Disabled for Life                  by: Rachel Ann Cooper           ©1998

 

Part 1

Believe it or not, Joanne and I were in a major traffic accident just miles from our home in Fairmount, Indiana on the day of our wedding. We were headed to Indianapolis on our honeymoon when some nitwit ran us off the road in the snow and the car flipped over several times and we ended up in a ditch. I should have gotten the message by now. That’s the second red car I’ve trashed. And we were lucky to be alive.

Anyway, Joanne was alright by some miracle while I, on the other hand, would never be the same. My back was so screwed up that even the plant where I worked wouldn’t hire me back as a janitor, as just the motion of sweeping with a broom, they feared, would have me filing a claim against them or perhaps I wouldn’t be able to get out of the way of an oncoming forklift quickly enough. As it was, I ended up having to file for disability income after having been certified unemployable by three doctors and, after about six months of fighting the ‘system’, was granted a disability pension almost equal to what I’d been making at the stamping plant. I was only 26 at the time. I guess that’s why they fought me so hard. In addition to the back, I had lost my robust appetite and had gone from 175 pounds on my 5'7" frame down to 135 and looked a trifle delicate, I’m afraid, for a man. I felt that way too a lot of the time, especially in the company of my former fellow workers. They’d slap me on the back now and fairly knock me over. That wasn’t the worst of it.

It was quite apparent that we could not live very well solely on my disability income with no overtime coming in as it did before, so, with the money from the other guy’s insurance company, I sent Joanne to nursing school. That’s what she wanted. She was a nurturer although sometimes a little bossy with me personally. I suppose she was just releasing some of the tensions from school and work and I didn’t give it much thought.

Having nothing to do when you are that young is a burden, I can tell you. It can seriously damage your feelings of self worth. I needed to regain that feeling, somehow. As a man, your value of self worth involves being what you DO. You ARE what you do. I suppose that’s true of some women too. People don’t place much value on being a mom or housewife but there is great value there too, I know. I surely appreciated all the work my mom put into our home and keeping Dad happy, and when push comes to shove, it is the mothers of the world who truly raise the children, regardless of sex. There were days when I got up and had to go to work that I envied her ability to just roll out of bed and go to work at home. So, I began working on ways to occupy my idle time, having no job to go to anymore. Actually, I suppose I was a bit depressed and it showed. Being a nursing student, Joanne decided I should see a doctor that she had become acquainted with at school about my depression.

We arrived at the appointed hour and were ushered into his consultation room. "Well, Mr. Blasedale, Karl isn’t it, I understand you are having a bit of an identity crisis since losing your livelihood, is that about it?" "Well, yes doctor, that sums it up fairly well. I’m having trouble dealing with being left in charge of the house. I mean, I wasn’t raised to keep house and I have mixed feelings. I don’t know quite what to do about it." "I see. Well, in cases like this, we usually prescribe what I call the quick and dirty solution. By the nature of your disability, we can probably count on your becoming a ‘house husband’ and with your general build, this should work out just fine. We could waste your money in months of psychotherapy or we can just give you some medication that will aid in your adjusting to your new role in life. How does that sound?" "I guess that would be fine, doctor. Whatever you can do will be appreciated. I just hate feeling at odds with myself and I really want to take care of the domestic chores for Joanne’s sake so she doesn’t have to. I’d really like to be in tune with my life again."

"Alright. Here are three prescriptions that will help you adjust to your new status. Take them as directed. Two are for pills and one is for a shot that your wife can give you once a week. These will all interact to help you adjust to being at home and to your new responsibilities. Expect some side effects but do your best to enjoy them. I believe you will truly learn to enjoy them. It’s for your own good. Just be faithful in taking your medicine and in the discharge of your new duties and you should have a very satisfying life in no time at all. Stop back in two or three months and let me see how you are doing." "Thank you doctor. We will," said Joanne. We left his office without too much being said. I suppose we were both thinking about what this might to do our relationship.

Three weeks later:

I loved to play billiards but I couldn’t live in a pool hall and besides, what with table rentals and the side bets, it got expensive. And then Joanne got the idea that maybe I’d enjoy REALLY taking care of the house, yard and flower beds as she used to before she got her nursing degree. We had discussed it of course but now we were considering the ramifications in earnest. It would truly place me in the role of a housewife, but at least it would give me purpose and direction, something I now lacked. The effects of the pills and shots hadn’t taken hold yet and I was still at odds with myself and didn’t know what to expect from them anyway. I’d always appreciated how neat she kept our home and frankly didn’t know if I could live up to those standards but what the heck, I decided to give it a try. The place was beginning to show neglect and I remembered how much pleasure it seemed to give my mom seeing things nice and orderly.

As long as I didn’t sit around all day munching on bonbons getting fat and watching the soaps, I could get some work done and feel good about myself. As it was, poor Joanne had been coming home and trying to play catch up on the work and was really looking tired. I’m sure I was feeling a little guilty about that as the medication hadn’t seemed to kick in yet and truth be known, we had no idea just exactly what it was supposed to do for me. Well, at least I didn’t have an idea!

It took me a couple months, but I finally got a routine going and learned how to do all that typically girl stuff that Joanne had learned at home at her mother’s side, only I had to learn it by trial and error with a few pointers from Jo as she wasn’t home when I was doing most of it. The stuff I really couldn’t figure out, like how to iron a shirt, Joanne showed me. And then it happened. I became a neat freak just like she was. It sort of snuck up on me. Oh, whoa is me! I didn’t even feel it coming. All of a sudden a clean house meant all the dishes washed all the time and not a spot of dust anywhere, washing and ironing done, floors clean, both Jo’s and my things folded or hung smoothly, beds made and my satin nightshirt hung neatly in the closet. I’d done it. Nothing was out of place, except for ME, of course. I suppose the medication was finally working. And, about time too, thank Heaven. And there I’d be standing at the door when she got home with a refreshing drink for her. How cliche!

I was really becoming a ‘housewife’ more than a house husband, and feeling a bit out of place so decided to wear a pinafore apron over my clothes while cleaning and doing dishes. If I had to be any form of domestic help, a nice apron seemed appropriate. Well, I know I was just wearing blue jeans but somehow the pinafore seemed more in keeping with my new duties. I kind of liked it actually, and it was, as they say, job appropriate, and I somehow felt better dressed a little more domestically. I really don’t know why but I was more motivated lately in that ‘wifely’ direction. I’d made no connection between these feelings and my medication at this point but it was having an insidious effect on me nonetheless.

I’d even taught myself to iron shirts and blouses really well after Joanne’s instructions. The flat stuff was easy. I didn’t really have any junk clothing to wear for cleaning or kneeling in the flower beds though and, knowing what Joanne wore, took to wearing that nice apron and a pair of Joanne’s capri pants around the house during the day as it was getting warmer and the jeans were rather hot. The first time Jo came home and saw me like this, she laughed so hard she had to sit down before she fell over. I thought she was going to pee herself.

"Alright. Now my feelings are hurt. What’s so funny. Is it me in an apron and capri pants?" "No, no", she said, regaining some composure between giggles, "the apron and capri pants are fine. I mean, you ARE the keeper of the house and can wear whatever you want but don’t you think that outfit would look a little more domestic and comfortable without the rugged mountain boots at the bottom? That’s a ridiculous look for a house husband. For heaven’s sake, put something lighter on your feet." "Like what?" "A pair of slip ons." "Don’t own any. My loafers fell apart, remember?" "Oh, yes, well, MY slip ons then, a pair of flats. Would it kill you?" "I might survive it but I’d be dressed like a girl right down to my toes. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with looking like a girl. You do it very nicely. But ME? You’d be willing to have me wear your shoes or clothing to work around the house?" "Well, you are rather IN my shoes already in a very real sense, aren’t you, and you are already wearing some of my clothes too." "I see your point." "I could buy you some shorts and nice tops." "No, the capris are OK for now." Why did I say ‘for now’?

"Under the circumstances, I really think you will like it" Jo said. Flats are very light and comfortable compared to those clodhoppers of yours. You’re not climbing a mountain here, just homemaking, remember? You need an identity and homemaker is a respected one. That requires a kinder, gentler dress code, more domestic, feminine even, if it won’t hurt your masculine ego to death." "OK. I can’t believe I’m going along with wearing girl’s shoes but I’ll go change. I wonder what the heck is IN that medicine." "Oh, just one thing. I don’t want you tearing up the linings so wear a pair of my opaque socks or my satin knee high hose with them, OK?" "Yeah. I don’t want to stick to them either. I hate sticky shoes. That’s why I never went without socks with my loafers like some men do only now I don’t have any. I HATE going without hose, socks...you know what I mean!"

Well, Joanne was right, a pair of flats sure beat my hiking boots. It was like not having shoes on at all compared to my boots. They looked sort of like sexy slippers but terribly feminine and rather cute, even on MY feet. I guess we wear the same size but our sizes are different. I think they turn my big toe in a little but they’re comfortable. Men’s and women’s shoes must be sized differently. Just learned something new. I had chosen a pair of her white patterned opaque knee highs as I was a bit put off by the idea of sheer hose at this point. Even at that, they WERE satiny and I’d never felt anything like that on my legs before. It felt very nice, very nice indeed.

It was quite a little sensual feeling even with the hairy legs but that incongruous image put me off some. I mean a leg that ends in pretty shoe shouldn’t look like it belongs to a lumberjack. Oh, well! I liked the way my feet looked though. They were almost cute and I liked the way the shoes felt. I admit I was a little sexually aroused by wearing them. I could come to like this, maybe. A woman’s place is in the home they used to say and then someone coined the phrase, "a woman’s place is at the mall." ‘I could just see me at the mall in my capri pants and flats. Not!

I don’t quite know when the shift occurred in my mind, but I truly became the lady of the house. Joanne was out doing the guy thing earning us a good living and she was even a pretty good mechanic with the car and I had begun to think about taking care of her the way she used to take care of me. I think I might have even begun to move a little differently due to the shoes being so light and comfy and the capri pants which were a little tight. When I was doing the housework with my pinafore on, I simply seemed incapable of thinking like a man or even a male. I began thinking like a housewife and that felt very natural. I believe I even adopted a little wiggle in my walk. I felt a little campy but I didn’t care.

The doctor said the medication would help me deal with my new situation. Thinking of myself as a wife was not as repugnant as I once would have thought. But then, I never thought I’d see the day when my body would begin losing it’s muscle tone either and that was certainly happening also. Funny, it was actually easier to do some things around the house without those old muscles getting in the way. I liked that part but my fat was shifting too.

I even wore that apron, the full, over the neck pinafore one and the neighbors might see me out hosing down the sidewalk in it or sweeping the porch. Again, strangely, I didn’t much care. With capris or shorts on, it looked like I was wearing a skirt I suppose, since I didn’t bother to change out of ‘my’ flats or sandals and with my long, wavy hair and all, well, I can see how someone might get the ‘wrong’ impression from a distance. And since I had to go out and do the grocery shopping too, I saw the same ladies in the stores every week. Of course, I didn’t wear Jo’s clothes to the store although I must admit, the idea DID cross my mind a few times. Mine felt so scratchy to me now.

We began talking, you know, like women DO in the stores when they are the congenial type which people say I am. No, not a woman, congenial. I looked forward to chatting with them. Boy, I’ll tell ya’, women talk about EVERYTHING you can imagine and after a while, my being a male didn’t seem to matter once they got to know me. I couldn’t figure out whether it was me who was changing them or they who were changing me but something was definitely happening to my thinking patterns. I even sounded different to myself and I guess I was picking up on their language, expressions and inflections both in voice and hands. I suppose I WAS becoming more comfortable with my new role in spite of my original fears. I couldn’t believe how EXPRESSIVE I had become around them lately. I swear I was beginning to really act feminine, like a girl.

Since I didn’t have any really casual shoes, noted by wearing her flats and sandals at home instead of casuals I didn’t have, she bought me a couple pairs of moccasins with several colors of leather on the woven vamp to wear out shopping and such. They seemed cut rather low, straight across the vamp and had a little leather string tie on the vamp but they were very comfortable and lightweight, almost like not having shoes on at all, so I began wearing them shopping and around town. They had a low wedge heel and they made my feet look tiny although they weren’t very sexy. I suspected they might not even be a man’s shoe but that didn’t seem to upset me. I thought they looked cute. The following week, she brought a black patent pair of pretty skimmer flats home with a slightly raised, sculptured heel. "Get yourself a new pair of shoes, I asked? They’re really very cute." They were very feminine and sexily low cut at the vamp.

"No, dear. I got YOU a new pair. Pretty aren’t they? Do you like them?" "Well, yes, they’re really pretty but for ME, I asked with more excitement than I expected? You want ME to wear these sexy feminine female dress shoes? You don’t mind?" "Yes. If you will. I’d like to see you in them and I think you’ll enjoy them and I hate to see you deprived of some of the pretty things a housewife would get to wear. Frankly, I have felt a little guilty about your new status and I want you to look and feel good and get comfortable with it like the doctor said."

"Want me to try them on?" "Of course. I think they’ll look darling on you. Put a pair of my slacks on." "Well, not with these socks they won’t." "You’re right. Better put on some regular sheer knee highs too. With the hose and feminine slacks came the realization that these shoes were very feminine and sexy women’s shoes and they fit perfectly too and would probably be just as appropriate with a skirt and for a fleeting instant the idea of returning in a skirt hit me but left just as quickly. ‘Well, I’m doing women’s work. I think I deserve to look a little sexy! I realized that I loved the shoes and black patent is so sexy too. What was happening to my thinking? Just because I was keeping house didn’t mean I had to dress like a woman and yet the idea had definite appeal to me. Was it the shots? What was in this stuff I was taking? Was this what the doctor meant by helping me adjust? The down and dirty solution, he said. I wonder what’s next? Joanne had a broader bottom than me but her slacks fit surprisingly well. Heaven knows I was having quite a time getting into my old jeans lately.

I wonder what it feels like to wear panties? They certainly feel nice on Joanne’s rump. Could they feel as good on mine? I look like a girl from the waist down now anyway except for the little bulge which seems to have been caused by these pretty new shoes. I decided to wear a really colorful pair of Joanne’s dress slacks with the new shoes instead of a skirt. "Oh, I was right. They are perfect on you dear and your fanny looks nice in my slacks too" she said. I think you are doing a little growing in places honey and it looks good on you."

The next thing I knew, she was standing in front of me with a plain white, polyester blouse, just standing there in front of me holding it out with one finger and with an expression on her face that said, "WELL?" So, what could I do? I put it on. "Now, that is a nice picture of my little housemate," she said. "Stay that way." I did as I was told and began to wonder why I hadn’t just gone ahead and put a pair of panties and a bra on in the first place. There WERE little bumps in the blouse after all. I’d noticed them before of course, but wearing a blouse really made them obvious without a tee shirt on underneath. They were so ‘perky’. Joanne was effusive and I must admit, I liked the way I looked.

After I got my cleaning and housekeeping system working, the gardening on top of the housework, laundry and groceries couldn’t keep me busy, but I really still didn’t want to fall into my old habits of hanging out at the pool hall. Besides, I was no longer dressed for the pool hall and I liked the way I was dressed. The gardening, for which I also wore Jo’s clothes and sneakers, only took a couple hours a week. I did wear the moccasins a lot for the housework but always changed into my pretty patents and a pair of Joanne’s slacks afterward and took to wearing sheer thigh high hose with them. Oh yes, I knew they were ultra feminine but they looked so pretty on my feet and I really enjoyed them so. Looking down at my pretty feet seemed to re-enforce the fact that I was now the homemaker, the lady of the house so to speak.

One time, before she got home, I changed into some pantyhose with a pair of her shorts, a poet’s blouse and flats. Boy, that gave me goose bumps. I felt so girlish and sexy. I’d never had pantyhose on before but I changed out of that before she got home. She suggested I may as well also wear a blouse around the house and so I did, pretty much abandoning my small collection of shirts to an expanding collection of pretty blouses.

There I was doing the flower beds dressed completely from head to toe as Joanne would be and with her gardening hat over my lengthening and now well kept hair. Why, one of the neighbors even waved to me when I was out in the yard and said "HI, JOANNE!" I waved back. That lady needs a new optician. Certainly I didn’t look at all like Joanne. I had lost all that weight and our hair color was different but still... Under the circumstances, I could understand how she may have mistaken me for a girl, maybe, but not Joanne. Must be the clothes or maybe the pony tail sticking out of the top of the hat. I wasn’t even wearing any makeup. Now, what made me think about makeup? Did I want to wear makeup too? That thought did give me a little rise in my shorts, naughty me!

Funny. It was a smaller rise than I would have expected.

Well, I needed another hobby to replace the pool hall and gardening wasn’t going to cut it. I couldn’t sew or knit. What was I going to do? Then I fell into the trap. I started watching a few of the soaps. Boy, those things were addictive. They were pretty racy too sometimes, and there was just about any kind of bad and unusual behavior on them you’d ever imagine. There were a lot of bedroom scenes in them too and as I watched them, I had a little identity crisis, not knowing with whom I identified, the boy or the girl. First it was an hour, then two, then three. I knew I had to get away from them and so started watching some of the talk shows that I’d never been able to watch before when I was working.

So there I’d be, vegged out, curled up on the recliner after my chores were done in a pair of short shorts and sheer pantyhose and Joanne’s mid heeled sandals or my patent skimmers and a blouse, taking all that trash into my brain while sipping on an iced tea. Never knew I could curl up before either. My muscles had gotten in the way but now I was much more limber. Oh, the sandals: well, Joanne had been the one to suggest wearing her clothes and shoes since I didn’t want to dirty mine and hers were more comfortable, like I said even though I did feel a bit self conscious at first. I got over it. All of a sudden, that phrase seemed very logical for whatever reason, I can’t tell you.

On occasion, I even tried sandals with a bit more of a heel and found them both sexy and comfortable and I would meet her at the door in my garb looking as nice as I could for her. Defining that a little further; I’d be in a blouse, hose, my patent skimmers or a pair of her dress shoes and dress slacks. "You’re doing a beautiful job honey, she said. Our home looks lovely and I don’t mind if YOU look a little beautiful too. I don’t mind at all if you want to be a little more, shall we say, ...ornamental" she said with a little wink. "I think you deserve to look a little pretty if you have to stay home and slave over a hot stove." She didn’t have to wink at me twice to know that she was enjoying seeing me dressed like a girl. (I finally reasoned that my embracing my new role and all this femininity had to be tied to my medication. I felt so mellow now after several months on the shots and pills and my body was doing some rather interesting things too, encouraging me to be more and more feminine. I’d soon need a serious bra if this kept up and her slacks were now snug.)

I came to agree with her and so, began trying on a few more of her things. Oh, not her dresses, but I did try on a pair of her high heeled pumps once and felt so naughty doing it too. I put on a pair of sheer thigh highs and everything. What a rush! I got quite a reaction to that experience, goose bumps and tight panties to be precise and had to go ‘relieve’ myself in the bathroom, and I did begin borrowing her jeans, slacks, flats and an occasional blouse and skirt. I found I liked skirts once I got the hang of wearing them. They gave me a freedom pants never could and they caressed my nylon covered legs at every step making me feel quite girlish especially if I wore a pair of high heels. It was a rather thrilling feeling that turned me on but I’m afraid I was now walking like a girl ALL the time. The other wives I saw at the market had become ever so friendly of late. They don’t treat me anything like a guy any more.

In fact, I must have tried out all of her casual clothes over the next few weeks. I was beginning to feel, I don’t know, more ‘at home’ in hers than anything of mine. No telling what she’d come home and find me in anymore but she never complained. In fact, she usually had something nice to say unless I mismatched colors or fabrics or something. Thus, I began to get an education in the art of color and style coordinating as well as an education in something I wasn’t even giving any thought to, that is, my feminine sizes in clothing and ever so subtly, the demeanor of wearing such clothing. I was moving differently than I used to, acting more like how I was dressed I guess, more like a woman.

And then one Friday, Joanne came home and told me that I had an appointment with the doctor Saturday morning at 10. "Oh, for pity’s sake Joanne, what in the world am I going to wear? Just look at me. I don’t even fit into any of my male clothes any more. What am I going to do?" "Oh, PLEASE, sweetie, get over it. Don’t you think the doctor expected something like this? If you must, just wear a pair of slacks and a blouse with appropriate lingerie and flats. A touch of lipstick and blusher might be a good idea too." "Really" I asked incredulously? Lipstick?" "Yes honey, lipstick. You are quite cute you know? Besides, you don’t look much like a boy any more."

Well, I took her advice and we went. I say WE because I was scared to death to be out with makeup on, looking so girlish and going to this doctor who, at last seeing me, saw a male for treatment. As we entered his office he beamed and said, "aw, the Mrs. Blasedales. Come in girls." "Hello doctor"said Joanne." "Slip up here on the table Karl. And please take off your blouse and bra." Although quite embarrassed by all this, I did as directed which elicited a "well now, we HAVE come a long way, haven’t we? Are you still going by Karl?" "Why, yes doctor. Why?" "Those are coming along nicely dear. Perfectly healthy.

<writing> Here are some new ‘scripts. Get them filled and just feel good about yourself Karl but I’d really think about a name change if I were you. Karla, Kathryn, Kathleen, Karen, something like that OK?" "Uh, sure doctor. If you think it best. Joanne and I need to talk I think."

Our conversation on the way home was rather animated what with her putting forth all the reasons the doctor’s suggestion made sense. Damn it! It made perfect sense. Joanne and he wanted me to be happy in my new role and what was my new role? HouseWIFE, that’s what. Boobs and buttocks galore; long, well kept wavy hair and makeup. Long polished fingernails. By the time we arrived home, it was decided on Kathleen after my Irish grandmother. Kathy for short. That was the last time I remember being called Karl.

It’s funny. Ever since I became a neat freak housewife type, it seems I’ve had the urge to look the part and then some. I know it’s wrong. Well, if it isn’t wrong, it surely feels like it should be. I shouldn’t feel this way. Well, I don’t THINK I should anyway but Joanne doesn’t seem to mind at all. It just seemed to feel so comfortable and right, considering my situation though. I’ve always thought the expression ‘house husband’ was a bit demeaning but housewife wasn’t, even if it applied to me, Kathy Blasedale. House husband had a strangely out of phase connotation for me. My feelings toward my breadwinner took a more ‘wifely’ bent almost from the start of this new round of medication as I began seeing her as our provider and myself as the homemaker. It was now she who was slaying the deer and I who would cook and serve it. I was learning to be a good housewife .

Some of the talk shows got pretty racy, especially when they had unusual people on like this one day when this black host had on some people who had or were going to have sex reassignment. He ran a pretty clean show, nothing like all the bleeps you find on Jerry Springer’s program. Man, some of them were gorgeous and so completely feminine. Even some of their voices were definitely in the ‘normal’ range for a woman. Fascinating! One even had her fiancé with her. He seemed perfectly normal. I had a terrible time finding anything ‘wrong’ with the way they looked or acted nor could I see anything immoral about their actions or words. I was, in fact, hard pressed to find anything ‘wrong’ with their being themselves at all.

I wonder what they feel like, I thought, presenting themselves as women all the time, taking hormones, growing big breasts and all? Of course, I had realized I was growing a set of my own but not like those melons! And could I raise my voice to a more feminine pitch like theirs?’ It seemed like an innocent thought at the time, despite the fact that I was sitting there with Joanne’s clothing on with a nasty little bulge showing in my back zipped slacks that covered a pair of black satin panties and the slacks ending in a pair of pretty patent pumps with two inch heels. Well, I decided to experiment a little and found I liked heels too. So sue me!

Consciously or not, I began to be aware of my voice and purposely began to use less of it, making it come more from my throat than my chest. I sang along with the radio and began to be able to keep it in a more feminine register, almost an alto. Why was I doing this? Was it a game? Was it just ‘let’s pretend? Or, was my mind working little feminine tricks on me behind the scenes while I went through the motions? Was I really becoming Kathy?

I’m a man, I thought. Well, maybe not a man per se any more in the usual sense, but a genetic male anyway. Man had other connotations which I wasn’t quite living up to at the moment was I? No, I wasn’t. In fact, I was feeling more feminine all the time as I went about my chores in completely female clothing from the skin out. I began to really like the way I looked and to love the feel of the lingerie and the light weight of the clothing and I did finally have to begin wearing a real bra. Joanne got me an A cup at first. My breasts were SO responsive now that Joanne was having a lot of fun with them too. I began to notice when I would pass a mirror that I would check myself out and make sure I looked alright, hair clean and shiny and in place, blouse tucked in, you know, and yet realizing there was still something missing that I really wanted to see?

This had all been so subtle. No pressure from Joanne, just a natural progression toward dressing and acting like a housewife, a WOMAN! Maybe that wasn’t so ‘natural’ but it felt fine to me. From what little I had been exposed, I found I liked the look and feel of women’s clothing and shoes a lot better than men’s. I WAS the woman of the house. I had begun paying more attention to my hair and nails lately too, always keeping my hair nice and clean and shiny and nails clean and protected and letting them grow and caring for them as Joanne did hers, long and rounded.

Now I used hand lotion all the time and had let my nails grow a little, rounding them with a file rather than clipping them and putting hardener and protective coats of clear polish on them too. I noticed that when I wore sandals, my toes didn’t look too good, so I did a pedicure on them and gave them a pretty shade of dark polish that I could see. And wouldn’t you know Jo would come home to find me in a white ruffled blouse with a ceramic necklace, slacks with a back zipper and a red belt and red leather skimmer flats over sheer thigh high hose, bussling about the kitchen with my apron on just like her perfect little Mrs. waiting on hubby to come home for dinner. It really didn’t seem to phase her. It was almost like she wanted me to look and act like a woman, a housewife, a homebody to greet her and be happy she was home from work. I was at least sure she wanted me to be happy.

Something was going seriously wrong with this picture. Especially since I felt rather good and increasingly comfortable about my attire and attitude. "Why honey," she said, "you look very nice, very sweet. I’m glad you decided to make yourself comfortable in my closet. I want you to use anything you find in my things that fit, just absolutely anything. Understand? It’s very important to me that you feel both useful and comfortable as the lady of the house." "The LADY?" "Well, you are when I’m not here, aren’t you?" "No point in arguing that point, IS there?" "Not really, she replied."

"Promise?" "You mean anything as in EVERYTHING? Slips, skirts dresses and high heels too?" "Sure honey, if you enjoy it. I don’t think it’s fair of me to leave you with all this girl work and not let you be a girl while you’re doing it if you enjoy it. That’s part of the doctor’s ‘down and dirty’ adjustment therapy, making you completely comfortable. I think it won’t be long before we could even style your hair nicely, get you some nice makeup and turn you into a very attractive housefrau Kathy." "I know I don’t seem to be protesting all that strongly Jo, but do you...I mean, you seem to want me to be...REALLY feminine, assume the role of the total wife, maybe even female. I don’t get it." "Have you looked at yourself lately Kathy?" "Yes, and it’s a little scary, but yet it feels just scrumptious especially with all the changes my body seems to be making."

"You’ve adopted some of the mannerisms of those girls on the soaps and you’re dressed in my clothes from head to toe. Have you noticed how you are walking lately and your hand gestures? You’re becoming a bit effeminate sweetie. You’ve begun to even act and react like a girl, which should make our marriage better because I understand girls a lot better than men. I hope you are wearing panties under your jeans." "Well, of course I’m wearing panties. I’d feel really out of place in his jockey shorts." Well, it’s time you went the rest of the way. You should get used to the feel of an appropriately sized bra and that one is too small for you. I think you’re going to be bigger than I am honey. You’re going to keep growing and there is a padded C cup in there that I got for you. Try it on. That A cup is choking you and bursting."

"Why in the world...what for?" "You can’t be a housewife without a properly sized bra is what for even though you don’t fill a C yet." "You must think I don’t listen to what you say Jo. "YET?" "Haven’t you looked at yourself lately Kathy? You’ve got lovely, female tits, as big as mine. Seeing you in this role has given me some nifty ideas Kate. As hard as I work, standing on my feet all day, I think I really deserve a pretty housewife to come home to. I think I’m going to turn you into my little Kathy for real, my pretty husband/housewife/lover and we will just have a real blast doing it to you. You’re already becoming quite girlish, although you probably hadn’t noticed, and those blouses would look so much better with more to fill them out.

"And you think I’m just going along with this forced feminization?" "FORCED?" "All right, tell me, how have I forced you so far?" "Well, you did give me permiss...!" "Giving you permission to do something you obviously enjoy is not forcing you dear. IS IT?" "No" I replied meekly. "Have you been looking in a mirror lately, sweets? All you need is a little less waistline and the right hair style and some serious cosmetics. So far, I haven’t forced anything at all. You’ve fallen into the role like it was meant for you."

"We’ll get you into a waist cincher and a bra ALL the time and after we double up on the shots and a few months on doubling the pills, you’ll just love it and you’ll never want to look back. I’ll bring you to heights of ecstasy as a woman you never even knew existed as a man. You’ll see." "Listen, Joanne, dressing up is one thing, growing really big tits is another. I don’t really mind the size they are now but..." "Hush. It’s been decided. You are going to be a girl, MY girl and ALL girl."

I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent. I got a flash of a guillotine and my head falling into the basket. I got my first extra shot the following day. I NEVER should have sent her to nursing school. "I think I’m going to love how this turns out," she said. "Just wait. You will too. You’ll find your boobies are so much fun and I’m going to love you in a D cup." So much for sending her to nursing school. The next thing I knew, I’D be nursing HER at MY breasts! She explained that one shot would block all my testosterone. That was a new one she had gotten from my doctor and the other one was a more powerful form of estrogen that would change my body and I would accelerate thinking and acting like a real girl, just like her.

"I’m going to grow really big boobs and a big butt aren’t I?" "Just like the rest of us honey and it won’t take long at all now. I’m going to get you into a D cup if I can. You want to have a nice figure, don’t you?" "I already do." "Oh but as Karl you looked so frail. As Kathy, you’ll look much better and these shots will help you get some of your weight back too and wearing the cincher all the time will force all the fat into the right places. It’s called figure training." "Not much weight, I hope. If I’m going to look like a girl I don’t want to be a moo-moo." With this statement, I realized that I had accepted her terms and my fate. "We’ll try to avoid that dear. I don’t want to be married to a cow either and besides, I want us to still be able to share our wardrobes."

Two days later, I was wearing a waist cincher with all my clothes and I had to admit, I liked the way it made my pants and shorts look although at first, it seemed really uncomfortable. Joanne wouldn’t let me take it off except to bathe and it made my butt look VERY round and full. She told me I’d have to wear it for a couple of months that way and to get used to it. It did force me to conform more to the natural differences in men and women’s body fat. My tush was suddenly more impressive, almost cute. Flesh does tend to take the form of it’s clothing, a principle the Chinese have known for thousands of years. Remember, they used to bind women’s feet so they wouldn’t grow. Made it harder for them to run away.

Joanne and I liked to entertain and she had made some new friends at the hospital, gals on her floor and shift, you know. I think she wanted to show off a little about how nice I kept our house and garden and invited Joyce over after work one day to have a look at the place along with a cup of coffee and a piece of cake I had just baked. Oh, I forgot to tell you about that. Well, I’d taken over all the cooking too. Seems I had a flair for it, a talent I didn’t even know I had, and I found I enjoyed it. I’d gotten into springing gourmet dishes on Jo once in a while lately and she really liked that. Said it made her feel special. I liked making her feel special. Kind of reminded me of how Mom treated Dad. Now I’m trying to be more like my Mom???

"I’m so happy you’ve really taken to this ‘housewife’ stuff " Joyce said, and she planted a peck on my cheek where she must have smelled my Chanel. This little impromptu visit caught me dressed, again, in quite totally feminine attire, a sleeveless shell, a couple bangle bracelets on my now slender arms, and a feminine wrist watch, panties, sexily tight jeans, knee highs and a pair of 3" wedge heeled rafia sandals that showed off my rose colored toes, recently painted by Jo. I was so embarrassed at another woman seeing me like this but had to make the best of it. I must have looked quite the sissy. Another woman? See where my mind has strayed to?

With Joanne right there, Joyce actually came out and said, "Kathy honey, you’d really make someone a great wife; in fact you DO! You even look the part. How delicious!" I thought she was just being facetious, you know, sticking me in the ribs, but she wasn’t smiling, except for that tiny smile that wafted over her face for just an instant. And she called me ‘Kathy.’ What could I do? I said, "well, thank you Joyce. I’m doing my best to be everything Joanne needs at home so all she has to think about is work. I know she’d do the same for me."

"Well honey, you are succeeding beautifully. I couldn’t do it better myself and I was brought up a girl. You seem to have taken to this lifestyle very well." "I think she has too," chimed in Jo. "That’s a cute set of work clothes too. They look nice on you." "Oh, just some of Jo’s cast offs. I really didn’t have anything to work around the house in, at least not anything that made me feel like someone who should be doing all this girl stuff."

For some reason I couldn’t help myself from saying, "I guess you’re right Jo. About all that’s missing is styling this mop, some serious makeup, a dress and some pretty high heels and I could really have a new life (giggle)." "Yeah," she said and we all laughed.

 

© 1998
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