questioned someone who hadn't shared the same experience. He immediately realized how foolish that was.

"Look, dear. You just stay home. I'll tell people you aren't feeling well... which is entirely true!"

He grumbled under his breath. "Just what I need is people praying for me to get over my period...." I had to reassure him that it was my first priority to keep this whole thing a secret. I had to put some reason into him. What benefit could either of us gain from revealing this secret publicly?

Driving the car to church I struggled with the pain of sitting in a way that created a pinching sensation in more ways than one. I had cursed wearing pantyhose before but not like this. And when I got out of the car in a busy parking lot I struggled to scratch and readjust myself very discreetly. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I ambled confidently into the sanctuary. I'm not sure just how masculine my swagger looked, but I quickly became conscious of it and tempered it with a more mincing gait, even though it hurt to do it that way.

Inside I met my friend Sharon Peterson. We got along, being about the same age, both married and without children. She was shorter with red hair, wearing a floral dress on that particular Sunday, the most formal dress one would expect to see at our church. I'm taller with darker hair and was of course dressed a bit more casually. The primary difference between us, the new one that could have potentially redefined our relationship entirely, felt especially prominent as we were talking about our respective weeks at work. I caught myself on a couple occasions glancing down to make sure that my unexpectedly excited penis wasn't pushing its way to attention. A couple beads of sweat formed on my forehead as I silently swore thanks for thinking to put the pad in there to hold it in place.

Sharon's husband Rick wasn't there, either, so we decided to sit together through the service. Rick was an even less frequent attender than Scott, which meant this arrangement wasn't completely uncommon. I don't remember much of what the preacher spoke on that morning, but I did notice that every time I heard him from the pulpit use an expression like "men and women" I had a harder time than usual identifying myself with one group or the other. No one who looked at me or had ever known me could obviously have thought of me as anything other than a female, but I felt just a little less than sure. How many real women do you know with a six-inch stick of predatory dynamite planted in their panties? It worried me, too.

Several times during the sermon my mind wandered back to Scott, alternately feeling sorry for his plight and glad that he could experience the monthly visitor, and then appropriate guilt. Then as the service drew to a conclusion I felt a gradually growing insistence that I had desperately hoped would wait until I returned home. But then the thought of having inherited Scott's occasionally impatient bladder struck me with fear. Yes, I had to pee, and I wasted little time following the closing song making a beeline to the ladies room.

I know of few places more obviously feminine than the ladies room on the main floor of our church, decorated in plush pink with doilies on the countertops and delicate embroidery hung on the walls. And on Sunday mornings the scents of a dozen different perfumes mixed together richly to leave no doubt where you were. I'd once mused that the smell alone would alert a blind man that he had made a trip into the wrong place. But there I was, carrying around a piece of extra equipment that was utter anathema to this haven. I was eager just to get my business taken care of and return to the foyer, to my car, and home. But to avoid conversation or contact with other women in there would only arouse suspicion. And being conspicuous is the last thing I wanted.

I ducked into the farthest stall, nearly hyperventilating as I slid down the layers of clothing covering up my nearly rock-hard penis. I started having paranoid thoughts that some other woman might accidentally see something, and then what? I double-checked the lock on the door. It was secure. And though it would have been much easier to rise and face forward I did what naturally would arouse no suspicion (and what I was accustomed to doing, as well). But oh, the pain of having to push my member down and hold it there so it would stay aimed in the bowl. I must have hissed a little "ouch" from the discomfort because the occupant next to me, a voice I recognized as belonging to the pastor's wife, asked me if something was wrong.

"Just a fingernail," I fibbed, then hummed a hymn from the service aloud to cover up any stream-splash noise that might be overheard. I was in such a hurry to put the unwanted member back out of sight that I didn't wait for the last few drops to dribble in. That was something I was definitely not accustomed to. So I felt some unsettling tiny damp spots on my panties and hose. I just flushed the toilet and dashed to the sinks. Who was there but the pastor's wife Janice?

"How are you, Debbie?"

"Oh, fine, just fine." Could she detect the nervousness in my voice?

"I haven't seen Scott. Is he all right?"

Then the silly slip of the tongue. "What do you mean? I wouldn't expect to see him in here either. He is still a man and...."

"What?" she laughed. "No, of course not, Deb. I meant in the service."

"Oh, yes, of course. It's just that time... well, he's not feeling too well, you know."

I don't remember anything else that was said. I just wondered how much my face powder would cover up my reddened cheeks. I don't even think I stopped to say good-bye to Sharon as I headed for the main glass door and back to the car. I gritted my teeth as I fought the urge to scratch myself all the way until I got inside.

 

SCOTT:

I tried not to dwell too much on the ironic fact that I had to report to work on Monday because of an important monthly meeting. There was after all another completely unanticipated monthly meeting that seemed to be occupying my thoughts. It took a lot of encouraging talk from Debbie to ensure that I could push away the fears and focus on just acting normal.

"No one will notice unless you act strangely," she insisted, even after telling me her story of the bathroom at church.

"In my case I'll have no choice but to sit down. You can't fake using a urinal."

"It's just a good thing for you that men don't head to the bathroom in pairs."

"Guess so," I answered reluctantly. Then, following Debbie's suggestion, I stuffed a sock into the pouch of my briefs to give at least the impression of a natural masculine bulge.

I had learned in a short time of less than two days that I wouldn't be able to make it through the whole work day without having to change my feminine pad at least once. But before we could get there we had to figure out a way for me to carry around an extra couple Stayfrees without attracting undue attention. My wife tried to make fun and suggest that I carry a tiny purse. "Ha, ha," I replied sarcastically. We decided that I would wear the khaki cargos with the jumbo side pockets and stuff them in there. I hadn't worn them in more than a year and quickly realized why. "These don't look like something I normally wear to work. People are gonna' notice," I protested.

"They'll notice if you make a big deal out of it," was her only response.

I didn't know how Debbie was handling it all so well. After all, she'd already gone out once in her new condition and was doing so again for the second straight day. She worked 30 hours a week as a bank teller and besides that, she was also scheduled to run some errands after work. But as for me, I just wanted to get to my desk at work, and get through the meeting and the day with as little interference or extra motion as possible. It didn't help that as I started out the front door my wife had to remind me to walk like a man. The high-pitched falsetto of a 1960s pop singer went through my head as I tried to chuckle it away.

I tried to drive my pickup truck the eight miles to work with as much nonchalant bravado as I usually did. But somehow I felt especially vulnerable, which somehow translated into me acting a little extra edgy and cautious. Thankfully I'd taken a dose of aspirin with breakfast that made me feel about ten times better than I had the day before. Not quite 100 percent, but definitely livable. I even found myself thinking that this period thing wasn't altogether so bad. I pulled into the parking space, put my truck in park and turned off the ignition. Still I took a moment to look at myself in the rearview mirror before heading to my office.

For those of you who don't know (and I assume that's about everybody reading this), I sell parts for an auto supply chain. That's pretty masculine work as far as things go in today's world. Sure, I'm not blue-collar like my dad – he made a living tarring and shingling roofs. But I was far from peddling lingerie, either. And on my sales team, eight of the nine were men, like me. Not exactly men quite like me anymore. In one very important distinction I more closely resembled the newest member of the team, Angela. But that was just a little secret for me and my wife.

Now let me tell you about Angela. She'd only been with the company for about three or four months and was still learning, as far as the rest of us were concerned. You had to give her credit - she just went out and did her job. As we checked sales results each month she'd been only last or next-to-last up to that point. And my patronizing remarks didn't help, either. I know in this day and age you've got to be extremely careful what you say and do in a work situation or else you can set yourself up for a lawsuit for sexual harassment or some similar charge. But like most of the guys in the group I never missed a subtle opportunity to make her feel inferior as a woman trying to sell auto parts to retailers. Everything was about to change for me.

I think she must have noticed something was wrong right away when I failed to make any patronizing remarks to her before the meeting started. I was so wrapped up with anxiety that my new vagina might be somehow discovered that I basically tried to keep to myself, quietly sipping at my mug of coffee and pretending to study the packet we'd been handed at the door.

 

ANGELA:

I noticed something was wrong, all right. Being the auto parts salesperson with the keenest fashion sense in our group, I wondered why Scott's wife had let him leave the house wearing those khaki cargo pants. Besides, my intuition picked up on an inexplicable discomfort for him in what should have been normal surroundings. At first I chalked it up to the thought that maybe he'd had a poor month and was embarrassed about being shown up. But he ranked third in the group, so that wasn't it. Nor did he join in when the others ribbed poor Ken who finished dead last behind me. He just plain seemed a bit uneasy being one of the guys. My next inclination, and one that almost made me chuckle to myself, was that he must have been having troubles in bed. Frankly, after all the subtle comments he'd dropped my way before, I couldn't resist.

We were the last two out of the conference room, as I deliberately waited and held the door for him. He was taken aback. "Oh, th-thanks. Thank you," he stuttered.

"Is something wrong? You don't seem quite yourself...."

 

SCOTT:

I thought for a brief moment that she could see right through me. I had to fight back the paranoia that was telling me she was aware of my condition. "No, just a little under the weather." It couldn't have gone any worse from that point on. Just then I felt something strange crawling down my leg all the way to the floor. We both cast down quick glances only to see the sock I'd tucked into my underwear now lying half across my patent leather shoe.

I could tell she couldn't resist the chance to say something that must have been harbored in her mind for awhile. "Trying to compensate for something there?" But then she and I also both noticed a small spot of blood on it as well. I grew a little faint at the sudden realization. By her cold and wide-eyed expression it seemed clear she could detect the smooth surface at the front of my crotch, the smooth surface that indicated to any clear-thinking adult the presence of a woman. Still, I convinced myself she couldn't have grasped the full truth. It was almost too much for me to believe, and I was living with it personally.

I dashed into the small men's room down in the basement that got the least use, scooping up the sock as I went, narrowly avoiding a clumsy tumble as I went. It was then that I cursed the extra mug of coffee I'd drunk at the meeting. Having come this close to relief I couldn't put it off. Blowing my nose I sent a weak and longing glance at the urinals. I felt my stomach in my throat as I went into a stall and resignedly put down the seat. I breathed a sigh of relief that no one else was with me in there while I started to cut loose with a womanly fsss. Stuffing the sock back into my shorts, I turned flush white with panic as I vividly imagined the door opening and closing. In my mind's eye I was no longer alone.

The sudden rush of adrenaline made my sense of smell clearer and keener than it had been. What was that odor? It took me a brief moment to put it together, to realize it was something I couldn't ever remember smelling in a men's room before. It was the sticky, fishy vagina smell that I'd encountered but a few times before, mostly with Debbie. It was unmistakable, and I had to fight off the silly notion that someone else in there with me might notice.

 

ANGELA:

Sure, I felt just a little strange lingering right outside the men's room. But I had to find out, and I had to confront him. What I had seen after that sock came tumbling out of his pants threw me for an absolute loop, but I had to be sure my eyes weren't fooling me. A drop of blood there on the sock, and when he stood up straight for just a second before darting off – the front of his pants without any bulge, as smooth as if I were looking at myself in the mirror. My mind was racing all over the place, trying to discern the possibilities. But none of it made sense.

"Angela? What are you....?" Scott's face nearly flushed after he came out the door.

"Oh my God," I feigned a hint of embarrassment and then told a white lie. "The ladies room down here is out of order. I had to find out the hard way. Silly me, I was actually contemplating making a pit stop in there, when I froze because I heard somebody coming out..."

It was obvious something gigantic was occupying hid mind, since he completely missed an opportunity to make even the slightest hint of a put-down. "Well, that's nice. But I need to get going."

It was then that I made my bold move, just as he tried to move past me toward the stairway. "I guess you're right. I'm not so sure it's such a big deal for women to sneak in and use the men's room down here if they need to. If you need a place to sit down for some privacy... Well, after all, you just used it, didn't you?"

Scott froze at the suggestion. The subtle implication had hit home. He'd temporarily lost his cool. "What are you saying?"

I couldn't hold it in any longer, rolling the dice on my future and my reputation. "Are you really a man, Scott? I mean, were you born a woman but had some kinds of surgery or something? Or did you lose it in an accident? Because I'm really sorry for your wife if...."

He was expectedly quite angry and indignant. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Come on, Scott. We both saw the sock fall out.... Without it in there, your shape down there looks, well...."

"Well, what?"

"Well, rather distinctly feminine, if you know what I mean."

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself.

 

SCOTT:

She kept insisting to know the truth, and so I strongly suggested we discuss it in the privacy of my office. We'd pushed the limits of chance of someone catching us loitering by the men's room downstairs. And I was in for enough explaining at that point. At least in my office we had the facade of actual business.

No longer cornered by the first reaction to her brazen questions, I tried to change tactics by denying everything. If she discovered my secret and could have some sort of proof, Angela would be able to lord it over me. That was the last thing I needed. The changing of locations had given me enough time to regain my thoughts and create a grand fib in the vaguest of terms. I told her that I was suffering from some impotence-type problems down there, a difficult tack to take but better than to admit that I had a pussy. I could tell she wasn't quite buying it all, even with my acting job. "Now is that more than you wanted to know?" I concluded, confident that I'd regained the advantage. "Hope you don't mind if I probe your personal information...."

She conceded with an apology, but I could tell it was half-hearted. What I couldn't tell is how convinced she was or how much she may actually have known. I was more determined than ever that no one learn my secret and was simply hoping that I wouldn't have to abandon this job altogether, or even the state, because of someone who might have the power to blackmail me. Ravaged by the anxieties and stresses both of trying to hide my situation and then of the confrontation, I'd worn down my defenses. The difficult menstrual symptoms were back, and I desperately felt the urge for tears getting nearly too strong to control. So having checked my email, I locked up and headed home early. There was a package I needed to arrive that afternoon if I were to really regain my edge and cover up my secret well.

  

  

  

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