Author’s Prologue

This story almost really happened. It was only when some "uncertainties" arose as to whether or not "Marty" could "pull it off", did those involved "chicken out" before the big event. I have written the tale as it might have otherwise happened. The characters really existed, but the names and locations have been changed.

 

I remember that it was the summer of 1962. I was 13 and my father, who was in the Air Force at the time, had just been assigned to his final post in Texas, prior to his impending retirement. Since he would not be stationed there for very long, he decided that the family, me, my mother and my younger sister, would live in Mobile, Alabama, where he planed to retire. It would give us time to get ourselves "settled in" and also avoid the hassle of another move in ten months or so.

 

Mobile was special to my parents as they had met there 15 years earlier. They both loved the city and its location near the Gulf of Mexico. It was in Mobile that they decided that they wanted to live when my father left the service. My mother had lived there prior to meeting my father, so she still had friends there. She would not be lonely.

My father left for Texas as soon as he saw to it that we had a house to live in and that me and my sister, Mary, who was two years my junior, had been enrolled in school.

We were in School only for about two weeks before summer vacation began. As a consequence, I did not have enough time to establish any new friendships. My own neighborhood, had a shortage of kids my age, so I didn’t do much more but sit in the living room watch television most of the time.

My mother had a best friend she had known for years, Mrs. "Betty" Ainsworth. As Betty lived less than a mile away, my mother often would walk to her house to visit. Occasionally, "to get us out of the house", she would bring me and my sister along too.

Mrs. Ainsworth, a widow, lived with her 19-year-old daughter, Barbara, who worked as an assistant librarian in the local municipal library. Betty had two other children, grown sons who no longer lived at home. One was a Geologist who worked for a large mining company out West and the other was a news reporter who worked for a television network news agency in New York City.

The only reason that I did not protest about having to walk with my mother to Betty’s house is that she did have better television reception than we had at our own place. There were two more stations to choose from. I could watch TV and enjoy my greater variety of programs, while my mother and Betty would sit at the kitchen table all afternoon and talk.

My sister was no problem. She had a friend that lived in the neighborhood, so she was outside, playing with her. I had the television all to my self.

It was a Monday afternoon. I was sitting on the couch in Mrs. Ainsworth’s living room, watching an old Western Movie on the TV, when Barbara stormed in. Now Barbara was quite an attractive young lady. She was not very tall, only about five foot two inches or so, brunette and a stylish dresser. She tended to favor high heels and suits rather than the more casual styles. She looked a bit older than she actually was.

I tried not to look directly at her. At my age, I was still shy around attractive girls, and even under normal conditions, Barbara always made me feel somewhat nervous.

 

She was obviously quite angry about something. It was after 3:30 PM., so she must have just gotten off of work. She walked past me and directly into the Kitchen where my mother and Betty were sipping coffee.

"Ohhh! I am so mad!" She exclaimed to her mother.

"What’s wrong dear?" her mother replied.

"My Boss, Miss Hanson. She can be so unreasonable! She wants me to attend that boring Librarian’s conference in her place Sunday night. I told her I had an important dinner date planed for than evening. All she said was ‘too bad’ and to cancel the date. She said that if I didn’t attend, I would be looking for a new job".

"Well," Mrs. Ainsworth answered back, "It looks like you have no choice."

"You don’t understand Mother! I have it on good authority that Mike has set this dinner up for something special. He is going to propose to me! Jane, his sister told me so. There is no way I am going to cancel the date."

Betty thought for a moment. "Why don’t you get one of your friends to attend the conference meeting in your place?" she suggested.

"I thought of that." Barbara replied, " and so did Miss Hanson. Like every one else I have to sign in, and Miss Hanson telephoned a lady she knows who works at the municipal conference center. I overheard her tell the lady to make sure that it indeed was me, a cute, short, 19-year-old brunette, who signed in for the meeting and no one else. "

"Is that how she described you?"

"Yes"

"That should be no problem, Barbara. Don’t you have any short brunette friends?"

"There is only Millie and Jane. Millie is five nine and blonde and Jane is going to be double dating with me and Mike at the dinner. There’s nothing I can do!", moaned Barbara, on the verge of tears.

My mother, in an attempt to ease the situation with a small joke, quipped, "Well, we can put Marty in a dress and wig and send him to the meeting. He is about the right size". Both She and Betty laughed at the suggestion.

I had overheard the conversation in the next room and yelled back "no way", which got another laugh. I knew she wasn’t serious, but felt the urge to comment any way.

Barbara did not appreciate us making light humor of her situation, but after a pause, she looked thoughtfully and replied. "You know, he wouldn’t have to do anything very complicated, just sign my name and sit through the lecture."

"Seriously?" Betty replied.

"Yes, seriously!. Nobody knows me at the center. We don’t have to look exactly alike. He only has to fit Miss Hanson’s general description of myself." Barbara looked at my mother. "Would you let him do it for me?"

Her question took my mother by surprise. "Err… sure, if it is ok with him, but I know he won’t do it".

"Even if I promise to pay him Twenty Dollars?"

"Now Barbara," my mother replied, "You don’t need to be spending your money…"

"Don’t worry Mrs. Wright, I have the money and it will be well worth it to save my job and my social life."

"Go ahead and ask him" my mother responded. "But I don’t think you can talk him into doing it."

Barbara raised her voice "Marty!" she called.

Now, I had been listening on the conversation quite intently since it took its latest serious turn. "No!" I replied quite respectably, but forcefully.

"But Twenty dollars is a lot of money"

She was right! Back then twenty dollars WAS a lot of money, especially for a 13-year-old kid. But there was no way I was going to dress like a woman, no matter how much money she offered me. "Please" she pleaded, but I held my ground.

"I told you so" my mother laughed.

The conversation turned to other subjects, and I resumed watching my movie. Soon, however, Barbara entered the room, sat by me on the couch and tried another approach.

"Can I ask you something?" she began. "Honestly, tell me exactly why you won’t help me with my problem?"

I knew that I was expected to say NO to the proposition as a simple matter of principle, but the way she asked me the question sort of put me off guard and I had to think about it. "It would be too embarrassing!" I replied. "I could never let Mom see me dressed up like that, and Mary! If Mary even knew that we were discussing such a thing, she would tease me unmercifully. I would never hear the end of it."

"Well what if we get your mother to agree NOT to see you in costume and not to tell Mary anything at all about it?". I’m sure that your mother would co-operate as a favor to her friend. My twenty dollar offer still holds too."

She was beginning to wear me down. I had to grope for excuses. "But I couldn’t be seen in public dressed like a girl. People will laugh! I might even get arrested."

"Nobody will know it’s you. Nobody will think, or even suspect, that you are not a woman. I guarantee it. We will do this right. Besides," she continued, "If at any time I don’t think you will be able to do it , we will pull the plug on this operation then and there and nothing more will be said. Hey, my butt’s on the line here too. I won’t, I can’t let you fail." "Please do this for me!"

"Wellll," I hesitated, "OK, but only IF you get my mother to swear to agree to the terms. If there is a slip up, the deal’s OFF !"

"OHHH! IM so happy! Thank you!" she wined and then kissed me on the cheek.

I turned beet red with embarrassment and wiped the red smear of lipstick off my cheek with my hand.

Barbara ran back to the kitchen and informed our mothers of my decision. My mother started to laugh, but Barbara quickly cut her off and told her the strict terms of our agreement. I could tell that my mother was disappointed at missing out on some of the "fun", but she agreed to the conditions.

"Holy smokes!", I thought, "she actually agreed!" My last hope for an "out" had evaporated.

Mary would be simply told that Mrs. Ainsworth had hired me to help move some furniture and help paint a room in her house. One problem solved.

I was to report back to Barbara’s house Wednesday afternoon. We would evaluate my future appearance and, if satisfactory, would move on with the rest of the transformation work.

"Wednesday?", I asked, "That’s five days away from Sunday."

"It will take a good while to get you properly groomed, besides, Marty," Barbara replied, "It is not just the clothes. You will need all the practice we can give you learning how to walk, sit, talk and otherwise move and act like a young woman. If you can’t do that then people might think you a boy anyway, despite your external appearance. I hope only five days is long enough."

Her last comments sort of shook what little confidence I still had. This was not going to be as hard as I thought. It was going to be worse!

Mom said nothing about the situation as we walked home that evening. To my surprise, she didn’t even drop any of her expected kidding remarks. It looked like she was actually going to keep up her end of the bargain.

When Wednesday came, Mother told my sister that I would be away from home for a few days, while I helped out "moving furniture and painting" at the Ainsworths’. Mary seemed cool about it and didn’t seem to be very concerned or overly curious.

I walked to Mrs. Ainsworth’s house alone. My knees began to feel weak as I approached the front steps. Barbara must have seen me coming as, before I could knock, she opened the front door and motioned for me to come inside.

Barbara told me that her mother was out visiting, so I would not have to worry about being embarrassed in front of her either. This would be, at least for now, something strictly between Barbara and myself.

She wasted no time at all. First she took me to her bedroom and told me to take off my shirt.

"Lets see what we have to work with", she commented as she examined my arms and upper torso. Next she told me to take off my jeans. I hesitated. Barbara, sensing my uneasiness about removing my trousers in front of her, said "you ARE wearing under shorts, aren’t you?" "Yes", I replied. "So get on with it." She shot back. "Its no different than standing in front of me in your swimming trunks. They cover the same area."

I couldn’t disagree with her logic, so I slipped of my jeans and stood there in my briefs while she looked me over from head to foot.

"You know that we will have to shave your legs", she stated matter-of-factly, "AND your arms". She walked around me and stroked between my shoulder blades with the tips of her fingers. "Your back too, and anywhere else you have any unsightly hair."

I noticed that the water was running in the bathroom. The tub was filling up as I was submitting to my inspection. Barbara told me to get in the tub and soak for a few minutes, and that she would soon be there to help me with the shaving. "But won’t I be naked in the tub?" I wined. "Here, wear this" she said as she threw me a dark blue article of clothing". I recognized it as the bottom part of a woman’s two piece swimming suit.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I removed my briefs, but was hesitant to put on the womans’ swimsuit bottom. I thought about it for a few seconds and then decided to put it on anyway. It was certainly preferable to being naked in the tub when Barbara came in. The stretchy fabric, fit me closely, but not excessively tight.

I climbed into the tub, which was full of bubbly water that smelled like a flower garden. I had just begun to relax when Barbara walked in holding a razor in one hand and a bottle of some kind of lotion in the other.

She wasted no time and went right to work on me. Despite my howls of protest and pain, she shaved every exposed part of my body from the neck down. Some parts she did twice. "Don’t worry," she chided me as she handed me a towel. "It will all grow back".

She then had me step out of the tub, where she then took a towel and dried the upper part of my body. Now things were getting serious! To my chagrin, I noticed that parts of my now hairless body, especially my shoulders, arms and legs, now looked especially "feminine" as she dried them off and then smoothed a soothing lotion over the shaved areas.

Next, to my horror, she handed me a bra! I remember reading the 36 C, whatever that meant, on the tag as I held the garment in my hand, not quite sure what to do with it.

"Here" she said with a slight tone of frustration in her voice, as she snatched it from me and thrust my arms through the straps. She inserted a ball of rolled up nylons into each cup and then clasped the bra behind my back. Suddenly I had Boobs!

She handed me a pair of nylon panties, pointed to a short bathrobe hanging on the door and some slide-slippers on the floor. She told me to put them on after I took off the suit bottom and finished drying myself. Then I was to report back to her bedroom.

A shiver went down my spine and I felt myself starting to have an erection. THAT could be an embarrassing problem! Fortunately, I was able to exert some of self-control over the situation, by reminding myself of the frightening situation I was now facing.

Reluctantly, I slipped on the panties. These were the real things! But, however, I was able to get a handle on my emotions by convincing myself that they were not too much unlike my own briefs.

The robe was white terrycloth. It didn’t look like it would be too bad-- at first. But when I slipped it on, I discovered that the sleeves were of a length so as to as to expose my forearms to a most feminine looking effect. The hem of the robe extended to just above my knees. The shapely bare legs extending from beneath looked like real "woman legs". This effect was enhanced even more when I slid on the slippers.

The female form of the rest of myself asserted itself when I tied the robe’s waistband. My new boobs looked even bigger as they pushed out the front of the garment. Another shiver ran through me once again as I realized that I now actually looked like a woman from the neck down.

I apprehensively returned to Barbara’s room as instructed. She seemed to like what she saw. "This is going to work!" she said triumphantly. "Let’s finish up the hair removal and then we can move on to other things" she said as she directed me to lay on the bed.

"What other hair does she mean?" I asked myself. She had already denuded nearly my entire body just a little while ago. I was to find out quickly. She produced a pair of tweezers and began to painfully pluck out my eyebrow hairs one by one. "Don’t worry, they’ll grow back" she said, repeating her statement of about an hour ago. "Your brows are much too bushy and scraggly. They need to be thinned out and cleaned up a bit." "It’s no big deal, she continued, lots of men have it done all the time too."

Those last comments made me feel better, but I could not help but suspect that she might be overdoing it.

About a half-hour later she was finished. I glanced at myself in her dresser mirror and noticed that I looked oddly different. My thick brows were now gone, replaced by much smaller and perfectly formed wing shaped arches over each eye. No man I knew ever had his eyebrows plucked like this! "This is gonna be hard to hide" I thought, but the damage was already done. I would deal with the problem later.

Barbara next produced a bottle of deep red fingernail polish. And told me to remove my slippers. Interestingly, my toes kept jerking away, involuntarily, as she approached the nails with the brush. "Hold still!" she demanded. "IM trying" I replied, "but they just do that". She had me lay back down on the bed and close my eyes. Not being able to see what was happening, I was able to keep my feet still enough for her to finish the job.

My feet, with their red toenails looked almost frightening when I first saw them. The effect was not unlike an electric shock. My toes, almost reflexively, kept wanting to curl up. Fortunately the polish was dry, so no damage was done. Putting the slippers back on calmed me down a bit. "Gosh, get a grip! It’s only nail polish" said Barbara as she shook her head in an amazed response to my reaction.

"Now its time to do your fingernails" Barbara announced. "Let us hope that you can control yourself through this." She sat me down at a card table that was set up in a corner of the room and took a seat across from me.

The clipping and filing went well. It wasn’t a big deal to me at all. Her next move surprised me though. Instead of getting out the fingernail polish, she grabbed my left index finger and placed the tip of it, nail side up, into a shallow recess cut into a small, slightly rounded, shiny block of metal. She then brushed a thick, clear liquid on the nail and out, beyond it onto the slightly curved surface of the metal. She then sprinkled some white powder on the liquid, which then made it turn milky white. A few seconds later she had me remove my fingertip from the metal block. To my surprise and fascination, the liquid that had been painted beyond the end of my nail peeled off the block and remained attached to the end of my finger. It was like a long fingernail. And amazingly, was now actually part of my own nail. It was irregularly shaped to be sure, but Barbara then took hold of my finger again, and with a heavy looking nail file, shaped the projection to a smooth oval point.

"Wow!" I thought as I examined what she had done. The nail that extended about an inch beyond my finger was a natural looking white and looked absolutely real. It WAS part of me. I couldn’t tell where my own nail ended and the real one began.

One by one, each of my nails received the same treatment. I watched in fascination, momentarily forgetting the distress of my feminization. It took Barbara nearly two hours to finish. And when she was done, I had a set of ten talons that would make count Dracula proud.

Unfortunately, Barbara broke the spell and my fascination once again turned to trepidation when she pulled a brush-full of bright red fingernail polish down my left pinky. Almost like a reflex, my hand snatched itself away.

"Hey!" Barbara hollered and I did my best to put my hand back on the table. My left pinky had become a woman’s finger!. It frightened me to look at it. "Close your eyes!" Barbara commanded, when my hand involuntarily jumped away from the brush again, "and don’t open them until I tell you to.

I put my hands back on the table, tightly closed my eyes and steadied myself as I felt the cool liquid being brushed over each of my nails, one by one. Barbara made me keep my eyes closed until she was sure that the polish was absolutely dry. I didn’t mind. I dreaded what I would see when the time came.

I was not disappointed. I nearly jumped out of my chair when I opened my eyes. . My hands were "Woman-hands"! Perfectly manicured exquisite woman hands! My fingers stiffened up and spread out so much that they began to hurt. I started to hyperventilate. "Honestly, Marty" remarked Barbara, shaking her head, "It can’t be all THAT bad".

I calmed down a bit. My breathing slowly returned to normal and I could feel the tension in my fingers begin to ease up. Whatever it was in my boyish emotional structure that was so adverse to elements of the feminine appeared to be slowly adjusting itself to the new situation.

Still, my hands, with the long nails, felt strange. They were hard to ignore even if I wasn’t looking at them. I would get a twinge of a shock every time I caught a flash of red when one of my hands moved into my field of vision.

"Now that we have got the heavy work of the transformation out of the way," Barbara announced, "The rest will be easy. We won’t do a full dress up until tomorrow morning. For now, we just need to make you look a bit more normal in case we have visitors before bedtime." What new horror did she have in store for me next? I was soon to find out.

"If anyone should see you with your short hair, they will know that you are a boy" said Barbara as she searched through one of her dresser drawers. "Its too late today to wear the wig, so you can cover your head with this". She pulled out a frilly, red satin turban and pulled it over my head. "None of that!" she said as I began to walk over the mirror to see what I looked like.

Barbara picked up a sheet and covered the dresser mirror. "Promise you won’t look at yourself until tomorrow morning. I have my reasons." I agreed, but I didn’t know why. I was curious.

Barbara reached into her closet and pulled out another garment. She kept it balled up, so I couldn’t see what it was. I only knew that it was made of red satin. I took off my robe, as she then requested, and held my arms up as instructed, as she dropped the garment over my head.

It was a long, red satin nightgown with a round, low cut front and back. It wasn’t so low as to expose the bra or any cleavage that I didn’t have, but it did show an uncomfortable amount of smooth white skin on my chest back and shoulders.. The opening was circled all around by a matching ruffle that also served to form a kind of sleeve of sorts over the armholes and hid the bra straps. A slight elastic beneath the bust tended to give the gown a slight "empire waist" effect. From there, the shimmering folds fell to the floor. The feminizing effect was astounding! Save for the tops of my shoulders that were covered by the ruffle, my arms were nearly entirely bare and looked long and graceful. The fingernails made my arms look even more feminine, if that were actually possible. My legs now began to feel like jelly! I had to sit down on the end of the bed.

Barbara took that opportunity to slip some matching high heel satin slides on my feet. I protested, but she told me that they would keep me from dragging the hem of the gown on the floor. But I then began to worry about how was I going to walk.

Over the gown, she had me put on a long red robe or coat that seemed to be made of transparent gauze like fabric. It made me look even more feminine, but It did take the "edge" off the disconcerting effects of my bare skin. I didn’t feel "exposed" quite as much.

To my surprise I found that I was able to stand up, and even walk, so long as I walked on the balls of my feet, like I was "walking tiptoe". The shoes DID make me a bit taller and the extra height did indeed keep the hem of the gown off the floor and reduced the tripping hazard somewhat.

Barbara was still not finished with me though. She had me sit down, and then began to enhance what was left of my eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil. "We don’t need to use any foundation or much makeup just yet," She told me. "Just a little bit of eyebrow pencil and some lipstick to help you get into character". "Lipstick?" I groaned. "Yes, you will have to get used to it. You will be wearing it all the time from now on."

With that she picked up a golden tube from atop her vanity and removed the cap. She twisted the bottom, and a satiny, rich red shaft of color with a rounded top slowly rose. She could see that I was very nervous. This could be worse than the nail polish incidents. Thank God she covered the mirrors!

Barbara grasped my chin and told me how to hold my mouth. I watched, as well I could as the lipstick moved in closer and finally made contact with my upper lip. She pressed hard and drew the color several times along the upper rim of my mouth. The lipstick seemed to have a thick flowery smell that I could almost taste.

Next, she had me hold my lower lip in a peculiar way and ran the color back and forth along its surface. She had me "pucker up" and then hold my mouth in a "natural" position while she dabbed and fussed with the finer details. Finally, she had me bite down on a piece of tissue paper, and peeled it off my mouth. It left a lip print that any lady would be proud of.

"You’re Beautiful!" exclaimed Barbara. "You will make a wonderful girl."

I was petrified. I instinctively rubbed my lips together, and could feel the greasy texture on their surfaces. I couldn’t see anything, but I knew that my mouth was now just as red and female looking as Barbara’s own.

"Is everything all right Barbara?" We were both startled by the voice by the bedroom door. Mrs. Ainsworth had arrived home. I sat at the vanity, frozen with fear. She had seen me! She was looking at both of us!

"Everything is fine, mother" Barbara answered.

"It looks like you found someone to take your place after all" Said Mrs. Ainsworth. " So, you didn’t have to use Marty. I’d bet he is relieved."

"Mother…"

"Who is your friend? I don’t think we have met."

"Mother, this IS Marty!"

Mrs. Ainsworth’s mouth dropped open. "Why… why… you’re kidding, right?

"No, it’s me, Mrs. Ainsworth." I sheepishly replied.

"Marty, You’re beautiful! You look real!"

I didn’t know if I felt better or worse after her comments. Sure, if I did indeed look real, there would be less a chance that I could be "found out", but at the same time, being considered "beautiful" to boot, only seemed to rub salt into the wounds of my psyche.

Barbara explained what she was going to do. She was going to subject me to "total immersion" in my role. Tomorrow morning my name would also be Barbara Ainsworth. She and her mother would call me that from that point on. Only in situations where there was a chance of confusion as to whom she was addressing, Mrs. Ainsworth could call me "Little Barbara". That was the only exception to the rule.

Barbara was keeping the mirrors covered as part of the training. When I woke up the next morning, she could then unveil my new feminine persona, before my eyes. Tomorrow morning I would experience a sort of "rebirth" as Barbra.

Mrs. Ainsworth had bought home some Chinese food for supper and set it on the table for us. I was famished! Barbara changed into her own nightgown and joined us a few minutes later. She was beautiful! I noticed, however, that except for the maroon color, her gown and robe were very similar to my own in style. I found myself comparing our body parts, at least the ones I could see. My arms and hands looked just as lovely and feminine as hers. When she lifted the gown and flashed a leg, I took a glance at my own. The similarity was very disturbing. I noticed that her lipstick was the same color that I fancied my own to be. She had done that on purpose! She just wanted to tantalize me into imagining how I must look right now. She was sadistically letting me stew in the juices of my own curiosity.

We enjoyed the meal, but I found that I had to curl my lips upward to avoid getting lipstick in my food. I couldn’t, however, avoid getting the red stuff on my iced tea glass, but neither could Mrs Ainsworth or Barbra either. It was unnerving to be leaving lipstick stains just like they did.

I was going to be a psychological "basket case" when this was over, and it has not even begun.

It was soon bedtime, and Barbara decided that I should sleep in her bed with her. Being a double bed, there was plenty of room, and as we were both fully clothed in our long nightgowns anyway, nothing much was thought about the "properness" of the situation. Indeed, it was for that reason she made me wear the gown in the first place.

When I attended to "my personal business" before going to bed, I resisted the temptation to look under the towel that Barbara had draped over the bathroom mirror. I had promised her that I wouldn’t look at myself until morning, when I then going to become a "Barbara" too, but I also realized that I was too scared to take a peek anyway. Would the sight of my "womanized" face cause me to "freak out"? I didn’t want to take that chance. The time would come too soon enough.

Before going we went to bed, Barbara told me that women usually remove their makeup and lipstick, before retiring, but I was to keep mine on, so that I could wake up with a "womanly face" when I would first see myself in the mirror as "Barbara". "Just try not to get your lipstick on the sheets and pillowcases." She insisted.

Despite my emotional state, I fell to sleep quickly. I had no dreams, but did wake up several times in the night, when, Barbara, sleeping on the other side of the bed, shifted position, or when I accidentally poked myself with one of my long fingernails.

I awoke to the command "get up Barbara", spoken by Barbara herself as she gently elbowed me in the ribs. "It’s time for breakfast."

I was still a bit groggy, and momentarily, had forgotten where I was, but it all came back to me as I saw the mounds of my breasts rising from my chest and the red fingernailed hand, attached to my own arm pushing back the covers. I slipped on the high heeled slippers and, and began to follow Barbara out of the bedroom, when I passed by the vanity mirror. It had been uncovered! And a very pretty, very startled young woman stared back at me from within the mirror.

"Oh Gosh!" I commented as the woman with her long graceful gown, turbaned head and sexy red lips, approached closer. I just starred for a few seconds. I was shy around pretty women, but now I was one of them. I was the kind of woman that would have "scarred me to death" just to be in close proximity to. But she was ME! I found that I could look her right in the eye, and I did! So much for my shyness!

I felt more comfortable sitting next to Barbara, at the breakfast table. The "mystique" about her, which had always made me feel "uneasy" in her presence, had vanished. My childhood fears about being kissed by a girl and having lipstick marks left on my face, which I think may have been the primary source of my shyness to begin with, had been totally defused. Hell, I was wearing just as much lipstick as any other girl now. I no longer had to fear a playful kiss, as an effort to embarrass me, by my mother, Barbara, or any other woman. It would now be totally redundant. I felt liberated!

We finished breakfast, and Barbara took me back to her room. She now began to explain what the game plan for the next few days was going to be.

"The first thing we are going to do today, Barbara", she addressed me, "is to get you dressed up as you will be when you attend the conference meeting. If we can’t make you look right to begin with, there will no reason for us to continue with this little charade." "But just based on what you look like now, I don’t think that we will have any problems." "We will dress you a bit more casually and use a little less makeup, for your everyday wear, if we decide to go ahead."

"she took some cream and removed my lipstick and eyebrow pencil. I was relieved to see that I came off so easily. I didn’t look that much different though. My lips still looked a feminine pink and my brows were still thin and arched like a girl’s. We removed the gown and turban and hung them back in her wardrobe. She sent me to the bathroom, still wearing my panties and bra, to go take a bath.

I reported back as soon as I was finished, wearing a clean panty and bra set I had to get her to hook the bra strap for me though, as my fingernails kept getting in the way and had greatly reduced my manual dexterity.

Barbara, meanwhile, had changed into a skirt, high heels and a blouse with puffy long sleeves. She was dressed, now it was MY turn.

She had me climb into something that looked like a small girdle, but it had oval pads made into it that fitted along the curves of my hips and butt.

Next, she wrapped a "waist nipper" around me, told me to brace myself against a chair, and "exhale". She pulled the lacing tighter and tighter. I thought I would be cut in half! "OK", she said to my relief, as she fastened a hook and took out a tape measure. She wrapped it around my waist and said "twenty three inches". " That will have to do for now. The fit might be a little tight, but we can get you into the dress."

She then pulled a white slip over my head and pulled it down into place. She directed me to sit on the edge of the bed and then she pulled a seamed nylon stocking up my right leg and then did the left. She made me point my toes in a most feminine looking, and distressing, manner as she pulled the stocking up to my mid thighs and clipped on the front garters that hung down from the waist nipper.

She stood me up, reached under my slip and attached the garters to the stockings in back. It was hard to stand up. The nylons were so slick, that it was like trying to stand on a pair of banana peels. I almost lost my footing as she fastened the last garter.

"We will fix that" she said, and directed me to sit on the bed again. I couldn’t help noticing how I seemed to look like a woman in her underwear.

She brought over a pair of red pumps, with the pointed toes and pencil thin high heels at least three inches high, maybe more, just like I have seen her wear many times. As she tried to fit one onto my foot, however, there was a problem. While they might have been long enough, my own foot was definitely too wide. After a couple of tries, she left the room, had a few words with her mother, and returned with another pair of shoes.

"These are Mother’s", she said, "lets try them." They were about the same size, but wider, and they DID fit, although bit tightly. I was now amazed at how much my legs looked just like a woman’s.

When I first stood up, I suddenly felt rooted to the spot. It was all I could do to keep from toppling over. How I would walk in these things was beyond my comprehension. I noticed that they forced my body to take on a different posture. My back arched backwards, causing both my butt and boobs to jut outward. I just stood there for some seconds, trying to find my balance and retaining a precarious hold on verticality.

"Put your weight on your toes", Barbara suggested as she noticed my difficulties.

Yes, It seemed to work. I could walk on tiptoe, who couldn’t? I could now stand. It was only a little more difficult than with the lower heeled slippers. I took a couple of awkward steps and heard the heels click on the hardwood floors. There was obviously a lot for me to learn before I could maintain a steady gait, but things were looking up for me now.

Barbara next reached into her closet and pulled out a white blouse. The narrow sleeves were just below elbow length and had ruffled cuffs. A similar ruffle formed the collar and ran down the front. She put me in it and buttoned it up.

She had me step into a straight, narrow red skirt, pulled it up to my waist and zipped it up. It hugged the lower curves of my body, like I had been poured into it. A matching red vest, over the blouse, completed my ensemble.

I was now dressed entirely like a young woman. A look in the mirror confirmed it. My short hair and lack of makeup looked a bit odd, to be sure, but from the neck down I looked as female and as good as Barbara, herself ever did.

Barbara, now had me sit in the vanity chair, but facing away from the mirror. "Promise you wont look till I finish?" she asked. "OK" I agreed.

She took out a flesh colored liquid and carefully smeared it all over my face with two fingers. "This is to make your face all one color" she explained. After it had dried, she powdered my face all over and applied a brick red powder to my cheeks. I knew what THAT was for.

Again she penciled my eyebrows and then picked up something that looked like a tube of lipstick. The "lipstick" was an iridescent blue, which puzzled me at first, until she began to color my eyelids with it. She smoothed it out with her fingers, drawing it out somewhat, beyond the outer corners of my eyes. She then picked up a little bottle that had a brush in the cap and told me to hold very still. She brushed the black liquid in a thick line along the edge of my upper eyelids just above the lashes, and artfully curved up the line just beyond the outer corners of each eye. She applied it to the lower lid too, but much more thinly. I wondered what I must look like by NOW, but I resisted the urge to look in the mirror.

Barbara next took a funny looking brush and began to brush some bluish black substance on to my eyelashes. I thought she was going to put out my eye with that thing, and she likely would have too, had I not held perfectly still. Slowly I could feel my eyelashes seem to get hard and even seem to make a noise as I blinked my eyes. My lashes grew so long that I could actually see them. It was like looking from out under a pair of awnings. I remember thinking that this could become quite aggravating.

Barbara opened a tall round box and pulled out a brown wig. It was styled in a sort of full pageboy style and was just below the collar in length. It was very similar to Barbara’s own style and that of most other young women of that era. She placed the wig on my head and, with a thin hook like tool, began to pull strands of my own hair through holes in the "scalp" of the wig itself.

"What are you doing?" I asked. Foolishly thinking that a wig was simply something one put on one’s head like a hat.

"I’m attaching it to your head" replied Barbara. "You don’t want it to fall off."

She used small metal clips attached to my own hair and some kind of glue to hold it in place. Then she brushed and combed it as vigorously as if it were my own hair. It even felt like it. It hurt!

After she adjusted the bangs and got the hairstyle just right, she reached for the lipstick. It wasn’t as scary this time. I did notice, however that it tasted somewhat different and didn’t feel nearly as creamy as it did before. The color was similar, but it was obviously a different brand.

Barbara opened her jewelry box, took out a pair of pearl earrings and clipped them to my ears. She slipped a ring on my right ring finger, a bracelet on my right wrist and a ladies watch on my left. Finally, she fastened a simple pearl necklace around my neck.

When Barbara told me to turn around, I was dumbfounded by what I saw in the mirror. If my revelation this morning was shocking, THIS was even more so.

I looked exactly like a woman about Barbara’s age. I presented the same heavily made up and somewhat over dressed visage that Barbara took on herself when she went to work downtown. It was amazing! My legs, arms hands and even our figures looked alike. Being unrelated, we looked different facially, but the makeup was the same style and colors that Barbara used. Indeed, it was HER makeup! But I looked just as pretty and just as "authentic" as Barbara did herself. Yes, I certainly DID conform to the description of the "short, attractive brunette" that Barbara’s boss had told her friend to be watching for.

My attitude at this time was one of awe rather than fear or embarrassment, and I hardly noticed when Mrs. Ainsworth entered the room to inspect her daughter’s handiwork. "She’s pretty", she said to Barbara.

For some reason the simple comment made me cringe.

"And we have nearly four whole days for "Barbara" to practice to get ready for her little two hour performance," Barbara answered back excitedly. "This is going to work!"

All I could do was stand there, looking at the lady in the mirror and dreading what the next four days would be like. I was now more concerned about what would happen to me mentally. Surely I would not be the same when this ordeal was over. I already was a different person than I was just yesterday afternoon. So far, so good, however. I was considerably less shy around women now. I could only hope any further changes would be only for the better and that I would not end up becoming some sort of "warped pervert".

But still, if I got caught?! My life would be over! I sure hoped that Barbara was right when she said that this WOULD work.

 

END OF PART ONE.

 

 

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© 2001 by Marina Twelve. 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.