Was It Worth It?

by Jim Rossi

Part 1

The Night Before

 

"I'm going out with the lads and … you can't stop me," I shouted to my girlfriend Mary of 3 years. A relationship that started disintegrating six months ago when she proposed marriage to me. At that time I was too much of being Jack the Lad, a position that increased upon the added tension to my refusal of her proposal.

"Fine but you'll live with the consequences" was her bland threatening reply, "If you can go out tonight, I'll leave you alone tomorrow".

That was her threat, a measly time apart, hell we had been doing that for every Sunday for the past three months. The time apart would give me some peace and quiet, to go on the net, play on the PS2, or watch movies in silence without explaining the plot.

That night I did go out, get drunk, threw up, drank more, sobered up then drank some more before rolling in. As per usual, my can of coke, shot of JD and aspirins was left by the couch table ready to knock me out to sleep (as if I needed it). So I took my pills, they tasted funny but I blamed that on the booze, drank my shot of JD and coke crashing on the couch. Sleeping with her would make me even more the villain with her so the couch seemed a better choice.

The Morning After

Damn my head hurt, JD straight always has that effect on me, especially after 12 doubles. I found myself not on the couch but in the king-size bed, unsure of how I got there but comfortable under the duvet. My head was hidden under the quilt as I slept in the foetal position, trying to recover from drink and no food.

Like all blokes, I wanted to stay there and do nothing all day, let the morning turn into afternoon into night. However that old thing of pulsing bladder caused me to escape into the cold winter air of afternoon. A quick run to the toilet then back in bed, a simple plan I thought but one I never followed through, for some events caused me change my viewpoint on life.

"What the fuck" I shouted as a flash of red and tan hit my dreary eyes, it took a double look to clear the sleep in my eyes.

As I pulled the new satin pink bed sheets off me I glanced at a sight that brought shock, hosiery, no not on the floor but on my feet, and that was not the end of it. No indeed dear readers, from the tan hosiery I saw pink toenails. Were they mine you ask, they sure were.

Trying to grasp at any logical explanation I pulled my other leg from the bed sheets and found a pair of pink toenails followed by a duo of tanned legs, there seemed to be a pulling on my new silk stockinged covered legs. Also every breath seemed to be my last, every rib breaking to free another bout of life preserving air until small breaths controlled my air supply.

So many sick thoughts came into my brain, who had done this? Was it my 'friends', my girlfriend or was it indeed I. Did I put on tights last night, and if so why.

As I sat I brushed off the bed sheets to reveal the answer, my legs were covered in tan stockings, with suspender straps holding them up. This was not the only discovery as my arms rested on my stockinged legs. On my wrists were leather cuffs, unattached thankfully but showing bright pink nails varnish on newly glued on extended false fingernails. Many times I placed my hairless hands in front of me trying in vain to clear the varnish from the fingers but to no avail, only frustration escaped me.

 

 

 

Like most guys I take several minutes to wake up fully, let me explain to you of my last recollection. I was in a bar in town, dressed in smart suit, my shoulder length hair tied in a ponytail (my hair is constant source of mockery with my friends), socks, shirt and tie with shoes for my feet. We had had a few drinks too many when the casino seemed a good idea, so we went. Gambling drunk is not a good idea especially when you have a past of losing heavily, like I supposedly did. So back to my final memory, I was placing £50 on black and was celebrating winning back my stake money with another whiskey, good malt whiskey.

Where were we, oh yes, dressed in stockings, suspender straps, pink toe nails, pink fingernails and leather wrist cuffs. I decided to walk off the hangover from last night and found stockings make walking luxurious to ones feet; it was this walk across a waist high mirror that brought reality home.

Standing in front of the mirror was a beauty with stockings, newly discovered pink Basque that accentuated my hips and rear; it also had the effect of a small budding pair of breasts. My waist was tiny; a size 10, no wonder breathing was extremely difficult. My shoulder length hair was now straight, straight down seemingly extended to way past my shoulder blades. Two metal chains dropped onto my budding breasts, swinging as my hips sauntered across the floor, it seemed the stockings controlled my functions. Where I once 'John Wayne'd' across to the door, I now took small steps mincing sexily across the carpet.

Upon first inspection I noticed my face seemed smaller, almost more defined with more colour, there was also a dash of pink on my new straightened brown hair. Black was across my throat hiding my Adams apple, black being the provider of the metal chains. As the light shone through the curtains, I saw a sparkle, nay several sparkles from my ears onto the mirror, instantly I closed the curtains due to panic.

For some reason I became erect at this new sensitive feeling, near feminine but with a male guilt of hurting a loved one. Man I loved her so much, but often I never showed or never knew how to show it, always playing the big man where caring was needed.

My erect penis seemed constricted by a silky material, every minuscule movement caused near orgasm, every orgasm brought further hardening. Staring down, feeling with my hands I saw pink silk panties, now covered in cum with the penis head poking through. Such strange conflicting emotions. Such joy of sensitivity on my penis, such shame at my feminised form but more was to be revealed.

With my eyes now full open I examined myself properly from toe to head, I'll describe it to you now.

Pink toenails covering my hairless, (oh yes apart from my head that is I was hairless with no hairs on the floor) legs with tan stockings.

Pink silk panties covering my penis, my pubic hair was designed into a small kiss shape above the penis.

A pink Basque producing the alluring hourglass shape highlighting burdening bosoms with leather collar around my throat secured by a padlock. How I tried to release it but have you ever tried getting any grip with inch and a half nails decorated in pink varnish and coating.

Those damn metal chains hit my new titties every step, it's hard to say this but every knock to my tits brought sexual excitement, I think I had cum three times already and was still erect.

Crossing my legs ladylike fashion I took a seat by the vanity mirror, my hair was straight and beautiful, smelling of strawberries. Atop was a pink and white frilly maids doily tied behind my head in two big bows at the side of my head.

My eyebrows were plucked in feminine arches and much thinner. However that was the most masculine part of my face. False eye lashes covered in mascara, pink, as you would guess highlighted my new 'handsome beauty', my eyes seemed larger as the eyeliner clearly marked their sockets.

 

My cheeks and nose felt much smother as did the skin on all of my body, more defined, gone was the second chin, now sculpted curves with a nose any movie star would die for. My skin was more natural looking despite the obvious make up involved.

But stark obvious to even a blind man was the glowing pink lips, more fulsome than before, more inviting, more seductive, almost begging for a blowjob. With teeth bright white shiny, I looked like a make up model or a cosmetic lady from Harrods or an air stewardess for Virgin. Lip liner accentuated the desire exiting the pink lips.

The sparkle as you can guess was three earrings, real pierced earrings (I can't remember my ears being pierced) on each side. Not gaudy like the cheap hoops but beautiful and classy in gold, silver and diamante.

Staring at the figure of beauty, a figure of masculine penis joined to feminine form of magnificent exquisiteness, a form that would drive both men and women crazy with lust. Staring at this figure brought lust for the face drove me wild with attraction and shame to my feminised shape.

How had this happened?

Who and why had they done this?

Where was my girlfriend?

Had she done this to me?

Was this her consequences?

'Ding Dong, Ding Dong' was the sound I heard over and over again. Followed by the sound of drunken attempts ate getting a key in the door lock. I checked the time and it was 1 pm, I checked the bed and her nightclothes were untouched.

Had she gone out last night same as me?

This only brought further unanswered questions.

"Honey I'm home" she called out.

"Honey you here, well Michelle it looks like Mr Independent is still having fun with the boys" followed her crass comment.

Me having fun, dressed as I was. She seemed to be clear of any guilt; she seemed to know nothing of my state and how I got into one this bad. Trust was regained but even though I trusted her enough to get married how could we?

Frantically I lay on the bed, struggling with the inch long fingernails to get rid of the stockings, Basque etc but nothing moved, the more I struggled the more erect I became. Crying now, first to myself inside then with actual tears. Checking the mirror like a good girl I saw no running mascara, what was on my face that even tears could not fix?

"He's probably in the bedroom, you know men, lazy bastards. No sense of pride in their appearance" she called to her companion who merely grunted back.

The door handled turned, twice, a ray light entered the room as a foot passed through the light, … followed by a scream of laughter.

The Afternoon Realisation

"Ha ha ha ha ha, quick Michelle you have to see … this".

  

  

  

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