Role Over               by: Julia Manchester

Part 8

 

CHAPTER TWENTY 

Dale gazed down at the lake from the deck and breathed the cool, pine-scented air. The temperature was in the high forties, and there were countless signs that spring was about to gain the upper hand on Ol’ Man Winter. The ice was off the lake, and what little snow that remained was cowering in the shadows to avoid the sun’s sharp eye. The tips of branches were swollen with leafy promise, and a group of early spring birds had simply appeared a few days ago.

There were other indications of spring, but Dale hadn’t given them much thought. The former sporting goods salesman had paid no attention to the basketball finals or hockey. He hadn’t followed the progress of his favorite baseball team during spring training, and he had no idea when the Masters golf tournament was to be played. Those things didn’t interest him anymore.

This year spring brought an entirely new outlook on life to go with his new body. This year Dale was concerned with spring fashions, a new hairstyle, and perhaps planting a garden. He had made some friends since his transformation, and he sincerely hoped that Sandy’s new employer wouldn’t transfer her to a different city. In the few weeks since Colleen’s party he had even come to enjoy his job at Boomer’s, especially the great tips he got from flirting with the customers. He didn’t enjoy having to parade around half-naked to get the tips, or the lewd comments about his boobs, but he realized they went with territory.

It had been a shocking bit of self-discovery to realize he didn’t mind working at Boomer’s, but once he admitted to himself that he had come to like most of the attention his new form brought life became much easier for him. Oh, he still felt an occasional regret, but something inside him was compelling him to accept his newfound femininity. Over the weeks his actions, gestures, posture, and even his speech patterns had grown more and more feminine, and now applying his makeup and doing his nails seemed as natural to him as shaving had once been. He had become quite proficient with cosmetics, and now looked even more fabulous than when he had begun working at Boomer’s.

Dale glanced down at his petite watch and noticed it was almost ten o’clock. Julie was going to pick him up in about half an hour to go to an aerobics class, so Dale reluctantly went inside and headed towards the bedroom to change. He really didn’t want to go, but Julie had been badgering him for quite some time and he had finally broken down and agreed to try it. Part of his reluctance was that Julie went to Jill Douglas’ gym for aerobics classes, and Dale was very intimidated by his former customer. He knew it was irrational to worry about Jill discovering his true identity, but there was just something about that woman that scared the hell out of him.

He had told Julie about his last encounter with Jill, and one day, after class, Julie decided to test Dale’s ridiculous claim that he once been a man. She casually mentioned to Jill that she knew a guy by the name of Dale Morton, without telling her "he" was now a woman, and she was stunned by Jill’s response. She referred to Dale as an insufferable male chauvinist and a "little weasel." When Julie pressed her, Jill looked at her strangely, but gave her an account of the screwed up order, as well as instances where he had acted like a sexist pig. Jill laughed as she recounted the details of their last meeting, and when Julie finally left the gym she was absolutely convinced that, as impossible as it seemed, Dale was telling the truth.

Julie considered the incidents of the boorish, sexist behavior that Jill spoke of, and she decided that Dale really had been a pig. Nevertheless, she felt sorry for him, and she couldn’t help thinking that Jill had exaggerated a little. Jill was a real militant feminist, and Julie had noticed on more than one occasion that she seemed to carry a grudge against men in general.

When Julie arrived at "Robin’s" place she told the transformed man about her conversation with Jill.

"Ohmigod! You didn’t tell her about what happened to me, did you?" Dale asked his friend, stunned that Julie had mentioned his name to Jill.

"Of course not," Julie retorted. "She wouldn’t believe me any more than I believed you, at first, and I’m not anxious to have someone drop a net over me and drag me off to the loony bin."

Dale breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for not saying anything," he replied softly. Sand -- er, ‘Jim’ would kill me if he know I told you, and I don’t even want to think of what he’d do if some rumor got started."

"Well, if you ask me I’d say you deserved a little punishment for some of the stuff you pulled while you were a guy," Julie told him, "but, whoever did this went a bit far."

"I’ve learned my lesson," Dale replied with all the fervor of a reformed alcoholic.

Julie nodded. "I believe you have," she agreed. "I suppose there’s nothing like seeing how the other half lives for giving you a true appreciation for their feelings."

"You have no idea," Dale replied softly.

Julie looked at her new friend, and noticed that he was wearing the bright yellow, sleeveless leotard she had picked out for him the day they met, along with white tights and her new woman’s cross-trainers. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held with a pink scrunchie, and his makeup and nails were perfect. He had a multi-colored gym bag, and his purse was hung over his shoulder. He’d fit right in, she realized, and nobody would ever guess he’d once been a man.

"C’mon. Let’s get going," she directed.

____________________

After working at Boomer’s, Dale was used to seeing naked women in the locker room, but this was a little different. The Sportswoman lockers were crowded, with about thirty females crammed into a space that was only slightly larger than the dressing room at Boomer’s, and unlike Boomer’s, where all the girls were young and shapely, the women at the aerobics class came in a wide variety of ages, sizes, and figures. In fact, Dale noticed many of the other women staring at him enviously as he found an empty section of bench and sat down to slip his leg warmers on. Their jealousy was written on their faces, and Dale was surprised to find that he actually felt a little smug about his face and figure.

His smugness didn’t last long, though. As soon as the class started Dale discovered it was a lot of work, and he simply didn’t have the stamina. His feminized muscles ached from the dance-like routines the instructor led them through, and he discovered that, even with a sport bra, his large boobs bounced and bobbed up and down. His tits seemed to have a mind of their own, and it was very embarrassing.

After the class Julie led him over to the juice bar and treated him to a V8, while his pulse slowly returned to normal. They talked about the class, and Dale admitted he was terribly out of shape.

"You need to start working out regularly, but there’s nothing wrong with your ‘shape,’" Julie quipped, grinning at him. She leaned close to Dale and added softly: "Every girl in the class wishes she had your figure. At least whoever turned you into a woman gave you a great bod."

Dale was about to reply when he saw Jill Douglas enter the room and head directly over to where he and Julie were sitting. Dale felt himself tense up as his old nemesis approached, and he had to command himself to relax. There was no way Jill could possibly know his true identity.

Hi Julie! Did you bring a friend with you today?" Jill asked in a pleasant voice as she walked up to them.

"Hello Jill -- Yes. This is my good friend, Robin Langdon," Julie answered.

"Nice to meet you, Robin," Jill responded, holding out her hand.

Dale took her hand and shook it, wondering if he had performed the simple ritual in a feminine manner. "Hi," he responded timidly, avoiding Jill’s penetrating gaze. The owner of Sportswoman had a friendly smile on her face, but there was something about the way she looked at him that made Dale nervous. He shook off the feeling and put it down to paranoia.

"I hope you like our new facilities," Jill said to Dale. "We’d like to have you as a regular."

"I enjoyed the aerobics a lot, but I’m afraid I’m a bit out of shape," Dale replied.

"Oh we specialize in changing our customers’ shapes," Jill replied with amusement and a twinkle in her eye that made Dale look at her closely. "And one of the nice things about Sportswoman," she added, "is that you don’t have to worry about men staring at you as you exercise. This is a male-free zone. There are no guys to ogle you or make crude remarks."

Dale fixed a smile on his face and nodded, wondering why Jill found it necessary to remind him of that. With a name like Sportswoman no man would even apply for membership at the club, and he could see for himself that the clientele was all female.

Jill didn’t stay too long, and left after a little more small talk. After she walked away Dale visibly relaxed, and Julie leaned towards him slightly after glancing around to make sure no one could overhear.

"That woman is really down on men," she remarked in a barely audible voice. "At first I thought it was just you, but every time I see her she makes some sort of comment about men in general."

Dale nodded. "This was the nicest she has ever treated me," he replied.

"That’s because you’re one of us now, and she doesn’t know who you were," Julie replied.

"Yeah, I guess so," Dale replied, but even as he agreed with Julie he wondered if Jill wasn’t somehow aware of his true identity. But when he mentioned his suspicions to Julie she was skeptical.

"From what you tell me, you had started changing before she yelled at you in her office," Julie pointed out. "If you had begun your transformation after seeing Jill I could see it, but you were already a member of the sorority by the time you visited her office, even if your transformation wasn’t complete. I think she’s definitely a man-hater, and probably a lesbian, but the timing doesn’t implicate her in your sex change."

Dale shrugged. "You’re probably right," he allowed. "It’s just that -- I feel there’s something about her that’s not normal."

"Women’s intuition?" Julie asked with a mischievous grin, and Dale had to smile in spite of himself.

"Maybe," he agreed.

Julie dropped Dale off at the cottage an hour later, and the erstwhile man headed straight for the bathroom. He had been reluctant to take a shower at the gym, and he wanted to have a good soak before he started making dinner. He quickly stripped off his tights and leotard and poured scented bath beads into the hot water before stepping into the tub. The workout had exhausted him more than he had been willing to admit to Julie, and the steaming water felt luscious as he lowered himself carefully. He sighed audibly and smelled the wonderful aroma of the bath crystals as they performed their magic.

Dale luxuriated in the bath for nearly 45 minutes, and when he finally forced himself to get out of the tub he smelled like lilacs and was squeaky clean. Even his minor aches from the workout had subsided. He had planned a simple meal for Sandy, so he still had plenty of time to dry his hair and get dressed, and he spent a little extra time on his makeup and hair. For some reason he was in a playful mood, so he selected a tight, peach knit top and a short, floral print A-line skirt, with a pair of white sandals with four-inch heels.

As he made dinner Dale wondered about Sandy’s new job. She had hit it off with the regional manager who interviewed her, and had been hired on the spot -- as the store manager for the Maxiplex Department Store in Pierston, a small town right on Lake Michigan. But there was already talk of transferring her to a larger store near Chicago. She had used many of the same ideas she implemented at her former job, and the regional manager had her pegged as a rising star. Her meteoric success was both a blessing and a curse, and it also made Dale feel rather inadequate. The blessing, of course, was Sandy’s salary. She was making several times Dale’s former salary, and it looked like she would be getting a hefty raise on top of that. The downside was the company’s desire to move her to a larger store, where her innovations could be put to good use and where she could be groomed for bigger and better things.

Dale met Sandy at the door when she arrived, and he took her briefcase from her and set it on a table before throwing his arms around her neck and giving her a deep, passionate kiss. At first he thought it was his imagination, but Sandy seemed a little taller than she’d been that morning. Dale had to stretch up on tip toes just to get his arms around his wife’s muscular neck. Even in his four-inch heels he barely came up to her shoulders.

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"Hi babe," Sandy greeted her feminized husband when she released his waist after returning his kiss.

"Dinner is almost ready," Dale said, craning his neck to look up at Sandy.

"Well, stick it in the fridge and get dressed up -- We’re going out tonight," Sandy told him.

"What? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call? I --"

"I just decided," Sandy replied with a grin. "I think it’s time we had a night on the town, with dinner, dancing, the works."

"But, it will take me time to get ready. I wasn’t expecting this," Dale grumped, wondering why Sandy couldn’t have given him just a little notice.

"Go!" Sandy ordered, slapping Dale on the bottom as she propelled him towards the bedroom.

____________________

Forty-five minutes later Dale Checked his delicate clutch purse to make sure he had everything he needed, then turned towards the mirror for one last inspection. His clingy little black dress conformed to every curve of his fabulous figure, and the low-cut bodice struggled to contain his breasts. He prayed the thin, spaghetti straps would hold up, and worried that the mid-thigh hem was too short to conceal his garters and stocking tops, but it was too late to change now. His legs were encased in barely black stockings that appeared nearly colorless, except for a hint of black that seemed to outline his legs, and his matching black pumps lifted his heels four inches, shaping his legs and bottom nicely. His hair was softly curled, and his makeup flawless, which was nothing short of miraculous considering the little time Dale had to get ready.

Sandy grinned at Dale when he emerged from the bedroom. She had just set the phone down after having made reservations for dinner, and she stood up and helped Dale with his coat before ushering him out the door.

"Where are we going?" Dale asked as Sandy drove down the winding road that led from the cottage to the main highway.

"I thought we’d try the Fairmont Inn," Sandy replied, and Dale froze. The Fairmont Inn was the restaurant where their magical transformations had begun.

"After all," his masculine wife continued, "we never did to get to finish dinner the last time we were there."

Dale looked over at Sandy, but she appeared to be serious. "Do you think this is a good idea?" He asked.

"Sure, why not?" She responded. "After all, what else could happen to us?"

"I’m almost afraid to find out," Dale replied.

Sandy reached over and wrapped her arm around Dale’s shoulders and pulled him towards herself with astonishing ease. "Relax," she advised. "The worst that can happen is that we go back to the way we were, right?"

Dale wondered if that was the worst that could happen, then considered how he would look if he suddenly sprouted a penis and scrotum in the tight dress he was wearing. There would be no way to hide it, and that thought made him even more nervous. Visions of trying to cover the front of his dress as he made a hasty exit from the restaurant came to him, and he could almost hear the laughter of the patrons.

But wouldn’t it be worth it? Isn’t that what he wanted -- to regain his manhood?

Dale hadn’t realized he’d been lost in his thoughts until Sandy pulled into the parking lot of the Fairmont. Of course he wanted to be a man again, he told himself, but for some reason he was afraid too, and he didn’t know why. He also wondered why Sandy wanted to take the chance of turning back into a woman. She obviously enjoyed the role of the dominant male, and she had already far surpassed him in salary and position. It didn’t make any sense to come here and risk it all, from her point of view.

____________________

The transformed male was too nervous to enjoy his meal, and he barely touched his food. Instead he sipped at his wine and looked around the dining room, wondering if one of the other diners might be the person responsible for their transformation, or if the location itself had something to do with their exchange of roles. He wanted to ask Sandy why she selected this particular restaurant for dinner, but Sandy dominated the conversation with talk of her new responsibilities and promotion prospects, and Dale just went along with her.

After Sandy finished her meal she suggested they use the rest rooms before they left for the nightclub. Dale just nodded, and waited while Sandy got up and held his chair, before rising gracefully, and moving towards the ladies room. He entered the room with mixed feelings, and stared at his reflection for a moment before entering a stall and attending to business.

But nothing happened. Dale sat on the seat for several minutes to make sure he gave it (whatever "it" was) a chance to work its magic. After awhile he sighed and went to the mirror to touch up his makeup. He really didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved that he was still female, and that bothered him more than anything else. Where was the "old" Dale -- The guy who had been shocked and horrified at his sudden feminization? Did that guy still exist, or had he been co-opted by the chick who took his place? Had his mind been feminized, or was it that -- for the first time in his life -- he had a few friends who just accepted him for what he was? Dale was still pondering that question as he pushed the door open and went to join Sandy.

____________________

As they were leaving the restaurant Sandy glanced over at the strip mall across the street and noticed a new establishment.

"Hey, look at that," she pointed towards the business.

Dale was hanging onto Sandy’s other arm and looking down at the uneven pavement, trying to avoid twisting an ankle, and he looked to where his wife was pointing. It was easy to see which business she meant, since everything was closed except for a place called "The Sweet Shot." It was a pool, he realized, and it had to be new. Dale had never heard of it, and he had shot pool in every hall in the area. In fact, he’d once been a pretty fair shooter, winning his share of local tournaments. He could never compete with the real world-class players -- He’d once entered a major tournament in Chicago and had been completely outclassed -- but he was one of the best in the area. Or had been. He hadn’t played since his transformation.

"Must be a new joint," Dale remarked, and quickly returned his attention to the crummy pavement.

Sandy also remembered spending countless nights in pool halls, especially when she and Dale were dating, but her perspective was far different than her husband’s. She had rarely played, and usually spent most of the time perched on a tall chair, just watching, while Dale competed in a tournament or relieved some poor schmuck of a few dollars. He referred to his victims variously as "fish," or "pigeons," and he was very good at extracting whatever they were foolish enough to wager. But, for her, it had been incredibly boring, and she had put up with it only because Dale was her man, and he enjoyed shooting.

Now, however, the idea of shooting a few games had a strange appeal. Pool was a "guy" thing, and now that she was a guy she decided she should learn more about the game. She was certain she would have occasion to play in the future and she didn’t want to embarrass herself. She knew just the person to teach her everything about the game.

"Let’s go over and shoot a few games," she suggested, but Dale didn’t really feel like walking into a pool hall dressed in a tight black minidress and wearing four-inch stiletto heels.

"C’mon! Don’t tell me that you would rather spend the night dancing," Sandy needled him, and Dale had to admit that a few games of pool, even the way he was dressed, was better than trying to dance in high heels.

____________________

Frank Canesco looked out at the few patrons in his establishment and felt a trickle of sweat inch down his back, between his shoulder blades. The business was in serious trouble. After three months and an extensive advertising campaign he was still losing money so fast it seemed to evaporate. Frank was in his early thirties, with a wife and three kids to support, and he had taken a big gamble when he used his retirement fund to start a corporation and open his mini-chain of pool halls. He had three locations, all within a fifty mile radius, and all three were in the red. Last month he had tried to get the bank to increase his line of credit, but they had refused, and Frank had been forced to obtain "alternate financing" to keep the doors open.

The problem was the "investors" he had to deal with charged slightly more than the going rate of interest and came around to collect personally -- every Sunday morning. If Frank couldn’t come up with an installment a lawsuit was the least of his problems. Now it looked like the ad campaign had flopped, and Frank was wondering if the two goons would just break his legs the following morning, or whether someone would find him floating face down in one of the many small lakes that dotted the countryside. He knew there was no chance of getting away. Other people had tried that before and the "investors" had tracked them down and made examples of them.

Frank retreated to his office to try to figure a way out of the mess, leaving Vince Smith, his less than brilliant assistant to tend the counter. Vinney might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was a childhood friend, and completely loyal to Frank. If he could only make change and read he would have perfect for the job of manager, but as it was Frank couldn’t trust him with the job and had made him his "Executive Assistant."

The reason Frank and Vinney were working that night was that the manager had quit. He had told Frank that he was having personal problems at home, but Frank recognized the situation for what it was -- just another way the "investors" had of putting pressure on him.

After a few minutes Vinney stuck his head in the office and said, "Frank, you gotta get a load of the babe that just walked in."

Frank looked up from his desk, where he’d been staring at the stained blotter, and asked, "What’s the big deal?"

"Just come look," Vinney persisted. "I aint never seen no classy broad like this in a pool hall!"

Frank shrugged and pushed himself away from the desk. He wasn’t getting anywhere anyway, so he might as well see what got Vinney so excited. He stood up and walked to the doorway, and looked out at the main room. It took about two seconds to spot the chick Vinney was all excited about, and Frank had to admit she was a real babe. She was a real knockout, in a tight black dress that just about managed to hold her in. The chick had long blonde hair, a real pretty face, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Her tits were just about bustin’ out of her dress, and she had a tiny waist, nice ass, and the sexiest legs Frank had ever seen.

Normally Frank did not ogle the customers (most of the chicks weren’t worth the trouble Ellen would give him if she found out) but this girl was really special, and Frank figured it was probably his last night above ground, so he might as well have a little fun. So he watched from the doorway as the girl hiked herself up onto one of the sidechairs and watched as her boyfriend/husband got himself a cue stick and racked the balls. He looked like a beginner to Frank, but the owner’s attention was really on the girl. She was sitting with her legs crossed, and Frank got a glimpse of garters and lacy stocking tops. He thought it was the sexiest pose he’d ever seen, yet the girl didn’t seem aware of what she was showing..

As he continued to watch Frank noticed the guy walk over to the girl and stand there while she gestured with her hands, and then he realized she was giving him pointers on how to hold the cue. That seemed really weird, but in this day and age Frank figured some girls might just know more about the game than their guys.

After a particularly poor shot the chick seemed to mutter something, then she slid down off the stool and took the cue from the guy and bent low over the table to line up a shot. It was a hell of a sight -- one that Frank would’ve paid money to see. Her little dress rode up and exposed even more of her garters, and her legs looked absolutely fantastic in profile. Her tits hung down like two melons and nearly touched the table rail as she concentrated on her shot.

"She aint never gonna make that shot, Frank," Vinney opined from the counter.

Frank hadn’t been paying any attention to the shot, but now that Vinney pointed it out, he had to agree. The chick was trying a long bank shot between two balls, and he couldn’t see how she could possibly get the cue ball between them. Even if she did, she’d never leave herself with anything. But as soon as the thought came to him the girl shot, and the cue ball threaded its way between the other two, struck the object ball perfectly, then caromed off two rails and came to rest with a perfect shot on the three ball -- just as the object ball dropped into the pocket.

"Wow! Frank, did you see that?" Vinney asked.

Frank nodded. "Probably beginner’s luck," he remarked as the chick looked at her date and smirked.

But it wasn’t. As Frank and Vinney looked on the girl proceeded to run the table, and left herself with a perfect break shot for the next rack. She was playing straight pool, and she was damned good at it. Frank had never seen any woman play like this chick, and in fact he knew of very few men who could shoot that well.

____________________

Dale was enjoying himself, despite the handicap of trying to shoot while wearing a dress and high heels. His long blonde hair also got in the way when he bent over the shot, one lock falling across his face. He pursed his lips and blew the offending strands to one side as he concentrated on making the next shot. Taking careful aim, he stroked the cue ball, applying just a touch of top left "english," and as the object ball dropped into the pocket the cue ball came off the foot rail with just enough speed to set up his next shot.

Sandy was enjoying the exhibition, and she sat and smiled as she watched her feminine husband trying to cope with his long nails, hair, tight dress, and high heels. She could see that Dale was so engrossed in the game he was completely unaware of the way his cute bottom stuck out when he bent over a shot, or the way his low-cut dress allowed her to see his magnificent cleavage as he shot. But beyond that Sandy listened to Dale’s running commentary as he explained how to hold the cue stick, how to "bridge" it, and how to "stroke" (She decided that she would try a similar "stroke" on him when they got back to the cottage). Since she now had a real incentive to learn she paid close attention, and it wasn’t long before she had acquired more knowledge about the game than she had in all the nights she had watched Dale play.

____________________

Frank continued to watch the couple from the doorway to his office, and it didn’t take long to confirm that the chick was actually teaching her date how to play, and he chuckled to himself at the reversal of the usual roles. Almost without exception, when couples came in it was the guy trying to teach the girl how to handle a stick, but this chick really knew her way around a table. Her date stood off to one side as she explained some aspect of the game, nodding occasionally, then she’d let him try whatever it was she was teaching him. The guy was a quick learner, but he was a rank amateur and needed a lot of practice, but his girl looked like a real pro.

"You know, Frank, that babe looks pretty good with stick in her hands. She’d make a real nice pin-up!" Viinney remarked wistfully.

Frank’s head snapped around to face his assistant and he blinked as Vinney’s comment registered. Suddenly an idea sprang to life, and he just stood there with his mouth open as his mind raced to arrange the possibilities that began to occur to him.

"Vinney, you’re a genius!" Frank exclaimed as he dodged back into his office and picked up the phone.

Vinney had no idea what his friend meant by that comment, but he couldn’t ever remember anyone using the term ‘genius’ and his name in the same sentence -- or the same conversation for that matter. But Frank seemed excited, and Vinney figured that was good, so he went back to tend the counter with a smile on his face.

A few minutes later Frank emerged from his office. He glanced over at Vinney. "Grab the camera and come with me," he said with a grin.

Vinney nodded and reached below the counter for the Polaroid camera they used to take pictures of the winners of house tournaments and scurried off after his boss.

_____________________

Dale was concentrating on a shot, so he didn’t see the two guys approach Sandy and take her off to one side. After he made the shot he looked up and saw his wife talking with two men. The taller of the two looked to be in his mid 40s, with close-cropped brown hair and a confused look on his face, while the other was about 5-10, with a round face, dark hair, and shrewd eyes. He the shorter one was doing most of the talking, and Sandy was looking at him with interest, nodding occasionally.

When Sandy saw Dale looking over she motioned him to join her, and Dale approached and took his place at her side, still holding his cue stick.

"Ah, Robin, this is Frank Canesco, the owner of this place, and Vince ..."

"Vinney. Vinney Smith." The tall one extended his hand and when Dale took it he pumped it vigorously.

"Anyway," Sandy continued, "Frank has an interesting proposition to make to you."

Dale looked over at the owner of the hall. In his four inch heels he was almost as tall as the thin man.

"Yeah, well, I was watchin’ you shoot, and I got this idea that you might be just the girl for our new advertising campaign. Y’see, we’ve been looking for a ch --, er a girl to put in our ads and make personal appearances at our three locations -- to promote the business and attract customers -- And I think you’d be perfect for the job. Of course we would pay you to be our, ah, representative."

Dale was surprised by the offer, and he really didn’t know what to think about it. He had never done anything remotely like it, and he didn’t have a clue as to what would be expected of him.

"I don’t know," he replied slowly, looking up at Sandy. "I’m not a model. I mean, I’ve never done anything like that and I wouldn’t know what to do."

"That’s okay, you don’t need no experience for this," Frank assured him. "We got this photographer, see, and he knows all about that kinda stuff. He’ll show you just what to do. B’sides, you handle a cue pretty good. You don’t need no help with that."

Dale looked back towards Sandy again, and she had a smile on her face. "I think it might be fun for you," she remarked. "Why don’t you give it a shot?"

"But Sa- er, Jim! I really don’t think --"

"Look. I’ll arrange my schedule to come with you, at least until you’re comfortable with this. I think it would be a good experience for you."

And that was it. Dale opened his mouth to protest further, but thought better of it and just nodded up at his masculine wife. He knew Sandy wouldn’t change her mind now, and he just couldn’t bring himself to defy her.

"Okay, that’s settled," Sandy proclaimed. "Why don’t you go practice some more while I work out the details with Frank and Vinney," she ‘suggested.’

"Sure, Jim," Dale replied with a bob of his head before turning away and moving back to the table.

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Ten days later Dale found himself back at "The Sweet Shot," but it was after hours, and the place was closed. A portable, L shaped screen had been erected towards the back of the main billiard room to serve as a temporary dressing room, and the photographer’s thirty-something assistant was working on Dale’s hair and makeup, after helping him pour himself into a skimpy costume.

Dale felt very self-conscious in the outfit, which consisted of a tight, scarlet crop top, white, skin tight hot pants, tan sheer-to-waist pantyhose, and strappy red pumps with four-inch heels. The tiny crop top was inscribed, "Miss Sweet Shot" across the bust, and was low cut, to show off Dale’s cleavage. The white shorty-shorts had a notched front and no pockets to break up the curve of his bottom.

Towards the front of the room the photographer, who had been ‘recommended’ by Frank’s investors, had constructed a mini-photographic studio, complete with lights, silvery reflectors, portable backdrops, and props. Sandy was there too, standing back near the counter with Frank and Vinney and enjoying herself immensely. She had overheard the discussion between Frank and the photographer, and she knew her little feminized hubby would just love what they had in mind.

When Dale emerged from the dressing area the photographer began turning on the lights and the room was suddenly as bright as a beach at noon. Dale squinted as his eyes became accustomed to the brightness, and he allowed himself to be ushered over to the pool table that would serve as the main prop for the pictures. The photographer had him lean over as if taking a shot, then took several pictures from the front, getting a good view of Dale’s cleavage. Dale felt himself blush when he realized that his breasts were the focal point of the shots.

After what seemed like 20 pictures the photographer took several more from the side, making sure he got all of Dale’s sexy legs in the photos. Dale felt silly leaning over the table, and his calves felt tight from the heels and his provocative pose. He was relieved when the photographer told him to take a break while he moved a few pieces of equipment.

During the break Dale glanced over at Sandy and saw her engaged in an earnest conversation with the two "investors," who had mostly remained in the background. She smiled at Dale when she saw him looking at her, but it was clear from her body language that she didn’t want to be interrupted, so Dale just leaned against another pool table and waited for the photographer and his assistant to finish. The assistant came over to him after awhile and worked on his hair a little, and touched up his makeup. When she was ready the cameraman motioned Dale to return.

He had a small stepladder, about three feet high, standing next to the table, and he indicated to Dale that he wanted his model to climb up on the table and lay down on his side. Dale stared at the man for a moment, and noticed Sandy grinning broadly at him from the corner of the room. She was really enjoying this, and he vowed to make her pay for this humiliation.

"C’mon. We haven’t got all night," the photographer said testily, and Dale reluctantly ascended the ladder, holding the photographer’s hand for balance.

The assistant helped Dale with his hair, and actually positioned his legs, so that one leg was bent with a high heel shoe planted firmly on the felt of the table, while the other was turned, knee towards the camera, on the table. Dale propped his head up with one hand while the other arm was placed so that it hugged his hip. Finally, when everything was ready, another dozen or so shots were taken. The photographer used two cameras for these shots, and Dale later learned that one held extra-large film, to be used for billboards!

After that pose, Dale was placed in several others, including one where he held a cue stick straight up, and another where he was sitting cross-legged with the cue held across the back of his shoulders. That particular pose, with his arms grasping the ends of the stick, lifted his bustline and really emphasized his boobs -- and the "Miss Sweet Shot" lettering on the crop top.

Finally, after several hours and at least two dozen poses, the photographer announced that he was satisfied. Dale was relieved to be out from under the hot lights, and he moved to another table, hopped up on it, and reached down and removed his pumps. He laid the shoes on the table and began to massage his sore feet, wondering if they were really going to put his picture on billboards. Having his likeness in newspapers and brochures would be bad enough, but billboards would be really embarrassing. The thought of thousands of guys staring at his body was completely humiliating. At least it was over, he thought gratefully, and the pay was pretty good, too.

Sandy came over just as he was about to go change into his own clothes, and she stood next to him, watching the photographer and his assistant disassemble their equipment.

"Well, you made quite an impression on Frank and his investors," she informed her cute little spouse.

"I really don’t care," Dale replied wearily. "I just want to change and go home."

"They don’t want you to change just yet," Sandy told him. "They’re taking us out for an early breakfast, and they want you to go in the clothes you’re wearing."

Dale repeated his objection, but Sandy pushed herself away from the pool table and turned to face him. As Dale looked up at his strong, handsome wife Sandy took him in her arms and pulled him close to her. She bent down and kissed him passionately, right in front of everyone, and there was not a thing Dale could do about it. He tried to push her away, but she was far too strong for him.

"S,s -- Jim -- Don’t!" He managed to gasp as he pulled back from her, but Sandy put one hand in his long, blonde hair and pulled his lips back to her own. Dale continued to struggle a bit, but then he was overcome by a wonderful, soft warmth that radiated through his entire body, and he found himself yielding to her will.

When Sandy finally broke the kiss Dale’s arms were wrapped around her neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to let go. He looked up at his wife again and was mesmerized by her eyes. All thought of resistance had vanished, and he clung to her, savoring the wonderful sensations she had created within him. A moment later Dale acknowledged her dominance, taking her offered hand and allowing himself to be led over to the others.

Dale stood next to Sandy submissively while she and the men discussed where they would go and talked about Dale making personal appearances at the various "Sweet Shot" locations. He blushed as Vinney and the two anonymous investors took turns stealing glances at his semi-exposed boobs, but the worst part about the conversation was hearing himself referred to in the third person. Sandy and the others talked as if he wasn’t there, and made decision about where he would go and what he would do without even consulting him or asking his opinion.

Yet Dale couldn’t bring himself to object, or even speak up. He sensed that these types of decisions were over his head, and though deep down he resented being treated like a child he was too timid to say one word.

The restaurant proved to be another ordeal for Dale. After the photographer and his assistant left Sandy followed Frank and the others to a pancake house that open 24 hours. As luck would have it the bars had closed a few minutes earlier and the place was teeming with people who hadn’t drawn a sober breath for several hours. Some of them were loud and boisterous, some rude, and others were barely conscious. There were a few couple, but the crowd was mostly men, and Dale felt like a virgin at a frat party. If Sandy hadn’t been there he would have never had the courage to go in, and he clung to her for protection.

He got the same kind of stares he got at Boomer’s, but this was far worse because the place was unfamiliar to him and his outfit was even skimpier than his work uniform. He was a walking advertisement for sex, and it didn’t take long before someone decided to sample the merchandise.

The six of them were sitting around a large table, and the men were discussing various aspects of the new advertising campaign for "The Sweet Shot," as they waited for their orders. Dale tried to follow the conversation, but it seemed really boring to him, and he excused himself to use the restroom. He hadn’t gotten ten feet before a drunk reached out from a booth and grabbed him around the waist and pulled him onto his lap.

"Hey honey, you’re one fine looking’ chick! How about Olli’ Bert shown’ you a good time?"

Dale shrieked as he was pulled into the booth, and he didn’t see what happened at their own table, but in an instant he felt himself being pulled off the guy’s lap and handed over to Sandy by one of the investors. The next thing Dale knew the drunk was bent over in his food and a pistol was against his temple.

"Listen to me, and listen real good, tithed," the investor told the drunk in a low, menacing voice. "What you just done was very disrespectful, not only of the girl, but her husband. Now nobody does that to friends of Rocky Loves, understand?"

The drunk tried to nod his head, but his face was jammed in his plate and he was having a hard time just to keep from choking on his food. All that came out was a muffled response, but apparently it satisfied Rocky, because he let him go and holstered his pistol.

"Now, I want you to apologize to the lady and her husband real nice, you hear? ‘Cause if you don’t, you gone have to learn how do things with your left hand." Rocky growled.

The entire restaurant had grown eerily quiet as everyone watched, and Dale was even more self-conscious than before. Nobody had missed the huge gun that Rocky had produced out of nowhere, but nobody said one thing about it either. The drunk looked up at Dale and Sandy, and apologized profusely. He didn’t seem quite as drunk as he had a few seconds before, though there was a wet spot near his crotch, and Dale was sure he hadn’t spilled anything on himself.

"Walk me to the rest room," Dale pleaded with Sandy in a quiet voice, and she nodded and took his arm.

Once inside the ladies room Dale locked himself in a stall and broke down completely. He could never remember being so scared in his entire life, and not just of the drunk. That guy, Rocky -- he now had one name anyway -- was one tough, scary guy! The pistol he had looked incredibly huge, and he had moved like lightning! Who were those people? They sure didn’t look like typical businessmen!

When Dale finally calmed down he went to the sink and repaired his makeup and brushed his hair. Sandy hadn’t waited at the door, like he hoped she would, but nobody even glanced at him as he made his way back to the table, and Dale figured Rocky had gotten his point across to everyone in the restaurant. When he returned to the table he glanced at the gun-toting investor, but Rocky looked completely relaxed, as if nothing at all had happened.

The man smiled at Dale as he sat down, and Dale tried to smile back. After all, he had saved him from a mauling. But he was still nervous, and mood didn’t improve when Sandy looked over at him and told him he would be quitting his job at Boomer’s.

 

To be Continued . . .

 

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© 2001 by Julia Manchester. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.