Role-Over                   by: Julia Manchester

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

When Dale awoke he was lying on the bed in his stockings, bra and panties. Sandy had removed his skirt and blouse and hung them neatly over a chair. He looked around and realized what had happened and felt chagrined. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed, but as he did so he felt the now too - familiar sense of dizziness descend on him.

Dale gripped the edge of the bed and remained still until the disorientation passed. When he was sure it was gone he stood gingerly and looked down to see his sandals sitting next to the bed. He stooped down gracefully, snatched them up, and carried them to the chair. A few minutes later he emerged from the bedroom completely dressed, walking carefully in the heels, and went into the great room to find Sandy.

Sandy heard the tapping of Dale’s heels on the tile floor in the hall and she turned to look at him as he entered the room.

"Feeling better?" She inquired.

Dale nodded. "Yeah, I don’t know what came over me. Sorry about that."

"You fainted dead away when you saw yourself in the mirror," Sandy reminded him. "I think you finally realized that you’re all - girl now, didn’t you?"

"I-I guess so," Dale admitted reluctantly.

"Well, you’d better get used to seeing yourself like that because I want you to wear a skirt or a dress every day for a week or so, not only to get used to seeing yourself like that but also so you’ll learn how to move, sit, walk and stoop. You need the practice."

Dale was staring at Sandy, noticing how masculine she appeared and how her voice seemed deeper, and he didn’t even think about protesting her demand. He simply nodded his head in submission and sat down across from his spouse in a chair. Sandy watched him lower himself into the chair and had him stand again and smooth his skirt underneath him as he sat down.

"Maybe I will take you into town, on Saturday," she remarked, and Dale felt a surge of excitement.

"Really?" He responded.

"Yeah, you need shoes and a few other things," she remarked, eyeing Dale’s bust.

"I wasn’t thinking about shopping," Dale replied, blushing.

"What then? Were you gonna look up some of your buddies and go out for a beer?" Sandy asked with a smirk.

"Of course not," Dale shuddered at the thought. "I just wanted to get away from here and be around people."

"Well, you’ll be around lots of people—at the mall, when you go shopping," Sandy told him. "Now, let’s get those pictures taken.

Dale wanted to object but for some reason he couldn’t seem to bring himself to defy Sandy, and he let her lead him back to the bedroom, where she proceeded to take several roles of pictures. She had him dress in various outfits and assume different poses, some seductive, some demure. She joined him for several shots and had him take several more of her, but he was the star of most of the photos. Just when he thought they were finished, Sandy had him change into her sexiest babydoll nightie and ordered him to smile as she posed him in several sexy positions. Dale was blushing like a schoolgirl by the time Sandy finished and put the camera away. He didn’t know why Sandy wanted pictures of him in her flimsy nightie and he couldn’t bring himself to question her.

The last episode of dizziness had left him strangely submissive. He still knew what he liked and wanted, and what he didn’t like, but he just couldn’t bring himself to object or even question Sandy when she told him to do something. He hated being unable to protest or voice his opinion, but whenever he tried to stand up to her something overrode his will and found himself obeying her orders.

Saturday morning finally arrived and Dale yawned as Sandy got out of bed and scratched herself. Dale couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different at first, and when it finally registered in his brain he stared at Sandy open-mouthed. His wife was standing a few feet away, stretching her surprisingly muscular arms when Dale realized she had hair on her chest. He looked in amazement a the curly, triangular patch of chest hair that extended a few inches above each of her hardened breasts and down her sternum several inches. The hair was about an inch long, and not too thick, but it looked a lot like the hair that once sprouted from his own chest. He also noticed a few straggly hairs ringing Sandy’s diminished areole, and a few scattered bits of stubble here and there on her face.

Dale pointed at Sandy and managed to find his voice just about the time she noticed him.

"Sandy! You’re, you’re growing HAIR on your chest!" Dale sputtered.

His wife sighed and looked down at herself. "It started a few days ago, but it’s getting thicker and extending further every day," she admitted, adding: "I shaved it a couple of days ago but it just grew back even faster. I’ll shave again today."

"Don’t forget your face," Dale responded. "You have some beard stubble in a few spots."

Sandy felt her chin and cheeks. "I guess it’s time for me to put in MY notice," she observed.

Dale swung his legs out of the bed and bent down and pulled on his ballerina slippers. He stood up and straightened his nightgown and walked over to Sandy. As he approached her he realized that her height advantage seemed to have increased.. She now looked to be about 3 or 4 inches taller, and he wondered how much of that was due to her growth and how much was the result of him shrinking. It was impossible to know without measuring, but Sandy was now noticeable taller than he.

Sandy’s entire body was evolving, growing taller, harder, more muscular and masculine in its appearance, and Dale was becoming fascinated with the process. There was something strangely compelling about the changes, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off her. Her breasts were essentially gone, replaced by well-developed pectoral muscles whose shape and profile were entirely masculine. The thought occurred to Dale that Sandy could now appear bare-chested in public—on a beach or even in a men’s locker room, which was more than HE could do—and nobody would say a thing.

Her shoulders were broader and far more muscular, and when she stretched her upper arms and shoulders were creased by her new, well-defined muscles. Her waist was thicker and her stomach flat as a board, with the beginnings of horizontal ridges starting to define her abs. Her feminine hips had disappeared, replaced by muscular thighs, and her legs looked sturdy, with angular lines replacing the graceful curves they once had. Her voice was deeper too, though not noticeably so, but she was still "transitioning." On top of everything else her new masculine organ seemed to be increasing in both length and girth, at least it FELT that way, Dale mused.

He blushed slightly as he recalled the events of the previous night. He had known women who were "screamers," or "pillow-eaters" when he was a man, but he’d never imagined he would become one himself. But last night Sandy had propelled him to levels of ecstasy he never knew existed, and he’d been VERY vocal. Strangely enough, Dale wasn’t nearly as self-conscious about sex as he’d been right after their organ-swap. He’d had to put up with a lot since becoming a female, and the wonderful sensations he felt when Sandy made love to him were the only "compensation" he had. Now, after last night, a small voice inside him was suggesting it was a fair trade.

"Put some breakfast on while I try to make myself look like a lady," Sandy ordered as Dale slipped into one of her robes.

"Sure thing, Hon," Dale smiled back, then turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen.

Twenty-five minutes later Sandy strode into the kitchen wearing a long, dark blue dress, flats, and opaque pantyhose. Her hair was done up and she had used all of her considerable makeup skills to soften her face and create a very presentable feminine image. Dale was impressed with the transformation—Sandy seemed to be a master of disguise—but he also knew she could not go on like that forever. Already there were certain little tell-tale points that Dale could pick out which hinted at his wife’s true gender, but he didn’t think anyone else would pick up on them—yet.

Sandy had set out Dale’s outfit for his first excursion back to town since their move to the cottage. It consisted of a wool knee-length, pleated maroon skirt with a matching jacket, a white knit pull-over top, tan pantyhose, and maroon strap pumps with 1 7/8" heels. A gold necklace, matching bracelet, and a natural leather shoulderbag completed the ensemble. A pair of pink, nylon panties with cute lace trim and a matching bra were laying on top of everything, and Dale picked up the panties and stepped into them. He was getting used to the feel of nylon and the skin-hugging sensation of women’s panties, and he barely gave them a thought anymore. But the bra was something else. When he hooked the A cup bra his enlarged breasts overflowed the cups and he felt very uncomfortable. New bras would have to be at the top of his shopping list, he realized.

Dale hurried into the bathroom and performed his morning ritual, which was also becoming second nature. After he finished he returned to the bed room and sat down on the bed to put on his pantyhose. Since he’d been wearing stockings and heels for the past several days, per Sandy’s orders, he had no trouble sliding the sheer stockings up his legs, and he stood and picked up the white knit top. As he pulled the tight top down over his breasts he had to use one hand to hold his boobs inside his bra because the mere friction of the top sliding down caused them to pop right out of the cups the first time he tried it.

Once his top was on Dale stepped into the pleated wool skirt and pulled the maroon material up to his waist and zipped it up. After stepping into the pumps and fastening the straps Dale walked over to the dressing table and sat down to put on his makeup. Sandy had insisted that Dale learn how to do his own face, and he had been practicing for the past several days, but he really wasn’t that confident that he could do a passable job, especially one that would pass in a mall, so when he finished he asked his wife to have a look.

"Not too bad," Sandy judged, looking over Dale’s shoulder. "But you need to blend your eyeshadow a little better, and you used too much eyeliner. The eyes are always the hardest because you have to have a subtle touch," she remarked.

Dale acknowledged her constructive criticism and began to remove the makeup from around his eyes. He took his time re-applying the eyeliner and eyeshadow, and when he was satisfied with the results he called Sandy back and she approved his work. Finally, Dale took his wig from its stand and put it on carefully, using a few bobbie pins to secure it. When he was finished he checked his reflection in the mirror and saw a cute young woman staring back at him. Sandy was prodding him to get going so he threw a few things into his purse, checked to make sure he had his new ID, and put Sandy’s long brown coat on.

"I’ll drop you off at the mall," Sandy told her spouse as she drove through the morning traffic, "but remember, my meeting will only last a couple of hours. Add another hour for me to check out the new merchandise and make up the schedule for next week. That means you’ll have three hours, no more. I don’t want to have to come looking for you."

"Okay Sandy," Dale acknowledged. "I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance."

Three hours wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and Dale really needed to get out. He was keyed up—glad for a chance to escape the isolation of the cottage, yet nervous about passing as a woman all by himself. Today he would be going into women’s clothing stores, shoe stores, and even that most exclusive of women’s domains—the lingerie section—and Dale was understandably nervous.

He needn’t have worried. The last few jolts of transformation had left him with a normal feminine body, and even his gestures, posture and mannerisms were effeminate. In fact, the only reminder of his forfeited masculinity was his short hair—which really wasn’t all that short anymore. It was still a little too short for a woman, and the cut was all wrong, but Sandy was certain she could do a little home-styling in a couple of weeks that would make it look acceptable. The real reason she wanted Dale to wear the wig was that it matched the photo on "Robin’s" driver’s license.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dale paused a moment at the entrance to the mall, then he hiked his shoulderbag farther up on his coat and pushed the door open. It was a normal Saturday morning crowd, with couples, mothers with kids, some pushing strollers, teenagers, and a few men. The shoppers wandered from store to store or talked in small groups near some of the displays. Dale’s heels clicked hollowly on the composite floor as he walked, making him feel uncomfortably conspicuous. He would walk along for a minute then pretend to look at the merchandise in a shop window while he used his peripheral vision to study the faces of those around him, examining them closely for some sign, any indication at all that they saw him as something other than what he appeared to be. But he saw nothing at all, and after a few minutes he began to relax a little. He felt both elation and sadness that no one seemed to question his femininity.

After he worked his way halfway down the mall Dale found himself standing in front of "Francine’s Foundations," and after several minutes of indecision he took a deep breath and walked inside. A middle-aged woman wearing a navy blue skirt and a white blouse approached him as he stood surveying the store. She wore a name tag that identified her as "Sue," and she smiled as she walked up and asked if she could help.

"I need a couple of brassieres," Dale replied in a low voice, feeling very out of place. He was relieved when she smiled and pointed towards the rear of the store.

"Certainly. We have a really good selection and everything is 15% off this week," she told him.

Dale followed Sue back to the bra department and noticed an entire wall of plastic busts displaying a confusing variety of bras. Some of the displays included matching panties and even garterbelts, and there were also bustiers, torsolettes, and other exotic lingerie. The selection was dizzying, including strapless, long lines, push-ups, decollettes, underwires, smooth cups, lacy evening bras, padded bras, wonderbras, and sports bras. They came in silk, satin, nylon, lace, and a variety of other fabrics too numerous to name. Dale also saw selections in almost every color imaginable, and he wondered how women ever made up their mind. All of a sudden he understood why females spent so much time shopping.

"What size are you?" Sue asked when they were standing in the middle of the department.

"Ah, a 36B," Dale replied, repeating what Sandy had told him.

"Did you have any particular style in mind?"

Dale’s mind began racing. What should he say? He didn’t have the slightest idea what to say. Why hadn’t Sandy warned him about all the choices, and given him a few ideas? He didn’t even know what his options were, and suddenly he felt very weird standing in the middle of bra heaven.

"Ah, no. Just something for everyday," he managed to say after a brief hesitation.

"Well, we have these by Warner. They have seamless cups with a bit of padding. They’re machine washable and they’re very comfortable, and they come in a variety of colors," Sue responded, holding up a white bra with lace-trimmed cups.

"Would you like to try one on?" She asked as Dale fingered the bra.

Dale took a deep breath. "Sure," he replied.

Five minutes later Dale found himself in a changing room with three bras—the Warner, a Maidenform push-up model, and an Olga that was similar to the Warner. He hung up his coat and jacket, set his purse on the bench, and proceeded to take off his top, carefully avoiding his makeup and wig. After he removed his old bra he struggled into the Warner and settled himself in the cups. Unfortunately there was no mirror in the changing room so he couldn’t see how it looked on him, but then he wasn’t sure he wanted to see how it looked.

"How are you doing in there?" Sue asked through the curtain.

"Uh, okay," Dale replied, "But it feels a little uncomfortable.

"It probably needs to be adjusted," Sue called through the partition. "Do you mind if I come in and help you with that?"

Dale nearly fainted when he heard that. What would a "real" woman do? Did girls let other girls come into changing rooms and mess around with their bras? He just didn’t know what to say. Then he thought that Sue wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t a normal occurrence. Maybe he would look odd if he said no. Maybe he should just go along with whatever Sue wanted to do . . .

"If you think it’s a good idea," he responded weakly.

His only answer was the sudden parting of the curtain as Sue entered the changing room.

"I do this for a lot of my customers," she confided as she set several other bras down on the bench. Most women really don’t know how to adjust their bras properly, and as a result they feel pinched or pulled or generally uncomfortable after wearing them for any length of time. It’s important to get just the right amount of tension in the straps, and the band shouldn’t be too tight. Here, let me adjust those straps for you."

Dale stood still while Sue loosened the straps just a bit, then tugged at the band to test its pull. She stood in front of him and pushed and pulled at the cups, then stepped back and looked at him critically. "How does that feel?" She asked.

"Much better," Dale admitted, realizing it was true. The bra was much more comfortable now, and seemed to provide a little more support.

"I thought it might be," Sue told him. She proceeded to explain the secrets to adjusting a bra for a good fit, then asked him what he thought of the one he had on.

"I like it," Dale replied, surprising himself. He really did like the bra. It fit well and his breasts felt comfortably supported in the cups. It was a plain white, but then he wasn’t looking for anything flashy.

"Good. Now take that one off and we’ll try the others on." Sue directed.

Dale did as he was told, but turned away modestly when he slid the straps down his arms. Sue didn’t act as if he was doing anything unusual, so he handed the bra to her without completely turning around and she, in turn, passed him another one to try. The second one was the Maidenform push-up bra, and Dale bent over and settled his breasts in the cups before sliding the straps up his arms and grasping the ends of the band.

"Here, let me do that for you," Sue offered, and Dale allowed her to hook his bra for him, thereby saving him the possible embarrassment of showing her how inept he was at securing the tiny hooks.

When Sue was done hooking, adjusting, tugging and centering, she talked Dale into leaving the dressing room to look at himself in a mirror. The mirror was in the outer dressing area, not on the store floor, but Dale still felt very self-conscious as other women walked in and out of the dressing area. The remarkable thing, from his point of view, was that nobody gave him a second look. The other women simply came and went and appeared not to even notice him. Dale knew they had to see him, and he wondered if their nonchalance was some sort of female dressing room protocol.

When he saw himself in the mirror he was amazed at the difference the bra made in his bustline. It looked as if he’d grown a full cup size, and his boobs looked fuller, rounder, with a deeper, more pronounced cleavage. Suddenly the all-too familiar sense of dizziness and disorientation washed over him and Dale swayed just a bit on his high heels. But he managed to conceal his vertigo from Sue by shifting his weight and turning as if to view himself from the side.

"That one really flatters your figure," Sue told him, nodding with approval. "How does it feel?"

"It’s . . . different from the first one, but it feels very comfortable too," Dale admitted.

"It’s all in the fit, honey," Sue told him. "Even an underwire can feel good if it’s adjusted properly."

Fifteen minutes later Dale left Francine’s Foundations with four new bras, six new pairs of panties, three pairs of pantyhose, and two pair of thigh-high stockings. He was wearing the Maidenform, mostly because it felt much more comfortable than his old bra, but partly because he was curious to see if it would cause any reaction.

It did. Dale saw several heads turn in his direction as he walked by, and though part of him was still ashamed of the way he looked, a much larger part of him was pleased by the reactions of the men he saw. He unconsciously allowed his hips to swing a little, and his shoulders squared a bit, emphasizing his bustline. He was completely unaware that he was placing one foot directly in front of the other as he walked, which gave him a delightful little wiggle and a very seductive strut. His tits bounced and bobbed slightly and a small smile came to his lips.

Dale stopped and looked at the various shops for a moment and spotted a shoe store and several women’s clothing stores, but before he finished shopping he wanted to take a break and get something to drink. His mouth was very dry after the nerve-wracking experience in the lingerie shop so he headed for the food court. A small coffee shop caught his eye and he wandered over and ordered a small cup, but when he turned around to find a seat he saw that all the tables were taken.

"You can share my table if you’d like," a voice announced, and Dale looked to his right and saw a young woman about his age sitting alone at a small table. He hesitated for the merest fraction of a second, then smiled and walked over to her.

"Thanks," he replied, setting his purse and shopping bag on the floor next to his chair.

Dale shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the chair back, then slid into the seat gracefully, smoothing his skirt beneath him as he sat. He set his coffee on the table and canted his legs to one side in a very feminine manner.

"I’m Julie Nordstrom," the young woman told him as she held out her hand. Dale took it for a moment, brushing fingers the way women tend to do.

"I’m, ah, Robin—Robin Langdon," he replied, catching himself just as he was about to give his real name. "Thanks for sharing the table," he added.

"No problem Robin. I just stopped off for a moment anyway. I have a lot of shopping to do but I needed a break."

"Me too," Dale confessed.

"What are you looking for?" Julie asked.

"Oh, a dress, a couple of skirts, and some slacks," Dale replied, adding: "And some shoes, too."

"Of course," Julie smiled and giggled. "What’s a new dress without some shoes to go with it?"

Dale smiled and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed, not knowing what else to say.

"Are you with someone?" Julie asked.

"No. I came by myself."

"I’m by myself too. How would you like to shop together?" Julie inquired.

Dale was caught off guard by Julie’s question, and he couldn’t think of any graceful way to decline, so he wound up agreeing to accompany Julie. His new friend turned out to be quite a chatterbox, and she jabbered away as Dale sipped his coffee. He discovered that Julie was single, but seeing a guy regularly that she really liked and hoped to marry, if he would only ask her. She was a recent business college graduate who had just found a secretarial job at a small insurance agency. She lived in an apartment in the city and her folks lived in Chicago. It seemed strange to Dale that Julie would be so open with somebody she had just met, but he knew women were more open about their personal lives than men and he assumed this was another example.

Julie also asked Dale about himself, and Dale found himself telling her more than he really intended. Part of it was his desire to blend in and another part was because he felt the obligation to reciprocate. But there was more to it than that. He found that he liked the petite brunette across the table, and he also felt an overpowering loneliness. He really had no friends anymore—none that he could contact anyway—and it felt good just to sit and talk to someone, even if he could not be completely open with her.

Dale told Julie he was married, but didn’t go into detail about his "husband" other than to say "Jim" was a department manager in a local store. He also told Julie that he and "Jim" lived at a lake and that he was unemployed, but that he might soon be looking for work.

While the two of them were chatting away a group of three guys sat down at a table a few feet away, and they began making comments about every girl in sight. Dale was sure they thought they were being discreet, but for some reason their voices carried quite clearly to where he and Julie were sitting, and their remarks were embarrassing.

"Hey, check out the one with the tight skirt over by the cash register!" One of the guys told his buddies, and what followed was a series of crude comments:

"Nice ass!" One remarked, while another added, "Small tits, though. I give her a ‘6.’"

On and on it went, and Dale found it impossible to ignore them. He turned beet red and grew more and more self-conscious as the guys grew bolder and bolder with their assessments.

"Don’t you just hate it when guys say stuff like that?" Julie whispered to him, leaning closer and frowning.

"Yeah," Dale replied. "What gives them the right . . ." His voice trailed off and Julie nodded, thinking that Dale hadn’t felt the need to complete his statement. But the real reason Dale had tailed off in his righteous indignation was the realization that, not long ago, he had done the same thing. He suddenly felt very ashamed of himself, and he realized that he had just experienced the "rating game" from the other side of the fence. Now that he was female, with an increasingly feminine figure, Dale was beginning to understand the insecurity and lack of self-confidence many women felt. His old male body had been simple, straightforward, and relatively maintenance free compared with his new, contoured model. Suddenly he stuck out in several places, and parts of him insisted on moving in strange new ways. People, especially men, now judged him on his appearance far more than they once did, and crude remarks about any woman’s body only made him more self-conscious about his own.

He was saved from further introspection when Julie suggested they leave, and Dale gathered up his coat and purse, grabbed his shopping bag and took his cup and napkin.

Julie asked "Robin" where "she" wanted to go first, and when Dale didn’t seem too certain, she asked what kind of a dress he was looking for. Dale told her he needed something he could wear to his "husband’s" office parties, and some skirts for around the house. He was under strict orders from Sandy to wear skirts and dresses now, though she did tell him he could get one warm pair of slacks.

"Let’s try the "Clothes Closet," Julie suggested, pointing to a small shop not far down the mall.

"The problem is, they’re showing all their spring merchandise," Julie told Dale when he complained about the thin fabrics and sleeveless styles.

"But I need something to wear now," he groused. Everything was too thin for cold weather, and Dale was about to give up when a saleslady approached and told them they had their remaining winter items in back on the clearance rack.

"That’s a break," Julie told him. "Not only do they still have some things, but you’ll probably get a really good deal on anything you buy."

Ten minutes later Dale again found himself in a changing room, trying on a clingy, knit navy blue dress with half sleeves and a scoop neck. The dress came to about three inches above his knees and the skirt was straight, hugging his newly widened hips. In fact the whole dress seemed to form itself to his figure, and when Julie saw it she complimented him.

"Oh, that looks great on you!" She told him. "You have a nice figure and the dress really brings it out."

"Do you think so?" Dale asked, not sure if he should buy it.

"Oh yes, Robin. It’s perfect, and you can wear navy just about anywhere, and I’m sure you have lots of accessories that will go with it."

"Uh—Sure," Dale lied. He had nothing he hadn’t "inherited" from Sandy, but on second thought she did have some things that would work well with the dress.

Thirty minutes later they left the Clothes Closet, and Dale had purchased the dress and two skirts—a tan wool with a belt, and a forest green number with box pleats. Julie had tried a few things on, but hadn’t found anything that she really liked. Her problem, she complained, was her short stature. At an even five feet she had trouble finding things that really looked good on her. Dale told her he thought she had a really nice figure and shouldn’t have that much of a problem finding something, but she insisted that many items made her look like a small child trying to play dress-up. She confided that she did most of her shopping in a couple of places that specialized in petite sizes.

Their next stop was the shoe store Dale had noticed earlier, and by the time they were finished Dale wound up with a pair of cross-trainers in white and lemon yellow, a pair of strappy navy pumps with 3 inch heels, a practically identical pair in dark green, a pair of tan, low-heeled pumps, and some stretch, terrycloth slippers. Julie tried to find some shoes too, but once again, she was stymied by her petite size. Her feet were a tiny size 5, and about the only shoes they had in her size were Maryjanes, cute little tennis shoes with cartoon characters, or plain flats—just what she didn’t need. Dale noticed she was wearing heels with a 3 ½ or 4 inch heel, which were very high, considering her small feet, and he asked if wearing such high heels hurt her feet.

"Oh, I’m used to them," Julie told him. "When you’re as short as I am you need all the help you can get. I’ve been wearing high heels since I was a freshman in high school, to compensate."

"Well, I think you look just perfect," Dale told her, meaning what he said. Julie might be short, but she had a tiny waist, nice legs, and a bustline proportionate to her size. But, more than that she was a really nice girl. "I’m very glad we met," Dale added impulsively.

Julie smiled at the former man and touched his arm. "Me too," she replied. "I hope we can become good friends."

"I’d like that," Dale told her earnestly, beaming back at her.

They left the shoe store and were moving back towards the entrance when Julie grabbed Dale’s arm and pointed towards a new store that had just opened.

"Oh, look!" She exclaimed. "Let’s stop in there. I’m really into aerobics, and I need a new leotard."

Dale looked to where Julia was pointing and his breath caught in his throat. The sign over the new store read: "Sportswoman."

Jill Douglas had opened a new outlet, in the mall, and Dale blanched at the possibility that he might run into the woman who had so thoroughly humiliated him. The last thing he wanted was to meet up with that . . . person! In the back of his mind he was afraid she might actually recognize him. Sure, he looked a lot different now, but there was still a "family" resemblance she might pick up on, and he wasn’t certain he could control his own reactions. Might he give himself away with his facial expression, or some mannerism? Was his voice feminine enough to escape detection by one who knew him?

"Is everything alright?" Julie asked, noticing "Robin’s" hesitation.

"What? Oh, sure, everything’s fine. I was just thinking about something else," Dale covered.

"Do you mind just stopping in there for a few moments?" Julie asked, and Dale couldn’t think of a good excuse.

"No, I don’t mind," he lied.

"Great! This shouldn’t take too long," Julie promised. "I already have a pretty good idea of the style I want."

Dale followed along as Julie entered the store and headed straight for the exercise and physical conditioning department. On the way they passed equipment for softball, volleyball, basketball, running, field hockey, bowling, golf—even weightlifting. He looked at the sales staff out of the corners of his eyes and began to breathe a bit easier when he realized that Jill was not among them. Well, she had two stores now and she couldn’t be in both places at once. Dale realized that Julie was probably still using her office at the old store and that this new one was merely a second outlet, not a new home.

"What do you think of this?" Julie asked, and Dale had to turn around and get his mind back on his new friend. She was holding up a tiny article of clothing that Dale assumed was a leotard. The light pink material had a slightly shiny cast to it, and the leg openings looked impossibly high.

"That’s, ah, very nice, but do you think it will fit?" He answered.

"It’s my size," Julie said a bit defensively, and Dale was suddenly worried he might have inadvertently offended his new friend.

"Oh, I didn’t mean that," Dale replied quickly. "I was just wondering if it might stay put while you work out. It looks a little skimpy in some areas."

Julie giggled. "Oh, that," she said. "Actually I like to get my leotards a little low-cut because Nick and I sometimes exercise together, and he likes the view, if you know what I mean."

Now it was Dale’s turn to giggle, though he hadn’t intended to laugh. But there was just something in the way Julie rolled her eyes that struck him as hilarious.

"Do you work out?" Julie asked suddenly, and Dale hesitated a little.

"Not recently," he replied truthfully. He hadn’t done anything to keep in shape since his transformation began—He hadn’t really thought about it, but if he had he probably would have considered it a waste of time. What was the point anymore? He’d lost 80% of his strength and stamina, and now that he was a woman no amount of exercise would restore his previous strength.

"Well, you should," Julie said, turning serious. "A girl’s got to take care of herself. Maybe we could even exercise together. I’ve got some dynamite workout tapes."

"Well, I’m pretty isolated out at the lake. No car—you know. I don’t really get into town all that much," Dale told her.

"Well, I’ve got a car, and I could stop over once in awhile, if you don’t mind," Julie suggested. Dale saw a hopeful look in her eyes and he didn’t have the heart to turn her down, but he was also hesitant to okay her visits without checking with Sandy.

"I’d like that," Dale replied with a smile, unwilling to take the chance of losing his new friend. He and Sandy would just have to find a way to work it out, somehow.

"How are YOU fixed for exercise outfits?" Julie asked.

Dale mentally reviewed what Sandy had in the way of work out clothes and realized she had nothing but one leotard, a couple pairs of shorts, a sport bra, and two or three tee shirts. He had plenty of male clothing, but that was useless to him now.

"Actually, I haven’t got much," he told her.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Shop, girl, shop!" Julie giggled as she did a little dance, and Dale covered his mouth in a very feminine gesture as he laughed.

"Okay, okay," he relented, allowing Julie to pull him over to the displays. Ten minutes later Dale and Julie both entered the changing rooms with an armful of outfits. Dale had allowed Julie to pick out half of the items he carried because of his inexperience in choosing leotards. To his chagrin Julie followed him right into one of the cubicles and proceeded to unzip her skirt. Dale set his items down as he watched Julie out of the corner of his eye to see what she was taking off and what she was leaving on. He intended to follow her lead exactly because he didn’t have a clue about how to proceed. He noticed that Julie removed both her skirt and her sweater, but left her underwear and pantyhose on, so he did the same.

The first item Julie had picked out for him was a bright yellow sleeveless leotard that was mostly spandex. He watched Julie step into her pink number, then followed suit, pulling the stretchy yellow fabric up his legs, over his hips and bottom, until he was able to slide his arms through the straps and guide it over his bust. The leotard looked strange with his panties and pantyhose, but he was able to get a general idea of how it would look when he wore it to exercise. It clung to his figure like a second skin, and the narrow gusset barely covered his feminine mound as it arched into the highest-cut legs Dale had ever seen. His entire thighs were exposed to his waist. Further up, the tight material hugged his narrow waist, then bulged outward over his breasts in one smooth wave. The scoop neck revealed just enough cleavage to be interesting to a male observer, and the low cut back dipped far below the band of his bra, to the small of his back.

"That looks great with your hair color," Julie gushed as Dale twisted to try to see himself in the mirror.

"It’s awfully tight," Dale complained.

"Let’s see," Julie asked, and pulled at the leotard, testing its tension, Dale supposed.

"It seems fine to me," she reported. "I think it would look good with white tights, or maybe light blue, and the yellow will pick up the yellow in your new cross-trainers."

Hmm. Okay, if you think it’s not too tight," Dale relented, adding: "That one looks really nice on you."

Julie smiled at Dale and the two of them proceeded to try on various other items, helping each other and chatting as they went. Dale couldn’t recall the exact point at which he began to feel comfortable, but after a few minutes he had forgotten his self-consciousness and became more concerned with how he looked in the outfits. By the time they both finished Dale, with Julie’s encouragement, decided to buy several outfits with tights, leg warmers, and even a cropped tee shirt. As they were standing in line to pay for their purchases Dale happened to notice the time and was stunned to see that his three hour time limit had expired five minutes ago. Sandy would be waiting for him, and he had promised to be waiting when she got there.

Dale was suddenly fearful that if he was late Sandy would be angry and refuse to let him come into the city again. He realized that, despite his fears, his self-consciousness, and the uncertainty, he had enjoyed himself today. And he had made a new friend, too! The last thing he wanted now was to be "grounded" because he was late, so he told Julie he had to go and they exchanges phone numbers. As he was leaving Julie gave him a hug and Dale returned her embrace with enthusiasm. They parted promising to call each other.

 

 

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