Role-Over            by: Julia Manchester

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Even though it was Sunday, Sandy decided to go into work for awhile. There was something about the idea that Men’s & Boy’s was now "her" department that made her anxious to inspect the place and make sure everything was running smoothly. She had a horrible nightmare the previous night that a disaster occurred just as she took over, and she wound up getting blamed. She was determined that nothing—nothing at all—would deprive her of this chance to show what she could do. She realized that, if she did well in this post it would be a stepping-stone to even bigger and better things, and she decided she would not fail from lack of effort.

Fortunately everything was in order at the store, though Sandy gave instructions to change a couple of the displays and rearrange the merchandise a little. The news of her promotion had traveled fast, and quite a few people came up to congratulate her. She still felt great and decided to go to her—HER—office and work on a new, comprehensive marketing plan for the department. Several hours later she turned off the computer and stretched. When she glanced at the clock she was shocked at how much time she had spent on the plan, and decided it was time to get home. After all, she had to be back in the following morning. Before she left, though, she made a call to a number that she had copied off the Internet.

The following morning Dale discovered his new little titties were embarrassingly obvious beneath his dress shirt. It wasn’t that his chest bulged out that much—it didn’t—but there WAS a slightly convex profile to his torso, and his nipples looked a little too prominent for a guy. When he mentioned it to Sandy she suggested that he wear a sweater vest over his shirt and that seemed to work. The silhouette still looked a little "different," but the pattern in the vest broke up the outline and helped hide his nipples. Aside from that Dale’s only problem was his slacks, which were about an inch too long. He pulled them up his waist a little further and tightened his belt another notch to keep them there. The adjustment was covered by the sweater vest so Dale decided no one would notice, but he reminded Sandy that he would have to get some shorter slacks. She replied that it would be more economical to simply shorten his current wardrobe, and told him to get all his pants out when he got home from work.

Dale always started the week at the office, to pick up his messages and check on deliveries, but when he got to work he found a note on his desk in his small cubicle that the boss wanted to speak with him. He didn’t realize anything was amiss until he knocked on Carl’s door and entered the large, spacious corner office. When he sat down his boss told him flat out that his lack of recent sales was causing a great deal of concern. Aside from the miserable sales the company had lost two very lucrative accounts, and under no circumstances could this be allowed to continue. Unless Dale turned things around immediately the company would be forced to let him go. Carl didn’t want to have to do that but he had to think about the company first, so this was a "word to the wise."

After promising to do better Dale left Carl’s office and hurried back to his cubicle to check his messages. He left the office quickly and headed for his first stop that day feeling a rising sense of panic as he drove, and he wondered whether he could get his sales back up. Though he’d once been one of the top salesmen in the company his recent performance had placed him dead last. Since the transformation he’d lost all of his old confidence. His indeterminate status was never far from his conscious thoughts. It was always in the back of his mind, and it made him very insecure in his dealings with others. Selling is the art of persuasion and a good salesman has to be outgoing and aggressive, but it’s hard to be assertive when you’re feeling vulnerable and insecure. The pressure was becoming unendurable.

To make matters worse, Dale’s first stop that day was at "Sportwoman," the only retail outlet in the area catering strictly to women. Dale had never gotten along with Jill Douglas, the owner, and the one and only sale he’d ever made was a month before. Jill had taken an immediate dislike to Dale because of his condescending attitude towards women’s sports and a few comments he’d made about girls wrestling and playing hockey. The only reason Dale had made that one sale was the tremendous discount he’d offered Jill when she needed six dozen pairs of sliding pants for several high school girls softball teams.

Jill Douglas was a tall, thin brunette who had been a star athlete in high school and college. She had been an all-state forward in basketball, and duplicated the feat as a pitcher and first baseman in softball, eventually winning a college scholarship in softball. She was a runner and was active in local women’s sports, sponsoring many girls teams. Five years after graduating from college she was still very fit, her shoulders and arms showing development similar to female swimmers. She was not in the category of some women bodybuilders, but she was an imposing figure nonetheless. When she saw Dale walk into the store she practically sneered at him and strode over to him before he got three steps inside.

"It’s about time you showed up. I was just about to call Carl and tell him to come and get the crap you sold me last month." Jill announced in a nasty voice.

Dale was caught completely off-guard by Jill’s outburst. "Huh? Wh-what’s the matter?" He stammered.

"Come here," Jill ordered, turning on her heel and walking over to a large opened box sitting in the corner of the room. She reached into the box and pulled out one of the pair of sliding pants Dale had sold her. "Notice anything wrong?" She demanded.

Dale stepped closer and took the pair of sliding pants. They were white, made of cotton and nylon, and made to protect a player’s legs and thighs from abrasions that occur during sliding. But they looked fine; there was nothing wrong as far as Dale could see.

"I don’t understand. What’s the problem?" He inquired, puzzled by Jill’s attitude.

"They’re MENS sliding pants, dimwit!" Jill almost roared, and Dale shrank away from her, suddenly terrified at her imposing size and violent temper.

"I ordered six dozen sliding pants for high school softball teams and you send me ones with a built-in athletic supporter and a pocket for an athletic cup! Are you really that stupid?"

"I—

"Look, I’ve had it with you and your smug, arrogant attitude towards women. It’s bad enough that I have to put up with your snide comments and your insufferable personality, but this is either incompetence or a sick joke, and I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with either. The only reason I gave you the order to begin with was the good deal you offered me, but you just aren’t worth it. I’m closing my account. Take this junk and get out!" Jill ordered.

Dale was terrified. Carl had warned him not twenty minutes before that if he lost another account he was through. He HAD to save his job—somehow! But how? Jill had worked herself up into a rage over a simple mistake, and as far as Dale was concerned she wasn’t behaving rationally. A fleeting thought—‘How typical of a woman’—surfaced briefly, but he pushed it aside and was surprised to discover the thought was vaguely annoying. Worse, his own emotions were beginning to get the best of him. His stomach was tied in a knot and he was beginning to shake even as tears came to his eyes.

"Please," he begged. "I didn’t mean to insult you! It was just a simple mistake. I’ll make it up to you—I promise! This sale is important to me."

Jill looked at Dale shrewdly, sensing desperation and realizing she had the upper hand. "What’s it worth to you to keep my business?" She demanded.

Dale tried to calm down and think, but it took several seconds for his emotions to subside enough for his thought processes to re-start. "Uh, look, I’ll . . . cut the price even further. I’ll forget my commission entirely—that’s another twenty percent off.

"I want free delivery too," Jill told him.

"But that’ll cost ME money. I’m already giving you my whole commission!" Dale pointed out.

"Tough. Take it or leave it," Jill said coldly.

Dale sighed and nodded his head in submission. "All right, just this once," he agreed.

"Good. Now take that junk with you as you leave," Jill ordered.

Dale turned silently and went over to the box of sliding shorts and bent down to pick it up. But he couldn’t budge it. He tried again, sliding his hands down near the corners to get a better hold, but he still could not move, let alone lift it off the floor.

"Damn, what a wimp!" Jill remarked as she moved towards Dale. He let go of the box and backed away as she stooped down and hefted it with ease and turned towards him. "Get the door," she ordered, and Dale scurried along in front of her to open the door as she carried the box to his car. As he held the door Dale felt the same weird sensation he’d experienced at the party the other night, and he held onto the door to maintain his balance. Meanwhile Jill put the box in the back seat of his car and started back towards Dale. As she passed she stopped and said, "You really are a wuss, but you’ve got a cute ass. Make sure I get the right pants within seven days."

Dale just watched her go, then got in his car and drove for about half a mile before he had to pull over and throw up, but even that wasn’t much of a release. He was so tensed up he could barely breathe, and he trembled uncontrollably. As far as he was concerned his world was falling apart. He sat sidewise in the car seat, his feet resting on the gravel by the side of the road, with his head in his hands. He just HAD to keep his job, at all costs. It was the last component of his life over which he had any control, his only mark of independence. If he lost his job he would lose whatever self-respect that remained. It was doubly important now that Sandy was doing so well. She was pulling far ahead of him in a field that was nearly as competitive as his own, and Dale saw her sense of accomplishment and self-worth growing even as his own was being trampled.

Tears streamed down Dale’s cheeks as he considered what had just happened. He had humbled himself in front of that bitch, going so far as to beg her not to cancel the order. Then, after he couldn’t lift the damn box SHE had picked it up without any problem and carried it his car -- and her strength, unlike Sandy’s had not been magically enhanced! He wasn’t even as strong as a normal woman! To top it all off Jill had made a crude remark about his ass, and Dale had just taken it, without protest. He’d been too embarrassed to say a word! His male ego was in a state of complete collapse.

Dale moved his hand to wipe the tears from his face and felt his arm brush against his chest, but his chest should not be where he felt the contact. Glancing down at himself Dale was horrified to see his sweater vest much too far away from his torso. Still leaning forward with one elbow on his knee, Dale saw his vest hanging far too low, and when he sat up he actually felt movement beneath his shirt! He stared down at himself and watched in horror as his tie nestled itself between two softly-rounded bulges in his chest. They—his tits—had grown again!

Dale groaned but it came out sounding like a sob. His tits weren’t large, or even average-sized—yet—but they were just large enough to give him a distinctively feminine profile. There was no way he could go on to his next appointment now, not like this. He had to get home, but when he swung his legs back into the car he noticed that his trousers seemed even longer and baggier than they were only an hour before. He also noticed that his sleeves wanted to swallow his hands. He had to push them up to grip the steering wheel and drive.

When he got home Dale ran into the house, holding his pants up with both hands to keep from tripping. He tore off his clothes as he ran to the bathroom, and he wound up walking right out of his shoes as he hurried along. He gasped when he saw the latest additions to his hairless chest. His tits were smaller than Sandy’s—perhaps a double A cup—but they looked huge to Dale, and there was enough there to move around. He’d felt them bounce and jiggle slightly on his way in from the car but seeing them was a real shock! He noticed that his nipples and areola had grown too, and were close to Sandy’s size, somewhat darker, and they had an ever so slight upwards slant now. From the side Dale saw a crease in his skin beneath his breast, where his tits pushed outwards from his torso. They were just full enough to cause a fold in his flesh.

He stared at himself for a long time before he noticed other subtle changes. His neck looked definitely thinner, and his Adam’s apple less prominent, and his shoulders seemed to have lost some of their bulk. Then he noticed that his waist looked narrower, though it appeared that his hips were just a little wider, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. It might be just his imagination, or simply due to the fact that his waist was smaller. But his feet and hands were definitely smaller, and there was something about his face that didn’t look quite right, though he couldn’t point to any one thing in particular.

It was obvious what was happening to him, but Dale had no intention of going gracefully. He decided he had no alternative but to fight the transformation as much and as long as he could, and hope for a reprieve. Perhaps whatever power that was doing this to him would take pity on him or just get bored and move on to some other poor bastard. Until then he had to fight it, wait it out, and mask the changes as much as possible.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dale was incredibly nervous as he walked out to his car. He wanted to run and jump in the driver’s seat but he didn’t dare. He was literally held together with tape and pins. He had used medical tape to tape his breasts down a little and was wearing one of his old sweatshirts—which really hung on him now—to camouflage his chest. He had used a safety pin to take in the waistband of his athletic supporter, and had tissues stuffed in the toes of his athletic shoes so they wouldn’t flop around on his feet. A pair of sweatpants, a jacket and a baseball cap completed his outfit. The purpose of the excursion was to pick up a few crucial supplies and items of clothing he needed to continue to pass as a male.

His first stop was a local pharmacy, where he purchased a wide elastic bandage and some heel lifts. Next he went to a discount shoe store and bought a pair of women’s loafers in a size 10 that didn’t look too different from his normal pair, except for the slightly higher heels. He was forced to buy women’s shoes because his feet had become narrower in addition to smaller, but Dale knew nobody would notice the difference.

The last stop was a cheap clothing store, where Dale picked up a couple pairs of slacks, several dress shirts in his smaller size, a belt, and an ill-fitting blazer. He certainly wouldn’t make the cover of GQ in the outfits but that wasn’t his goal. All he wanted to do was look like a man.

That goal proved to be somewhat elusive, as Dale discovered to his dismay. When he returned home he took his purchases to the bedroom and removed his jogging suit and began to "reconstruct" himself. He began by opening the wide elastic bandage and wrapping it tightly around his chest. It did a pretty good job of minimizing his new breasts, and when Dale finished they appeared to be about half the size they were without the bandage. The elastic wrap also modified the shape of breasts somewhat, making them appear more like a guy’s pectoral muscles. Thankfully, the elastic also compressed his budding nipples to the point they weren’t really noticeable.

Dale felt "firmer" with the bandage on too. His little boobs were packed down tight and no longer jiggled or swayed when he moved. When he put on an undershirt and a dark dress shirt he looked almost normal again, and he began to feel optimistic he could pull it off.

There was more work to do though, and Dale put a tuck in the waistband of his athletic supporter using a couple of safety pins, then pulled on one of his new pairs of slacks. He examined himself critically in the mirror and judged that his waist appeared just a little too thin and his ass a bit too prominent, but he was hoping his new sports coat would camouflage those areas. He slipped his arms into the 38 short navy blazer (he had once filled a 40 medium) and was pleased to see that the coat did de-emphasize his "problem areas."

Finally, Dale put on a pair of crew socks and slipped the heel lifts into his new women’s loafers. When he pushed his feet into the loafers and stood up the combination of the lifts and the 1 5/8" heels gave him about an extra inch of height. It wasn’t enough to restore all that he’d lost but it was close enough that no one would notice the difference, and Dale estimated that it would at least bring him up to Sandy’s height again. But there was still the problem with his neck, shoulders, and especially his face. His altered facial features made him appear considerably younger, not to mention somewhat androgynous.

Sandy was late getting home, and Dale’s carefully prepared dinner was practically ruined. He was upset his wife hadn’t called, but he accepted her explanation that she had been in a business meeting. Dale was still wearing his "disguise," and he was surprised and disappointed to discover that, despite the lifts and higher heels, he was still an inch or more shorter than Sandy. But Sandy was impressed with the results of Dale’s work. She told him he looked almost like the "old" Dale, and she treated him better than she had since the change. Dale wondered if her conscience was bothering her after failing to reverse the bizarre switch.

While they ate their re-heated dinner Dale told his wife about the day’s events, including the warning from Carl and his humiliation by Jill. Sandy was incensed over Jill’s treatment of her husband, but she grew thoughtful as Dale finished the story.

"Why don’t you just quit?" She suggested when Dale finished his narration. "It’s obvious you’re not cut out for direct sales anymore, and it’s only a matter of time before Carl will be forced to let you go. If you quit now you could still get good references and you could find something more suitable, less stressful," she advised.

Dale considered Sandy’s advice and concluded it made sense. He was just marking time in his job, waiting for the ax to fall, and if he got out now he could still salvage something from the situation. He was truly relieved that Sandy hadn’t simply told him to stay home and not work at all, and the fact that she was willing to let him continue working played a large part in his agreeing to her idea.

In some ways it was a relief to have Sandy suggest he quit. Deep down Dale knew he just didn’t have the drive, the ambition, the spark—whatever it was he needed to compete in the world of sales anymore. Yet he had to do something besides just stay home. He couldn’t stand the idea of being a "kept" man. There had to be another line of work he could pursue.

"I think you’re right about another job," he agreed, phrasing his response in such a way that Sandy would understand he intended to look for another job. "I’ll start checking the ‘help wanted’ listings after dinner."

"Good idea," Sandy agreed.

After dinner Sandy went to the bedroom and changed into a pair of Dale’s sweatpants and one of his polo shirts. She didn’t bother with a bra since her breasts weren’t much larger than his, and far less pliant. When she walked into the livingroom Dale looked up from the help wanted ads and couldn’t help noticing that Sandy modest breast (how he ever wished he’d kept his mouth shut about them) looked even more modest than usual. But what struck him most about them was their shape. Instead of running vertically, the small domes appeared more horizontal, like a man’s chest only larger, and her nipples seemed less prominent than he remembered. Her shoulders and upper arms looked a little larger too, and she was definitely less "hippy."

Dale had circled a few prospects in the paper, but there wasn’t anything that really sparked his interest so he went to the bedroom and started removing his disguise. When he had discarded his clothes he went into the bathroom and began running a shower. When the water was warm enough he stepped in and began washing his hair. As he was rinsing the shampoo out he suddenly felt two strong hands grab him around the waist, and he let out a surprised scream.

"Easy lover. It’s just me," Sandy spoke soothingly, and Dale twisted in her hands and looked up at her.

She was naked too, and without their respective disguises Dale realized that Sandy was a good two inches taller than him. She looked very imposing as she backed him against the tile and began to kiss him. Dale found himself responding though he really wasn’t in the mood, but that soon changed. Sandy began to massage one of his enlarged nipples and Dale felt a wonderful, erotic sensation begin to build in his groin. His nipples came erect, and this time they were almost as large as Sandy’s had once been. He made a soft sound of assent and leaned his head back against the wall and let her play with his newly-enlarged breasts. It felt wonderful when she kneaded them softly and he arched his back slightly, shoving his little breast forward for her to use.

Sandy continued to touch him in the most wonderful ways and soon Dale was wet inside and out. He slipped his arms around her waist and let her pull him to herself. Suddenly Sandy grabbed his ass with both hands and lifted him up and pinned him against the tile wall. The next thing Dale knew he felt her large, fully-erect penis pushing into his vagina. He gasped and wrapped his legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. Both her neck and her stud felt thick and strong, and soon Dale was lost in the throes of an mind-numbing orgasm. He moaned in delight and clung to Sandy’s larger, solid body with all his feeble strength. In reality she supported him with one hand beneath him and the other on his back, and she turned him to the tile and slammed into him over and over. It seemed to Dale that it went on forever, and his entire attention was focused on his wife’s incredible phallus.

The next morning Sandy noticed that her legs needed shaving again, and she had just shaved them the previous morning. The hair on her legs also seemed thicker and coarser. But that was nothing compared to the other thing she discovered. Centered on her chest, directly between her diminishing breasts, she discovered several hairs. Her breasts and nipples looked smaller than ever and it seemed they had lost 90% of their sensitivity. At that moment she knew she was running out of time. She had already made a contingency plan in case something like this occurred and it was time to put things in motion. She dreaded the cost, but she really had no choice now.

"Fifty Thousand Dollars! That’s robbery!" Sandy told the little, geeky-looking guy sitting across from her in the booth. The thin young man with the bad case of acne and ill-fitting glasses glanced around the restaurant nervously.

"Keep your voice down," he whispered. "the price is more than reasonable, considering the work I’ll have to put into this project—and remember, the documents won’t be fake, they’ll be absolutely genuine, unlike my competitors. Any check of the records will verify everything down to the last detail."

"Yeah, but it’s still a LOT of money," Sandy objected.

"Maybe, but I’m also taking a big risk here," the man replied. "Besides, there is the follow-up service to think of. Nobody else does that, and it’s all part of the package."

Sandy stared at the thin guy for a moment, trying to make up her mind. Fifty thousand would take about ¾ of their assets, and the way things were going they would need every penny they could get their hands on. That was why she hadn’t told Dale to just quit his job and stay home. On the other hand they needed the new identification "Joe" could provide, and if he was as good as he said he was she wouldn’t have to be constantly looking over her shoulder in the future or wonder whether a cop would spot something odd during a routine traffic stop.

"Joe"—Sandy didn’t know his real name—was reputed to be the best of the best when it came to fake identification. He was incredibly thorough, actually changing the underlying records to match the documents he provided. The Social Security Administration, IRS, county birth records, hospital records, financial, employment, educational and medical records would all be accessed and "modified." Even their library cards would be valid in their new names. Finally, and this was a unique twist, "Joe" would give Sandy two addresses to use where she could direct inquiries such as requests for verification, and he would respond appropriately, using fake letterhead stationary where necessary, to provide or verify any information requested about her or Dale. In the end that was what decided it for her.

"OK," she sighed. "I guess it is worth it."

"It will take about two weeks to get everything set up, and I’ll need two pictures of each of you, head on and profile, preferably on disc, and a full set of fingerprints for each of you. Here’s the cards and an instruction sheet."

"Do what you can without the pictures and prints for now. I want to wait as long as I can for the photos," Sandy told him.

"OK. Transfer the money into this account," Joe instructed, sliding a small piece of paper across the table.

Sandy picked it up and glanced at it before folding it and placing it in her purse. "I’ll make the transfer tomorrow," she assured him.

For the rest of the week Sandy worked on the remaining details of her plan, and by Friday evening she was satisfied that things were coming along nicely. There were still one or two major hurdles to overcome, but she couldn’t rush them. When she got home from work Dale was ready to go as she had instructed. He was dressed casually, wearing all the elements of his disguise, which now included a wide one-inch thick strip of foam rubber wrapped around his waist to eliminate his hourglass figure.

Sandy went to their bedroom and changed, annoyed at the necessity of double-padding her bra and wearing the waist cincher in addition to her gaff. Her own disguise was becoming more and more elaborate as her appearance became androgynous. She no longer wore heels of any height because of her sudden growth, and was now limited to flats. Her increasingly masculine legs forced her to wear slacks or full-length skirts, and her widening shoulders and increasingly sturdy neck and upper arms forced her to wear loose, long sleeved blouses and tops.

Dale sat in the passenger seat as his wife drove them to a small, family-style restaurant a few miles from home. During the short trip Dale told Sandy that he had given a week’s notice to Carl that day, and next Friday would be his last day at work. He also had one or two leads on a new job, but nothing firm yet. Sandy advised him to find something temporary for the time being, and he could look for something more permanent later. An anxious expression crossed Dale’s face at that remark.

"Why only a temporary job?" He asked nervously.

Sandy glanced at him and smiled. "I’ll explain later, but I have a surprise—something I want to show you after we eat," she replied mysteriously.

Dale pressed his wife to tell him more during dinner, but she steadfastly refused and there was nothing he could do but wait. Before the transformation Dale would have fumed and made one or more sarcastic comments, but was rapidly learning to defer to his wife’s will, and he sat passively while she ate. He really wasn’t hungry himself, in fact he hadn’t had much of an appetite since their mysterious metamorphosis, but Sandy was famished, and she packed enough away for the both of them while Dale just picked at his food. After they finished Sandy insisted on dessert and coffee and Dale was forced to wait another fifteen minutes.

When she finally finished Sandy paid the bill and escorted her now noticeably shorter husband back to their car. She began driving out of the city and Dale looked at her quizzically.

"Well, are you going to tell me your big secret?" He asked.

"Yeah, I guess this is as good a time as any," she replied then began:

"I think it’s pretty obvious now what is happening to us," she began. "Now, the question is: Where do we go from here? We can just do nothing, in which case we’ll soon have a major problem, or we can go somewhere to ‘transition,’ and assume new identities. Afterwards we can rejoin society and hope to lead relatively normal lives."

"We CAN’T just give up!" Dale objected strongly, raising his voice. But when he did his voice cracked and went up nearly a full octave, not unlike his early teen years when he was going through puberty, except that now it was headed in the opposite direction. Dale was very embarrassed and he cleared his throat and continued in a softer voice:

"You could try wishing us back again, or maybe we could see a doctor . . ."

Sandy just shook her head. "Honey I HAVE tried wishing us back—at least a dozen times! I—I never meant for this to go this far, and I certainly never wanted to change myself! I really don’t think my little wish had anything to do with this, and as for a doctor—what could any doctor do for us? There’s no way a surgeon could transplant my, ah, equipment into you, or vice-versa. The only thing a doctor could do is prescribe hormones, and that wouldn’t begin to solve the problem. For instance, hormones wouldn’t restore your height, or reduce mine. At best you’d wind up as a short, masculine looking woman, and I’d be a tall, girlish man."

"But our lives! Our friends, your promotion, our home—What are we going to do?" Dale asked softly as tears began forming in his eyes.

"We’ll have to sell our home and make new lives," his wife replied. "Neither of us has any family, and we haven’t seen much of our friends lately anyway. I’ve already looked into selling the house and I’m sure we can get a fair price for it, but we’ll have to act fast—before we change too much. I’ve also talked to a man about altering our records and providing us with new identification. He’s good—very good, and as soon as we provide him with our fingerprints and some photos he’ll provide us with new birth certificates, drivers licenses, social security cards—everything we need to start fresh. And the best thing is, the actual records will be changed too. We’ll be able to pass as normal people without fear of being discovered.

"As for the rest of it . . . I’m taking you to see a place that I’ve already leased. It’s a cottage by a lake and it’s quite isolated. It’ll be a perfect place to hole up while we, ah, transition."

The cottage turned out to be a small, nicely furnished place at the end of a dirt road, about thirty miles from the city. It was set on a hill that was one of a series of slopes that completely ringed a small lake. The hills were all covered with pine trees, and the only other cottage visible was directly across the lake, perhaps ¾ of a mile away. Sandy showed Dale around the outside before going in, and Dale saw that the cottage had a large deck overlooking the lake and a narrow path leading to a small boat house at the shore. The cottage was about a hundred feet above the lake and the view from the deck was pretty spectacular. Dale also noted that the lake side of the cottage was dominated by large windows, and that there was a small balcony on the second floor. Just enough trees were cut to allow an obstructed vision of the lake, and Dale imagined that the cottage would be hard to see, especially since it was painted in a shade that nearly matched the surrounding pines.

Inside, the small house was neatly furnished in a comfortable but functional manner, with blended earth-tone hues and an open floorplan. The first floor consisted of a kitchen and dinette, a full bath, and a large great room with a door that led to the deck. The second floor had a large bedroom overlooking the lake and a smaller one in the rear. Each bedroom had its own bath. The cottage was stocked with its own linens, dishes, and cookware, and it looked ready to occupy.

"I leased it for four months, until the end of May," Sandy told her husband as they walked out onto the small balcony that overlooked the deck and the lake.

"Why so long? It must be very expensive." Dale responded.

"Actually, it wasn’t bad," Sandy told him. "It’s the off-season and the owner was glad to have somebody in it. He gave it to me for half his normal rate. Do you like it?"

"It’s pretty nice," Dale replied, "But we’ll be a little off the beaten track."

"That’s the whole idea," Sandy told him. "We need someplace we can get through these changes without anyone seeing us; Someplace we can be alone. This is about the most isolated place I could find without getting too far away. I’ll still need to go into work and tie up some loose ends," she explained.

"So, when does this all happen?" Dale asked.

"Next week, actually. In the meantime we have to pack what we’re bringing with us—mostly clothes and personal items—then we have to pick up supplies, put the house up for sale, and dispose of our furniture."

"What about me getting a job, how—"

"Dale, I told you it would be temporary. I figure you have two weeks at the most before you . . . before you won’t be able to, ah, pass as a man. You’re changing much faster than me. After that, well you’ll probably need some time to grow accustomed to a lot of new things," Sandy said evenly, looking him right in the eye.

Dale wilted under her gaze, and he lowered his eyes and contemplated what his wife had just told him. The worst part of it was, she was right. She was changing, but he was being transformed about twice as fast as his wife. He could see it everytime he looked at himself in the mirror, and he felt it in the strange new sensations he was experiencing. Now, with the emergence of actual breasts, the process seemed to be accelerating.

But the changes had gone even farther than Dale knew. He had accepted Sandy’s plan and everything she had done without question. He had, in effect, ceded control to her not only of their relationship but of his own fate as well. In the past two weeks he had gone from being the dominant partner in their relationship to the passive, subordinate help-mate. But he really had no choice, either. He had discovered that his thought processes were less and less analytical, less concerned with grand plans and schemes, and more practical and detail oriented. He was more comfortable working within a framework outlined by someone else, as part of a group. It wasn’t that he wanted to be like that, but that he had no choice. His mental image of himself had begun to change from the first time she had taken him. Being the penetrated instead of the penetrator had brought about an amazing psychological transformation, and his self image was increasingly tied to Sandy. As they drove in silence Dale started making a mental checklist of what he could do to help.

 

CHAPTER NINE

The next few days were extremely hectic for Dale. He was finishing up his last week at work, and he spent the evenings packing and sorting. They had decided to take every scrap of clothing they owned since neither of them knew what sizes they would eventually need. The sewing machine was also considered essential, along with all of Sandy’s sewing supplies, and one day Sandy rented a trailer and loaded most of what they’d need into it for a drive up to the lake. Dale helped of course but Sandy had to do all of the heavy lifting and carrying, and Dale had to content himself with marking boxes and taking out the smaller items.

After the clothes and other personal items were moved into the cottage Sandy went back into town and visited a bulk food store and bought enough to practically fill the trailer again. Meanwhile Dale stayed at the cottage and unpacked their clothes and cleaned the cupboards. When Sandy returned with the food they both worked at storing it wherever they could find room. Most of the extra non-perishable items went into the second bedroom, while the perishable products went into the refrigerator or large freezer. It was nearly midnight by the time they left, and they still had more work to do before they moved in.

Sandy tried to get Dale to talk during their drive, but he was too worried over what lay in store for him. He still hated the thought of becoming a woman, but he was beginning to lose hope of ever regaining his manhood. In the past few days he hadn’t shaved once, yet his face was as smooth as silk and even more refined. His neck appeared thinner and longer, and his arms skinny and devoid of muscle. Dale had purchased a pair of cleverly designed elevator shoes that added a full 2 inches to his height while looking perfectly normal, but he had to buy a mens’ size 7 in a narrow width. It seemed that every day brought another change, another indication that he was slowly, inexorably turning into a complete female, and Dale was on the verge of despair.

Dale’s plight had been underlined the previous night when Sandy came home with what looked like a large hat box. While Dale was doing the dishes she opened the box to reveal a wig that matched Dale’s hair color, fashioned in a feminine pageboy style. When he finished the dishes Sandy had him come to the bedroom and Dale saw their new digital camera sitting on a tripod and a sheet hanging from the wall.

"I need to take some pictures to give to ‘Joe’ for our new ID" She explained as she put the wig on a stand on her dressing table.

She told Dale to remove his shirt, and over his objections she forced him to put on one of her bras. He didn’t quite fill out her padded A cup bra so Sandy went to her dresser and returned with two more foam pads and instructed Dale on how to insert them under his boobs. The additional padding did the trick, and Dale was both shocked and embarrassed to see the results. His modest little tits now appeared to be a little too large for the cups, and they bulged above their satiny restraints and Dale even had a slight cleavage.

Sandy then handed Dale her fancy, button down silk blouse. The blouse was semi-transparent, and when Dale finally managed to fasten the small pearl buttons he noticed that ‘his’ bra was visible beneath the fabric. The rounded collar with the needlepoint accents was very feminine, and when Sandy fitted the wig to his head Dale saw nothing masculine in his reflection. The girl that stared back from the mirror was ‘pretty,’ if not beautiful, and looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Her wide eyes expressed the astonishment Dale felt over the likeness he saw. The image really drove home to him how much his facial features had changed in a couple of weeks.

Dale felt sick, and he wanted to get the photo session over with as soon as possible, but Sandy wasn’t finished with his preparations. She wrapped a towel around his neck and took him over to her vanity, where she proceeded to do his face. She thinned his eyebrows slightly, then applied mascara, eyeliner, and two different shades of eyeshadow. When she was satisfied with his eyes Sandy gave Dale a thin base coat, some blusher, and then used a lip pencil to outline his lips. She filled in his lips with lip gloss, then brushed out his wig and turned Dale towards the mirror.

The transformed man was shocked and appalled by his own reflection. While he had appeared somewhat pretty before, he now looked drop-dead gorgeous! There wasn’t a trace of masculinity in his reflection, which saddened him and created a sense of despair. Yet he also felt a morbid fascination as he stared at the creature in the mirror. She was an illusion of course, but not that much of an illusion. All it had taken to create the foxy chick was a wig and a little makeup, and with longer hair he wouldn’t need the wig.

Sandy proceeded to take over a dozen shots of Dale, head-on and in profile, and directed him to hold his head this way or that, to keep his hands folded in his lap, and sit up straight. She made sure everything was perfect before she took a shot, and it was nearly an hour before they finished.

Then it was Sandy’s turn. She disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes, and when she reappeared Dale was shocked at her new look. She had pulled her shortened hair back into a low ponytail that was secured by a simple rubber band, like many guys did, and she was wearing one of Dale’s dress shirts. She had removed all of her makeup, but she had used something on her face that seemed to emphasize her chin and nose, and something else that almost made her look like she needed a shave. Her eyebrows looked fuller, bushier, and masculine, and her entire face appeared more angular and masculine.

Sandy had wrapped her diminished breasts in Dale’s elastic bandage, giving her chest a completely masculine appearance, and after Dale knotted a tie for her and she put on one of his sport coats she presented a borderline masculine image. Dale took quite a few shots of Sandy and even coached her in her posture, but she had obviously prepared for the photo session quite well and seemed to have the male "look" down pat. She was also more enthusiastic about the project than her husband and tried really hard to project herself as just another guy, bored at having to pose for a picture.

Though he had removed the makeup, the wig, the blouse, and the bra as soon as they finished, Dale had been deeply affected by the experience. Now, as he sat in silence while Sandy drove home he brooded over the idea that it now took less time and effort to look like a girl than it did to allow him to pass as a man. Now he needed not only his male "falsie," but elevator shoes, an elastic bandage, foam rubber padding around his waist, and padding around his shoulders and upper arms—and he STILL looked somewhat effeminate, because there was nothing he could do about his face and hands.

But the real crisis was psychological, not physical. All his life Dale had held an unquestioned belief in the superiority of the male of the species. Males were taller, stronger, and more aggressive. Males were the providers, the breadwinners, and the dominant partner in a marriage. They were the undisputed heads of their families, making all the major decisions—or at least having the final say in matters of importance. Women, on the other hand, were (or should be) submissive to their husbands. They were smaller, weaker, less capable, and more inclined to emotion instead of reason. Their rightful place was in the home, caring for children, keeping the home spotless, and generally supporting their men.

As a man Dale had been only too happy to accept this ideology and the benefits that went along with it, but now everything was turned upside-down. At the very least he was no longer a male, technically speaking, and with each passing day there were fewer and fewer differences between him and any "natural" female.

The problem was that Dale had truly believed in the superiority of males. It wasn’t just an act but an ingrained faith based upon what he saw were clearly defined characteristics and abilities, and he could no more deny his lifelong attitudes than he could deny his name. But now that HE was the female in his marriage his old beliefs were coming back to haunt him. If he denied his ideology now, when the shoe was on the other foot, it would be like admitting that his entire life was a lie, a sham, and that he was nothing more than an opportunist who took advantage women. By his own admission he would be nothing more than a despicable jerk.

He had avoided the crisis by telling himself he really wasn’t female; that his "condition" was only temporary; that only one part of him was female. But the previous evening had shattered those excuses. He simply couldn’t shake the image that had stared back at him from the mirror, and the girl in the looking glass had haunted his dreams that night. He was forced to admit that he was far more female than male now, which raised too many uncomfortable questions.

Dale decided to avoid the issue for the time being. He was too tired for deep thinking, and the more he considered the problem the more confused he became. When they arrived back at the house he concentrated on his mental checklist of things he had to do before they moved out to the lake. He had only two more days left at his job and Sandy wanted to move over the weekend. Dale wasn’t looking forward to the move because it meant the end of his life as he had known it and the beginning of a new life that held nothing but uncertainty for him. Whatever happened, Dale was determined to endure, but the fear of the unknown kept him tossing and turning until well after midnight, while Sandy snored soundly next to him.

 

 

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