CHAPTER TEN
Dale leaned on the mop and rested for a while. His arms were tired from all the housework he had done, and it only 2 o’clock. So far he had put away all their clothes, washed the windows, washed the breakfast and lunch dishes, and mopped the kitchen and entrance hall. He still had to vacuum the great room and their bedroom, and then there was the little "project" of washing every piece of cookware and every dish and utensil. In his "spare time" he had to plan and cook a dinner before Sandy got home from work.
Though Dale was now officially unemployed he had never worked harder in his life. Since moving into the cottage the past weekend he had scrubbed, cleaned, polished, dusted, swept and washed everything that didn’t move, and he was thoroughly glad he was almost done with it. After his last project he would only have the usual housework to contend with. Not that he was happy about that—He wasn’t—But Sandy was spending a lot of time at work, trying to set up some new systems and implement several new ideas, and that left him with the bulk of the housework. About the only good part was that he didn’t need to put on his disguise every morning.
At the moment he was wearing a pair of Sandy’s shorts and the Betty Boop tee shirt he had gotten her, over one of her sports bras and a pair of panties. His feet were encased in a pair of her white socks and her white canvas oxfords. In fact everything Dale was wearing was actually Sandy’s, but the outfit was comfortable and it fit him perfectly. Dale tried not to think about that as he pulled the mop out of the bucket and resumed his work.
Two hours later Dale slid the casserole back into the oven and set the timer. If everything went as planned the dinner would be ready about 6:30, twenty minutes after Sandy walked in the door. In the meanwhile he actually had a little time to himself, so he decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air. He pulled Sandy’s yellow windbreaker out of the front closet along with a baseball cap and went out the sliding door in the great room.
The little lake was completely calm and its surface was like a mirror, reflecting the forested hills that surrounded it. There was a wonderful scent of pine in the air and Dale stood at the edge of the deck for a few minutes and took in the scene. The sun was occasionally blocked by fleecy white clouds that marched across the sky in ranks, and the shadows reflected off the lake almost without distortion. Dale could hear birds calling and noticed an occasional squirrel or other small animal, but there were no signs of humans aside from the cottage across the lake, which was vacant. Though the air was chilly it felt good to Dale, and he decided to take a short walk.
He started down towards the lake and enjoyed his excursion along the narrow, winding path that led to the boathouse. The thick vegetation that bordered the path was high enough to obscure his vision to either side, and the twists and turns of the trail limited his view to a few feet before and behind him. When he reached the shore Dale walked out on the short dock next to the boathouse and stood at the end, looking out over the lake. From this perspective the lake looked larger and the surrounding hills taller and more imposing. They seemed to form an impenetrable barrier around the lake, blocking it off from the rest of the world almost like some sort of lost kingdom. Even the air seemed still at the shore, and a sudden feeling of loneliness came over the transformed man. He felt so isolated, so cut off, without anyone to talk to besides Sandy—when she was around. It was an eerie feeling, and Dale jumped and let out a scream when he heard a rustling sound behind him. He relaxed when he realized that it was only a small animal moving about in the thick underbrush along the trail, but his heart was pounding and it took a minute before his breathing returned to normal.
Dale chuckled to himself, but he decided to get back to the cottage. He took a last look around and began the much more difficult, uphill trek back to the house. While he walked he wondered if he could take the isolation for three or four months without going crazy. He was used to seeing lots of people every day, and while he enjoyed the beauty of nature he was fairly convinced that the loneliness would drive him nuts after a few weeks. Perhaps he could go into town with Sandy once in a while and run errands or just have lunch in a restaurant so he could be around other people. He decided to approach his wife about it when she got home.
Sandy was just leaving work as Dale climbed the path back to the cottage. She was tired from a full day of meetings, but she felt very satisfied with the outcome. Since the change she had discovered she possessed a real talent for retail management, and she felt a real kick when she was able to come up with an innovative idea or a solution to a problem that no one else saw. Her mind seemed just a bit sharper than before and she felt that she now looked at things more dispassionately than she had as a female. It made Sandy wonder whether there actually was something to Dale’s old chauvinist beliefs.
As she drove out to the cottage she made a note to tell her husband that she had contacted a real estate agent about their home, and that the agent had promised to go through the house tonight. Sandy had also delivered the pictures of her and Dale to "Joe," who had already begun working on their identity change. He told her he’d need a few more days to substitute the new photos, and their new documents would be ready by the end of the week.
When Sandy walked in the front door of the cottage she noticed that everything was spotless and a delicious aroma filled the house. Dale heard the door open and came to meet his wife, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Hi hon. How did it go today?" He asked in his higher, softer voice.
"Pretty well," she replied, wrapping her arms around her mate and giving him a kiss. Her arms seemed to encircle Dale more fully than before, and Sandy realized that his waist was even thinner than a few days before. He also looked a little shorter, and Sandy decided it was time to see how her husband looked in a skirt. But that could wait until after dinner.
"This is really delicious," Sandy remarked as she helped herself to more of Dale’s Italian casserole.
Dale smiled shyly and looked away, and Sandy could have sworn he had blushed slightly at her compliment. "I got the recipe from the newspaper," he explained as he rose and began clearing away the dishes.
"Well, it’s darn good. Save this one," Sandy told him as she attacked her second helping.
"How did work go today?" Dale asked.
"Good. I spent most of the day in meetings, but my new marketing ideas were accepted and I think there will be a nice bonus for me if they work out as well as I think they will," she replied.
"Could you take me into town with you tomorrow?" Dale asked, adding: "I’m gonna go nuts if I don’t get out and do something once in a while."
Sandy put her fork down and looked over at her husband. "I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, at least for a while," she replied.
"I’ll be careful!" Dale practically pleaded, but Sandy shook her head.
"No, Dale, and that’s final," she decreed with an air of authority.
Dale stared at his wife angrily. He resented the fact that she had simply vetoed his request out of hand, as if he had no rights at all. After all, he had done everything she had asked of him—the cooking, cleaning, washing. He even ironed her skirts and blouses so she would look the part of a young executive when she went to work. He’d become nothing more than her full-time housewife, something he had never demanded of her, yet she was treating him like a child. He was tempted to ask Sandy what gave her the right to control his life, to tell him when he could come and go, but he bit his tongue and remained silent. As much as he wanted to, he simply could not bring himself to challenge her authority.
In his anger and frustration Dale turned on his heel to carry the dished into the kitchen, but as he did a now-familiar wave of dizziness swept over him and Dale nearly dropped the dishes. He managed to maintain his balance but a cloudy, misty sensation permeated his mind, along with a feeling of fluctuation. He felt bewildered and confused, and failed to notice that Sandy’s clothes were suddenly a little looser on him, with the exception of his chest and bottom. He didn’t notice that his budding breasts had just blossomed a little more, or that his appearance was a touch more feminine than a moment before. He could not see that his bottom was slightly more rounded or that his hips flared just a touch more than a minute ago. He did pause when he was forced to stand on tiptoes to reach the dishwashing liquid on the windowsill behind the sink. He didn’t remember it being that hard to reach, and wondered why his heels had nearly lifted out of Sandy’s white canvas oxfords.
Dale was also puzzled about his lingering irritation with Sandy. For a moment he could not quite recall why he had been annoyed with her, and when he finally remembered he wondered why he had overreacted like that. After all, Sandy was running things, and rightfully so. She was far more logical and much better at these complicated plans. She was also the bread-winner of the household, and Dale reminded himself that his role was to support her and provide a clean home, tasty and nutritious meals, and anything else she needed. With that thought Dale tied an apron around his suddenly thinner waist and started doing the dishes. In a few moments he was humming softly to himself in a light, feminine manner.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Wednesday Sandy received a cryptic phone call at work and she met "Joe" a few hours later at a nearby restaurant. She took the large, thick manila envelope he handed her and placed it in her briefcase then looked across the table. "What about updates on the vital statistics?" She queried.
"No problem. It’s all part of the service. Once I’ve got the codes I can re-access at will and changes are easy," her companion assured her.
"And substitute photos?"
"Again, no problem, if you provide me with decent pictures."
"Good. Well, it’s been a pleasure—an expensive pleasure—doing business with you."
"Joe" chuckled. "Talent always costs, but it’s worth it in the end."
"I hope so."
Sandy rose and left, leaving "Joe" with the bill for their coffee. It was the least he could do, she figured, considering what he had charged her. But when she got to her car and opened the envelope she was impressed with his work. The photos looked just like other license and passport shots she had seen, and the documents were top rate. They looked absolutely perfect and were even "aged" slightly to make them appear even more genuine. She checked their social security numbers and some of the other details and they all checked out, but there was too much material to examine in the parking lot so she carefully replaced the envelope in her briefcase and headed home, to the cottage.
Dale was in the bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror with a stunned expression. He had known his breasts were growing, but he hadn’t realized how much until he put on one of Sandy’s bras and discovered he filled it better than she ever had. He was at least a full A cup now, and the padded bra gave him a little more on top of that. His face had also changed so much he could hardly believe he was looking at himself. His features were far more feminine than masculine, especially his chin, nose and eyes, and his skin seemed so smooth! He doubted he could pass for a man now, even with all his disguise, unless it was from a distance or in low light.
Even then he would have a problem because of his overall body shape, which was decidedly feminine. His waist was now only 28" and his hips now flared outwards in a very girlish way. His legs and arms were too thin for a man, and his shoulders had narrowed and softened way too much to belong to a guy. His hands and feet were small and his fingers long and delicate, while his legs were softly-turned and quite shapely. Then there were those two growing mounds on his chest that seemed to draw his attention. No guy ever had tits that big, even if they were still small by comparison.
Dale sighed dejectedly and pulled one of Sandy’s tee shirts over his head and down over his boobs. Funny how A cup tits looked so much bigger on him than they had on Sandy, he mused as he pulled his feet into a pair of his wife’s stretch slippers. Before the change he’d always thought of his wife as flat-chested, but now that he had breasts hanging from his own chest he realized that A cup boobs were quite substantial. It was all in your perspective and Dale’s perspective was changing along with his body.
As he pulled on a pair of Sandy’s shorts he suddenly wondered if his wife found him attractive now. He looked nothing like the man she had married, and Dale wondered if Sandy found him desirable. He was certainly attracted to her but the problem was Dale didn’t know what it was about her that turned him on the most. Was it her remaining femininity or was it her masculine appendage? Or both? He was so confused. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at his feet, idly noticing that even Sandy’s stretch slippers were getting loose on his shrinking feet while he considered the intricacies of sexual attraction. After staring at his feet and finding no answers Dale sighed and rose, deciding to check on dinner.
After dinner Sandy changed while Dale cleared the table and started the dishwasher, then she opened her briefcase and brought the envelope to the kitchen table.
"What’s in there?" Dale asked as he reached behind his back and untied his apron.
"Our new identities. I just picked them up from ‘Joe’ on the way home," she replied.
Dale came over to the table and looked over Sandy’s shoulder as she slid the documents out of the envelope and spread them out on the table. He was amazed at the sheer volume of material. There were driver’s licenses, of course, and birth certificate, but there were also social security cards, passports, credit cards, voter registration cards, library cards, health club memberships, video rental cards, medical insurance cards, even high school and college diplomas, and what looked like a marriage license.
"Wow, that’s impressive," Dale exclaimed as Sandy began separating everything into two neat piles.
"It should be, it cost enough," his wife retorted. She pushed Dale’s pile towards the next chair and he pulled out the chair and sat down to get a better look at his new papers.
"Hey, wait a minute. The name on these documents is Robin Langdon," he objected.
"I know. That’s the name I gave Joe to use," Sandy revealed.
"But, why? Dale can work for a man or a woman, and I don’t see why we have to change our last name." Dale objected.
"Because using your real name would make it too easy for someone to find us," Sandy snapped. "Can’t you see that? Somebody could find us in a moment on the Internet, especially since these social security numbers are our real numbers."
"Oh. Sorry, I guess I didn’t think about that," Dale said meekly, adding: "Does that mean these cards and papers are genuine?"
"No, but our tax, medical and bank records were all shifted to appear under these new names, and every document on this table is supposed to reflect what is in the official records."
"What name are you using?" Dale asked.
"James Robert Langdon," Sandy replied. "I picked it because it sounds common."
"But, Langdon is your maiden name," Dale pointed out.
"Yeah," Sandy grinned. "That was my one indulgence to the past. When we got married I took your name, and now that I’m the man—or at least the male—around here I thought it was only fair that you take MY name now. I don’t think there’s much chance in anyone connecting James Langdon with Sandra Morton, even if they know my maiden name. Langdon isn’t exactly an unusual surname."
I guess not," Dale replied absently as he studied his new driver’s license. His picture, the one with him in the wig, looked damned realistic, and not unlike a million other licenses with pictures designed more for identification than flattery. But the name, Robin Alice Langdon, jarred him, and Sandy’s comment about her being the male and that it was only fair for Dale to take her name drove home the fact that she considered Dale to be her wife, not her husband.
Suddenly Dale felt that weird dizzy feeling and he grabbed the table with both hands as his head seemed to spin. By now he knew he was changing again, and when the dizziness passed he looked down at himself to assess the damage, but there was nothing readily apparent. He shook his head slightly then re-focused his eyes on the papers in front of him.
"You know, we should see what we can do about changing your image so that it matches your new ID," Sandy remarked.
"I think it matches up too well," Sale countered, but Sandy shook her head.
"Not really," she disagreed. "You need a lot of work on the details. Let’s go into the bedroom and see what we can do."
"But—"
"C’mon, it’s time to give you the full treatment."
Sandy took Dale’s hand and led her reluctant spouse into the bedroom. "The first thing we’ve got to do is get rid of that hair," she told him, gesturing at his legs. "You have really nice legs, but no girl would go around with hairy legs."
She handed a pink plastic bottle to Dale and shooed him into the bathroom, telling him to use the depilatory on his legs. While he was undressing Sandy opened the door and handed him a disposable razor. "That’s for your underarms. You might as well take care of everything at once," she ordered. Dale tried to object, but she was having none of his complaints. "Just do it," she said firmly, and Dale shut his mouth.
The feminized man followed the directions on the bottle and spread the depilatory cream liberally over his legs and thighs. While he waited for the cream to work he stood in front of the sink and shaved his underarms as his wife had directed, then checked the time. He had a few minutes to wait so he removed his bra and kicked his feet out of his slippers, then started the shower. When he stepped into the shower the water washed away the depilatory cream and every bit of his leg hair. He dried himself carefully then pulled on his panties and threw on a robe before re-joining Sandy in the bedroom.
His wife had changed while he was in the shower, and he saw that she was wearing a pair of his khaki slacks and a polo shirt. She filled out his clothes pretty well, Dale realized, and his attention was drawn to her chest, which looked almost like a man’s. Her small breasts had shrunk even further and changed to the point where they almost appeared to be well-developed pectoral muscles. They were just a little too large for pecs, but Dale knew it wouldn’t be long before there was no difference. His wife was at the point where she could look very masculine or like a normal woman, depending upon her clothes and accessories. He wished he could do the same but he was too far gone for that.
"Hey, nice legs!" Sandy commented, and Dale blushed furiously. "I can’t wait to see you in heels," she continued, and Dale felt humiliated. He wondered what gave Sandy the right to make comments about his anatomy, then he remembered some of the comments he himself had made about women before the change, and he felt ashamed of himself. He’d never realized how demeaning those remarks were, but he did now.
"OK ‘sexy legs,’ come over here and let’s get you dressed," Sandy ordered, and Dale went over to the bed, where she had laid out a complete outfit for him.
"All right, lose the robe and get out of those panties," Sandy told him as she turned and picked up a pair of lacy high cut baby blue panties. Dale opened the robe and let it slide off his shoulders, then stooped down and slid his panties off, noticing how smooth his legs felt as the material slid down. He took the panties that Sandy held out for him and stepped into them and pulled them up. The lacy blue panties clung to him like a second skin and hid very little. The legs were so high cut that the waistband was nothing more than a thin string, and the tiny patch of cloth in the front barely covered his pubic region. The triangular piece of fabric in the back only covered about half of his bottom, and Dale felt like hiding in the closet.
Sandy held out a bra that appeared to match the panties, and Dale stared at it for a moment, examining the low cut, lace trimmed cups with distaste.
"Put it on, or do you want me to help you?" Sandy asked, adding: "You should be used to fastening your own bra by now."
"I can do it," Dale admitted, and he took the bra from his wife and slid his arms through the straps. After pushing the delicate straps up to his shoulders he pulled the cups down over his expanding breasts and grasped the ends of the band and pulled it behind his back. He fumbled with the catch for a moment, then managed to fasten the two, tiny hooks. He turned away modestly as he reached into the cups and "settled" himself in comfortably. As he did he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror and stared at his own reflection with mixed emotions.
He hadn’t realized it until that moment but the bra and panty set Sandy had handed him was one she had worn on their honeymoon, and seldom afterwards. The bra was a wonderbra, and it lifted his inflated boobs and pushed them together, exaggerating their size and giving him a real cleavage. He also realized that he filled it better than Sandy ever had.
It was a stunning discovery for Dale, and he stared at his bust for a long time before realizing that his wife was looking over his shoulder, grinning at him.
"What?" He demanded, turning to face her.
"Nothing. I was just noticing that you’re developing quite a rack," she replied, trying desperately to keep a straight face. "If you keep growing like that you’re going to be one stacked chick."
Dale felt his face growing flushed and he turned away from Sandy and crossed his arms over his breasts chastely. "Can we just get on with this?" He asked, mortified by Sandy’s remarks.
Sure Hon, put these on," she responded, handing him a pair of pantyhose.
Dale held the pantyhose at arm’s length and examined them carefully. They looked far too small to possibly fit him. Of course, what did he know about pantyhose? He’d never even considered wearing them, much less tried to put some on.
"Are you sure these will fit? They look so tiny."
"They’ll fit," Sandy assured him. "They stretch like crazy, but they’re very delicate. You have to roll them up and slide them up your leg carefully. Get one side above your knees, then do the other foot. Then just stand up and pull them up to your waist, but be gentle and be careful not to snag them."
Dale sat on the edge of the bed and followed Sandy’s instructions carefully. He deliberately took his time, and as he slowly unfurled the nylons and eased them up over his knees he was struck by how smooth and silky they felt against his hairless legs. They were tight, but not uncomfortable, and Dale was surprised at how pleasant the stockings felt. When he stood up the nylons made a hissing noise as his thighs brushed together, and when he took a few tentative steps he heard a faint whispering sound, a familiar sound but not one he had ever associated with himself.
"Not bad, for a beginner," Sandy commented. "Next time make sure the toe seams are a little straighter."
Dale looked down at his feet and saw what his wife meant. The little sewn seams in the toes were slightly turned, but he would have never noticed unless she pointed it out.
"I can’t wait to see you in thigh-highs or a garterbelt, but we’ll stick with pantyhose today," Sandy said with a smirk, and Dale vowed silently he would never wear a garterbelt. He turned to face his wife and before he could respond she handed him a powder blue, short-sleeve knit top.
"Try that on and see how it fits," she ordered, and Dale held it up in front of himself and turned to face the mirror. The top was a pullover, similar to a tee shirt, except it had a scooped neckline and scalloped trim around the neck and at the sleeves. It was made of ribbed material and it looked a little small, but when he pulled it over his head it did fit him, though it was rather snug. Dale straightened the top and saw that the ribbed material seemed to accent the contours of his breasts and hugged his new, feminine shape. The low cut neckline revealed just a hint of his cleavage, but it seemed terribly low to Dale.
"Don’t you think this is a little tight?" He asked as he turned in front of the mirror, trying to see himself from different angles.
"Not really," Sandy replied. "It used to be a little loose on me, but you fill it nicely. Remember, women’s fashions are more form-fitting than men’s. Also, your waist is still shrinking. It should feel somewhat larger on you after a while."
Dale wasn’t sure about the top but he had to admit that Sandy knew a hell of a lot more about women’s clothes than he did, so he shrugged and turned around to face his wife. She was holding a white skirt and she had a wide grin on her face.
"Time for your first skirt," she teased, and Dale cringed at the way she said it. It was obvious she was enjoying herself and he wondered whether she had been telling him the truth about wishing them back to their original forms. She was having entirely too much fun for Dale’s comfort. With a sense of resignation, he reluctantly accepted the skirt from his wife and held it up in front of him. It looked awfully short to him, but Dale realized that everything looked small so he did not question Sandy about the size.
"It zips in the back," his wife said, but Dale had already figured that out, and he turned the skirt in his hands and stepped into it. It slid up his legs easily and once again Dale felt the silky sensation as the fabric brushed over his stockings. He held the skirt with one hand as he fumbled for the zipper behind him. When he found it he pulled it up and then noticed there was a short strip of fabric that buttoned over the top of the zipper. He managed to button that, then he turned back towards the mirror.
The skirt was a little short, ending a couple of inches above his knees, but thankfully it wasn’t tight. Sandy told him it was an A line skirt, whatever that meant, and he fingered the soft fabric as he examined the way it looked in the mirror. It fit snugly around his waist, but seemed to flare out a little under his waistline. The material was very soft and the skirt seemed to move quite a bit, swaying and swirling as he turned or walked. Dale tried to tell himself it wasn’t much different than wearing a pair of baggy shorts, but he knew he was fooling himself. He could feel the difference—shorts didn’t swirl when you turned around—and there was nothing between his legs. A skirt could fly up in a breeze, or ride up when he sat, as he knew too well. Before his metamorphosis he’d often enjoyed the sight of some chick’s thighs when she was sitting down, unaware that her skirt had inched its way up, and then there was the famous shot of Marilyn Monroe with her skirt being blown upwards as she walked over a grate. For the first time he could appreciate why women often kept one hand on their hemline when it was windy—Now he would have to do the same, or risk putting himself on display.
"Okay ‘sexy legs,’ it’s time for the finishing touch," Sandy told Dale, and he saw her bend over and pick up a pair of light blue pumps that matched his top perfectly. "Try these on," she ordered, holding the shoes out to Dale.
Dale looked at the pumps and noticed they had high heels—how high he wasn’t sure—and he grimaced.
"I don’t know if I can walk in those," he told his wife.
"Sure you can," she replied. "These heels aren’t that high. They’re about 2 ¼ inches, and that’s not too bad. Those elevator shoes you’ve been wearing are higher than these."
"Yeah, but those heels are really narrow. My elevator shoes have normal, wide heels, and they don’t have such a steep angle to them," Dale pointed out.
"Well, don’t worry. A few hours practice and you’ll be walking like you’ve been wearing them all your life," Sandy assured him.
Dale was skeptical but he took the shoes and sat down on the bed and slipped them on his feet. They felt a little loose, and when he tried to stand up he discovered that it was very hard to lift himself up with his heels over two inches above his toes.
"Keep your legs together and put your feet close to the bed, directly underneath you," his wife coached. "It’s much easier to stand up if your weight is directly over your feet."
Dale tried it and not surprisingly, Sandy was right. He found it much easier to stand up, but when he took a step his foot came right out of the shoe.
"I guess those are a little large for you," Sandy remarked, then instructed her husband to take the pumps off.
Dale sat down and removed the shoes while Sandy went to her closet and returned with another pair. These were white sandals with a slightly higher heel, but they had straps to hold them on. "We’ll have to get you some shoes soon," she announced as she handed the sandals to Dale. "The straps should help keep these on your feet, but these are spring and summer shoes. You’ll need something to get you through the next couple of months."
Dale nodded, embarrassed by the fact that his feet were now smaller than his wife’s, and took the shoes. The strappy white sandals had similar, though slightly higher heels, but seemed to fit him much better. Of course Dale’s feet were almost completely exposed, except for a swirling vamp and the ankle straps, but when he stood he was surprised at how securely his feet were held. The sandals felt much better despite their higher heels, and Dale took a few tentative steps. Wearing high heels was certainly a different experience. It felt like all his weight was pushing forward and there was a lot of pressure on his toes.
"Keep your weight centered, and take small steps," Sandy advised, And Dale found that seemed to help. He went slowly, stopping occasionally, and he was never far from something he grab on to in case he lost his balance.
"That’s it, take it nice and slow. Keep your feet directly in front of you and let your hips swing a little more," his wife coached.
Dale followed her advice and found it even easier. He felt a tension in his calves and knew that the heels were molding them, making them a little more shapely. but he was too concerned with staying on his feet to worry about that. He reached the other side of the room and turned around and walked back at more of a normal pace. As he moved, Dale grew more confident, and after about five minutes he was fairly sure he could maouever without killing himself or breaking an ankle.
"You’re doing great, Hon" Sandy praised him. "Keep going. Another few minutes and you’ll be a pro."
"This is darned hard," Dale complained. "My feet hurt, my calves hurt, and I feel like a kid learning to ride a bike."
"Maybe I could find some training wheels," Sandy quipped, and for the first time Dale smiled.
"Don’t forget the helmet and knee and elbow pads," he deadpanned.
Sandy actually giggled at that, and suddenly she sounded more like her old self. "Now you know what we girls go through to look good," she noted. "Now the only thing left is your makeup, jewelry, and wig."
"Do we really need to get into all that tonight?" Dale asked. "I’m having a hard enough time just dealing with the clothes.""
"Well, I wanted to take a few pictures," Sandy revealed.
"Why?"
"Just to have them. I want a picture for my wallet, and we should start building a photo album anyway," she observed. "Every married couple has at least one album, and it would seem strange if we don’t."
Dale had to admit there was a certain amount of logic in Sandy’s point, and he was amazed at the number of details that she had brought into her plan.
"Okay, but I need to sit down for a while," he replied.
"No problem, but keep the sandals on. You need to become accustomed to wearing them for long periods of time, sitting as well as standing," Sandy informed him as she led him out to the kitchen.
"We haven’t got a vanity for you, yet, so we’ll work here at the table. Just sit down and I’ll get all my stuff."
Dale sat down and crossed his nylon-clad legs while his wife returned to the bedroom for her cosmetics. She returned with her cosmetic case and several loose bottles and tubes in the other hand, only to find Dale staring down at his legs.
"Do they feel odd?" She asked, referring to the pantyhose.
"Yeah, I guess," Dale replied. "I can’t get over how smooth my legs feel."
Well, there are some advantages to being a girl—and you DO have great legs," Sandy told him.
Dale blushed and tried to dismiss the compliment, but a part of him was glad that Sandy liked his legs. He had conflicting thoughts about his new appearance, and part of him simply dismissed his wife’s pronouncements out of hand. But another part of him had already decided that if he was going to be stuck as a woman he wanted to be as attractive as possible. The "old" Dale still had the upper hand, as far as he could tell, but the "new" Dale was gaining ground.
Sandy opened her cosmetic case and arrayed her supplies around it, and after sitting down, facing her pretty little husband, she began to work on him. First she took a pair of tweezers and thinned his eyebrows, creating a nice high arch in both. Then she pulled our a cream base and applied a very light coat with a sponge. Then she went to work on his eyes, and that took quite a while. She used a black mascara, eyeliner pencil, then two shades of eyeliner. She talked as she worked, telling Dale her own personal secrets for applying makeup, and specific hints for each product she used. Dale didn’t think he’d remember half of what she told him, but the part of him that wanted to be attractive forced him to pay attention to Sandy.
When Sandy finished Dale’s eyes she used a lip pencil to outline his ripening lips, then filled in with a cinnamon colored gloss. Next she applied some blusher, using a larger brush to highlight Dale’s cheekbones, sprayed him with a touch of cologne.
Sandy turned Dale’s head to see the overall effect, then told him to sit still for a moment while she retrieved his wig from the bedroom. She placed the wig on his head carefully, then used a hair pic and a brush to renew the pageboy style.
"Well?" Dale asked as Sandy stood back and regarded him thoughtfully.
Not bad, so far," she replied, studying him intently.
"Let me see," Dale said and started to get up.
"No, not yet. I want you to wait until I’m finished. I want you to see the full effect," she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat.
Dale shrugged. "What’s left?" He inquired.
"Lots. We need to do your nails and add some jewelry."
Dale sighed. I never realized there was so much to this."
Sandy sat down again and took Dale’s left hand and began working on the cuticles. She field and shaped his short nails as much as possible, then applied a base coat. While it dried she took his other hand and did the same. Then while the right dried she applied a light pink polish. After two coats on each hand she applied a clear gloss top coat. Dale just stared at his nails while she worked, watching to see how she did the manicure and marveling at how a little polish could make his hands look so different. When she was finished Sandy told him what he needed to know to keep his nails looking good, then went back to the bedroom and brought out her jewelry box.
"Accessories are very important," she lectured, telling Dale about coordinating his shoes, jewelry and handbag to his outfit. Her feminized husband sat and listened to her as she pulled out several pieces of jewelry and set them aside until she found just the items she had been looking for.
"These will go really nice with your outfit," she announced, holding up a pearl necklace and a matching pair of clip-on earrings. "And I think this will look nice too," she added, holding up a sterling silver bracelet.
Dale shrugged, completely out of his depth, and Sandy took that for an OK, and began fastening the necklace around her husband’s neck. She showed him how to put the clip-on earrings on, then handed him the bracelet told him to put it on his left wrist.
"Rings," Sandy muttered as Dale finished. "Must have a ring or two." She turned back to her jewelry box and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. Dale looked at what she had in her hand and saw she was holding here wedding and engagement ring set, and the pearl ring he had given her when they first started going together. He felt very strange as Sandy slipped the wedding ring on the third finger of his left hand—it actually fit—and then the pearl on his right hand. He looked up into her eyes and saw that she was gazing at him intently. This event was obviously more than simply borrowing a little jewelry, and Dale understood the importance of allowing Sandy to slip the rings on him. The symbolism was hard to miss.
"Okay, babe, time to see yourself," Sandy announced as Dale touched the wedding band on his finger. He followed his spouse into the bedroom and waited while she adjusted to the lighting, then stepped in front of the mirror. His first reaction was to wonder who that girl in the mirror was. It just couldn’t be HIM—could it?
Dale moved his hand, involuntarily covering his mouth as he gasped in shock, and the girl in the mirror mimicked his movements with an impossible precision. ‘My God,’ he thought. ‘It IS me!’
Staring back from the mirror was a young woman with a cute short hairdo and a pretty face. Her figure wasn’t voluptuous by any means but it was quite nice and very feminine. The tops of her perky breasts were just visible above the scooped neckline of her form-fitting top, and her stylish skirt ended just far enough above her legs to be fashionable. Her legs looked long and shapely, and her heels encased her feet in a network of straps that was very becoming. Dale was amazed by the transformation, and he remained frozen in place until Sandy came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
"Well babe, what do you think?" She asked with a mischievous grin. "Think you can pass?"
"I look almost like... like a real girl!" Dale gasped.
"But sweetie, you ARE a real girl. Isn’t that obvious? You’re the genuine article now," Sandy replied with absolute certainty. "Think about it. You’ve got the whole package—pretty face, nice boobs, sexy figure, and legs to die for! Face it Hon, you’re all girl now!"
Dale’s head snapped around to stare at his spouse, and searched Sandy’s eyes for some sign that she was joking, but despite the twinkle in her eyes he could see that she was dead serious. He turned away from her, his mind a turmoil of conflicting thoughts and emotions, and he returned his attention to the mirror. A crisis was brewing within him as he contemplated the incongruous figure in the glass. All of a sudden years of conditioning were stripped away and his very soul was laid bare. All of his former thoughts, attitudes and prejudices now came back to haunt him, and the enormity of his situation exploded into his consciousness. The part of him that was the "old" Dale was simply not able to cope with the image he saw, the person he had become, and an agonizing scream erupted from his mouth and Dale crumbled to the floor in shock.
To be continued . . .
© 2000
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