The Housekeeper

by Dave Hicks

 

1

 

I’d entered the most exclusive, expensive and finest transformation clinic. I wanted the best and I was prepared to pay for it.

After I’d settled into my room, the interviews and assessments began. My first was with the resident psychologist. She was a middle aged, almost anorexic hard faced woman, dressed in a smart red, businesslike suit. I already knew what I wanted to be and felt the interview a waste of time.

"The specifications you’ve supplied to us are remarkably detailed," she remarked. "Certainly the most precise I've ever encountered."

"I’m glad you like them," I replied.

"It says on your application," she announced, glancing perfunctorily at the clipboard resting on the desk before her, "you wish to be a housekeeper of a large luxury hotel. You have requested to become a middle aged, unattractive, overweight matron, with an absurd bosom.

"Is that what I wrote?" I asked.

She ignored my question.

"It’s an uncommon choice, David, if I may say so," commented the psychologist. "Can you explain to me why you want to look this way?"

"Sure," I replied. "I want to be a rather well-rounded, mature woman, with larger than average breasts. That’s all there is to it. End of story."

"Why on Earth would you ever wish to be the housekeeper of a hotel?" she asked.

"Perhaps, I feel I’m going to need to find something to do," I answered, a little sarcastically. "After all - I don’t want to sit on my big fat arse, around doing nothing all day. Who knows? Perhaps that sort of work will appeal to me."

She wrote something on the clipboard.

"There’s a few things that concern me," she said. "It’s quite a cheap looking sort of body you’ve selected - old and fat. Apart from the size of the breasts, a rather common sort of body - to my way of thinking. And the type of work you wish to undertake is, to say the least, very menial. Being a servant."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

She gave me a condescending smile.

"Well," she replied. "There isn’t exactly a shortage of old fat ugly women - is there? Or women with big fat ugly breasts, for that matter. The world’s full of them. You’ve parted with an awful lot of money, simply to be something as prosaic as that."

I nodded noncommittally for her to continue. I thought to myself; it’s my money - I’ll part with it anyway I see fit.

"It’s easy enough for us to pump your body up with any amount of Bio-gel," she remarked snobbishly. "But once it’s diffused into you, there’s no way it can ever be removed. It’s very permanent - once completed. Remember - you’ll be like this until the day you die. You can’t just go on a diet and get rid of it - should you ever decide at some time in the future - you don’t like it anymore. Surely, you do understand that, don’t you?"

"Yes."

"Then I can’t imagine why you would want to be that way. An ugly woman like that would probably give anything to be young, slim and beautiful. I know I certainly would - if I ever ended up looking the way you want to be."

"I expect you would," I replied. "But I’m not you - am I?"

"I’d hate to be like that," she stated, ignoring my last comment. "Such an awful looking body to have. I feel quite sorry for women who look like that."

"You seemed to have missed an important point," I said to her.

"And what’s that?"

"What you like or don’t like - is of absolutely no concern to me. I have no intention of discussing my motives with you. Suffice it to say; I have my reasons - personal reasons. We can leave it at that."

I could see my responses were annoying her. I thought - stuff her. I’m the client - she’s the hired help. I pay her wages.

"I’ve broken your choice of body down into various subgroups," she informed me stiffly. "Perhaps we could discuss the high proportion of - let’s call it - unsightly padding, you’re proposing to have?"

She was beginning to annoy me. Initially, I thought it might be her job to warn clients about making hasty decisions, they may regret in the future. Perhaps to ensure they considered most carefully the choices they’d made. It was becoming obvious to me now; she simply had an intense dislike for overweight, middle aged women. Maybe she was afraid of becoming one herself, one day. Who cared?

"Yes," I smiled and nodded. "Let’s call it unsightly padding, shall we? It’s sounds so much more pleasant than calling it; unsightly, soft, lumpy, ugly fat - doesn’t it."

I could tell that statement got to her.

"Then," she responded angrily, "perhaps you’d be kind enough, to tell me why you’d want to be such a grossly overweight female?"

"So I can have big fat tits," I replied, with a smile. "If I’m fat, I can have really huge fat tits, can’t I?"

She didn’t answer.

"And middle aged?" she persisted. "Why would you want to appear so old?"

"So males won’t find me attractive. I’m definitely not attracted to them."

She nodded and made another note on her clipboard.

"Okay," she announced, leaning back in her chair. "I’m sure I don’t need to warn you that; a very large bosom would be heavy, cumbersome, obstructive and uncomfortable. It would limit many types of activities you could undertake, in the future."

"Yes," I smiled. "Yes - you could very well be right about that."

"The breasts you propose are going to be difficult to carry," she argued. "They’ll place a great deal of strain on you shoulders and back. They’ll look so unsightly."

"I’m hoping that’s the case," I said. "No doubt I’ll be forced to wear very supportive underwear."

"Like what?"

"The most practical kind - with lots of clips and stays," I replied, leading her on. "The industrial kind. Things like; corsets and girdles. Items made of heavy, solid fabric - not cute, frilly lace. Something that feels so good to get out of - at the end of the day."

"And you’ll certainly be uncomfortable, dressed like," she stated. "Especially if you’re expected to perform some sort of physical work. Have you considered what that’s going to be like?"

"Yes I have," I agreed. "I imagine it’s going to be quite a problem."

"And," she said, in exasperation. "Have you stopped to consider the fact that you’ll be the target of ridicule - because of your ridiculously large bosom? People will make fun of you - perhaps even to your face. I have no doubt you’ll become the butt of many jokes, from the people you’ll be working with. How will you cope with that? What sort of psychological affect wills that have on you?"

"I imagine it’s something I’ll definitely need to come to terms with," I replied. "Perhaps I’ll need to talk to a psychologist or someone. Someone who really knows what they’re talking about."

She looked intently at me for a moment.

"Perhaps we should move onto something else - for the time being," she suggested, a little unsurely.

"Perhaps we should," I smiled, amicably.

"I’d like to discuss your choice of work with you."

"Sure," I nodded.

"We can provide with complete and comprehensive skills, in the most desirable forms of employment. The sort of professions most people could only dream of securing."

"I’m sure you can," I smiled. "I imagine that’s one of the reasons why it costs so much to be here. Luckily, I can easily afford your services - many times over. However, I have the skills to do the job. I already know the hotel industry."

"I see," she replied curtly.

"And," I continued. "If I’d wanted to be something glamorous, like a in-flight attendant or something equally as silly - I’d buy myself a bloody airline. Then I could be exactly what I wanted to be. I can certainly afford it. The same applies to movie star or fashion model, for that matter. It wouldn’t take that much cash, to buy a movie company or a fashion house, would it? I’m sure there must be a few for sale somewhere. Who cares?"

"And?" she asked.

"And nothing," I replied. "That’s the full story. You don’t seem to be able to understand why I'm here, do you? I’ll try to make it easy for you. I’m here to become a fat, middle-aged woman, with a bloody enormous pair of tits. It’s as simple as that. No discussion about the wide-ranging physical and mental ramifications of my decision. Simply what I just said. End of story."

"I see."

"And I can assure you. If some hired help like you, thinks they’re going to change my mind - you haven’t got a hope in Hell. Am I getting through to you?"

"I see," she repeated.

"And by the way;" I continued, "I already own a very nice luxury five star hotel, at a resort on the coast. More than one, as it happens. But this particular hotel is where I want to be."

I sensed our interview was shortly coming to an end.

"I don’t want you saying later; I didn’t warn you," she remarked.

"You warned me. Okay?"

"Very well," she replied. "I’ve done all I can to dissuade you, from what is - in my professional opinion - a foolish and ill conceived course of action. I can do no more than that."

"You’ve done what they pay you to do. Leave it at that."

"Very well," she said, stiffly rising from her chair.

I could tell I’d really angered the arrogant bitch. Since when was a bigot, giving a professional opinion?

 

2

 

I sat in a chair while the doctor, Julia, tested my blood pressure and heart rate.

"How did your interview go with Donna, our psychologist?" she asked, rather a little too casually.

I noticed there was a slight flicker of a smile across her face. No doubt word had got around, regarding my interview with their resident head shrinker.

"Rather well, I thought," I replied cheerfully. "I’m sure, by the end of out meeting, we’d both had an opportunity to discuss our thoughts on certain subjects of mutual interest."

"I’m sure you did," she laughed.

She put away her equipment.

"You’re in excellent condition," she announced. "I can find no reason why we shouldn’t go ahead with the procedure."

"Good," I said. "At least you didn’t try to give me a hard time about it."

"Now, why would I want to do that?" she grinned.

"Good," I said. "At least someone here knows their job."

"Oh yes," she laughed. "I certainly know my job. And more importantly, I know who’s paying me."

"Is that your professional opinion?" I laughed.

"Of course," she smiled. "Someone’s got to pay the rent on this place."

I decided I liked her.

 

3

 

I sat at a conference table with the doctor, the psychologist and the Director of the clinic.

"We can start procedures immediately," Julia announced cheerfully. "As far as the medical side is concerned - I can see no reason for delay."

"Thank you, Julia," the Director responded.

She turned to me.

"How do you feel about that, David?" she asked.

"Fine," I replied. "The sooner we start, the sooner we finish - as far as I’m concerned. Time’s money - let’s get this over and done with."

The Director nodded.

"Donna here, seems to have missed the whole point of the exercise," I remarked. "I’m not looking for an enjoyable experience in my new identity. I’m looking for an authentic one. As authentic as I can make it."

"Do you have anything to add, Donna?" the Director asked the psychologist.

"I have cautioned the client," the psychologist said stiffly, "on certain negative aspects regarding his choice of body and occupation. I feel it’s an unwise selection but he still feels very strongly about it, anyway."

"Fine," smiled the Director, turning back to me. "Then everything’s done. We’ll start immediately."

"Good," I said. "Finally."

 

4

 

I sat up in bed, in a four-bed hospital ward. The doctor and a nurse were present.

"During the procedure, we tend to do everything at once," Julia informed me. "While I’m surgically remodelling your body - both skeletal and soft tissue - I’ll also be infusing Bio-gel into you. I’ll be using various types of synthetic hormones - to develop your feminine physical characteristics. They’ll also influence certain mental states you’ll experience - to a varying degree."

"Right," I nodded.

"I’ll be constructing your breasts as we get a generous layer of natural fat and Bio-gel throughout your body," she told me. "For the breast type and size you require, implants are not the most practical alternative. The whole process will take about two months. You’ll be unconscious most of the time. It’ll pass very quickly for you."

She looked at me.

"Any questions?" she asked, with a smile.

"What about my genitals and lack of pubic hair?"

"Not a problem," she answered cheerfully. "That will all be done."

I thought for a moment.

"No further questions, your honour," I informed her, with a smile.

"Fine," she laughed, rising from the chair. "Then I rest my case for the defence. We’ll start without delay. The nurse will give you something to put you to sleep. From then onwards, there’s nothing for you to worry about."

"Thanks Julia. You’ve been a great help."

"That’s what I’m here for," she grinned. "I’m really looking forward to doing your body."

She pointed to a woman asleep in the bed opposite mine.

"I get a little sick of doing just movie stars and fashion model types, all the time," she said quietly, leaning towards me. "You make a very refreshing change. Getting you perfect is going to be a real challenge. I don’t get much opportunity to use my real skills. Not in a place like this. Not when all I have to make are animated shop dummies."

"Do a good job then," I instructed her. "I’ll make it worth your while. That’s a promise."

"I always do a good job," she assured me, with a smile. "But, I’m going to make sure you turn out absolutely just what the doctor ordered. You’re going to be the best work I’ve ever done. You’ve supplied the most comprehensive set of guidelines I've ever had to work with. The photos will make it a lot easier for me to give you exactly what you want."

"Fine," I said. "And thanks."

"You’re very welcome," she replied, with a broad and genuine grin.

 

5

When I regained consciousness - I was a woman. The first thing I saw were my two heavy breasts, pushing up from beneath covers over me. They felt so large and unfamiliar.

"Try not to move around too much," said the nurse, standing beside my bed. "You’re going to feel pretty weak for a while. Your muscles haven’t done much work for a while. You weigh a lot more than you did before."

"How long was I asleep?" I asked, in a voice pitched higher than I was accustomed.

"Ten weeks," she replied, with a smile. "A little longer than is usual. But don’t worry. Everything went well - just as the doctor said it would."

"My stomach hurts," I told her.

"That’s not surprising," she answered. "You haven’t had any food in it for quite some time. It’ll take a little while for everything to get back to normal."

I placed my hands on my breasts. They felt like two great, heavy pillows of soft flesh.

"Try to relax for now," the nurse said pleasantly. "There’s plenty of time to explore how you look, later."

 

6

 

All the wealth and assets I’d previously owned had been transferred to my new identity. The person I had been, no longer existed.

I started to learn about my new body. As soon as I could, I left the clinic and travelled to the coast, where one of my hotels was located. I booked into another hotel close by.

 

7

 

Early next morning I arrived at work. As I entered my office, Carol, the Assistant Housekeeper was already at work.

"May," she smiled. "Welcome back. You look wonderful. How was the holiday?"

I sat at my desk.

"Great," I lied. "I’ve only just got back. I haven’t even been home yet."

"You’ll have to tell me all about it, over lunch," she grinned.

Carol went about her business. She had accepted me as May. I’d passed my first test. How would others who knew May well react? Would they suspect I was an impostor?

"Oh May," I thought to myself. "I miss you so much, my darling."

I sat at the desk and let my mind wander.

Although I’d owned the hotel, no one ever knew me by sight - not even the manager. I would visit regularly, as a guest and watch what happened around me. I found; by being a guest, I could see what the hotel was doing right or wrong. That’s how I met May. She always thought I was a salesman of some kind.

On my frequent visits to the hotel, we got to know each better. Eventually, we fell in love. One day, I invited her to come sailing with me and she accepted.

 

8

 

It had been dark and still. The motor had failed and we were sitting in a major shipping lane, unable to move. The radar had detected a tanker approaching and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t get out of its way. A ship that size could never stop or turn in time to avoid us. I tried to attract its attention with flares and radio calls. They never responded.

I woke May and got her on deck and into a life jacket. I explained the situation to her quickly as I could, while tying a length of rope around her waist and mine. I knew we mustn’t become separated after the impact. I threw the life raft overboard, secured by a rope to the yacht.

"Why don’t we get into the life raft now?" she ventured.

"Even if it does miss us," I explained, "we’ll be hit by the bow wave of the ship. And later, as the ship passed us, the propeller at the stern would try to suck us under. In a forty foot yacht, we stand a better chance of survival."

There was nothing else to do but hold each other and wait.

 

9

 

Four hours later, a fishing boat rescued me. I’d said nothing. The skipper had assumed I was in shock and had left me alone. After we’d made it to shore, I slipped away, while no one was watching. Fortunately, my wallet hadn’t been lost and I had money.

May was gone. I had no relatives and no one to mourn me but May had two adult daughters and six grandchildren to survive her. They would take her loss badly. I decided I must be the one to die - not May. She would live on through me.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Dave Hicks. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.