Wishing or Dreaming

by Christy Lake

 

I was setting at a table on the second floor of the Capitol Gallery shopping mall. I was feeling good, well as good as a person could expect. My wife said that she would meet me here 30 minutes ago. Maybe she found a clothing sale and started trying things on. The sticky traces in a paper plate were all that remained of a double portion of Cinnamon Apple Pie A la Mode. My pipe was drawing well, the fresh cup of coffee was perfect, and I had a new book to read in my hand bag.

Before digging out my book, I let my eyes wander across the throngs on the lower floor. I spotted a group of three very unusual individuals. Everything else seemed to fade out of focus as I checked them out. My guess is that they came from some North American Indian Tribe. The least distinctive of the trio was the old man. He was probably over 6 feet tall, wearing faded jeans over scuffed western boots. His faded denim shirt was open at the neck and he had the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His abundant grey shot black hair was drawn tightly back and gathered to form a pony tail at the base of his skull. Although he was casually strolling in a crowded shopping mall, I felt a power and control that reminded me of the herd stallion, I had seen in Arizona. As the trio moved through a splash of reflected sunlight I was struck with the strength, wisdom, and nobility reflected on this old Indian's leathery face.

The same sunlight highlighted the youngest member of the trio as she partially turned to speak to the old man. Oof! She was a collection of erotic wet dreams, refined, combined, re-refined, and then given life. She radiated grace and sex appeal. Her finger and toenails glittered. The two or three slender white straps across the tanned arch of the feet, and the slender white spike heel underscored the graceful movements. Very form fitting metallic blue pants started low on her wide child bearing hips, snugly accented tight full buttocks and thighs, and ended at mid calf. A white cord was laced from the crotch up to the top of the pants, emphasizing the dancer's muscles. The wide gap between the pants and the top emphasized a waist so small it could not be real. The mammary development covered by the metallic silver tube top was, how shall I say this, more than ample. That fabric could not have been providing any support, but her breasts showed no signs of swaying, bouncing, or sagging as she animatedly spoke to the old man. Oh, so round, so firm, so truly fully packed. A slender neck rising from well developed shoulders was obscured by a black waterfall of hair as she moved into the relative shadow and turned to the third member of the trio.

The third person, clearly spotlighted in the sunlight as the young woman stopped and spoke to her, was grotesque. Her beautiful flowing hair had highlights of grey. Her smooth vibrant face was a feminine version of the old mans strength, wisdom, and nobility; but it was overlaid with the ethereal sensuousness of the younger woman. A head and shoulders shot of feminine Native American Royalty. Barely visible in the shadow cast by the full skirt, were little feet clad in sturdy walking shoes, something you might see on the feet of a first grade child. As she turned to look at a store display, I could see that her waist was smaller than that of the younger woman. In contrast to this, her hips were so wide her skirt looked like it had been draped over a bustle. She was almost as tall as the man. Her face, shoulders, arms, and hands showed that she was a big, big boned woman. Even considering this, her hips were almost half again too wide. However, the most awful thing was her bust. She was huge. I had been visualizing a combination of the two women, using the younger as a template, lessening their extremes and transferring the excesses to me.

It only took seconds to again complete the visualization and then reclothe each of us in my mind. Then I did something I often do. I started an imaginary conversation with the older lady. "Lady, I wish you could trade some of your attributes and look more like your daughter."

In my imaginary conversation, the lady's voice was warm, friendly, and bubbly with enthusiasm for life. "Do you think my daughter is pretty?"

Drifting deeper into my imaginary conversation as the trio started to slowly move again, I answered. "Lady, she looks fantastic, and I wish you could look more like her."

"Is there anything else you wish for?" The warm voice asked.

In my mind's voice I compared the feet, hips, waist, bust, and face. "Your face shows so much strength and knowledge. Hers shows sexy sensuousness and a joy for life. I wish that when you share her appearance you also share attitudes and knowledge."

"I would gladly take your excesses to help us both look better." I concluded my mental conversation

The trio stepped onto the escalator.

A deep and somehow accented male voice joined the mental conversation. "A good wish was three times made. There are six parts, so there will be needed six moons. One is gone. As you would say, the feet, so mote it be."

***111***

My trio reached the top of the escalator. The old shaman looked at me, flashed a Winston Churchill V for victory, and then held up one hand with all five fingers extended. He held up one additional finger with his other hand then folded the extended finger. He then flashed the V sign again.

The woman of my conversation quickly stepped to one side, untied, and stepped out of her shoes. Her feet were clearly bigger than her shoes. She glided, barefoot over to my table and dropped a turquoise bead bracelet on my table. In a voice I could only describe as bubbly liquid gold, she said "Thank you and have fun."

I watched them disappear down the aisle. Just before they disappeared, the young woman blew me a kiss. I could feel and taste it on my lips.

"Maybe, instead of just waiting, I really should get some new shoes," I thought. I picked up my purse and the turquoise bracelet before leaving.

The first shoe store I came to was a big Naturalizer women's shoe store. A rack next to the door was promoting trouser stockings. They did not appeal to me. To one side was another rack with sheer and ultra-sheer knee high and thigh high stockings. I grabbed four pair of Midnight Smoke knee highs and two pair of Suntan. I also discovered that I had picked up two pair of Shimmery Nude thigh high stay ups. I sat down in a fitting chair, slipped out of my Size 10W loafers, and took off my socks.

I opened a package of sandal foot style knee highs in size 8. In my mind I heard the old man's voice. "One is done, the first moon has passed, five more to be complete." I put the knee-highs on and looked around. The well-dressed women sales clerks seemed to be ignoring me, an overweight old man.

I knew that I needed to get some shoes from this store. I resigned myself to helping myself. I saw a foot measuring scale on the other side of the fitting area. Before getting it, I decided to put the bracelet on. I did not want to loose it or break it. It was a tight fit. I was afraid that the cord would not stretch enough to get it over my hand, but it finally slipped past my hand and snugly settled on my right wrist.

As I drew my cuff over the bracelet, one of the women asked if she could help me. In a matter of just a few minutes I had purchased a pair of white nurses floor shoes, size 9-B, with a built up one inch heel. As a lark, I also purchased a pair of fluffy mules with two-inch heels. I wore my new shoes out of the store. My old ones went into the trashcan next to the register.

I went back to the snack area and got another coffee. My new shoes felt great. So why was I seeing images of my feet wearing different spectacular spike heel shoes. In the images, my attractive hose clad legs were visible from above the knees. As the images changed, I was sporting a variety of different pedicures.

As I examined my feet, I wondered what had possessed me to do such a crazy thing. My conservative wife would have fits. I'd be lucky if she didn't insist that we separate. Something much more likely I though was that she would get so angry when she saw her husband wearing woman's shoes that she would have a stroke or a heart attack.

I was getting ready to find a man's shoe store when my wife arrived. Since I was facing the Aisle, my shoes, next to a Naturalizer store bag were very obvious. "Well, it's about time you bought some decent shoes. Did you buy walking shoes or anything for the gym?"

Naturally, we had to make the rounds of various shoe stores. By the time we left the mall that day I had purchased 2 more pairs of shoes, both women's size 9-B.

Nothing special happened for the next several weeks, except for the fact that my wife and I finally managed to loose some weight, about five pounds a week. We were going to the gym five days a week, eating sensibly, and of all things discovered a joy in walking.

My wife and I had experienced temporary shooting pains in our legs, especially just after the gym or when we came back from our walks. We went to see the family doctor. He said it was nothing serious, just phlebitis brought on by our rapid weight loss, and expanded exercise program. His solution was to give each of us a prescription for 16 to 20 mm hg Surgical Support Thigh High Stockings or Panty Hose and instructions to wear them any time we were not horizontal, until at least a month after we had reached our physical conditioning goals.

After our weeks absence. we were again at the Capitol Gallery Mall. I had been to see the specialist again about the four inch diameter spot of rough discolored skin just above the small of my back. The biopsy said that it was not Cancer, and I had been scheduled for follow-ups every four weeks.

Once in the mall, my wife said that she needed to get some equalizers for our walks. Three shoe stores later, she had purchased a pair of calf length boots with a two-inch stacked heel. I was the proud possessor of a pair of strappy sandals with a one-inch platform sole and a wicked five-inch spike heel and a pair of calf length boots with a wicked four-inch spike heel. She also had me get a pair of ankle boots with a four inch stacked heel for walking1.

As we headed for the next store on her list, I warned her that when I walked with her wearing those spike heel boots, she would become the target for all types of comments. "Her husband is wearing high heels, did you see that?" Her reply was calm. You always wear loose fitting shirts. The hip action that you are going to have in those boots will distract most people. Fluff your hair a bit and a touch of lipstick if you are really concerned, and viola, people will only see me walking with a woman. In case you have not noticed, your hips are still as big as ever. You will need some new slacks soon.

As we walked by the food court I though I heard a deep and somehow accented male voice say. "A good wish was three times made. There are five parts left, so there will be needed five moons. As you would say, the hips, so mote it be."

***222***

"These stocking are hot," she informed me as she led the way into the women's department of one of the better stores. I knew that and had envied the fact that she had switched to wearing skirts just a couple days after we started wearing the pantyhose. "At least around the house, you can be comfortable," she told me. "This place has a close out sale going on Fashion Shorts and Skorts. We'll get you in the dressing room and then I'll raid the racks. You will try them on and we will find several pair that fit in short order. Don't worry about the style or color; these are just for wearing at home."

The kids were long gone. We had enough money and a lot of time on our hands. We decided to start checking out different conventions, exhibitions, and museum special showings within a 600-mile radius. Actually the circle we drew on the map was 1000-kilometer radius. We figured that a day or two driving, two or three days checking out the activity and a day or two driving back, twice a month, would be interesting. The first one that we picked was a two-day gemology and jewelry exhibition about a day and a half drive away. The organizers had made arrangements for discount prices with several hotels. Since we were so late getting our reservations in, we were stuck with a package in one of the more expensive hotels.

Over the next several weeks, we both continued to loose weight. She seemed to be looking from all over; I was loosing it only from the waist. I loved wearing the shorts we had picked, but there was a problem. The elastic inserts caused the shorts to ride higher on my body. As always, my wife had a solution. Stretch panties under the panty hose or with the stockings, kept everything tucked firmly in place.

It had been a very pleasant drive, until the Air Conditioner quit. We found a motel and got directions to the automobile dealership. The sales room was open but the service section had closed. The sales manager learned where we were going and called the dealership there. We had a 2 P.M. appointment to get the air conditioner fixed, and it would be covered by the warranty.

After a meal in an air-conditioned restaurant, we returned to the room where I stripped down to stockings, I was wearing stay up thigh highs and panty instead of panty hose. I flopped on the bed while my wife changed into loose shorts, a sleeveless top, and her calf high walking boots. Almost as a dare, she laid out his favorite knee length shorts and his "walking boots," and a sleeveless top similar to what she was wearing.

I needed to walk and it was a real temptation to put on that outfit, but, as I pointed out, there was no way, without a bust line that I could get away with it. With a grin, she flourished a bra. Well it wasn't really a bra, but a stretch camisole with a built in padded under wire bra. I pulled it on and wasn't too surprised when she handed me a pair of heavy balls made, she said, of two liquid filled rubber balls and some of her old panty hose. With the balls tucked inside the full coverage bra cups, I had a bust line. It did not take very long for me to get dressed, fluff my hair, and put on some lipstick.

During our hour-long stroll, we turned a number of heads. Of the facial expressions we saw, there were a number of admirations from men, and a number of envy from women. The next morning, my wife challenged me to go to breakfast in the same outfit. I did. It was already hot and muggy, so I opted to wear it for the drive that day.

The next time we were driving to my specialist for a check up, my wife told me that we would be shopping for woman's pants for me. With all my weight loss around my middle, I needed slacks tailored for the narrow waist and full behind that I was now sporting. We parked the car and went into the food court of the Capitol Gallery Mall.

As we sat down I though I heard a deep and somehow accented male voice say. "A good wish was three times made. There are four parts left, so there will be needed four moons. As you would say, the waist, so mote it be."

***333***

We had both resigned from the assorted committees, councils, and clubs citing extensive travel plans as the reason. Over the past two months we had each lost 40 pounds. At 5'10", I was still well padded, extremely well padded below the belt. My wife, at 5'4" and 180 pounds, needed almost a complete new wardrobe. I suggested that I dress full time as her girl friend and maybe we could both loose some more weight. She was agreeable. Since we would be going to Montreal the next day, we could find the store we had learned of that carried a large inventory of breast forms, gaffs, and other aids for female impersonators.

When we left the store the next day, I sported a 44" bust line. It jiggled realistically under the blouse. Additionally I had a 30' waist and a 42" hip measurement. We both continued to loose weight. By the time I had to go see the skin specialist again, my chest or torso measurement had changed from 41.5" to 38" however, the measurement over the fullest part of the chest, or bust line, had changed from 42" to 44" and it was all me. I had only lost 10 pounds to 165. My wife had lost another 20; she was now 160 pounds. For the first time, she weighed less than I did. She attributed it to magic and me wearing women's clothing.

The dermatologist was very happy; the thing on my back was fading. She also wanted to check my breasts. She said something about rapid tissue expansion causing skin damage. After closely examining both breasts, she told me that I was very lucky. I had Breasts and Skin that any 25-year-old woman could envy.

We had planned on attending a formal Dinner Theater next weekend and another 2 weeks later in Toronto. The way I was now shaped, it would have to be wearing a formal dress. To help me get into the spirit of things, she had searched and found a place that would give me a complete makeover, including a full body and facial wax, pedicure, manicure, and detailed instructions on hair style care and cosmetics. She had booked both of us for the complete 2 day treatment.

***444***

As we pulled into the parking lot, I though I heard a deep and somehow accented male voice say. "A good wish was three times made. There are three parts left, so there will be needed three moons. As you would say, the bust, so mote it be."

I don't know how to describe it. The preparation was at times painful and involved a lot of work. However, if you have, you can understand the thrill of walking into a Theater wearing a form following dress that quietly shouts, "This is a beautiful woman." Knowing that your hair style and color is right, that every hair is in place, that the makeup accents the positive features, and the jewelry; the ear rings, watch, and pendant all add to the positive picture, it is a heavenly sensation.

The theater in Toronto was another success. We did have a bit of a problem. My wife continued to loose weight at five pounds each week, so we had to get her a new dress for the do.

The dermatologist seemed a bit concerned about something, but she would not talk. She took a number of skin tests with a small hollow needle and then sent me to a private clinic for additional tests. I was also scheduled for a battery of tests before my next appointment in four weeks.

I had been loosing weight all over. At 155 pounds, I needed some new bras. The bands were getting a bit loose. My skirts, shorts, and slacks were all fitting loosely, but really, besides bras I only needed some panties. My wife had continued to loose five pounds a week. Now at a trim 140, she needed everything. We were booked for three extended bus tours over the next four weeks. For herself, she only wanted to get casual clothing. She figured that she would continue to loose weight. However, she did insist that we get new night wear.

She had purchased very nice night gowns for each of us over the past several months, however, because of our nightly activities, especially when we were out of town, they were definitely worse for the wear.

As we strolled through the center of the mall, heading for a boutique I though I heard a deep and somehow accented male voice say. "A good wish was three times made. There are two parts left, so there will be needed two moons. As you would say, the face and hair, so mote it be."

***555***

Each of our three trips was fun. The most difficult thing for me was taking care of my hair. Over the past several weeks, it has gotten darker and longer. I love the way it swirls around my neck and shoulders, especially when my shoulders are bare. My weight has leveled out at 148 pounds and my wife quit loosing when she hit 125.

This morning we arrived at the clinic and had to wait for over an hour before we could get the tests taken. The Dermatologist had general surgeon and an oncology specialist with her as they gave me a complete physical. Because of the delay at the lab, it would be a bit before I got any word.

Now, I was setting at a table on the second floor of the Capitol Gallery shopping mall. I was feeling good, but nervous, waiting for a call on the cell phone. My wife said that she would meet me here 30 minutes ago. Maybe she found a clothing sale and started trying things on. The sticky traces in a paper plate were all that remained of a double portion of Cinnamon Apple Pie A la Mode. A pipe was smoking lazily on the table. I had a fresh cup of coffee that was perfect, and I had a new book to read in my hand bag.

I though I heard a deep and somehow accented male voice say. "A good wish was three times made. There is one part left, so there will be needed one moon. As you would say, the knowledge and understanding, so mote it be."

***666***

"Am I Wishing or Dreaming or is this real," I wonder as I loose myself in the curls of smoke coming from the pipe at the far end of the table.

 

The End

  

  

  

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