(She Said) Something About Tulips

by Bright Eyes

 

"Your choice is this," she stated simply. "You can either dress up as my lesbian lover now and do as I tell you of your own free will, or," and at this she threw the bag at his feet. It was only half zipped up and inside he could see black lacy things that pegged his heart with dread. "Or… I can just say your trigger phrase and make you do it anyway. You'll be my lesbian lover anyway, but trapped in what remains of your old male self. Choose quickly!"

Hector's mind raced. What to do? Could he stand up for himself? Could he force her out somehow, shouting or singing like a child – "I can't hear you!" out of the door? Or would he have to consider her choice? On the one hand, if he –

"I'm bored now!" announced Kate. "Time's up!"

Hector opened is mouth to speak, but the words never formed. For at the same moment, Kate said something to him. He didn't quite catch what it was – something about flowers… tulips? – but the effect of it was instant and intense.

"That's right, my ex-boyfriend…" said Kate.

Suddenly he was horrified at himself, sitting there in trousers! How could he? How could he wear a baggy t-shirt? What had he been thinking this morning, when he knew that Kate was coming round, and he hadn't even put on any makeup? Then he remembered. This morning he had been an ordinary man.

"My lesbian lover…" said Kate.

Now he was a lesbian. He writhed in shame at the thought of what had happened to him, so quickly, without his even noticing. How could such a desire to look feminine have so easily and effortlessly swept aside his own identity? For he knew that he was a man, and yet he could not deny the overriding compulsion he felt; the new and powerful compulsion, the intoxicating compulsion that seemed to charge his very blood; the compulsion to dress up in high heels and lipstick. His heart leapt at the thought! But the shame - he knew he was male, yet his mind reeled around the fountain of femininity, and somehow he could not turn back. He did not wholly know if he wanted to find his way out, though he knew without doubt that he should try. He was both Lancelot and Guinevere. He watched through his own eyes as the left hand that used to be his gently, gingerly fingered the folds of his trousers, as if impatient to be rid of them. And how he did want to take them off, and to carefully enjoy the thrill of pulling on long, lacy, sleek and sheer, silky-soft, sexy slut-black stockings. Tights were not good enough. He wanted to be as feminine as he could. Inside his head he screamed, in shock, in horror! In the living room, his real body just sighed longingly, gazing at Kate's thigh as his feet slowly and unconsciously arched themselves and his knees pressed together. She had turned him into a freak! Into a transvestite! But it felt so good…

"How does it feel? How does it feel to be trapped inside your own mind? How does it feel to be wearing male clothes?" said Kate.

"It feels awful." He replied truthfully to both questions, looking down in shame at his inelegance when Kate was dressed so nicely.

"Don't worry," Kate reassured him, "you've got a call to make, but before that, there's a whole lot of sexy stuff in my bag that you can borrow. If you're very careful with it!" She sat forwards in the chair, recrossing her long sleek legs, again smiling like a snake as she watched him.

Hector reached out to the bag before him, his eyes wide in anticipation of what lay inside. He drew out a basque. Black, silky, with thin straps and suspenders, and laces to be tied tightly down the front. He drew out a breast form, and eagerly rummaged for the other. He drew out stockings. Somehow he knew they were ten denier at least, or maybe thinner. He drew out a black thong. It was so small and skimpy he winced in joy at the thought of the feeling of wearing it. Inside he recoiled as if in pain. In the bag he could see a pair of shoes – court shoes – just under a brown wig and some clothes, with heels to die for. Really high and sexy, just how he liked them! He decided to save them for when he had everything else on.

His hands trembling and eyes shining, he stood up and looked at his mistress. "Here," she said, leaning forwards and picking out a small clutch from the bag, "Makeup." She took out and extended a very red lipstick. "Show me how nice you can look." He nearly skipped into the bathroom.

All Hector could do was watch as his own body turned him bit by bit into a woman. His legs became long and sleek. Even trapped in his mind, he could see how sexy they were. His figure became curvy when he wriggled himself into the jet basque, and he straightened his back and held his shoulders back in pride when he inserted the breast forms. How naughty they looked, how delicious! Inside his mind, Hector cringed. How could he be doing this? How could it be happening to him? He tried to cry out, to stop himself from doing these things, but nothing happened.

He wasn't sure if it was another of the hypnotic suggestions, but his vision seemed to become clearer when he applied the eye makeup from the clutch bag. The blusher seemed to cheer him up and a smile crept onto his face. Peering at the bathroom mirror, he was stunned at the instant effect of the mascara. Long, thick, black lashes batted flirtatiously as he applied another coat. Under his plucked eyebrows, and the smoky shades of the dark eyeshadow, his face was suddenly feminine. A woman's eyes looked back at him. A sexy woman. Hector's fear amplified as he watched his body, his appearance, his identity slipping away from him. Again and again he tried to screw up his eyes and scream, but the lady in the mirror just smiled lazily and fluttered her new eyelashes. He beat on his brain, thumped the inside of his mind in silent fear and fury.

His body dressed fully in lingerie, breast forms proud, and leaning forwards on tip-toe, his arm held up the lipstick to his face and he pouted at his reflection. Inside he was going crazy. His hands extended the lipstick.

No, screeched his mind.

The lipstick raised to his lips.

No, said his mind.

And it stopped.

He blinked.

He blinked, Hector blinked! Hector himself blinked!

Holding the red lipstick almost to his lips, he blinked at himself. With trembling hands he lowered the cosmetic, keeping his eyes firmly locked on his own eyes in the reflection.

He could move!

He could control himself again!

Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes, but as his thickly coated lashes brushed together floods of hypnotic feminine images cascaded down upon him, stilettos, crossed legs, cleavage – all his – and he snapped them open again. Glancing down at himself, he felt a sudden and unexpected elation at his new sexy self. Mistake! Again he felt the tide of suggestions sweeping into his thoughts, washing away his barely regained self-control. He took hold of the sink with both hands, dropping the lipstick which skidded away across the laminate floor. Struggling for breath, staring hard into his eyes in the mirror, he fought back.

Hector, he repeated to himself.

Hector, Hector.

I am Hector.

But then he heard another voice. A real voice, Kate's voice, calling from the lounge, "Don't be too long!" and again he was unable to stop his body from hurrying in its tasks. He stooped to pick up the lipstick, but paused and stood by the door.

He thought quickly. What to do? What to do? An idea formed in his mind, and he seized upon it, just as his body started moving out back into the hall and the lounge.

I need more time, he thought. More time to get myself under control. Away from Kate. Got to get away!

He could not help but sway his hips as he sashayed back into the lounge, smiling like a cat. Kate had moved, and was sitting by the window, but she had crossed her legs the other way and she pointed one high heeled boot as she rocked her leg gently. The wonder of it caused Hector to gasp and fall at her feet.

"Oh mistress, you're so perfect! Your legs are so beautiful! Thank you, thank you for showing me how I can try to be pretty like you!" And as he said it, he meant it. He knew he had to get away quickly. Got to get away, got to get away!

Kate frowned. "You aren't wearing the lipstick."

"No, mistress – may I surprise you?" He put the makeup clutch back into the bag and fingered the wig.

Kate looked at him sideways, framing her own long lashes in semi-silhouette against the window. He sighed at the thought that he too now had long fluttery lashes, just like Kate. Got to get away! "A surprise?"

"Yes – may I? Please, mistress, close your eyes and let me surprise you!"

This was not what Kate had expected. "I'll count to twenty," she said, "and I hope when I open my eyes I see lipstick. You've got a call to make." She sat back and closed her eyes, beginning to count softly and rhythmically.

How Hector wanted to stay, to sit and admire her legs! To touch those stockinged knees, just with one finger… But he tore himself away. Got to get out! Glancing round, he realised that he had left his clothes in the bathroom.

"Five,"

In a flash he was back in the lounge holding his hated trousers and t-shirt.

"Eight,"

No time to put them on here, and besides, Kate would hear and open her eyes – which he noticed had a lovely shadow effect from a shimmery shade of silvery-green eyeshadow coupled with confident back eyeliner. Must try that, he thought. Then he remembered: Get away! Get out! An idea hit him - Kate's designer raincoat!

"Sixteen,"

Hector grabbed the bag and stuffed the clothes into it as he headed for the door. He was just pulling the sleeves of the raincoat on and looking in the pile of shoes for a quick pair when he heard Kate speak in the lounge.

"Twenty." Then a pause. Feet stuffed into old battered trainers, a lunge for the door, and he was out! One hand holding the coat shut about him, the other swinging the bag, Hector dashed off down the Sunday street in stockings, a raincoat that only just fell below the knees, and heavy makeup.

The door swung shut behind him.

  

  

  

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