A Town Called Hope                 by: Anne O’Nonymous

 

Part Two: A New Start?

Bright light filled the feminine room, a new day dawning! Tom/Terri sat up, expecting to wake up in a motel room somewhere in the middle of a desert, all the events of the previous day having been just a dream. The fact that he was wearing a peach-colored flowered nylon nightgown, Royal Blue bra and panty set, told him otherwise, unless, of course, he had been drinking and the guys at work were playing a very bad joke on him!

There was a canopy above him, pastel-colored walls, white oak vanity with some dolls on top, armoire and dresser, and cool air coming in, ruffling curtained windows--well, this wasn’t a motel or home. For some strange reason, he did have a good night’s sleep--not one of those nightmares he had been having for five days in the previous week!

He remembered one in particular, one that stuck in his craw. He had just finished work and was heading home, riding a bicycle, when a car came out of nowhere, hit him, and he woke up in a hospital with a doctor saying, "He’s in bad shape! He might not make it. We did all we could." A nurse answered, "We used as many parts as we could get--his father’s kidney, his cousin’s spleen, an uncle’s lung, and his mother’s arms." Then the doctor said, "Yes, we did. But, we still need a brain. We can get that from one of his fellow employees." The nurse replied, "Is it really necessary? He’s been living quite well without using the one he had. And they all need theirs." It was at that point he woke up.

No nightmare. Was something deep inside sending some kind of coded message? Or was he reading into the dream something that really did not exist. Wishful thinking? His father drank heavily, one uncle smoked like a chimney, and a cousin died two years ago from a ruptured spleen. Each a hazard to health. The odd thing was his mother’s arms, was that danger or something he was missing. Mother’s arms to hold him? What did the rest of the dream signify--was he slowly killing himself?

"Good morning, sleepyhead! Time to rise and greet the day, say good morning sun!" came from the doorway. He turned and saw Ms. Martin leaning against the door jamb, wearing pink chenille robe and ballet slippers, with a large smile on her face. "Slippers are on the floor, under your bed. Robe is hanging in back of the door, and breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. You have time enough for a quick hands-and-face wash."

With that pronouncement, she turned and left for the kitchen. Terri soon found the slippers, donned them. Padding to the door, the robe was next. After a quick morning wake-me-up wash and a brushing of hair, Terri headed down stairs and the kitchen, with its warm aroma of sausage, eggs, and coffee.

"Good morning, Ms. Martin, how can I help you," Terri said, as she entered the kitchen.

"Well, honey, set the table, and put some English muffins in the toaster-oven for me. Then, pour some OJ, while I watch these scrambled eggs cooking," answered Ms. Martin.

Terri soon had a table set for two, OJ poured, and muffins in. She was rewarded with a plate of two eggs scrambled with diced onions and peppers, two sausages, home fries, some strawberry jam for the muffins, and her coffee cup filled.

"Eat up, dear. The coffee is a decaf, those are soy sausages, and the fries are done in vegetable oil," Ms. Martin said as she sat down with an equally substantial breakfast.

As they ate, Tom/Terri started thinking. He had a decision to make, one that would affect his entire future. He was promised he could leave today and return to a future of, what, stacking aluminum in various places. Question: Did he like stacking aluminum? No! Could he leave and possibly get a better job in a different state? Too hard to tell.

"Ms. Martin," Terri asked, "you said that after I am trained to be a female, I would have a job. Is that true?"

"Honey, once you can be more feminine, I am assured you have a job waiting. You said before you enjoyed sewing, am I correct? I just want to be sure."

He thought back to what he said previously. How he enjoyed it until his father interceded with, "I will not have my son do such sissy crap, and if I find you doing this again, I will tan your hide. Is that understood!" He stopped, and tried sports to please his father. At baseball, he could hit well enough, but not run--at least to his father’s expectations. Football was the same, basketball too! He couldn’t tell a socket wrench from a crescent, a ball peen from a tack hammer, a rip saw from a crosscut. A thought crept in: Was his ineptness really a means of rebelling against his father?

Finally, Terri/Tom replied, "Once I enjoyed sewing very much. My father wanted me to do something more in a man’s line of work. I failed at sports. I wasn’t a very good mechanic, or carpenter."

"Ah, so your father wanted you to ‘be a man’ and actually set you up to fail. I’m not sure, but I would guess your father knew your limitations, and tried pushing you too far, too fast. I would bet he criticized, and rarely praised! Oh, Tom, I think you can see the damage here. You expect to fail, not succeed at whatever you do--you just sit and wait for it. If it doesn’t come, you are surprised. Didn’t you go to college? How?"

"Yes, I was surprised that they would admit me. I attended one year on a scholarship, the rest I paid, mostly, by working at jobs on campus. I finished paying the college debts just last year."

"So you did well enough in school to win a scholarship. Do you drink or smoke? Ever do drugs? How about a girlfriend? The reason I’m asking all these questions is to get to know you better, because you will disappear from all those you left back there."

"I thought doing drugs was stupid, besides I was reading too many books to bother with it. Same with smoking. I did start drinking, got a little over my head. I was arrested three times for D and D. Don’t get me wrong, but I never had a girlfriend. I just couldn’t bring myself to impose on them. Mom, I realize that I have nothing back east to go to, but it’s something I can hold on to!"

"OK, let’s get down and dirty. I think you need to stay! You were set up to fail and did. The childhood problems carried over into manhood, and you have a need to succeed--whether as a man or woman. You need to love and be loved. Tom, you need a fresh start. Let me put my cards on the table--when I start, it won’t be easy. Do good, I will praise you. Do wrong, I will correct you. If you don’t try your best, I will push you, and, finally, fight me, and I WILL punish you in a way you won’t forget. Go in the front room, while I clear the dishes off the table, and start the dishwasher. I will join you shortly, then you can give ask questions, stay or walk out the door. If you do walk, I’ll call the repair shop to tell them to expect you."

Terri/Tom walked slowly into the parlor, and sat on a blue chintz slipcovered couch. He was still uncertain--it was, after all, his future. Pictures of him dressed in a white wedding gown and marrying a man swirled through his mind. The door to the outside beckoned to him, pulling him towards it. He started over to the door, wanting to leave what he perceived was his future: a marriage to some man, in some foreign country, where the laws are so different from here! Returning to where he was sitting, Tom thought he at least owed Ms. Martin an explanation. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and relaxed. The face of the male became clearer--it was his father!

"Well, Tom, what’s it going to be?" Ms. Martin asked as she sat down by Tom.

Startled for a minute, Tom told her of the vision in his mind.

"Tom, you loved and looked up to your father. Many females marry someone that is quite like their father, but in this case, I believe that your father is trying to exert some control, his homophobia. Tom, let’s try this: lean your head back, close your eyes, relax all your muscles, get rid of all the tension and stress you feel. Let the images come to you, a free flow of ideas, words and paths."

Tom did as she requested. Relaxed, he again saw the image of himself in a beautiful white wedding gown. It was so pretty, with a white veil, thrown back, in anticipation of a kiss from the groom; a long, white satin train; white, lacey petticoats under the gown; white patterned stockings, and white 4" high heels. He turned and looked at the person beside him, hoping it wasn’t what he saw previously. A female face started to appear, one that seemed to be familiar, like someone from a far distant past.

A knocking at the front door startled him out of his relaxed state.

When Ms. Martin opened the door, Chris walked in.

"Hi, Tom, Andrea. Well, Tom--do I drive you over to get your car, or do you want to give a different life a shot!" Chris said.

"Chris, I’m so afraid of making a mistake. I at least had a job, an income. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. A place to live. I had something, and now to throw it all away," Tom said, torn between what he had to hang onto and an unknown future.

"I can understand what you are going through. The offer still stands, try it. Look at it as a thirty day free trial offer. If you are not satisfied, we will refund all your money, plus you get to keep your job, what is it now, oh yes, stacking aluminum pieces."

"Chris, how did you know that! I never told you."

"You left your wallet in your car. A few calls gave me the information I needed," Chris said. "I know a bit about you, but you have to say yes or no sometime while you still have some vacation time left."

So, there he sat with two attractive women, in bra and panties, trying to plot a course through the stormy seas of life, and right now he felt like he was about to be swept overboard by a tsunami without a life jacket or vest. Weighing the alternatives, it did sound like fun, wearing those clothes and underwear. Work was a pain, with the same old same old. He had a question, one that sounded odd to ask.

"Chris, this job I’m supposed to have waiting. Will I be doing the same thing each day? I mean, will it be some dull, repetitive work!" Tom asked anxiously.

Chris gave a laugh, was joined by Andrea. With the two laughing, Tom asked, "What’s so funny? I’m serious!"

"Tom," replied Chris in a serious tone, "that was one question I just didn’t expect. I can tell you this much only, you will get to do something you will enjoy very much! Now do I warm up a car, or do we start making you over?"

Oh, what the hell. The thought came unbidden, it lingered like the fragrance of lilacs in the summer air. The work was dull, boring. Maybe he should see the world through different eyes, gain a different perspective on things. But, would wearing a peasant blouse and skirt really change him that much, would a woman’s business suit? Is his mind so set in the ways of his past living that he couldn’t gain anything from a change in lifestyling! He could run, but his man’s past would still be there. The words came tumbling out like a big group of corks going over rapids: "I guess I could give it a try. I can’t see how I have anything more to lose, even my manhood."

The two women grabbed him in a hug and kisses. He was smothered by them. "Good!" came from Ms. Martin, followed by "Now we can get down to business," from Chris.

"OK, now that that’s settled, maybe we can get something done. Tom, from now on, you will go by the name Terri Taylor. Chris will take you upstairs and start your training, so just follow her directions, and you’ll be OK."

Terri, the new girl, followed Chris upstairs to the room he slept in the night before.

"OK, Terri. Strip and get on the bed, face up. Just remember, we’re all girls here."

Terri reluctantly stripped, down to the skin, and laid down on the bed as told.

Chris examined his body, carefully. There was almost an accidental rebellion of his manhood, as it tried to rise to the occasion in protest to a stranger’s intrusion. "Well, looks like you are still alive in the male department," Chris stated, "what I’m looking for is anything that could be called a birthmark, or identifying scar. Since we took care of your chest, pubic, arm and leg hair while you were under yesterday, I won’t need to shave you. The adhesive on the breast forms is holding quite well. Now, if you will get up for a minute, I’ll put a rubber sheet on the bed and we can continue."

After getting up, Chris produced a sheet and flipped it across the bed with a practiced hand. She asked him to lie down again, face down. After he had assumed this position, he could feel the weight of her sitting on the bed. Next, the feel of something being poured on his back and being rubbed in. "This is a body lotion. It has aloe vera, cocoa butter, vitamin E and glycerin. You’re to use this after you bathe in the mornings. It is for the body, arms and legs to keep the skin soft and supple." He could feel her working her way down the arms, the back, his butt, lastly the legs. "OK," Chris said, "turn over." Terri turned to a face up position, and watched as Chris started at the neck and worked her way down.

"Each day after a bath, you should use a body lotion and a fragrant dusting powder before you dress. Some nights, you will use a masque, to moisturize the facial area," Chris said as she worked. As she moved down to the crotch, she made it a point to avoid the now hairless genital area.

Was she sending a subtle hint to him that she no longer considered him a man? That she lacked any interest in him? Was he just being stupid to think she would have any interest in him at all?

Chris used an oversized powder puff to apply a lovely scented powder all over him, front and back. The aroma was of a field of flowers in full bloom.

"OK, stand up. Let’s get you dressed," Chris said. When he was up, she brushed Terri’s hair into a high poneytail, and put a scrunchie on it. "You look like you are enjoying this."

Terri stood and replied, trying to hide feelings, "I like the smell of flowers!"

"Most men like the ‘outdoor,’ woodsy smell, and you can tell by their cologne," Chris returned, "on the other hand, females like the floral aroma. Now, here’s your bra, it fastens in the front--I don’t know if you’re flexible enough to hook straps in the rear."

Terri took the lacey white satin affair, pulled the chest strap around her body, just below the breasts, and hooked it. Working it up, he bent over and let the faux breasts fall naturally into the cups, then slipped the shoulder straps on, one side at a time. Next, he started to step into the panties.

"Aren’t you forgetting something?" Chris said.

Terri stood with a puzzled look on her face, then asked, "aren’t panties next? What a I doing wrong?"

"Garter belt next, around your waist. You put on a garter belt to support the stockings. It goes under the panties, because: a.--ladies have smaller bladders than men; b.--ladies go more often than men; c.--if you don’t put them under the panties, they tend to slid over the fabric and your stockings get wrinkled, seams won’t stay straight; and, d.--if you have to go, it’s easier to just drop the panties than fool around unfastening and fastening six garter tabs. Honey, it also makes those secret liaisons a lot easier!"

Chris knelt, took the garter belt and fastened it around Terri’s waist, her hand brushing the penis, lingering there a short time. She adjusted the belt until the garters fell in the position she wanted. She said to Terri, "Garter belts usually fasten on the right side, some in the middle and some just pull on. They have four or six elastic extensions, each ending in a metal fastener. Put your panties on next."

Terri stepped into and pulled up the white satin panties over the garter belt, with the garters falling through the leg openings. Around the leg and waist openings were layers of lace, and an embroidered red American Beauty rose was in the center, right at her crotch.

"Now, when it comes to panties," Chris started, "you have briefs, French cut, boy leg, long leg, flare leg, bikini, thong, open crotch, etc. in satin, rayon, silk, nylon, and plain old cotton. Now isn’t that a better selection from cotton boxers and jockeys? Oh, by the by, the English call panties, knickers."

"Hello, Chris! Andrea said to go right up. So, this is a new girl. Hi, my name’s Nancy, Nancy Thomas."

Oh, great. Somebody else to see him like this. Was this planned, a humiliation, and she a kind of ego-reducing, submission trainer? Terri took a look at Nancy. She was 5’10", about 135 or 145, with auburn hair in a page boy style, light blue eyes, and very easy to look at.

"Terri, Nancy wants to take your measurements. She is the co-owner of Le Maison Femme down town."

OK, a little humor might help. "Take my measurements? Doesn’t she have any of her own? Or, should it be ‘Take my measurements, Please!’ "

Both Chris and Nancy giggled a bit, believing that it was a good sign he could joke about what was going on. It showed that she was more relaxed. As Terri stood there, Nancy started measuring all over the body and noting the figures in a book she was carrying.

"Terri, let me explain this to you," Nancy said, "In the store, we keep a list of measurements of all our customers. If you want to get anything, you can call, give an ID number, tell us what you want and we’ll deliver it. Come in to the store, and if we don’t have what you want in stock, we’ll order and have it delivered directly. Before I leave, I’ll give you a list of all your female sizes."

"Female sizes? I thought they were the same as males, I mean women wear shirts and pants too, you know."

"I understand what you mean, but dress sizing can vary according to manufacturer. Size 14 to one might be a 16, Panty and bra sizes are numbers. Dresses can run from 6 up to 24, and some use 1XXX to 3XXX in place of numbers. You have Petite, Junior Miss, Mrs., Mature sizes. Shoes are usually one size larger than a man, so an 8 in male is a 9 female shoe. Then there’s width considerations," Nancy explained.

"Oh," was all Terri could say. He never felt so dumb in all his life.

"Don’t worry, honey, soon you’ll have them down, just like the rest of us girls!"

Nancy came over and grabbed Terri, giving her a big kiss on the lips and a big hug, saying, "Welcome to girlhood, Terri! I’ll leave those figures with Andrea," and left the room.

"Let’s get you finished. Stockings next. Usually, they come in neutral, suntan, taupe, white and black. Patterned, fish net, micro-net. Knee-hi and thigh high. You should also have stockings in other colors to match the outfits you wear. Or, if you wish, you can wear pantihose. Isn’t that a lot better than just plain old socks!"

"Wow. I just throw on pants, shoes and shirt and go," Terri said, "there seems to be a lot to learn, in four weeks. It seems like you need a PhD in women’s wear just to dress."

"Just remember, most women like to coordinate their outfits. From shoes and stockings to dresses and jewelry. Let’s get your stockings on," Chris said.

"OK. Chris, do you like me? I mean, if I was a man!"

"Do you mean, would I go out on a date with you," queried Chris, "Terri, you are a human being. A person I would like to get to know better. Right now, I know a few things you are not aware of. That makes it kind of hard on me. I would very much like to say yes, but I have to say wait and see. Others are involved, and I don’t want to hurt them. Now, let’s do stockings, sit on the bed."

Terri sat down and watched as Chris took a stocking in her hands and said, "Take the stocking in both hands, work it up using your thumbs and fingers all the way up to the toe. You’ll notice how important it is to have a good manicure and pedicure, to prevent a run, or as the English say a ladder, in the stocking. No real woman wears stockings with a run, she’ll take them off and go bare legged first! When you’ve that done, you slip it over your foot, adjusting till you have a proper fit in the toe and heel. Some stockings are reinforced in the toe and heel. Once that is accomplished, you just ease it up the leg, keeping the seam at rear of the leg as straight as possible. Now when you are working your stocking up, keep your leg as straight as possible. This helps to keep them snug against the leg. Wrinkled stockings are a no-no! Once you have the stocking on, pull a garter down and fasten. The ball shaped object goes under the stocking, next to the skin, and the metal ring on top. Push the ball through the fabric, into the ring and push down into the smaller area. Do that on each garter."

Terri took the stocking, and followed Chris’s instructions. He worked it carefully up his leg and fastened it. Taking the other, he again worked it up perfectly and fastened it. Both stockings were snug against his skin. They didn’t feel too bad, in fact she rather enjoyed the feelings they elicited.

"OK, take them off and do it again," Chris requested.

For the next thirty minutes, it was stockings on, off, on, off, and so on!

"Chris, how many times do I have to do this?" Terri asked tiredly.

"I think enough for today. Since you have your stockings on, put on some slippers and we’ll go down stairs and work there for awhile."

Down stairs Andrea and Chris put a pair of white pumps with 1" high heels on him, and had him walk up and down with a book on his head.

"Say, what’s this job about--Am I going to be a model?" Terri said in complaint.

"That’s enough of that," Ms. Martin said, "Next is the stairs."

For the next thirty minutes or so, Terri walked up stairs, down stairs, foot entirely on the tread. Each time she came down, there was a session of what she did wrong and right. Finally, Ms. Martin said, "You did very good today! Let’s sit and have a cup of tea, and you can work on your next assignment."

As Terri sat down, Chris came from the kitchen with a pot of tea. Ms. Martin placed a pile of paper in front of Terri and said, "Now, you are going to write, in as feminine a hand as you can, 100 times, ‘My name is Terri. I am a very pretty young lady.’ I want you to stop after each group of ten so I can correct your manner of writing."

There she sat, in bra, panties, stockings and heels writing about who she was. Each time she stopped, Ms. Martin took the paper, examine it carefully and say, "A little more fancy curlicue on the capital ‘T’ " or "Try putting hearts instead of plain dots on the lower case ‘i’s.’ " And Terri would sip tea, try ten with the suggested changes, then a "that seems to be better" would come from Chris or Ms. Martin. In a while, a sheet would fill up, then another and another.

Lunch came, a salad consisting of sliced tomatoes, shredded carrots, onions, diced chicken and celery, and torn leaves of lettuce with lo-fat Mayonnaise as a dressing. A glass of iced tea was also available.

After the repast was finished, Ms. Martin put a frilly apron on Terri, and tied it in the back in a big bow. "Mom, this doesn’t look too utilitarian," Terri said thoughtfully.

Andrea answered, "Terri, sweetheart, all you are going to do is clear off the table, put dishes in dishwasher and start it going, then wipe around the sink and table with a paper towel, disposing it in the trash. I think it will do for that!"

As Terri set about her assigned chores, Chris and Andrea went to the front sitting room.

"Looks like things are going well. Terri seems to be transforming nicely," Andrea said.

"I wish we could tell her more. She should know," Chris stated, "and it might speed things up."

"Chris, until she accepts her position here, we can’t tell her too much. She has to want to stay, not need to," Andrea said. "It has to be on her terms!"

As Terri entered the room, both ladies stopped talking.

For the rest of the day, it was high-heels again, up stairs, down stairs. Then a wash was put in. Writing, "My name is Terri Taylor. I am a pretty girl." This time, it was two hundred times. More criticism, hearts on lower case i’s. Floral curlicues.

Wash into dryer, watch out for those delicate undies. Then ironing. A dinner meal with Chris and Andrea, then another visitor.

"Terri, this is Janice from the beauty salon. She’s here to do your nails and add extensions!"

"Hi Terri, They keeping you busy?" Janice said with a big smile. "How’s it going, so far?"

"I’m a little tired," Terri said, "You’re going to do my nails, and what?"

"I’ll give you a manicure, then glue on longer fingernails, then put polish on. Hey, take off your stockings, and I’ll do the toes, too. No extra charge!" Janice replied.

In a few minutes, Terri relaxed as Janice worked on the finger and toe nails. Janice was a nice looker, about his height, with strawberry blonde hair, turquoise eyes, and fire-engine red lips. He watched as she clipped, sanded, buffed his nails, then roughened them for the adhesive for the extensions. There were at least three coats of polish on finger and toe nails, and a clear sealant over each. If he thought the extensions would look like a pair of claws on him, he was mistaken. After looking at them ("Hold out your hand, dear," Chris admonished, "and look, like a lady."), he was surprised at how nice they looked.

"Look good, Terri," Janice inquired.

"I’m surprised! I thought they would be a lot longer."

Janice smiled at his acceptance of the nails. "If you’d like, later I can put longer ones on," Janice said as she packed up to leave. She kissed and hugged him, and Chris followed with a kiss and hug of her own.

Soon after, it was a quiet house. The television had a cooking program on, so Terri settled in to watch, tucking her feet up under him--it just seemed so natural. He looked up and smiled as Andrea entered the room and sat beside him.

"How are you feeling, honey?" asked Andrea.

"A little tired. Legs hurt a bit. I didn’t know shoes could hurt that much," Terri stated.

"It will take time. Even young girls have to learn how to walk in heels, they’re not born knowing, you know. You are progressing nicely. Tomorrow, higher ones, 3" maybe. More writing, we’ll try makeup on you and see how it goes."

"Makeup. That’s something I didn’t consider," Terri said with a slight quiver in her voice.

"Oh, it’s just a start. Using lipstick, blusher, foundation, powder, among other things."

That night, Terri tried to think about what was happening. Three attractive females, all close to him and none of them were making fun or laughing at him. The clothes were something else, why did he feel so good wearing them? The heels hurt at first, but not so much as to be extremely painful. In time, would he wear them like he was born to them? Wearing nightgowns, instead of boxers and shirt, seemed odd but delightful. And his language, it was also changing. Words like "cuddly," "delightful," "cute" and "adorable" seemed to be rolling off his lips. Soon a very deep sleep came on him.

Over the next few days, he changed greatly! Shoes went from 1" to 5" heel. He took bubble baths, used body lotion, skin cremes, and perfume. Eyebrows plucked and arched to a more feminine shape. Full, lacey slips were worn under dresses, whether it was necessary or not. Andrea supplied a full maid’s uniform for him to wear when working around the house, and he revelled in it--the feel of petticoats next to nylon-covered legs sent warm feelings through his body. He learned to curtsey, and that it was a mark of her respect to Andrea. Aromas of Charlie, Shalimar, Chanel, and others wafted through the house, and Andrea would ask, "Are you trying another perfume, dear, that’s the nth today!"

A little more than a week and a half went by, and Terri was starting to question whether there was any "manhood" left in him. Standing there before a mirror dressed in a cream blouse with a peter pan collar, full pleated plaid skirt with "oodles" of petticoats, 3" black pumps and stockings, a well made-up face, with clip-on heart earrings and heart pendant, brunette hair falling in curly waves to his shoulders, his hands clasped together down in front of him like a young girl--is it all gone, he wondered? Where did "what he had" disappear to? Did he actually have it in the first place?

The doubts started to return. Was this all for a man? Was his future to be the wife of some man in the city? All this to prepare him for what they wanted to do? Was the whole purpose to brainwash the masculinity out of him?

 

End of Part Two.

Annie O

Again, unfortunately this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any situation or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Permission to archive on any other site is at Crystal’s discretion.

 

 

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© 2001 by Ann O'Nonymous. 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.