Hypnotized Into Wearing Dresses

by Alana

 

Part 2

 

His third week of wearing dresses was much the same as the others, although less and less people were showing up to jeer at him in the morning. More and more of his responsibilities were being taken away, and the rumor was that he would be fired soon if he kept wearing dresses. Women who had to talk to him in his office about business related matters were getting used to seeing him, so that they were able to get through a discussion without laughing at him. And Carl was learning to avoid doing things that made them laugh. He learned that if he crossed his legs like a man, they'd laugh, and if he crossed his legs like a woman, they still laughed. So mostly he just kept his knees together when he talked to them. If he did something the way a woman did it, they'd laugh at him because he was a man, but if he did something the way a man did it, they'd laugh at him because he did it while wearing a dress. He couldn't win.

Monday of his third week in dresses Gloria had him wearing his long-sleeved gleaming scarlet silk sheath, along with his black spike heels. His dress was very tight fitting and had a high ruched neck and shoulder pads. His skirt came to slightly below the knee.

Gloria was impatiently waiting for her husband to come out to the car, wondering what was taking him so long. Maybe he stopped to reapply his lipstick. Maybe he changed his mind about his dress at the last minute. Just like a man to do that.

As she was waiting, she realized she didn't have a photo of Carl in his lovely new scarlet silk sheath. She had bought it the weekend before while Carl was getting soaked in the rain. She looked in her purse. She had her disposable camera with her.

Suddenly she had a wicked idea for a cute photo. The girls would love it when she showed it to them at their bridge game, which was coming up in just a few days.

She took the car keys out of her purse, opened the back door and tossed them in. They landed on the floor, behind the driver's seat.

When Carl came out, Gloria was looking in her purse.

"Carl do you have the car keys?"

"No."

"Check your purse."

"I don't need to check my purse, Gloria. You always have 'em. Did you lose 'em? We're late enough as it is."

"I bet I left them in the car."

"Oh, great, let's just put up a sign for all the car thieves in the city. Why do you do these things, Gloria? Don't you ever think?"

"There they are. Could you reach in and get them?"

Carl didn't think anything about the request as he was opening the back door, but as he kneeled on the car seat, lifting his skirt up a little so it wouldn't get caught under his knees, he began to wonder why he was the one who had to do this, when he was wearing a tight silk dress, and she was in jeans and a T-shirt. But he reached down to get the keys off the floor, supporting himself with one hand on the car seat.

Gloria looked at her husband bending over with his butt in the air. Then she slid up his skirt and his slip and took a picture.

Carl came immediately out of the car. He threw the keys down on the ground, tugged down his skirt and said, "What is the matter with you?!"

She had planned on putting her camera back in her purse fast enough so he wouldn't know she'd taken a picture. But he saw the disposable camera. He grabbed the camera from her and threw it on the ground and impaled it with his spike heel.

"Why did you do that?!" she exclaimed.

"Me? What the hell do you mean by lifting my skirt like that?"

"I just thought it would be a cute picture."

"How would you like it if someone did that to you?"

"I guess you've never been a girl in elementary school."

He made an exasperated sound and bent over to pick up the camera. He tore it in half and threw it in the back of the car, then got in.

Gloria picked up the keys, thinking to herself, "Damn, I wish I'd gotten that photo. That would've been so cute! If only I was a little bit faster."

She drove him to work in silence.

Monday afternoon at work he was talking to a woman named Marcia about a few business-related questions. Marcia was OK to talk to. She seemed to realize how much he hated to be laughed at, so she didn't make any jokes about the dresses he had to wear. She even seemed to be one of the few people who believed that he HAD to wear dresses, and that he didn't like it. She'd been hired on April 2, so she'd never seen him when he wasn't wearing a dress.

After the discussion, she rose to leave.

"That is such a cute dress," she said. "It's so pretty and shiny. I love the color. Where'd you get it?"

He stared at her, trying to determine if she was making fun of him. He looked down at his tight silk dress.

"I don't know," he said. "My wife buys all my dresses. Speaking of my wife, you'll never believe what she did---"

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I don't want to talk about it. I don't know why I brought it up."

"So, about your dress, have you ever worn it to work, before?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't pay much attention to what I'm wearing. My wife picks out a dress for me in the morning, and I just put it on and don't think about it. I only wear dresses to stop those terrible stomach pains I get. You know about my condition."

"Yeah. So you don't really have any preference one way or the other when it comes to dresses?"

"No. I mean, when I'm wearing a tight dress like this one it's harder for me to walk, but when I'm wearing a full skirt, the guys in the hall will---you know---sometimes they flip up my skirt a little."

"They shouldn't do that. That's really mean. Why are men so mean, anyway? Why are they like that? Wouldn't you like to be a man once, just for a day, just to find out---"

Her hand flew to her mouth when she realized what she'd said.

"Oh, no, Carl, I didn't mean---I didn't mean you're not a man! I didn't mean---just because you wear dresses---you're not---I mean, obviously you're a man! I mean, look at you! How could I think you're not---I mean---what was I thinking? Obviously you're a man! Well, not obviously, because you do wear dresses, but---well---obviously you're a man, because you look ridiculous in a dress! Oh, I didn't mean---"

Carl held up one hand.

"That's OK," he said. "You're right. I do look ridiculous. And I would like to be a man. Even if it were just for one day."

Marcia stammered a few more apologies, and left. Carl looked down at himself.

Well, at least she hadn't laughed at him. Just told him he wasn't a man, and that he would never be one. Ever again.

That night, Carl dreamed he was walking through the hallway at work in his long-sleeved white silk sheath. The dress he was wearing in the dream had a bow at the collar, and it was belted, although it was so tight it didn't really need a belt. As he made his way down the hall, he noticed that women weren't smirking or laughing at him like they usually did, and there were other things different. They had much shorter hair than he was used to, and they weren't wearing make-up. And they wore pants and comfortable shoes, which made no sense because his firm never allowed women to wear pants.

He was just wondering about that, when to his amazement he saw another man in a dress! It was the bastard who had hiked up his skirt that first day, wearing a very simple gray dress with black high heels. He said hi to Carl is passing as though nothing was unusual.

Carl passed the office of the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation, and the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation poked his head out of the office and asked him to step in to talk to him for a minute. Carl shook his head in wonder when he saw that the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation was wearing a white blouse with a jabot, and a pink skirt with matching jacket. He was wearing pantyhose, high heels, make-up and everything else Carl was wearing.

The Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation motioned Carl into a chair. Carl sat, and noticed that as the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation sat down he tucked his skirt beneath him and crossed his legs.

"Carl," he said, "I need to talk to you about some of your dresses."

Carl nodded, still uncertain about what was happening.

"We need to maintain a business atmosphere at the firm, and that means conservative business attire. I'm concerned about some of the dresses you've been wearing to work. It's not a good idea to wear floral chiffon dresses to work, or frilly dresses with lots of ruffles and lace. It's OK to wear a ruffled blouse with some lace on it, but other than that we really expect you to stick to more conservative dresses and skirts."

Carl shook his head in wonder.

"You have a question?" asked the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation.

"No. No question. Oh yes, actually George, I do have a question. You wear a bra, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"Why do we wear bras? We don't have breasts. Why should you put on a bra every day, and stick falsies in it?"

The Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation sighed.

"Carl, business attire isn't always be practical clothing, but we need to maintain a conservative appearance, and that means pants for women and skirts or dresses for men. And along with wearing a dress goes pantyhose, high heels, make-up, and yes, a bra. Why in the world are you asking these questions? You know how the world works."

"I just was wondering. Uh, George---you do sometimes wear pants, don't you?"

The Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation looked at Carl as though he couldn't believe what he just said.

"You better be kidding, Carl. If you're not I'd like you to tell me what in the hell I've ever said or done that makes you think I would EVER go around dressed like a woman."

"A woman?"

"What the hell kind of a sick perversion are you accusing me of? What kind of faggot would go around wearing pants like a woman?"

"Uh---take it easy George. I was just kidding around."

"You better be. Sorry, Carl, I don't consider that kind of thing to be very funny. I hope you're not telling me that YOU wear pants."

"Me? No, George, I could never wear pants."

"Good. Sorry, I got a little carried away, there. If there's nothing else, I think we're done here."

Carl stood up and turned to go. Then he turned back. He looked down at his white silk dress. He tugged it down a little, and fixed the bow so it looked a little nicer.

"George, I do have one more question."

"What?"

Carl looked down at his dress, again.

"Is this dress OK?"

"Sure, the dress you're wearing is fine. I assume you're wearing a slip?"

"Of course."

"Then there'd be no problem wearing that dress to court or meeting with clients. Just be careful when you're putting on lipstick. I was wearing a white polyester dress last week, and I was touching up my lipstick and got some on my skirt."

"On your skirt?"

"Oh, I just wasn't thinking. I forgot to close it up before I put it back in my purse, and it brushed against my skirt. Damn lucky thing I wasn't meeting with any clients that day. It's not always so easy being a man, is it? Is there anything else?"

"No," said Carl, and left.

No matter how strange the dream, the dreamer doesn't question; he just believes. When Carl woke up Tuesday morning, he felt good to know that it wouldn't be such a big deal wearing a dress to work any more, now that all the men were in dresses. It took him all of thirty seconds to realize it was a dream, and that he was still a freak. A crossdressing freak, an object of ridicule and derision, a big joke for everyone to laugh at and make fun of. A man in a dress, a man entitled to no dignity whatsoever.

Tuesday evening of his third week in dresses, he was sitting around after dinner in his long-sleeved lavender silk dress with a bow at the collar, and his white high heels, watching the game on TV. There was a knock at the door, and he got up to answer it. It was Gladys, from down the street. She was a fairly large woman, having given birth to six kids.

She laughed a little bit, seeing Carl in his lavender dress. She tried to stifle her laughter with her hand.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Carl, I'm still not used to seeing you dressed this way. I'm sure eventually I'll get used to seeing you in a dress. Maybe another ten years or so. Just kidding."

"What do you want?" he asked, irritably.

"I'm glad to see you're still wearing dresses. I was afraid you'd gotten cured, or something. I need your help."

"With what? The game is on. Couldn't your husband help you?"

"Oh, no, there's only one man in the neighborhood who can help me with this, and it just so happens he's wearing a dress."

Carl noticed for the first time that she had a green crepe dress and a white slip in her hands.

"I need to hem up my dress a little, for a wedding, and you and I are the same dress size, I'm embarrassed to say. Would you just slip into my dress for a few minutes? And the slip? Please, Carl?"

"I don't think so."

"Please? If you help me out, you can borrow any of my dresses any time you want. Please?"

"Of course Carl will help you out," said Gloria, who was suddenly behind him.

"The game---"

"Honey, you can watch the game while you model her dress. Come on in, Gladys."

He sighed. He turned around and said to his wife, "Unzip me."

Gladys giggled a little bit as Gloria unzipped her husband's dress. The green dress had a button front, so he wouldn't need Gloria's help getting it on.

He went into the bedroom and changed into Gladys's dress and slip, then went back into the TV room and stood on a footstool while she pinned it up. He watched the game while she worked.

"Are you wearing Maidenform?" she asked. She got no response, so she tugged on the dress he was wearing.

"What?"

"I just wanted to know if you're wearing Maidenform. Your lingerie. They have a lot of great full-figured stuff."

"I don't know. Ask my wife. Gladys, I'm trying to watch the game."

Gladys called in Gloria from the next room, and asked, "I was just asking your husband if he's wearing Maidenform?"

"I don't know. I bought him some Maidenform, but I can't remember if he's wearing them or not."

Before Carl could put his hands down to stop her, before he even knew what she was going to do, Gloria lifted up the dress and slip he was wearing and looked under it.

"Yes. Maidenform," she said, letting the skirt drop. "And his bra is, too. I remember now."

Carl was angry and embarrassed at being treated this way, but he decided the best thing he could do was ignore it and try to get through this as best he could. He tried to concentrate on the game and ignore the two women.

"How about his pantyhose? Does he wear Leggs, or---"

"Gentlemen prefer Haynes!" said Gloria, and they both laughed. "Those are Haynes Ultra-Sheer, in taupe, I think."

Gladys laughed and said, "You know, if anyone had told me we'd be standing around talking about what kind of pantyhose and lingerie your husband is wearing, I would've thought they were nuts!"

"I know."

"And of all the men in this neighborhood to wind up going to work dressed like a girl, Carl is the last man I'd ever expect. Big macho Marine wearing pantyhose and a dress and high heels and a bra and girdle. Can you believe it?"

Carl kept watching the game, trying to tune out what he was hearing, but of course he couldn't tune it out completely.

"Oh, that's nothing," said Gloria. "You should've seen him last Saturday, trying to kiss Jim!"

"Gloria, please---" said Carl.

"You're kidding! Carl, you really are turning out to be quite a fine young woman, aren't you? First you're wearing dresses, now you're kissing a man! Why was he trying to kiss Jim?"

"Well, Jim's a pretty attractive fellow," said Gloria.

"Gloria, stop it!" said Carl. "I went a little nuts. I lost my temper."

"So by way of apology you decided to make out with him?" said Gladys.

"Look, I wasn't serious! I wasn't trying to kiss anyone."

"I know what I saw," said Gloria. "You with your arms around Jim, begging for a kiss."

"Stop it, Gloria."

"Melissa better look out. You're going to steal away her man, Carl!" said Gladys.

Carl gave up and kept his mouth shut and waited for it to be over. There was nothing he could say to stop it.

"Which one of your dresses were you wearing, Carl? For your boyfriend, Jim?"

Carl said nothing.

"Well, I'll tell you if he won't. His short pink satin dress," said Gloria.

"Oh, I think I've seen him in that dress! That's a sexy dress! I'll bet Jim loved you in that dress, Carl. How could any man keep his hands off you when you wear a dress like that? You don't give the guys a chance, do you?"

"Jim is definitely a leg man. I better not let Carl wear that dress around Jim again, if I want to keep my husband."

"So when they were kissing, did Jim have his hands all over Carl?"

"Well, I didn't actually get to see them kissing. And Carl's lipstick wasn't smeared, so I don't think they ever got to start. I feel kind of bad that I interrupted their romance, because they were so obviously made for each other. It's always so romantic when a man and a woman find each other, or in this case, a man and another man who wears dresses."

"Carl," said Gladys, "I have a good feeling about you two. I think you and Jim are a perfect couple. Jim's a leg man, and Carl, you're a man who loves wearing pantyhose and short, sexy dresses. I definitely hear wedding bells, Carl. You've got to promise me that I get to be your maid of honor. I can't wait to see you in your wedding gown! It's too bad you and Gloria will be getting a divorce, but that's probably for the best. I mean, she's a woman. You don't want to be married to a woman when you look so much like a woman yourself. And Gloria can't compete with you. You look so much better in a dress than she does."

"That's true," said Gloria.

"So Carl, have you and Jim been out on any dates, yet? Has he called? I bet you can't wait to hold hands with him at the movies. You'll have to pick out a special dress for your first date together. Or maybe a skirt and blouse. Does he ever wear a skirt and blouse?"

"No. I got him a skirt and blouse, but he wouldn't try them on."

"Carl wouldn't wear a skirt? We've finally found something that Carl won't wear. Besides pants."

 

"I bought him a new dress a few days ago; it looks just like a skirt and a blouse. Let me show you."

Gloria went into the bedroom to get her husband's dress.

A commercial was starting. When he saw what it was, he couldn't believe his terrible luck. What was a commercial for lingerie doing on a sports broadcast?

"Oh look at that!" said Gladys. "How about that? They must've known you'd be watching, Carl."

"Gladys, just stop it! That's enough! Stop making fun of me! I'm doing you a favor, here."

"Sorry. I didn't know you were so touchy. We're just kidding around, Carl. Don't take it so seriously."

Gloria came back in with the dress, a very short sexy dress that really did look like a frilly silk blouse and a leather skirt. It was belted, and the white silk top had white lace at the collar and cuffs, and ruffles and lace down the center.

"Oh, that's beautiful! Carl's going to look so sexy in this. Has he tried it on?"

"No, but it's belted so I think it'll fit him all right. Won't need much altering."

"Oh, Carl's boyfriend is just going to love him in this. I'd love to see Carl in this dress." She took it from Gloria and held it up next to Carl. "Carl, would you try on your dress for me? Please?"

"No! I'm not a Barbie doll. Will you please get on with hemming this dress? Gloria, will you go back in the living room and let her work?"

"Don't be so rude," said Gloria.

"Go in the living room or I'm taking this dress off right now!"

"OK! OK!"

After thirty minutes, Gladys announced she was done. She excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Carl feet were killing him after standing for half an hour in high heels without a break. He stepped off the footstool, wanting to sit down for awhile, when he heard another knock at the door. Gloria answered. It was Herman, Gladys's husband, asking if Gladys was there. Gloria told him she was in the TV room.

He was headed into the room! Carl couldn't face him. He just couldn't face any more of the guys in the neighborhood. It was bad enough what happened with Jim.

He got off the footstool and stood looking out the window, his back to the room, holding his hands tightly together. He heard Herman enter the room behind him.

Suddenly, he felt someone grab him around the waist, and someone was kissing his neck! It was Herman!

He looked at him in shock.

"What are you doing!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I thought you were my wife! You're wearing her dress!"

"Do I look like a woman to you?"

"I'm sorry, Carl, I'm sorry! You're wearing her dress, and the hair is the same! I'm sorry!"

The two women came into the room. When they realized what had happened, they both started laughing like hyenas.

"Do you two lovebirds want to be alone?" asked Gloria. "No one's husband is safe when Carl's around."

"That's it! Both of you out of here, right now!"

He grabbed Herman by the arm and started propelling him from the room. Gladys went with him, but Carl was prepared to throw her out as well, if she didn't go willingly.

"You're still wearing my dress!" objected Gladys.

"You can get it later," said Carl.

He escorted them both to the front door, then left them and went into his study. He locked the door behind him. Gloria apologized for her husband, saying that he was a little cranky these days now that he had to wear dresses, but he'd get used to it eventually.

A few minutes later she knocked on the door of his study.

"Honey, I've got your dress. How about taking off Gladys's dress so I can return it? I know how pretty it is, but it doesn't really belong to you."

He opened the door and grabbed his lavender silk dress from her. A few minutes later he came out of his study and handed her the green crepe dress.

"Zip me up," he said. She zipped up his dress.

Wednesday Gloria had Carl wear his tight-fitting shiny floral silk dress to work, with white heels. The floral pattern on his dress was a white background covered with large red roses with green stems. His dress had a high ruched neck and long sleeves, and it was fitted with just a bit of spandex for a nice fit. The skirt came to just above the knee.

About two o'clock in the afternoon Carl came walking in past his secretary a bit more briskly than usual, which made Abigail wonder what was wrong. She took a quick look at her boss.

"Sir! You've got a run!"

"I know I've got a run. You don't have to tell me I've got a run. Every damn woman in the hallway let me know I've got a run, and they all had some smart-ass comment to make."

"How did you get a run in your nylons?"

"That doorway over by the vending machines."

"Oh, sir! The one with the splinters? I'm sorry sir. I should've warned you about that. Do you have a spare pair of pantyhose?"

"No."

"You should keep a spare pair in your purse."

"Well I don't, so forget it. I've got work to do."

"Sir, just hop up on the desk, here. I'll take care of it."

"I don't have time."

"Won't take a minute, sir."

He moved over a few of the office supplies on her desk, and sat down. She took a bottle of clear nail polish out of her purse and walked around the desk to stand in front of him.

"Could you cross your legs, sir?"

"Is that really necessary?"

"It will make it a little bit easier for me, sir."

Sighing, he lifted the skirt of his clingy dress slightly so it wouldn't get caught between his legs, then tried to cross his legs. Unfortunately his slip got caught, and he had to free it, but finally he was able to cross his legs with one knee above the other. Abigail began to apply the clear nail polish.

"I love your dress, sir. It's so pretty, with all those lovely roses on it."

"Abigail, why don't we just set a new rule? No more complimenting my clothes, OK? I don't need you constantly reminding me that I'm wearing a dress."

"Yes, sir."

She finished up, and asked him to hop off the desk. He jumped off, almost losing his balance in his heels, and slid up his skirt a little bit to take a look at her work.

"Looks OK. You can't even see the run. Thank you," he said, without much enthusiasm.

When the working day was over, after Gloria had picked up Carl and driven him home as usual, they both got out of the car and headed towards the back door, Carl in his floral silk dress and high heels and Gloria in her khaki slacks and blue top and sandals. Carl was glad that Gloria never noticed he had a run in his pantyhose.

Gloria ran ahead of Carl and opened the door for him, and held it.

"Don't open the door for me!" said Carl. "I can open my own damn door!"

"Honey, let's not argue, on this of all days."

He went inside, wondering what she meant. Something special about today? He looked over and saw that the table was laid with their good silverware, and there were candles in candlesticks, and wine glasses, and fancy napkins. And that's when he realized. Anniversary!

"Gloria, because of all that's happened to me, you know, I haven't been able to get out and get you an anniversary gift."

"Of course not, why should this anniversary be any different? But I've got something for you."

She went into the kitchen and got her gift for her husband. A dozen red roses. She presented them to him.

"See? Just like the pretty roses on your dress. Pretty roses for my pretty husband who wears pretty dresses."

He took them and didn't know what to do with him. He had learned that you do whatever your wife wants you to do on your anniversary, or you'll never hear the end of it.

"Thank you," he said.

"I'll put them in water. Sweetheart, I bought you a new gown I'd like you to wear for our anniversary. It's in the bedroom. Why don't you go slip it on, and I'll take care of these. Oh wait, first let me take care of this," she said, unzipping her husband's dress.

She took the roses from him. Carl didn't have to have his dress zipped up to avoid the pain. He could walk around with his dress unzipped all day if he wanted to, and he wouldn't feel any pain, as long as he was actually wearing the dress.

"Carl, about your gown, I've tied a little string to the zipper so you should be able to zip it up yourself. I'd like to see you make an entrance in your lovely gown, all zipped up and looking beautiful."

Carl went into the bedroom, determined to get through the anniversary with as little arguing as possible. His gown was draped on the bed. It was a pink lace sheath with a satin lining, with pink and white beads and sequins all over it, and there were some pink high heels lying on the bed right next to it which he was clearly intended to wear, and some glittery pink earrings. He unzipped the gown first, then slipped out of his dress and stepped into his pink lace gown, making sure that his slip didn't get caught. He put his arms in the long sleeves, and then he took the long piece of string attached to the zipper and threw it over his shoulder. He had no confidence that this would actually work; he thought sure the string would break as he tried to pull it up, but the string held and he was able to zip up his own gown. But there was no way he could ever untie the string by himself. There was pink lace encircling his entire neck, all the way up to his chin, and the high pink lace collar had two buttons in back for him to fasten, which he could easily reach. The long lace sleeves clung to his arms as tightly as his pantyhose clung to his legs. He realized his slip was bunched up under his gown, so he pulled up his long skirt a little bit and let it fall, then did it a few more times until he could feel that his slip was hanging properly. He saw that his gown went all the way to the floor, with no slit to make walking easier. He'd have to be careful walking. Even more so than usual.

He then took off his white pumps and put on the pink high heels, and he saw that he should've taken care of that first. It was very difficult and awkward lifting up his gown, reaching down to take off one of his heels, letting go of his gown to pick up the other pump he had to put on, placing it on the floor in front of him, lifting up his gown again so he could see what he was doing, placing his foot in the pink high heeled pump, forcing his foot in as far as it could go, and then letting go of the gown again, bending over as far as he could, and grabbing his high-heeled pump and forcing it the rest of the way on. And then repeating the process for his other foot. All this for a pink pair of pumps that you probably couldn't even see under his gown. All of a sudden, wearing a mid-length dress and putting on high heels seemed easy.

He clipped the pink earrings to his ears. He looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror, a middle-aged man in a glittering pink lace gown.

"Please, God," he prayed, "I know I haven't been to church in a long while, but please let there be an end to this, soon. I don't know how much longer I can stand it."

He could barely breathe in his tight gown. He headed out of the room, taking small steps in the long cylindrical skirt. Before he got out of the bedroom, he thought to himself that she was probably going to surprise him by wearing the same gown that he was wearing. That was actually something that might make him feel slightly better about his horrible situation. And about his wife.

But when he got out of the bedroom, she was still in her khaki slacks and blue top.

"You look absolutely beautiful. Smile!" she said. She held her camera ready to take the picture.

He hadn't smiled once since he'd started wearing dresses. He was terrified that if anyone ever saw him smiling for any reason while he was in a dress, they could take it to mean that he liked dressing like a girl. He could just imagine this photo of him smiling in his pink lace gown, being taken out over and over by his wife, shown to innumerable people, and anytime he might have the temerity to say that he didn't actually like wearing dresses, out would come the photo once again of him smiling in his pink lace gown.

He smiled. She took the picture.

She untied the string attached to his zipper. So now he needed her help to take off his gown, meaning that as usual he was at her mercy, and she could help him or not as the mood struck her. She could make him go to work tomorrow in this gown if she wanted to, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was a prisoner in his gown, just the same as he was a prisoner in any of his dresses. But the fact that he was in a tight gown he could barely breathe in, and which so severely restricted his movements, made him feel even more helpless and more trapped.

She went into the kitchen and brought back a rose. She had trimmed the stem down very short, and removed the thorns. Without even asking, she put the red rose into his hair, or really, into his wig. She took out her camera again.

"Smile!" she said. He smiled, and told himself this was the last photograph he was smiling for.

She put a new CD on the CD player, playing romantic music at a low volume. She lit the candles and dimmed the lights. Then they both went to the dinner table, and Carl suffered the indignity of Gloria helping him with his chair, mainly because he really did need help in that tight gown.

She served the meal. Coq au Vin and asparagus. She'd plainly put in a great deal of work on the meal, and it was very good. He complimented her on her cooking.

"Thank you," she said. "You look so lovely by candlelight, in your beautiful gown, with a beautiful rose in your hair. You're such a lovely woman. I'm so glad you're my wife."

Carl winced at her words. He didn't want to start an argument, but he thought it might be acceptable to say, very calmly and politely, "Gloria, please don't say that. I'm not a woman."

"I'm sorry. I forgot you're not a woman. Can you blame me? I mean, look at you! But is there something wrong with being a woman?"

"No, and there's nothing wrong with being a man, either."

Carl stopped talking, realizing that this line of conversation couldn't possibly lead to anything positive.

"It hasn't really been so bad these past two and a half weeks, has it, dressing like a woman? Getting to wear pretty dresses to work every day?"

"Yes, it has," he said, truthfully.

"Oh, you can't fool me. You love it. You love wearing a dress. Your eyes probably just lit up with joy when you saw that beautiful evening gown laid out for you. You put on every dress I pick out for you every morning with no complaints. You'd even go to work in a tutu if I made you."

Carl looked down at himself. If she was trying to goad him into an argument, it was best to just say nothing.

"You're very quiet tonight," said Gloria.

"I have nothing to say."

They ate in silence, then Gloria served Bananas Foster for dessert. When they finished, Gloria took the dishes away.

She put on a new CD of romantic music, and turned up the volume. She went back to where her husband was sitting in his glittery evening gown, and extended one hand towards him.

"Shall we dance?"

He took her hand and got up from the table. They went to the middle of the living room.

All of a sudden he realized, because of the way she was placing her hands on him, that she expected to lead.

"Gloria, please! What are you doing?"

"Carl, the one wearing the pants, leads. The one wearing the pantyhose, follows."

"I'm the man. I lead, Gloria."

Gloria laughed out loud.

"Look at yourself, Carl! Next anniversary, if you're not wearing a pink evening gown, you can lead. Otherwise, I'm leading."

"Gloria, I'm the one that leads. We're not dancing if you lead."

She stepped back from him and looked at him.

"Carl, I could've made reservations at a fancy restaurant for us, but I knew you'd be too embarrassed, so I slaved away all day on this nice dinner. If all that means nothing to you, if the beautiful evening gown I bought you and the flowers I gave you mean nothing, if our marriage and our anniversary mean absolutely nothing to you and you're going to refuse to dance with your wife on our anniversary, then fine, go ahead and sit down and watch TV or something, and I'll wash the dishes and never ask anything of you ever again!"

"Gloria, I don't know how to do this."

"It's simple. Do what I do, only backwards. I put a foot forward, you put a foot backward. Simple."

So Carl, in the name of keeping the peace on their anniversary, allowed his wife to grab his shoulder and put a hand on his waist. She slid her right foot forward, and he lifted his left foot up and tried to put it down behind him.

"My heel! My heel is caught!"

She made a little tsk tsk sound, and went behind her husband to free his heel from his lovely evening gown.

"Carl, slide your feet, Just slide them. This isn't a riverdance."

He followed her instructions, and allowed his wife to lead him around the room while the CD played.

"Isn't this nice?" she asked.

He nodded, briefly.

"Then why aren't you smiling?"

"I haven't felt too much like smiling lately."

"Why not?"

"Gloria, please, let's just dance."

"I wouldn't be so grumpy if I was wearing a pretty evening gown like yours."

The CD ended, and Gloria bowed to Carl. Carl bowed, too, though he couldn't bow too deeply in his tight gown.

"One curtsey," said Gloria. "Would it kill you?"

So Carl did one curtsey as carefully as he could, trying not to catch a heel again. When he headed for the couch to rest his aching feet, she said, "Oh no you don't, Carl. Come open your anniversary present, first."

He sat at the table, and Gloria gave him his gift. He unwrapped it. He looked at her.

"Perfume."

 

"Try some."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because men don't wear perfume."

Gloria laughed again, even louder than before.

"And men don't wear evening gowns, and men don't wear pantyhose, and men don't wear high heels, and men don't wear lipstick. So put on some perfume like a good little girl."

Carl closed his eyes. He swore that this was absolutely the last thing he was going to do to keep the peace on their anniversary. He spritzed himself with perfume. Gloria took the bottle from him and sprayed his wrists.

"How do you like it?"

"Fine. Thank you."

"You smell lovely."

"Thanks."

And finally it was over, and he'd managed to get through it without incident. She washed the dishes, and he sat down on the couch and put his feet up, and read the paper, and scratched himself a little. His gown was beginning to make him itch.

When they were ready to go to bed, Carl said, "Gloria, could you unzip me? This gown is pretty tight. I don't know how I'll be able to sleep in it. Please, just unzip me."

"Yes," Gloria said, "I would be glad to do that for you right this moment, if you had gotten me an anniversary gift."

 

Thursday morning Carl got to peel off his evening gown, and Gloria picked out a pretty chiffon dress in a floral print of red, blue, and violet. It had a full skirt and fluttery cap sleeves.

Before they got out the door, Gloria asked him if he would wear some of his perfume.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Gloria, I tried some yesterday because it was our anniversary, but I'm still a man, and men don't wear perfume."

She shrugged, and started to spritz all his dresses hanging in the closet.

In the morning, when he got to work, he sat down and grabbed a handful of change out of his purse for the soda machine. There were some paper clips mixed in with the change. His desk was covered with papers, and he looked around for some table space so he could sort through the coins and get exact change, but there wasn't any available in the office.

Finally he realized he could just spread his legs and make a little hollow, a little valley in his skirt, and drop the change there. He did so, and picked out the correct change. Finally, an actual advantage to wearing a dress. Probably the only advantage.

After that, he went out to the soda machine by himself with his change. He should've let his secretary do it for him, but he thought there wouldn't be too many people in the hallway at that hour. He was right; the hallway was deserted.

He looked at his change, held it up closer to his eyes to double-check that he had enough. He wasn't paying attention to his steps, and he tripped on a tiny snag in the carpet, and two of the dimes fell right down his cleavage. He felt the dimes falling down his dress.

He panicked and looked around to see if anyone saw it. No one was there. He tried to reach into his dress and get them out, but they were beyond his reach.

He looked around once more to be sure no one saw what he had to do.

He shimmied his body. He twisted back and forth. He wiggled around in his dress. His colorful dress was flowing about his body, his full skirt swishing and swirling and rustling. Finally, holding his skirt down with one hand so his slip wouldn't show, he jumped up and down three times, which hurt his feet in the spike heels, and the dimes fell out of his dress and onto the floor. He bent over, which almost caused him to lose his balance in his high heels, and picked up the dimes.

He looked around. No one saw his humiliating dance.

Maybe things were looking up for him.

Thursday afternoon he was walking down the hall on the way back from the men's room, and people in the hallway behind him were hooting and clapping louder than he'd ever heard, before. He turned and glared at them, but they just hooted and laughed and clapped all the more. He shook his head, wondering when these idiots were going to settle down and stop putting him through this every time he walked down the hall.

When he got back to the office, his secretary pulled his skirt out of the back of his pantyhose.

Thursday afternoon, Gloria got together at a neighbor's house for some bridge. She wore a dress, even though she knew most of them would be wearing pants. She hadn't worn a dress in a while, and she just felt like it.

There was Gladys, Mary, and Edith, sitting around the table, ready to play. But of course, there was always some gossip before the game, and there was only one topic on their minds.

"Heavens, I'm the only one wearing a dress," said Gloria. "Now I know what Carl feels like."

"And how is your pretty husband and all his lovely dresses?" asked Mary.

"Oh, he's still all grumpy about wearing a dress. I've been teasing him about dressing like a girl, trying to get him to loosen up a bit, you know. Most men would've developed a sense of humor about the whole thing by now, but not my conservative Republican stick-up-the-ass husband."

"I'll tell you," said Edith, "I'll never forget the first time I saw Carl mowing the front lawn in that lovely green silk dress. I just about died! Going back and forth with the mower, looking all serious, and that full skirt flowing in the breeze so he kept having to hold it down with one hand. I even saw his slip a few times. I can't believe he's still trying to act dignified in all his frilly dresses."

"I'll tell you, this whole forced crossdressing thing has gotten a lot of men in the neighborhood scared half to death," said Mary. "Last night I told my husband if he didn't get up and help me with the dishes I was gonna find a good hypnotist. Oh, did he ever jump to it! He thought I was serious!"

"Your husband doesn't have the legs for it," said Edith.

"Well, Carl is no Betty Grable himself, you know," Mary said.

"Carl must be like a big Barbie doll you can dress however you want," said Gladys.

"Yeah, and just as helpless. Couldn't take his dress off by himself if his life depended on it. 'Gloria, zip me up. Gloria, unzip me.' I wish he'd learn to do it himself. Honestly, it's like living with a little girl who can't even dress herself. Why can't he learn to zip up his own dresses?"

"Men are a lot less flexible than women," said Mary. "Especially musclebound Carl."

"Well, believe me, he hasn't been to the gym much, lately. I think his gym might frown on the idea of a man lifting weights in high heels and a frilly chiffon dress."

"Does he really put on whatever dress you tell him to, every morning?" asked Mary.

"Oh, you know how my big macho husband is. He could never say he'd rather wear a different dress than the one I picked out for him. If he ever expressed a preference, that would be like admitting he likes wearing dresses."

"You've really put him in some frilly frocks," said Edith. "And I love those tight satiny dresses he wears sometimes. I guess if you have to be a man in a dress, you might as well go all the way and wear the prettiest, frilliest dresses you can find. My morning just isn't complete until I can peek out the front window and see which pretty dress Carl is wearing to work."

"The only one he's said he'd absolutely never wear again was the pink one with the petticoats."

"Oh, I know the one you mean!" said Edith. "I couldn't believe it when I saw him in that one! I thought, is he going to work or pre-school?"

"I know, I know, that one was a little too frilly and girly to wear to work, even for my pretty, feminine husband."

"How are you affording all these dresses, when your husband doesn't believe in credit cards?" asked Edith.

"Oh, we have money. A top attorney, and here we are living in a little one-bedroom crackerbox, and he's too cheap to get us a nice place. And he won't invest his savings in anything riskier than a money-market account. It's time to spend a little bit of the skinflint's money, for a change."

"What are you going to do with all his pretty dresses if he ever gets cured?" asked Mary.

"Well, there's a lot of them. He already has more dresses than I do. Every time I go shopping, I see a dress in the window and think how cute Carl would look in it, and I've got to get it. But I've saved all the receipts. I can return a lot of them, but some of his dresses I had to alter. I can't return those. I don't know who will take them off my hands."

"Me! Me!" said Gladys. "I want 'em!"

"Oh that's right, you and my husband are the same dress size, aren't you? Are you sure his dresses aren't a little too girly for you?"

"No, I love his dresses! I can find someplace to wear 'em. I'll wear 'em to church."

"By the way, I'm sorry Carl wouldn't take off your dress the other day, Gladys. I've got it hanging in the closet with his other dresses. I keep meaning to bring it over to you."

"Wait! What was this? Carl was borrowing a dress from Gladys?" exclaimed Mary.

"Oh, you didn't hear about that? He wasn't borrowing it, really, but that's how it turned out. Gladys came over to our house and asked if Carl would model a dress for her, so she could alter it."

"And then you'll never believe what happened!" said Gladys. "Herman came over to get me, and Carl was in the room by himself, facing away from me, and what do you think Herman did?"

"He didn't!" said Edith.

"He did! According to Herman, he came right up behind Carl and grabbed him around the waist and kissed him on the neck!"

"You're kidding!" said Mary. The women had themselves a good laugh, and Mary said, "I wonder which of them was more embarrassed?"

"Just a guess, but of the two men, I'd say it was the man wearing lipstick and pantyhose and high heels, and a Maidenform bra and girdle under Gladys's dress who was the more embarrassed," said Gloria.

"And the more angry," said Gladys. "He threw me and Herman out, can you believe that?"

"Wow. That's really rude," said Mary. "Throwing you and your husband out, and then he wouldn't even take off your dress? That's not very ladylike."

"Yes," said Edith, "you should tell him if he can't act like a lady he should stop wearing dresses."

"Gloria, tell that story about Carl trying to kiss Jim," said Gladys.

Gloria laughed.

"Jim? Jim next door to you, Jim? What was this?" asked Edith.

"Well," said Gloria, "I usually only like to tell this story when Carl is in the room, because I like watching him squirm in his pantyhose. But the story is, last weekend I did something a little naughty to him. He was cutting the lawn in his pink satin dress and high heels, and I left to go shopping. I saw that it was about to rain, so I thought it would be cute to lock him out of the house and let him get soaked. I locked up the house, and I took the key out from under the mat, and I even locked up the garage!"

"Oh, Gloria, you are so wicked!" said Edith.

"Well, he was late picking me up once, and I got soaked, and I was wearing a dress, so fair is fair. Anyway, I figured he'd be too embarrassed to go to any of the neighbors for shelter, but when I got back I heard him over at Jim's, and when I opened the door, there he was with his arms around Jim, saying, 'Give me a kiss! Give me a kiss!' Or something like that."

"How in the world did that happen?" asked Mary.

"According to Jim, what I could get from him anyway, Carl was more than a little pissed off about the whole thing, and these he was in the kitchen, right by a chair, and a rat ran across the floor. And what do you think my big macho husband did? Jumped right up on the chair!"

All four of the women laughed.

"And Jim said that it was perfectly natural for him to do that, and that got him even more pissed off, and from that he somehow got around to threatening to make out with Jim."

"Wow. He really is going nuts, Gloria. Don't you ever feel a little guilty that you did this to him?" asked Mary.

"No, not really. I'm not really the one who did it, you know. It was just supposed to be a little joke, just for one day. It's not my fault it got out of hand. We're both victims of circumstance. I guess he's a little bit more of a victim than I am."

"He wasn't that bad a husband, was he?" asked Mary.

"No. And now he's not that bad a wife."

"I'll tell you something," said Edith, "if he ever does get cured, one thing you're never going to hear from Carl again is, 'Honey, why are you taking so long to get ready?'"

"Oh, but wouldn't that be something if he never got cured?" said Mary. "What if he has to wear a dress for the rest of his life! Wouldn't that be a scream! Can you imagine if we all got used to seeing Carl dressing like a girl? Can you imagine seeing Carl in a dress and not even thinking twice about it? Not even laughing?"

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. If this becomes permanent, Carl is going to have to start rinsing out his own pantyhose. He really goes through 'em. I swear, it is a full-time job keeping that man in fresh pantyhose and lingerie. I've rinsed out so many of his nylons I haven't had time to rinse out any of my own. Is it any wonder this is the first time I've worn a dress in three weeks?"

"Tell the truth, Gloria. You're going to change out of that dress and put on some pants before Carl gets home, aren't you?" asked Mary.

"Yes," she said, and smiled.

"I knew it! You just can't help rubbing it in, can you?" said Mary, smiling.

"You shouldn't try to compete with Carl, anyway," said Edith. "You could never look as good in a dress as he does."

"I said that to him!" said Gladys.

"Well, anyway, I'm sure this won't be permanent. That hypnotist is bound to come out of his coma sooner or later. But I'll tell you one thing that's really got me upset about this whole problem. It's been weeks since Carl has touched me. Sexually, I mean."

"Oh, that's too bad. You know, usually that's a sign that a man is having an affair with another woman. But in this case," said Edith, laughing, "I don't think that's very likely."

"No," said Gloria. "I think the only 'other woman' in this story is Carl. I swear, I've dropped half a dozen hints that I want us to make love, and Carl still hasn't touched me. Usually he's like a dog humping my leg. He never gets enough."

"Well," said Mary, "you're the one wearing the pants, now. Usually, I mean. Maybe you have to be the one to make the first move."

"Oh, how do I do that? Tell him how manly he is? I doubt I could get though that without laughing my head off."

"How are you two going to make love anyway?" asked Gladys. "I thought he couldn't take his dress off."

"Oh, that shouldn't be too hard to deal with. You never really have to take your clothes off completely if you don't want to. Don't tell me you've never had sex in a dress, Gladys?"

"I've seen my share of back seats," she said, and laughed.

"Well, if it does turn out to be permanent," said Edith, "I wonder if Carl might ever start to enjoy wearing a dress."

"Oh, I'll bet he enjoys it now," said Gloria. "He just won't let on."

"Why do you say that? Have you caught him in front of the mirror, twirling and curtseying?" asked Mary.

"No."

"Has he been pointing out pretty dresses in catalogues, and asking if he'd look good in 'em?" asked Edith.

"No."

"Has he been wanting to wear YOUR dresses?" asked Gladys.

"No. He couldn't get his big toe in one of my dresses."

"Then why do you think he enjoys dressing like a girl?"

Gloria took the anniversary photo out of her purse. Carl in his pink lace gown with a flower in his hair, smiling. She showed it to all of them, and they nearly screamed with laughter.

"This is the face of a man who can't believe how lucky he is that he has an excuse to wear pretty dresses," said Gloria.

The women agreed. And they decided it was time to start their game.

Friday morning Carl was ready to head out the door in his white linen dress with long sleeves, a bit of lace about the bodice, a fabric-covered belt, and pleated skirt. He grabbed his purse and prepared to open the door when Gloria noticed something.

 

"Carl, you've got to change your dress."

"Why? What are you talking about?"

"You've got a coffee stain on your skirt." She pointed it out to him, nearly hidden by one of the pleats.

"Oh come on, no one's going to notice that."

"Yes they are! I noticed it! Come on, Carl, take off your dress."

"No. Let's get going, already."

There was half a cup of cold coffee sitting on the counter. She grabbed it and threw it all over the front of Carl's white linen dress!

He looked at her in shock.

"OK," she said, "let's get going."

His astonishment was such that he seemed unable to speak for a moment, but finally he said, "Why the hell did you do that?"

"I figured if a little bit of coffee on your dress is good, a whole lot would be even better. Let's get going."

He looked down at himself, the coffee dripping down his dress. He grabbed his pleated skirt and fanned it out and shook it. Some of the coffee dripped onto the floor. It looked like none of the coffee made it onto his high heels or pantyhose.

"Alright, fine, you've got what you want. I'll change my dress," he said, heading into the bedroom.

"Aw, I thought we were going to work. I thought you were in a hurry. Just like a man to change his mind like that."

He went into the bedroom and dropped his purse on the floor. She unbuttoned her husband's dress and reached into the closet for his gleaming white satin sheath. He unbuckled the belt, wriggled out of his dress and let it fall to the floor. He stepped out of it and reached for the white satin sheath in Gloria's hands. She held it away from him.

"What are you doing? Give me my dress, now!"

"Carl, your slip has a little coffee on it. Must've soaked through. Put on another slip."

"Gloria, give me that dress!"

She continued to hold it away from him. He didn't have time to argue with her. Praying that he would be fast enough to avoid those horrible stomach pains, he slid the straps off of his shoulders and wriggled out of his slip. He quickly grabbed another white satin slip from the closet. He stepped into his slip, then pulled it up his body and put his arms through the straps. There was a little static electricity making his slip cling to his legs, so he fluffed it out a little, and then smoothed it and tugged it down.

"Give me my dress, already!"

"But that's---"

"Give me my dress, now!" he said, grabbing it out of her hand. He got into his dress and asked Gloria to zip him up. As she did so, she asked him to take a look at himself in the mirror.

When he looked, he saw that at least an inch and a half of his slip was showing. He tugged down his dress, but it wouldn't go any farther. He had put on a slip that was too long.

"Damn it!" he yelled. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! I'm sick of this! I have had it! I can't do this any more! I just can't do this any more! It's been almost three weeks! I'm going crazy! I swear I'm going crazy!"

He sat down on the bed. Gloria said, "Carl, don't have a breakdown just because your slip is showing."

"I can't do this any more! I swear I can't do this any more! I can't wear any more dresses!"

"Oh, you don't want to wear a dress? Why didn't you say so! Why not put on a suit and tie, then? What were we thinking, having you crossdress every day? Come on, Carl, you know you have to wear women's clothes every day until this is over. Stop whining about it."

"Every day it's something! Either my slip is showing, or I get a last-minute run in my nylons, or I break a brastrap, or I break a heel, or I can't find my purse, or some other damn thing! I can't do this any more! Every day, wearing pantyhose, and wearing a bra, and putting on a dress and make-up, and walking around in these stupid high heels and carrying a purse, and everyone laughing at me and making fun of me! I've had it! I can't do it any more! I can't wear any more dresses! It's been almost three weeks! I won't do it! I'm not wearing a dress any more! No more!"

"Carl---" said Gloria, but he ignored her. He went to his little-used chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans.

"Carl, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to sit on the ground and try to put these on. If I start to yell, pull them off me as quick as you can."

"Carl, you know it's going to hurt. Why do you do this to yourself?"

"I've avoided pain for almost a week. Maybe it's worn off."

"It hasn't worn off."

"You don't know that! I've got to try. I swear I'm going crazy."

He sat down on the ground, bent his legs a little, and proceeded to pull on his jeans over his legs, a little bit at a time, pointing his toes so his heels wouldn't get caught. He could feel the jeans sliding up his legs.

He kept telling himself, "I'm tough. I'm a marine. Nothing can break me. I can stand anything. I'm just a normal man like any other, putting on my pants. Nothing unusual about me. No reason it should hurt for me to wear pants. No reason at all."

"Off! Off! Off! Off!" he yelled. Gloria pulled his pants off him. He lay on his back on the floor and waited for the pain to go away. It hurt to breathe. This was always the worst pain, when he tried to wear pants. The pain he felt when he took too long changing from one dress to another was nothing compared to the pain he felt when he tried to wear pants.

Finally, he was able to get up. He crawled onto the bed, sat and looked down at his legs and the lace of his slip. Gloria bent over him and said, almost in a whisper, "All through?"

He looked up at her forlornly, and his eyes looked especially forlorn in mascara and eye shadow. He nodded.

"No more silly talk about wearing pants?"

He shook his head.

"Ready to put on a dress?"

"I'm wearing a dress," he said, in a meek, almost inaudible voice.

"What?"

"I said, I'm already wearing a dress. I'm always wearing a dress."

"I meant, ready to change your dress? Ready to put on another dress?"

He felt well enough to stand up. He got up off the bed and looked at himself in the mirror.

"No. The hell with it," he said. "If my slip is showing, my slip is showing. They couldn't possibly laugh at me any more than they do now. Let's go."

"You go out the door like that, you'll be driving yourself," she said. "No husband of mine if leaving this house with his slip showing."

"Fine. Get me another dress, already."

She looked through the closet, and picked out his pink chiffon dress with the long flowing skirt. It was not the same pink chiffon dress he had worn on April Fool's day, the first dress he wore after he was hypnotized. This dress had a Peter Pan collar, billowy sleeves with elasticized cuffs, a full skirt, and lace accents about the collar, cuffs, and hem, and even an extra row of lace surrounding the skirt. It had a pink satin sash, and it was very sheer. She held it up in front of her husband, close to his body.

"See? Picking out a dress is not rocket science. Just hold it up next to you and make sure it covers your slip."

"I can't wear that! You can see right through it!"

"Try it on."

She unzipped his white satin sheath and helped him into his pink chiffon dress, and zipped him up, and tied the sash.

"See?" he said, looking in the mirror. "You didn't want my slip showing, but now you can see it right through my dress!"

"It's not the same thing."

"I can't wear this! It's bad enough having to wear a slip without everyone seeing it! I have to wear something else."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Carl, how many dresses are you going to try on before we get out the door? Can't you make up your mind? This is the dress you're wearing today, and that's it! Though come to think of it, your pink satin slip would look wonderful with that dress. Maybe you should change your slip."

Carl made an exasperated noise, and reached down and grabbed his purse. He headed for the door, and Gloria followed him.

The reaction of the women in the office to his sheer pink chiffon dress was surprise, almost shock. They saw him in the hall and smirked at him like they usually did, then their eyes went down to his visible lacy satin slip, and sometimes one of them might say, "Oh, my gosh!" and her hand would go to her mouth. Then she would giggle. Many of them had never even seen a woman wearing a dress that sheer, let alone Carl.

In the afternoon he got a call from the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation. He picked up the phone.

"Carl, I'm sorry to do this, but we need you in a meeting up here. Right now."

Carl groaned.

"Couldn't I just listen in over the phone?"

"No. There's some documents you need to look at. I'm sorry. I'll try not to make this too difficult for you, but we need you up here right now. Room 302."

He said he be there, and hung up the phone. He looked down at his dress.

"Pink. I would have to be wearing pink," he said.

He went out of the office past his secretary's desk, which was unoccupied because she had a doctor's appointment. He went to the elevator and took it up to the third floor. When the elevator door opened he stuck his head out and looked right and left. People on the third floor weren't used to seeing him wearing one of his dresses every day, and he'd rather not be seen by any more people than was absolutely necessary. Not too far away from the elevator was a little stepladder with only three steps to it. There was an open box of tools left right on the second step. He looked around for the maintenance man who'd left them, but he was nowhere to be seen.

He exited the elevator, being very careful stepping over the gap in his spike heels, and hurried to room 302. He paused with his hand on the door. He was terribly nervous. He felt sick to his stomach. But he opened the door and walked in.

"Oh, my gosh!" said a woman who'd never seen him in a dress before. There was suppressed laughter from all the women. The men all tried to look away.

Another woman looked directly at Carl, and her eyes dipped down to check out his lacy satin slip. "Cute dress," she said.

Carl looked down at his pink dress, then back at her, unsure what he should say. She didn't seem to be laughing too much, so he said, "Thank you," and there was even more suppressed laughter.

There was an empty chair for Carl. A man got up and was going to hold his chair for him, but Carl got to it quickly and pulled it out himself. He sat down and looked at the documents before him, embarrassment coloring his face.

The Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation asked him a question. He answered, then started taking questions from others. Before long, the meeting was going on as though nothing was any different, but Carl never stopped being nervous and embarrassed. There was a quaver in his voice.

One of the men on the other side of the table accidentally on purpose dropped a pencil, and bent down under the table to pick it up. Carl thought to himself, "Fine, let him look at my legs. There's no way he'll be seeing my underwear when I'm wearing a dress like this with a full skirt. Go ahead and look."

When they were done, the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation asked, "Any questions?"

"Yes," said a woman, "Carl, why didn't you wear your pink heels with that dress? I know I've seen you in pink high heels, before."

There was some more suppressed laughter from men and women both, and everyone looked at Carl, expecting an answer.

"I was a little late getting out the door, this morning." More laughter.

"Now, girls, don't laugh at Carl. It's perfectly acceptable to wear white heels with a pink dress," she said.

"For women," said one of the men, under his breath. Carl stood up, abruptly.

"Anything else?"

"No," said the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation.

He moved his chair away and turned around quickly. Unfortunately that got a laugh as well, because his full skirt whirled around with him, and a bit of the lacy hem struck a woman's bare arm, and she flinched.

He headed towards the door.

"Don't get your skirt caught in the door. Don't get your skirt caught in the door," he thought to himself.

He opened the door and got out of the room without incident, holding down his skirt with one hand so it wouldn't get caught. But as soon as he closed the door, he heard an explosion of laughter from inside the room.

He walked away, but then he heard them talking about him. He knew he shouldn't do it, he knew it would only make him crazy, but he listened in.

"What did I tell you about making jokes?" said the Vice-President in charge of Civil Litigation.

"I wasn't joking," said the woman who'd asked about his high heels. "I really wanted to know."

"It's the fact that he still walks like a man and acts like a man that makes him look so ridiculous," said another woman.

"Oh, he doesn't look so bad. Nice legs."

"Can you believe that he still tries to act dignified when he's dressed like that?"

"I'd have a hard time acting dignified in that dress myself," said the woman who was sitting directly across from him. "Where does he even buy something like that? I could see his slip right through that dress! I couldn't take my eyes off all that lace."

"His wife picks out his dresses for him every morning," said a man.

"His wife must've wanted a little girl," said another man, and laughed.

"Does he always dress that frilly?" asked the woman who'd just seen him in a dress for the first time. "Is that part of the hypnosis? Does he have to dress as frilly as he can?"

"Oh, right, the 'hypnosis'," said a skeptical man.

"Sometimes he wears a really tight silk dress," said a woman. "He looks slightly less ridiculous."

"And satin!" said another woman. "I know I've seen him in satin. Who wears satin to work?"

"I've worn satin," said the woman who'd sat across from him. "It was just a blouse, but it was satin."

"But what woman wears a satin dress to work?"

"I don't know, I only know what man wears a satin dress to work. Man, what a pervert!" said a man, and they all laughed.

Carl felt sick. He wanted to rip off his dress right there in the hallway, as though that would solve anything.

Then he heard them getting up. He hurried away from there as fast as his high heels would take him, his pretty chiffon skirt fluttering about his legs, touching his fingertips.

Some of the men and women in the meeting were walking and talking in the hallway somewhere behind him, headed for the elevator. Carl thought he'd rather just get out of there without having to see any of them again, so he hurried down the hall.

"Slow down, slow down!" he told himself. "This is when accidents happen."

But he wasn't heeding his own advice, and he rushed around the corner towards the elevator, and brushed right past the stepladder and the box of tools. And the claw of a hammer sticking out of the box put a run right in his pantyhose.

"Damn it!" he thought, and at that point he tried to do three things at once. He tried to stop abruptly, he tried to lift his skirt to examine the damage to his pantyhose, and he tried to turn and look behind him to check and see if the people headed for the elevator were close. And the result was that he tripped and fell backwards onto the floor.

He put his hands out behind him to stop his fall, so he didn't get hurt too badly, but his skirt flew up, exposing his slip. The men and women headed for the elevator would be arriving any second, and Carl had really had enough of being their entertainment for the day.

He knew, from his limited experience wearing high heels, that it would take him too long to get back up on his feet without a table or a counter to grab onto, or someone to help him up. He saw a table positioned right next to a filing cabinet, within crawling distance. He rolled over and started crawling towards the table on all fours. Really on all threes, because he needed one hand to hold up his skirt so it wouldn't get caught under his knees. Unfortunately, as he crawled along he could feel that he was doing even more damage to his pantyhose. He grabbed the side of the table, and pulled himself to his feet.

After all that he wasn't about to wait for the elevator. He headed for the stairs, and on his way he noticed that he'd knocked over the box of tools and they were all over the floor, but he didn't see why he should bother to pick them up. He gave the empty wooden box a good kick in passing, but it just hurt his foot and made him angrier. When he got into the stairwell he went down one flight of stairs very slowly and carefully, holding the handrail all the time. He stopped after one flight and lifted his skirt to take a look at the run in his pantyhose.

"Damn it!" he said aloud. It was even worse than he thought. Crawling around on his knees had split the run even farther. It looked like it went all the way up his thigh. He kept lifting his skirt and slip higher and higher to check out the run, taking another look around to make sure no one saw him. A run in his pantyhose was just the sort of thing that women loved to make fun of, when it happened to him. He'd gotten runs before, usually just from brushing against the rough corner of a coffee table or something similar, but never as bad as this. He was glad, anyway, that he hadn't gotten the run before he went into the meeting. It was bad enough all those women smirking and giggling at him, without the women getting to feel all superior because he had a run in his pantyhose and they didn't.

"Damn it!" he said again. "Damn high heels!" He couldn't even kick something in anger without his feet feeling the pain.

He went all the way downstairs and back to his office, passing only a few women. He could tell that they noticed the run in his pantyhose, but he hurried past too quickly for them to say anything.

When he got back to his office, his secretary Abigail was just back from her doctor's appointment. She was still prohibited from ever laughing at her boss.

Carl went into the office and lifted his skirt and his slip. "Look! Look at this!" he said.

Abigail looked at the run in his pantyhose, and did not laugh.

"I'm sorry that happened, sir. Was it the doorway with the splinters again? Don't feel bad, sir. That doorway has snagged a lot of other women. I meant women, sir, it's snagged a lot of women. Not 'other women'. It's snagged a lot of women, and now it's snagged you. Sorry, sir."

"It wasn't the doorway. Some idiot left a box of tools out in the hall, and there was a hammer that got me."

"The claw end?"

"Of course, the claw end! I'll need some more clear nail polish. Bring it in, I'll be in my office."

"I'm afraid nail polish isn't going to do it, sir. Do you have a spare pair of nylons?"

"No."

"Sir, I told you, you really should carry an extra pair of pantyhose in your purse."

"I know what you told me."

"I have a pair you could use," she said.

"Abigail, I couldn't possibly fit into your pantyhose."

"They're supposed to be one-size-fits-all, sir. Why don't you try them on?"

So he grabbed her pantyhose and told her not to let anyone in while he was changing. When he was done he came back to her desk and gave her his old pantyhose and told her to dispose of them. She threw them in her trash basket. Her basket was so full she decided to take it out into the hallway to empty it.

Half an hour later, he was back to her desk once again.

"These pantyhose are killing me! They're cutting off my circulation!" he said, with his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry, sir. Are you sure it's not your girdle, sir?"

"Abigail, I've been wearing the same girdle all day, and it's tight but it's not unbearable. It's not my girdle. It's the pantyhose."

"Could you lift your skirt sir?"

"Why?"

"I just want to see how they fit, sir."

"I told you. They don't."

"Sorry, sir. They're supposed to be one-size-fits-all."

"Abigail, there's no such thing as one-size-fits-all pantyhose. You women are so gullible. You'll believe anything. There's no way you and I could ever wear the same size pantyhose. Give me back my old pair."

"I threw them away, sir, like you asked."

"Well, get them back!"

"Sir, I'd have to go down to the dumpster. Why don't I just run out and buy you another pair of pantyhose, sir?"

"Fine. But hurry." He went back in his office and got a twenty dollar bill out of his purse, and gave it to Abigail.

"Get me a pair of Leggs. Sheer Energy. Size Q. Suntan color."

"I thought you wore Haynes, sir."

"I wear both. This morning Gloria gave me Leggs Sheer Energy to put on. I remember the container when she opened it."

"I'll be right back with your pantyhose, sir."

Carl settled down and tried to get some work done, but every so often he kept having to stand up and pace back and forth, trying to stimulate the circulation in his legs. He kept flaring his skirt, grabbing fistfuls of it and shaking them quickly back and forth, together and apart, over and over, thinking that the cool air flowing beneath his skirt might get some sensation back in his legs. But it wasn't helping.

She was back in about forty minutes.

"Your pantyhose, sir," she said, handing them to him.

"Finally!"

"Sir, before you change, I need to speak with you about something. I just got back from the doctor, as you know. I got some unfortunate news."

"Can't this wait? I've got to get out of these pantyhose."

"Sir, the thing is, I have an ulcer."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Well, that's the thing, sir, they tell me it's due to a rather unusual cause."

"What's the cause?"

"They tell me it's due to suppressed laughter."

Carl groaned.

"Sir, I'm the only one in the building who's not allowed to laugh at you. I can sneak off a couple of times a day for a good laugh, but it's not enough."

"Abigail, I'm the one who decides on your bonus every year, and I think I've been more than generous because you deserve it, but I expect a certain loyalty in return. You're still my secretary, you're the only one in this building who still works for me, and as far as I'm concerned part of your job description is to not laugh at me. My career is sidelined right now because I'm wearing a dress, but when this is over and I don't have to wear dresses any more, I will remember all the people who helped me out in my unfortunate difficulty, and all those who didn't."

"Sir, please, if you could just let me have a big laugh in the morning, when you first come in. That's the worst time for me. That's when it's the hardest. If I could just have that big laugh in the morning when I first see you, I'm sure that would be enough for all day. That day when you wore the pink dress with the petticoats was almost fatal to me, sir."

"No. I don't care if you explode. No laughing."

"Sir, I'm afraid you're going to force me to quit, for medical reasons. I'm ready to do that."

Carl considered the prospect of having to interview for a new secretary, having to explain his condition over and over again to every new applicant, having to endure the giggles, the smirks, the gaping, shocked expressions.

"OK. Once in the morning. That's it. I'll make sure to wear my pink dress with petticoats on Monday, and give you a really big treat!"

"And you do have to let me have a good look at you, sir, you can't just rush past me."

"Fine, whatever. Now get out of here. I need to change my pantyhose, and then I've got a tiny amount of work to do, but such as it is I'd like to get to it."

Friday evening of his third week in dresses, Carl sat on the couch in his pretty pink chiffon dress and white high heels, reading the sports page and feeling disconsolate. It was late, and he was just about ready to go to bed in his dress. He intended to spend the entire weekend in his chiffon dress, because he'd rather not go to the trouble of changing.

His wife came out of the bedroom in a sexy negligee. She slinked over to her husband.

"Hi there, Mister," she said. "That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

Carl looked up from his paper.

She sidled up close to her husband and teased him by saying, "But why are you wearing a pretty dress? Aren't you a man? I thought men didn't wear dresses. My gosh, you're even wearing pantyhose, aren't you? And a slip! You're even wearing a bra! I guess you're not a man after all."

Carl put down his paper and gave her a look of pure hatred.

She sat next to her husband and put her hand on his nylon-clad knee. Her hand started moving under his skirt.

"Well, whatever you are, wanna fool around?"

He said, bluntly, "Gloria, how in the hell do you expect us to have sex if I can't take off my girdle or my pantyhose?"

Her hand moved farther up his leg, playing with the lace on his white satin slip.

"You don't have to take 'em completely off. You know that. If you can pull 'em down far enough to pee, you can pull 'em down far enough for this."

Her hand moved under his slip and farther up his leg. He angrily grabbed her hand and yanked it out from under his skirt.

"I hate you," he said. "You're unbelievable! You make me wear dresses and lipstick and pantyhose 24 hours a day, you threaten to tell my friends about me, you make me model my dresses in front of everybody, you humiliate me, you laugh at me, you make fun of me, and now I'm supposed to take care of your sexual needs? You can go straight to hell! I'm going to bed!"

He got up off the couch and headed for the bedroom, his pretty skirt flowing and swirling about his legs.

"Are you a man or a woman?" she asked. He stopped and spun around on his heels, his full skirt whirling around with him.

"I'm a man," he said.

"Oh, are you? You're standing there in a pink chiffon dress, a satin slip, pantyhose, pink cotton panties, a bra, a girdle, high heels and make-up. You don't look much like a man to me. If you're a man, prove it! Take off your dress and put on a pair of pants. Oh, you can't? OK, then, take off your high heels. You can't do that? Take off your lipstick, then. You can't even do that? Some man you are. OK, then, prove you're a man by pulling down your girdle and your pantyhose and panties, hiking up your pretty pink chiffon dress and your slip, and making love to me the way a real man makes love! You keep saying you're still a real man under all that satin and lace. Prove it! And if you can't, then you're a woman, and I'm gonna call you Carla until you prove to me that you're a man!"

He was stunned. He stared at her, and he tried to fold his arms, but he did it wrong, so that his arms got caught on his falsies. He folded his arms again, and looked at her.

"It's not my fault I'm wearing a dress. You did this to me. You want me to make love the way I used to? Fine. Help me figure out a way to wear the clothes I used to. Help me dress like a man, again. Help me find a way to take off my dress forever without bonecrushing pain, and I'll rock your world. Until then, you can drop dead."

He turned, and headed back to the bedroom.

"Good night---Carla," she said.

Carl paused only a second, did his best to ignore the taunt, then continued on into the bedroom.

Saturday morning they slept late. They got up in time to have lunch together before Carl had to go outside to start the yard work. Gloria finished eating first, and started in taunting her husband.

Before now, she'd never really set out to intentionally humiliate her husband, or at least she didn't see it that way. She was just teasing him a little to get him to loosen up. But now she was mad at her husband, not only for denying her sex but for requiring her to have to be the one to ask for it.

"Carla," said Gloria, "I don't know if I've mentioned it to you before, but I really love your cute dress! That dress is so scrumptious! I love the pretty lace on it. It's so lovely, and you look adorable in it. It's a little too girly for me, but with your legs and figure it's perfect on you. I swear, Carla, you must wear more dresses than any woman I've ever known! Every time I see you, you're in a dress! I can't remember the last time I saw you in pants. You must really love wearing cute dresses. Here it is, Saturday afternoon, and here I am in a nice comfortable pair of jeans and sneakers and a T-shirt, and yet, here you are in a pretty pink chiffon dress, high heels and pantyhose. You are so feminine. You are the most feminine woman I know. I really admire you."

Carl sighed, and tried not to react while he finished his lunch.

"I'll bet slipping into a cute dress like that makes you feel so lovely and girlish, just the way a woman should feel. It must be a lot of fun to wear, that dress. That full skirt must be a problem, though, getting caught in doors and such. But it's worth it to get to wear a pretty dress like that. The men don't know what they're missing, do they, not being allowed to wear dresses? But don't you ever get up in the morning and say to yourself while you're putting on your pantyhose, 'Aw, the heck with wearing a dress today! I'm putting on a pair of pants!'? Don't you ever feel like wearing pants? I know you think wearing pants isn't very feminine, but it's not as though you might put on a pair of pants and suddenly someone might think you're a man! Who in the world could ever possibly think you're a man?"

 

Carl glared at her

 

"There's nothing wrong with a woman wearing pants, you know. It doesn't make you less of a woman. I know how much you love being feminine and girly and wearing adorable dresses, but just because you're a woman doesn't mean you have to wear a dress every single day, you know. You're won't cease to be a woman if you wear pants just for one day. They're not going to confiscate your uterus if you put on a pair of pants. I know they probably require you to wear one of your pretty dresses to work, and to wear nylons and high heels, but it's Saturday! Why not just go into the bedroom and put on a nice pair of jeans and some comfortable shoes, like me? Those high heels of yours don't look very comfortable. I won't tell anyone you didn't wear a dress today."

Carl didn't answer.

"My, you're quiet today. Well, I suppose for a woman who loves wearing dresses and high heels and nylons as much as you do, it's probably pointless to wear pants. Might as well take advantage of the fact that we women get to wear dresses, I suppose. I really think it's overdoing it a bit to wear a pink chiffon dress and pantyhose and high heels on a Saturday afternoon when you're not going anywhere, but if that's what you want to wear, well, why shouldn't you? You're a woman and if you want to be wearing a pretty pink chiffon dress, then that's what you should wear. I guess we can't all be as feminine as you."

Carl tried to ignore the taunts.

 

"You know, as far as I'm concerned, the main difference between men and women isn't the clothes we wear. It's the fact that men want sex all the time, and we only want it occasionally. Now, take you, for instance. It's probably been weeks since you've had sex, and do you miss it? Of course not, and that's what tells me you're a woman. Any real man would be climbing the walls after three weeks of no sex. Any real man would want to do it here and now."

Carl told himself not to react.

"I'll tell you the truth, Carla, I long for a manly man to put his strong arms around me again. It's been weeks since I've even seen a manly man around here. How about you, Carla? You must long for a man's embrace. Did things ever work out with you and your boyfriend Jim? Well, don't worry Carla, there's sure to be a man out there for a lovely feminine woman like you."

"Gloria, knock it off."

"Knock what off?"

"I'm a man. I'm not a woman."

"Really? Well if that's true, it means there was a man walking around your office yesterday in a pink chiffon dress and high heels. I think they would've noticed that, don't you? Come on, Carla, quit kidding around. Of course you're a woman. What man gets up in the morning and starts the day by putting on a bra and a girdle and pantyhose and a lacy satin slip, like you do? Are there any men who go to work in high heels and pretty silk dresses like you do? Of course not. That's kind of silly, Carla, a woman like you who hates wearing pants, a woman who wears a frilly pink dress and high heels and nylons even on the weekend, saying, 'Oh by the way, I'm a man!' "

"Gloria, please---"

 

"I know, I know, I'm sure you probably fantasize all the time about being a man. I know I do, sometimes. I'd like to be a man for at least a few days a month, if you know what I mean. But come on, Carla, a pretty girl like you who loves wearing pretty dresses would never make it as a man. What would you do if you couldn't wear one of your cute dresses to work every day? You'd hate it, walking around in pants for the rest of your life, never being allowed to slip into one of your adorable dresses to go to work. No, someone like you who loves wearing a pretty dress every day was obviously meant to be a woman. Why would a woman like you even want to be a man, when you love wearing a dress so much? If you were a man, would you be wearing that adorable pink chiffon dress? Can you imagine a man actually wearing that chiffon dress you have on? And wearing your pantyhose, and your high heels, and your slip? He'd look ridiculous! He'd look so funny!"

Carl got up without a word, even though his lunch wasn't finished, and headed outside to do yard work in his pink chiffon dress. The more she taunted him, the firmer he was in his resolve. He was so tired of being manipulated by her. And he'd been so humiliated and demoralized, and he hated her so much right now, he was beginning to feel like he might not be able to perform, sexually. He didn't need any extra humiliation right now. Besides, so many things could go wrong. All she had to do was reach up in the throes of passion and grab off his wig, and he'd once again find himself in terrible pain.

But still he was angry with himself. Angry that she made him bolt from the table. Marines don't run away from their problems. He made up his mind to never run away from her taunts, ever again. Let her call him Carla all she wants to. Let her keep calling him a woman. He knew damn well he was a man.

"She keeps saying I'm a woman," he thought, as he was mowing the lawn, "yet I'm still the one who has to do the yard work."

At the end of the day, his pink chiffon dress was drenched in sweat and covered in grass stains. He had intended to wear it all weekend, but that didn't seem practical. He asked Gloria to unzip him.

"Of course. What are girlfriends for? Carla, isn't it a little silly to be mowing the lawn in a pink chiffon dress? Why don't you just wear pants?"

He didn't answer.

He asked her to pick out a dress for him while he took a shower in his blue polyester dress. She picked out a low-cut gold silk dress with long sleeves and a loose skirt. It had a sash that tied, made of the same gold silk. With her help, he changed into it when he got out of the shower.

"Carla, I'm always glad to help you like this, but you know, you're a grown woman. You really should do some of this yourself. It's silly for me to pick out a dress for you every day. I don't know why I ever agreed to do that for you. From now on, you need to start choosing what to wear on your own."

He remained silent, and that night he went to sleep in his gold silk dress.

"Carla, you're going to sleep in your dress? And pantyhose, high heels and lingerie? Isn't that terribly uncomfortable? Wouldn't it be easier to just sleep in a nightgown, like me? That's carrying femininity a little bit too far, even for you, Carla."

"Good night," he said.

(continued)

  

  

  

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