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Date: 30 Jul 2001 10:13:24 MST

From: Denise Em <em_de@hotmail.com>

Subject: As Good as a Woman (CD, F/m, mild FemDom, no overt sex) [Revised]

You know the drill. If you aren't at least 18, OUT OF HERE - NOW!

Actually, I'd be *very* surprised if you'd find anything in this that

wouldn't be found on prime-time television network programming.

Nevertheless, standard disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction. Any

similarity to any real persons or events is purely coincidental.

Permission is granted to archive this story, provided that: [a] the

archiving site does not charge for access (including so-called "Adult

Check" fees), [b] I am notified of the location, and [c] that the headers,

text, and copyright notices are left intact.

AS GOOD AS A WOMAN

by Denise Em

copyright 1995, 1996, 2001

Chapter I

The barbs were beginning to get to me. I appealed to Diane,

"Look, I'll concede that you women do have a little tougher time

of it, but you do choose to dress that way. Besides, it still

isn't anything us guys couldn't do just as well, if it were

actually important."

Jean, in for another handful of reports, heard that and

challenged me, "OK, prove it."

All I could do was look at her quizzically.

"Show us how you can do it just as well," she demanded.

"How?" I asked.

"Is it too simple for your complex mind?" she sarcastically

asked. "Do a full day's work, wearing a skirt and high heels."

*--*

It had all started on a particular government holiday, which was,

unfortunately, not observed by the company I work for. The

office I worked out of was somewhat special, in that the majority

of its business was government related. Because many of the

field technicians would have little to do, it was an ideal time

to schedule several of the field technicians into the office for

a "workalong day".

Thus, I found myself assigned to work with the Service Response

Coordinator, Cheryl Diaz, taking calls from the customers who

were still open for business. It was a function Cheryl normally

shared with Diane Parker, the contracts administrator.

I had the filing system for customer records figured out by ten

AM. By eleven, I was taking customer calls as though this were

my normal job. Having long been on the receiving end of the

dispatch process, it wasn't especially difficult to learn how to

assign the calls. Perhaps it was the way I had fit right in,

that made an offhand comment lead to my present circumstances.

Several technicians, with no calls to keep them busy, were

hanging around the office. Remarking on how well I was handling

the job, one of them added an observation that although she

couldn't identify what it was, something didn't seem quite right.

Knowing that the position had always been held by a female, I

made the mistake of quipping, "I suppose you'd feel better about

it, if I had longer hair and wore a dress?"

That drew several laughs from around the room.

Gregg Avery, another technician, spoke up, "Only one way to find

out!"

I gave him a withering look.

Another call came in, breaking that train of conversation. While

I was handling it, the discussion had wound down. When I'd

finished, Cheryl reopened the topic.

"...really! You're only doing part of the job. It's a lot more

difficult to do while managing a skirt. All the getting up,

bending, stooping, maneuvering around desks and cabinets, all the

while, tethered by the headset cord - it's much easier in

slacks."

"Then why don't you just wear slacks all the time?" I asked.

"I've seen you wear them sometimes."

"Just on rain days," she parried.

I had to grin, as I sprung my trap.

"Then it's not part of the job; it's just personal preference."

"Oh, yes, it is. The people coming through here expect a certain

'ambience' at the SRC desk. Maintaining that is part of the job,

too."

I rolled my eyes at that response, and said no more.

Someone mentioned that it was nearly lunch time. A short

discussion followed, concerning where to go.

It was Cheryl's turn to stay behind and answer the phones, so

Diane came with the rest of us. During the trip to the

restaurant, she sort of attached herself to me.

While we were waiting for our orders to be served, she remarked,

"Sometimes I wonder about Cheryl."

"What about her?" I asked.

"Oh - you know - that business about wearing a skirt on the job.

I mean, that really is a bit much, expecting a man to be able to

manage a skirt - especially in those circumstances."

I hadn't listening that closely, so I asked, "How is that?"

"Well, it takes special skill to wear a skirt and not make a

spectacle of oneself. It isn't fair for her to put a guilt trip

on you just because you can't do it."

Some days I can be just plain stupid. Instead of recognizing her

troll I demanded, "What do you mean, CAN'T?"

Diane responded, "You don't have any experience with it."

I became indignant. "I didn't have any experience with our

equipment before I signed on, either, but I've certainly shown

that I can do the job."

So far, no one else in the group had contributed anything this

conversation. However, Jean Cox, from the billing department,

could no longer hold back.

"It isn't the same, Ted. Girls spend years, growing up in

skirts, learning to handle them gracefully. You can't just read

a manual and expect to do it right."

For some reason, it still hadn't occurred to me to question why I

should even care. "So, what's there to learn? Don't bend over

so someone can see what's underneath..." I quipped. I was

getting sucked right in.

At this point, Gregg decided to add his tupence worth, "It ain't

that simple ..."

Jean interrupted him, "What do YOU know about it, anyway?"

Kate Nichols, another technician, who, as it happens, never wore

skirts to work, admonished her, "Hey, he is on our side, here."

She then directed her remarks toward me.

"There really is a lot to be aware of. You don't want to sit on

a fold and make a wrinkle of it. You have to be careful not to

snag it on anything, because a skirt doesn't follow your

movements closely, the way pants do. Outside, you have to watch

for breezes, and inside, low air registers. It's a different

way of living."

Still not realizing how deep I was getting, I philosophized, "It

sounds like it's just a matter of situational awareness."

Jean couldn't let go without a final word on the subject, "Sure,

only, like saying goes: Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred

Astaire did, and wearing high heels when she did it. Do You

think HE could have done HER job?"

I didn't bother to answer what appeared to be a rhetorical

question. While we ate our meal, the conversation drifted to

other matters.

While Cheryl was at lunch, Diane guided my work. I completed the

rest of the day's work satisfactorily, although not without

having to hear an occasional comment about how easy I had it.

That probably would have been the end of the matter, except that

I have only one account to service. It is a production facility,

and it needs two full time tech's to keep all the equipment

maintained. The second week following the holiday, my account

was scheduled to take block vacation. Normally, I would have

been assigned calls in other territories, to help out the other

technicians.

That's just the way it turned out, the first day. However, when

I arrived at the office Tuesday morning, I discovered that Cheryl

had been injured during the previous night's softball game. She

would be out at least a week.

The office manager asked me if I would mind covering for her.

Since I had been good at it, it didn't occur to me to have any

reservations about taking the assignment. Perhaps I should have.

First came an occasional comment about the nameplate on the desk,

"You don't LOOK like a Cheryl."

Jean was considerably less subtle, "At least, you could have

dressed for the part."

Still, I was handling the job well enough, and by noon, Elaine

Ross, our office manager, was generous in her praise. Jean had

stopped by the desk to pick up service reports, and hearing

Elaine's comments, appended, "Sure, he's almost graceful, working

around the call station. If Ginger Rogers had worn flats, she

could have made Fred Astaire look like a klutz."

Everyone in the office had become accustomed to militancy of

Jean's feminist rhetoric and pretty much ignored it. Elaine,

however, glared at her, as if to say, "what does that have to do

with anything?" Jean took the hint and went about her business.

Still, she didn't let the matter drop. Each stop for paperwork,

she found something provocative to say, until she finally got the

opportunity to make her challenge.

I tried to demur, "You're making a big deal about nothing."

"You're the one that claimed it was easy. What's the matter, is

it too big a project after all?"

"No," I told her, "I just don't see any point in proving the

obvious. There's nothing in it for me."

She pressed, "What would it take to make it worth your trouble?"

Elaine could hear all of this through the open door of her

office. I could see that she was about to step out - perhaps to

tell Jean that she was out of line - but she halted when Diane

spoke.

"Hey, cut him some slack, if he weren't here doing Cheryl's job,

I'd have to do both mine and hers. He's doing just fine as he

is, so leave him alone. You don't even want to be the one who

drives away my golden goose."

Unfortunately, neither of them had taken into account my ego. It

had taken all the battering it could stand, and I was nearly

ready to accept.

"How MUCH worth my trouble?" I asked.

Jean was quick, "Dinner, my treat."

"Get serious," I responded.

I think Diane surprised Jean, when she raised the stakes. "How

about dinner, your choice of menu, every night for a week, the

weekend included?"

I had to think about that, which was a big mistake. The question

is: did I think too hard, or not hard enough? Hey, I can cook

well enough, but I'm not such an ambitious chef that I don't get

bored with my own cooking. Besides, I wanted to see how far

they'd bid for something this crazy.

Jean was about to break the silence, but something held her back

just long enough for me to yield first.

"And?" I ventured.

Jean was aghast. It didn't take any genius at reading body

language to tell that she was ready to tell me where I really

stood - which, presumably, wasn't very high. Fortunately, she

wasn't fast enough.

"And the satisfaction that you really can do something most other

men wouldn't even attempt," Diane offered, as she gently grasped

my upper arm. "All day tomorrow, skirts and high heels - do we

have a deal?"

I certainly hadn't expected such a hard sell, so I accepted

without really thinking about the full implications. The next

thing I knew, Diane was leading me to Elaine's office to get her

concurrence.

Elaine listened to Diane's explanation, as though it were the

first she'd heard of it. She expressed reservations about how my

altered appearance might prove disruptive in the office, but, in

the end, she gave her consent to the arrangement.

I suppose that if this had been a major city office of the

company, she'd have been more concerned about "image". However,

out here, in an predominantly rural area, nonsensical pranks were

a common form of entertainment. Moreover, the very nature of the

business was such that walk-in traffic was almost non-existant.

Other than the on-site services provided, public contact was

almost 100% by phone, FAX, or mail.

Diane quickly thanked her, then tugged me along, back to our work

area. There she had a quick conference with Jean.

"Then it's settled," Jean confirmed, "you're having dinner at my

place tonight. Be there at seven."

Regaining a little of my presence of mind, I responded, "No,

that's OK, I haven't won my prize yet; you don't have to feed me

tonight."

"Unh-uh," Diane intervened, "We want you to come over tonight,

anyway. You need to get fitted out, and learn how to get along

with the articles you'll be using. In fact, let's make a list of

your sizes."

This she proceeded to do, and, with Jean's help, converted them

to `misses' sizes.

"Now, all we need," Diane advised me, "is to find people who will

let us borrow the things you'll need."

Chapter II

After work, Diane stopped at Cheryl's and brought her up to date

on events at the office, including my agreement.

Cheryl is a big girl - not fat, but 71 inches tall and size 14.

Reviewing Diane's list, Cheryl noted that she could have supplied

almost everything I'd needed. This led to an animated

conversation, and a trip through Cheryl's closet and chest of

drawers.

When I arrived at Jean's apartment, I didn't make much notice of

the crowd of cars, until the door opened and I discovered that -

seemingly - half of the women in the office were present.

"Dinner won't be until eight," Diane announced. "In the

meantime, you can get changed and try out your outfit."

"Why can't we start after dinner?"

"Because we have lots of time now. Besides, then you can

practice even while you are eating."

Again, I wasn't thinking fast enough to ask what it might be that

I'd need to practice, while sitting down to eat. It would be

quite awhile before it dawned on me that they intended for me to

learn more about femininity than just adeptness at walking in

high heeled shoes.

They sent me into the bathroom with an A-line skirt to put on in

place of my slacks. In a tartan plaid, which barely reached the

tops of my kneecaps, it presented a kiltish appearance.

On returning, I was presented a pair of mid-height, black,

T-strap pumps. When I had difficulty getting my feet into the

close fitting shoes, I was given a pair of slipper-like nylon

half socks, which allowed my feet to slide right in.

Then my education began. I was drilled in walking, turning,

sitting, and all I would need to know to be able to handle the

thin heels and flaring skirt. Just about the time I was

beginning to feel accustomed to walking mainly on the balls of my

feet, dinner was ready.

One thing I might have noticed, had I not been so preoccupied

with my situation, was that no one was digging at me, as had been

the case during the day. It was almost as if I was being

accepted into the conversation nearly as "one of the girls", even

if most of what they had to say concerned my efforts to master

the feminine graces, such as they considered appropriate for the

role I was undertaking.

The training didn't stop at dinner time. Comments were regularly

directed my way, explaining that I shouldn't sit like so, and to

hold my fork like thus, and to leave my other hand in my lap, and

on, and on, throughout the meal. It was done in such a amicable

way, that I couldn't take offense, but instead adjusted my

posture and gestures to meet with their approval.

When dinner was over, I offered to help with the clean up,

something which, when I thought about it later, surprised me.

Kate suggested that, to make the best use of my time, the ladies

would do the washing and drying, and I could put things away,

with Jean's guidance. So, I found myself rushing back and forth

across the kitchen, trying to keep up with the stream of dishes,

pots, and pans being washed and dried.

By the time everything was in order again, I was most grateful

for the chance to sit down. Even though the heels were barely

over two inches high, my ankles were screaming for relief.

It was when I passed through the doorway from the bright kitchen

into the more dimly lit living room that Kate discovered a

problem.

"Ted, I'd hate to say this, but you're going to need a slip under

that skirt; I can see right through it, when you're backlighted."

Some discussion followed, about what all a slip was for, and,

although I was resistant to wearing one, I finally conceded that

modesty was an important issue.

Jean, having caught just the end of the conversation, hastily

added that something ought to be done about my hairy legs, too,

which immediately brought me to the edge of cancelling the whole

deal. Diane was ready for this, too, and suggested that opaque

hose would solve the problem.

When all the details regarding my wardrobe had been settled, I

drove home and went straight to bed. As I was drifting off into

sleep, a thought barely flickered across my mind. Just how had

everything been on hand - in the right colors, even - to cover

the changes they had thought up?

Chapter III

Early the next morning, I drove over to Diane's. While I was

getting into my "uniform of the day", I began to doubt the wisdom

of my insistence that the change stop at the waist. Last night,

some of the women had expressed dismay at the overall image I

presented. They had suggested that a complete makeover might be

preferable, even from my point of view, since I would draw less

attention that way than dressed half-and-half.

Next, I was confronted with the problem of what to do with the

things I usually carried in my pockets. I didn't find Diane's

suggestion, that I might need a purse, the least bit funny. I

decided to leave behind everything except my wallet and comb.

Fortunately, the skirt turned out to have side pockets, so I

didn't have to carry them in my hand.

Diane invited me to ride to work with her, so I left my car in

her parking lot. I was oblivious, at the time, to the fact that

this would effectively insure that I'd have to see this through,

since I couldn't drive anywhere to change - not to mention that

my pants and shoes were locked inside her apartment!

The jokes and jibes didn't last long that morning, because there

were plenty of service calls to keep the technicians out of the

office. That left just the office staff. Jean, of course, just

had to tease me some - although she admitted, grudgingly, that I

was handling my part rather well.

By mid-afternoon, the strain of dealing with the unaccustomed

clothing was beginning to tell. I wobbled on those darned skinny

heels even more than I had that morning, on the way down Diane's

stairs. My calves were sore from stooping so much to get into

low file drawers. Finally, during one rush to get to the phone,

I tripped, narrowly avoiding spraining my ankle, but breaking a

shoe heel. Finding it hazardous to be hobbling around with one

heel elevated, and the other not, I took Diane's suggestion and

removed both shoes, going about in my stocking feet. At day's

end, I put them on so I could hobble out to her car and, in turn,

up the stairs to her apartment.

Along the way home, Diane had expressed generous praise for my

performance that day. It paralleled that which I had already

received from the office manager - especially about being a good

sport and all. Nevertheless, inside the apartment, with Jean,

Kate, and the others, she agreed with Jean's assessment: I hadn't

done it entirely right.

"He broke the heel on the shoe; that's not a successful

completion," Jean complained.

Kate became my advocate.

"I suppose you've never broken a heel? He did as well as anyone

I know, carrying on in spite of it."

Jean wasn't about to concede easily.

"He not only broke the heel - he also worked part of the day with

no shoes on. The deal was skirts AND heels, all day."

"Don't I at least get partial credit?" I asked. "I mean, after

all, I did go the whole morning as agreed."

"The agreement was for the whole day."

Diane then suggested that I be allowed to make up the last part

of the day.

Jean was adamant, but saw that her support was eroding. Almost

defensively, she insisted, "He broke the heel."

By now, my expression must have shown that I was becoming

resigned to the notion that I'd done all this for nothing. At

best, they had conceded that I had a legitimate alibi for the

only part in dispute, equipment failure.

"OK," Jean suddenly relented. "Teddie, do you want to try it

again?"

"An hour and a half tomorrow?"

"Unh-uh. The whole day tomorrow."

I arranged my demeanor to reflect a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"We'll throw in four more dinners, to balance the good part of

today," Diane offered.

I held off making a reply, but Jean must have seen my intent from

my facial or body language. I was about to make a counter offer,

when she spoke with renewed firmness, "All, or nothing."

I stood up.

"Then, nothing," I declared.

Jean grinned victoriously.

"I told you he couldn't hack it," she exclaimed to the group.

A voice from out of my line of vision decried, "Party Pooper."

"Why are all of you so anxious to get me into a skirt, anyway?" I

demanded. "I'd have thought your main goal would be to keep me

OUT of your skirts," I added, in an attempt to inject some humor.

Jean responded, "Who was so cocky about being able to do ANYTHING

a woman could?"

"I never said that," I insisted. "I'm well aware that there are

things that you ladies can do, which I, as a male, can't even

hope to."

"Maybe not so many as you were thinking, honey," advised a voice.

It was Anita Wells, from the parts department.

As I turned so I could see her, she continued, "I was just

reading, last week, about how researchers think they can implant

an embryo on a man's intestine, and it will grow to term. You

might not be able to conceive, but bearing a child may be within

your reach."

At that description, I put my hand to my brow, while my face and

neck glowed with embarrassment.

"Well, come on `Mr. Macho', lets get you out of that skirt," Jean

prodded. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you were a sissy,

now, would we?"

I glared at her.

"Was that the point of this whole deal? To see how much you

could embarrass me?"

With the question still in my expression, I turned to face Diane,

then Kate.

Diane spoke first, "It wasn't like that at all, Ted. You were

the one claiming you were capable of it; we just gave you an

opportunity to prove or disprove it. And ... I did already told

you that I thought you acquitted yourself very well."

"Ted," I heard Anita begin, "if you feel we weren't fair, don't

forget that you were offered a chance to make it up."

Kate added, "Despite what Jean said, Ted, no one is going to

think badly of you if you drop it. You made a good faith try,

and I, for one, think you've earned another dinner, if not the

whole week's worth. If they don't want to spring for it, I'll do

it myself.

"Thanks," I replied as I turned toward the bedrooms.

"On the other hand, if you want to try again," she looked around

the room, "how about double or nothing?"

She got nods of agreement from the other women, albeit with

widely varying enthusiasm.

I can hardly believe that I actually hesitated for a moment,

considering her offer. However, I didn't answer. Instead, I

resumed my progress down the hallway.

Chapter IV

The next morning, I was back on the job with my normal

appearance. The day started well enough, but, from the first

time that Jean came by for the paperwork, things started going

awry.

She hadn't been the least bit subtle in telling me that I didn't

belong there. She insisted that I couldn't hope to fill the

shoes of the person whose job I was pitifully trying to do. Her

criticism actually unnerved me. I began mis-routing calls,

misfiling call slips, and making mistakes on the report sheets.

When the foul-ups came to Elaine's attention, she had Diane help

straighten out as many as could be found. She wasn't happy.

"What is wrong?" she asked. "It's almost as though you'd

forgotten how to do the job. You were doing a far better job

yesterday, even with your `handicap'."

Not wanting to be seen as trying to put the blame on someone

else, I didn't mention Jean's influence. I rationalized to her

that I'd been rattled by the rapid pace at which calls had come

in earlier in the morning.

Diane tried to lighten up the mood with some humor, "Perhaps you

should have taken the double-or-nothing offer after all, Ted.

Maybe the job is EASIER to do in skirts."

"Oh, sure," I mockingly agreed, "without the high heels slowing

me down, I go too fast and make mistakes."

"Only one way to find out," she responded.

"Spare me."

Nevertheless, I did slow down and concentrated on being more

methodical about each task, as if I were learning the job anew.

Another thing that seemed to help was forcing myself to make my

motions more fluid as might a dancer.

At lunchtime, Diane chose the second shift. That put me on the

same lunch break as Jean and Anita.

Much as I'd have preferred to decline their invitation to join

them, I couldn't bring myself to be rude. So, along with Gregg,

and Kate, I accompanied them to a nearby restaurant.

I fully expected Jean to use the opportunity to continue harping

on my shortcomings. Instead she was about as pleasant as I could

ever remember; avoiding all mention of the previous day, or the

way I was handling today's work.

When we'd finished eating, everyone but Jean and I went their own

way to do errands. That was when she finally started laying it

on.

"Well, you couldn't cut it, after all, could you?"

"What?" I asked mechanically, before her meaning had registered.

"You know, in skirts and heels. You couldn't do a simple job

that any woman could do."

"That's baloney, and you know it. I was doing the job; I lost on

a technicality. Furthermore, I'd bet that any woman would have

trouble with the heels, too, if she hadn't ever worn them before

then."

"Are You complaining that You didn't get enough practice?"

"Forget it."

"Oh sure, now that you've failed, you want to hush it up. Well,

the next time you think you're as good as a woman, just remember

yesterday."

There was no reasoning with her, so I was silent the rest of the

way to the office.

A little later, Diane was commenting on the graceful way I was

navigating around the dispatch station, and I let it "slip" that

I might be interested,, after all, in trying for the double-or-

nothing.

"I don't know if that offer is still open, Ted," Diane remarked.

"I'll ask around."

Jean made a show of objecting to a repeat of the offer, but let

herself be persuaded, perhaps with uncharacteristic ease. Kate

proved to still be amenable to the deal, so I found myself being

invited to Diane's place after work.

"This time, we draw up a contract, spelling out exactly what is

expected," she advised me.

Alarms went off in my mind.

"What do you mean ... a contract?" I exclaimed.

"Just that, if the expectations are in writing, there won't be

any ambiguities to be disputed after-the-fact."

Elaine, having heard part of the exchange, came out to the

dispatch center.

"What is going on?" she demanded.

Diane explained.

After a moment's silence, she sighed.

"I do hope you haven't forgotten that this is a business, not a

playground for your 'inner children'," she reminded us.

I felt a sudden inclination to drop the whole matter.

She turned to me, however, and asked, "Why are you putting up

with this?"

Now on the defensive, I found myself trying to justify the

situation without any real conviction behind my logic, "It seemed

like an easy way to get a couple of week's worth of dinners."

Her stern expression melted slightly, into an exasperated grin,

and she shook her head. Turning her attention back to Diane, she

said, "Goddess help me, I hope I don't end up having to justify

to Region why I'm allowing this nonsense."

An hour after work, I was in Diane's living room, negotiating the

terms of my "contract".

When all the details had been worked out and committed to paper,

the group dispersed. Jean offered to stay and help Diane prepare

dinner.

Diane suggested that it would be to my advantage to get all the

practice on heels I could, before work tomorrow, so why not start

right now? That turned out to mean: with panty hose and a skirt

- the same one I'd worn yesterday.

After dinner, Jean suggested, half in jest, that we go to a

movie. I was willing - as soon as I could change into my own

clothing. I should have known better.

Jean was interested only if I went as I was. That discussion was

aborted when Kate rang the bell, and Diane let her in. The

discussion turned back to the coming day, and how I simply

COULDN'T wear the same skirt twice in one week.

When I asked `why not', Kate observed that it was a feminine

custom. "Also," she pointed out, "you spilled some of your

dessert on it."

Consequently, I was presented a different skirt, white, with a

linen texture and box pleats.

Then they invited themselves over to my place to find an

appropriate shirt to go with it.

Kate had brought in another pair of pumps, with low, two inch

heels. When she offered them for me to wear during the trip, my

objections were sidetracked by Jean's protest.

"I hope those aren't the shoes he's wearing for work," she said.

"I thought they'd do for the spare pair," Kate explained.

"Spares would have to be the same height as the first pair," Jean

stated flatly.

Kate looked over to Diane, who didn't object.

"OK," Kate agreed, "but these will do for the trip to Ted's

place."

I didn't really want to go outside again, dressed as a woman from

the waist down, but after Kate had taken my side, I didn't have

the heart to argue the issue with her. So, still wearing the

plaid skirt and the mid-heeled shoes, I was escorted out to the

parking lot, where we all got into Kate's car.

I live in a rambling old cottage, twice extended by previous

owners. It sits well back on a deep lot, shaded by a thick

canopy of old trees. Because the view of passersby was blocked

by heavy shrubbery, I wasn't bothered about going from the car to

the house, dressed as I was.

Inside, matters soon became a little more complicated. Although

they found a dark blue oxford shirt that looked OK with the skirt

they'd brought, none of the women thought it a truly suitable

pairing.

Kate went out to her car and brought in a top that obviously was

the mate to the skirt. It had three-quarter sleeves, a jewel

neck, and buttoned up the back. It wasn't near as much trouble

as they might have expected to get me to try it on. However,

after I saw myself in a mirror, I didn't like the mixed image.

Jean started teasing me about how I was starting to look quite

cute, and that a little makeup might help even more.

After that comment, I prevailed upon Diane to unbutton the top,

and I went to my room to change into a jogging suit.

When I returned, Diane reminded me that I'd have to go back to

her apartment for my car. Then she extended an invitation for me

to spend the night in her apartment. Her housemate had two

weeks to go on an overseas assignment, she explained. She was

sure that Carol wouldn't mind if I used her room.

"That way," she rationalized for me, "you won't have to get up so

early, yet you'll have plenty of time to get ready for work."

I couldn't think of any rebuttal to her logic - or even to ask

why I'd need much time to get ready. Taking my lack of objection

as capitulation, they helped me gather up the items I'd need for

that night and the next day.

Back at Diane's apartment, Kate brought up a large case, as well

as an overnighter. Among the items inside were two pairs of

dress pumps that had the same heel heights. That was how they

got me out of the jogging suit again, by insisting that I had to

try on the whole outfit for tomorrow, including both pairs of

shoes.

When I got to see myself in a full length mirror, I again became

dismayed at the mixed image. Somehow, the contrast hadn't been

so strong with the plaid skirt.

That seemed to be Kate's cue. She turned on the charm, asking me

to please go along with them for just a few minutes - which

turned out to be two hours - and let them try a different

approach.

Soon, I was back in the linen suit, wearing pantyhose which bore

a faint honeycomb pattern and ankle strap pumps.

That put me at the precipice of my comfort zone. What they

wanted next, pushed me right over the edge.

"It's so close," Diane mused.

"Why don't we see?" Jean asked cryptically.

Diane led me into her bedroom.

"Sit down right here," Diane directed, pointing to a padded stool

next to a small table.

Tilting up the top of the vanity to expose a mirror and a

compartment underneath, she removed a bottle. She soaked a square

cotton pad with a portion of its contents.

When she began wiping it across my face, I reached up and grasped

her wrist.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Just cleansing your skin," she answered. It was in a tone of

voice so absent of guile, that I let her continue. "How often do

you shave?" she asked, as she gently stroked my face.

"A couple of times a week, I guess," I responded.

"That's unusual for a twenty-five year old, isn't it?"

"Not in my family," I said. "My dad didn't need to shave every

day until he was nearly forty, neither did any of his brothers.

When she had finished, she brought out another bottle, which I

immediately recognized. It was liquid makeup.

"Whoa, there. You aren't thinking what I think you're thinking,

are you? You're not putting any of that stuff on me - no way."

Then the air was filled with the sweetest plea's and "please's"

for my indulgence. Wouldn't I just let them show me what was

possible? It would wash right off, afterward ...

Their appeal to my male nature was so transparent, that it was

disarming. I had it in my power to make them happy, merely by

sitting there - and letting them have their way with me. Only, it

wasn't in a way I wished they had in mind. Still, all that

attention was intoxicating, so I acceded.

By the time they had finished, I was sure I knew how an artist's

canvas might feel. After the liquid foundation had been spread,

blended, and set with translucent powder, they began applying

other powders in various hues. Kate stroked each side of my

nose, and the tip of my chin, with a brush bearing traces of tan.

Diane made me smile, then lightly dusted the fullest part of my

cheeks with pink, and followed with a darker shade just below.

Next she took a clean brush and went over the same areas, with an

interruption to use a previous brush to add a little more color

to one side.

Kate took over, and with light and dark shades of a brick colored

powder, began dusting my eyelids. Next, she used a dark pencil

to draw along the edges of my eyelids. She followed with cotton

swab in short strokes that didn't feel like they quite followed

the way she'd drawn the original lines.

When they were both satisfied, Diane fitted me with a wig. It was

a dark, golden blonde in color, and not quite shoulder length.

She arranged it with an odd sort of comb which had only four,

long, widely spaced, teeth and rattail handle.

Only then was I allowed to see a mirror. I found myself unable

to deny that they had done an excellent job. I wasn't exactly

pretty, but my own mother probably wouldn't have recognized me,

or even - perhaps - that I wasn't a woman.

Still, the suit didn't look quite right; I wasn't curved in the

right places. Returning to the case, Kate removed a long- line

brassiere and some pads for the cups; then she retrieved a panty

girdle which had pads strategically placed.

They moved me along quickly, forestalling any questions: suit

off; foundation garments on; a full slip, much fancier than the

half slip I'd used at first - a little lace would show in the

walking slit; then back on with the suit. Much better. Clip on

some earrings. Another look in the mirror.

"This is unbelievable," I whispered.

Kate gently suggested that I was so convincing that no one could

possibly guess that I wasn't what I appeared to be. Furthermore,

she insisted, this person before them was far too feminine to be

even a "Teddie", much less a "Ted". Her conclusion, therefore,

was that they ought to call me "Tess".

Had the same thoughts been expressed by Jean, even in the same

tone of voice, I would have taken instant offense. Instead, I

was so much under the spell of the moment that it entirely

escaped me that a guy shouldn't think of that as much of a

compliment.

Jean decided she'd had enough for tonight.

"I've got to get some sleep. See you in the morning."

A round of hugs, and Jean was gone. Then Diane began to ply the

"big sister" routine in earnest.

"Ted, you might want to consider going into the office like this,

instead of just half-and-half."

My eyes went wide. "Why?" I said.

Kate took over "For one thing, because you'll be less likely to

get unwelcome attention from outsiders."

"Which is bound to make Elaine feel better about this," Diane

interjected.

Kate continued, "For another, I think you'll have an easier time

with the in-house people, too. That gender-bent image you

presented Wednesday will just get you a lot of unwanted

attention."

"And you think that showing up, completely made over as a woman

won't?" I asked incredulously. "Anyway, that's not the question I

meant to ask. Let me try again. Why is it that YOU want me to do

this?"

"Because you are a macho pig," Kate teased, adding, in a dramatic

voice, "and we want you to walk a few miles in our 'high heeled

moccasins' so you can know what it's like for the other side."

As if on cue, Diane continued Kate's thought, with equal

exaggeration, "It's the least you can do, you know, considering

the thousands of years of oppression we've suffered at the hands

of you men."

After working with me for two years, they knew how responsive I

was to wry humor.

In a sudden reversion to seriousness, Kate moved in to close the

sale.

"Because we want you to win."

I tried to counter, "I can win without all this other stuff,"

gesturing at my head and upper body. I saw a satisfied smile

form on Diane's face, which she quickly suppressed. Instantly, I

realized it was because the gesture had been executed in a

feminine manner.

Weakly, I tried again, "Why aren't you on Jean's side? You're

each committed for equal shares of the dinners. If I win, you

lose."

"I only did that to make sure Jean got her hook set firmly in her

own gills," Diane answered.

That left me speechless.

She continued, "Honestly! It isn't as if you'd never been

invited here for dinner, before this."

With Diane pushing my ego with the prospect of forcing Jean into

providing dinners for me, and Kate assuring me that I appeared

absolutely authentic, my resistance was crumbling. Add an

"assist" from the image I saw in the mirror, and my defenses were

overwhelmed.

Once I had committed myself to that, it wasn't much more trouble

for them to finagle me into going with them, as I was, to get

frozen yogurt cones at a nearby Dari-Delite. All they had to do

was assure me that we'd go through the drive-through, so I

wouldn't have to get out of the car.

I became apprehensive when Kate insisted I sit up front. She

chose to sit behind Diane. However, once we were there, I

realized she'd done me a favor, by putting me as much out of view

from the service window as was possible.

I wasn't sure if Diane was teasing or not, when she suggested

that we take a parking place and eat right there. Fortunately,

she yielded easily to my pleading and drove directly back to her

place.

All the excitement - and the extra time it took to remove the

makeup - rendered me one tired soul when I finally collapsed into

my borrowed bed.

Chapter V

The next morning started early. The image which they had built

for me last night had to be completely re-created. Kate, too,

had stayed overnight with Diane, to be on hand to help with the

project. Fortunately, it went faster than expected, leaving them

plenty of time to attend to their own needs.

Left essentially alone, while they made ready for the day, I

passed the time walking around the apartment. After Kate was

ready, she appeared with a camera. I didn't want any

photographs, but she invoked the privileges of friendship. When

Diane came out a little later, they double-teamed me into

assuming some very feminine poses for additional pictures.

When they were finished, Kate brought out a purse to match the

shoes. My wallet and a few personal effects were dropped into

it, as well as various makeup and grooming items.

That was when I realized I needed to visit to the bathroom. When

I came out, Kate was already gone. I followed Diane down to her

car and rode to work with her.

When we arrived at the office, we were both astonished to find

that Jean was most cooperative and unabrasive. In fact, she

quickly assumed much of the responsibility for fending off snide

comments - taking the `blame' for the fact of my appearance, if

not for the quality of it.

By nine, someone had kludged an overlay for Cheryl's nameplate

which had my last name with only a first initial preceding it.

Shortly after that, I noticed that several others were following

the lead of Diane and Jean in calling me "Tess".

Morning gave way to midday, and I discovered that a small

difference in heel height seemed much greater after three hours

of up and down, back and forth, stoop and rise. Smarter now, I

slowed down enough to allow for my fatigue.

As lunchtime approached, Jean dropped by to ask if I was going

out to lunch.

I told her I was eating in the employee lounge again.

"What a waste," she chided. "You go to all the trouble to look

fabulous, and then you hide yourself. Come along with us, and

put some sunshine in your life, as well as food in your tummy."

I shook my head, and she went back to her department.

Kate returned from a service call just as I'd sat down to eat my

microwaved lunch. She sat down next to me, and removed her lunch

from her backpack.

We engaged in light conversation until we'd finished eating. Then

she got up.

"Come with me," she said.

I was following right along until I realized she was leading me

into the ladies' room. I stopped abruptly.

"Come on," she said.

"I can't go in there," I insisted.

"Where else are you going to go, dressed like THAT? The men's

room?"

"I'll wait until after work."

"What if you can't last that long. There's no one in here to

care, if you use it now."

I couldn't fault her logic, so I followed her inside.

As I entered a stall, she reminded me that ladies sit down to do

their business.

"I knew that," I drolly replied.

After we'd each finished with the necessities, Kate directed my

attention to my makeup. It needed touching up, especially the

lipstick. Fortunately, it only took a minute or so; the longer

we remained in there, the more nervous I got.

Upon returning to the dispatch desk, I discovered that the

nameplate had been changed again. This time to read "Tess" in

front of my last name. During the afternoon, that drew some

additional chuckles from a couple of the passersby, but I

pointedly ignored them, and continued with my work. About

mid-afternoon, it suddenly occurred to me that even Elaine was

addressing me as "Tess". The feeling of oddness increased, when

I realized that I was beginning to respond to it as though it

really were my name.

As the end of the day approached, Elaine stopped to talk.

"I thought you'd want to know that I think you've done an

excellent job, today, in spite of the extra `handicap' you've

been enduring."

I just smiled, and softly said, "Thank you."

"I had some serious misgivings," she went on, "about You showing

up for work appearing so thoroughly feminized. It wasn't what I

had been expecting after Diane's explanation yesterday."

Inwardly, I cringed a little at that remark. It wasn't much like

I'd imagined either - yesterday.

Elaine continued, "I came very close, this morning, to ending

this ... wager ... and sending you home to change clothes. Do

you know why I didn't?"

Now, I couldn't speak at all, and shook my head "no" with only

the slightest motion. I had a vision of her giving me my

termination notice.

"It was because you were doing it so well."

I must not have appeared as shocked as I felt, because I didn't

notice any change in her demeanor. I'd swear I had goose bumps

everywhere.

"At first, I was angry," she explained, "partly because I thought

I'd been deceived; and partly because I feared that you intended

to act out an unflattering caricature. Fortunately, I was too

involved to leave my office just then, so I had to be content

with observing."

She continued, "Now, I'm not saying that you performed with

perfect feminine grace. Nevertheless, I saw what seemed an

honest effort to 'be' the woman you appeared to be."

I finally found a little residue of voice, and squeaked out

another, albeit tentative, "Thank you."

"What I'm really trying to say is: as `Tess', you've been a very

welcome member of the staff today."

Jean, who seemed to have a nose for being in a place at just the

right moment, had just come for another batch of reports.

"Yes, she's been positively great," she said, "She ought to stay

on permanently."

She paused, her face reflecting exasperation.

"I've as much as conceded that you've won, haven't I?"

My smile filled my face.

"All right," she grumbled, "I'll make it official. You've won

the bet. I lost."

"And, I'm just as good as any woman," I prompted.

Jean paused, her expression seeming to say, "let's not get

carried away." She looked up at Elaine, and her countenance

softened.

"Yeah, Okay," she said.

"Yeah, Okay, WHAT?" I pressed.

"You did just as good as a woman."

"Thank you."

A service call - the last one for the day - interrupted the

encounter, and I turned my attention to getting the customer's

information and notifying the engineer. By the time I had

finished, Jean was gone, and it was time to close up shop.

Elaine was still there.

I looked at her - expectantly, I guess - figuring that she had

more to say.

"How would you feel about working as "Tess" for another week?"

There's no way she could have missed the look of shock on my

face. She cut off my first attempt to reply.

"If you'll do it for one more week, I'll make it up to you,

later. "

Even though I knew I had absolutely no intention of following up

on it, I couldn't help but regard her with a rather unfeminine

leer.

She saw it.

"Don't even think it," she growled.

I returned a playful grin.

"You!" she burst out, in mock rebuke.

In a softer voice, she said, "Come into my office, will you?"

After she'd closed the door, she released a sigh, and then

explained, "Look, we have a little problem here. You remember

the regional parts manager that came in this afternoon?"

I nodded.

"He's going to be here next week, too. I can't have him

comparing today's `Tess' with Monday's `Ted'."

Good Heavens! What had I gotten myself into?

"You mean, you don't think he already knows about me?"

"Anita says no."

"He wasn't around my desk that much; he probably didn't get a

good look at me. If he asks, just tell him `Tess' was a

temporary."

"Take another look in the mirror, dear. He had more than enough

reason to study you closely. Your appearance is that of a very

attractive young woman."

"Oh, thanks. You don't KNOW what a compliment that is," I

replied with restrained sarcasm.

"No," she countered, "You don't realize what a compliment it IS -

to your skill, your adaptability, even your chutzpah. You've done

an admirable job today - not the work, although that was fine,

too - but BEING someone else - another gender, even. I wish I had

videotape to show you. By mid-afternoon, your gestures were so

feminine that it was difficult to remember who you really are.

And your voice - when you first answer the phone, you sound just

like Cheryl, with a cold."

"Elaine, I can't keep this up for a whole week."

She stared in silent regard.

"You don't know what it took to make me look like this," I

persisted, gesturing down my length. "This is the work of Kate

and Diane. It took them hours. I couldn't hope to do it by

myself, and they certainly aren't going to want to do it for me

every day.

She continued to stare.

"Everything I'm wearing is borrowed. I don't have anything else

to wear, much less a whole week's wardrobe."

Finally she spoke.

"Help me out, Tess."

Her use of my adopted feminine name didn't go unnoticed.

"I helped you win your bet, by allowing this." She gestured at

my attire. "Now, it has put me in a bind, and I need YOUR help."

"I don't know how I can," I responded in despair.

"Talk to Diane and Kate," she suggested. "You've got the

weekend; maybe they can help you line up what you'll need."

"What if they can't?"

"Won't you at least try?"

"All right," I told her as I stood up. "I'll try."

"If you give it a good go, even if it doesn't work - if something

goes wrong, and you're discovered - I'll still hold up my end."

"Just what is your part in this deal - other than the

consideration already rendered?"

"Well," she considered. "You've been wanting a promotion to

Senior Engineer?"

My breathing stopped.

"I can't make this a condition for promotion, nor can I use it

against you. What I can do is put you on the fast track to

getting there. That's not a guarantee, but it's the next nearest

thing."

"Thank you," I said, with humble gratitude, "but I still don't

know if I can set it up."

I opened her office door.

"Tess?"

I stopped in the doorway and turned my head to look at her.

"No guts, no glory," she advised, with a mischievous twinkle in

her eye.

Returning an apprehensive smile, I continued to the front door,

where Diane and Jean waiting.

"Did you forget something?" Diane asked.

I couldn't think of anything.

"Your purse?" she prompted.

I went back to my desk - or rather, Cheryl's - and retrieved the

purse - I couldn't bring myself to considering it `mine'.

On the way out to the parking lot, Diane reminded me, "It's my

turn to provide dinner. You never told me what you want."

"I hadn't had much time to think about it," I told her.

"How about I buy it at a restaurant?" she offered.

"When?" I asked. "It'll take a while to change out of all this."

"Why bother?" countered Jean. "You look just fine the way you

are. Maybe a little touch-up would be in order, but otherwise

you're better attired for an evening out than any of us. We're

the ones who need to change."

Kate had just joined us, and reached to turn me around.

"She's right; you look simply delicious."

I half stumbled from the unexpected change in motion, but

smoothly recovered by pivoting on the leading foot, swinging the

other behind me to stop my motion and push off again.

Jean pressed her point, "And you move well, too. It would be a

most fitting way to end the day. Sort of an honors banquet."

"I can't go out in public like this," I insisted.

We had reached Diane's car, and it took her a moment to unlock

it.

"What do you think you've been doing all day?" she pointed out.

"None of the visitors who saw you today showed any sign that they

thought anything was out of place. You'll do just fine."

Kate added, "Your voice even sounds feminine. When you first

answer the phone it's almost like Cheryl's."

"And, you're beginning to sound more like me," Diane confirmed.

"At first, I wondered if you were mocking me, but I think, now,

that you're just a natural mimic."

"Please," I begged, "the deal was just for the workday."

"This isn't about the deal," Jean explained. "This is about all

of us enjoying a pleasant evening meal together."

I could have resisted Jean easily, but with Kate and Diane

involved - no, even just the two, without Jean - they could get

nearly anything from me.

Kate gave me an across the shoulders hug, and in a Bogart- like

voice said, "You're on a roll, kid. Relax and enjoy it."

"All right," I capitulated, "I'll go like this."

"Wonderful!" Jean exclaimed. "I'll meet you all at Diane's at

seven-thirty. She slipped into her own car and drove away.

When we arrived at her apartment, Diane went straight to the

shower, leaving me alone, nervously contemplating the idiocy of

what we had planned. Fortunately, or maybe not, Diane made quick

work of her shower and appeared at the edge of the living room

wearing just a towel. The look on my face must have bewildered

her for a moment, then she blushed.

"Oops!. I'm sorry, Ted ... Tess. I'd actually forgotten, that

you're not really another woman."

Backing into her room, she called out, "You'll need to redo your

makeup. Clean it off, and I'll help as soon as I'm decent."

"What's wrong with it, the way it is?" I called back.

"Evening makeup should be a little more dramatic than for the

daytime."

I just sat there, thinking of all the awful possibilities that

could result from going out with these women, dressed as I was.

If I were discovered, I just knew that I'd be run out of town. I

suddenly wanted to just shuck everything, put on my jogging suit,

and leave. I'd try to collect my dinners later.

I arose and went to Carol's bedroom, where I'd spent the night.

I didn't see my own clothes anywhere. I checked the closet with

no luck. Just then, I sensed a presence in the room.

Diane was standing in the doorway, wearing a long terry robe.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the troubled look on my face.

"I can't find my jogging suit, or my shoes," I told her as I

marched straight for the door. "Excuse me."

My voice had lost the feminine lilt it had acquired during the

day.

Diane moved aside to let me pass, then followed him me into the

living room.

I picked up the purse that contained my wallet and other things

from my pockets, only to discover that my keys were not among

them. Now I really felt abandoned. Almost tearfully, I

demanded, "Where are my keys? I want to go home."

I could see deep worry settling into her expression. We had

become very good friends in the past two years.

Her whole demeanor changed, "I'm sorry ... Ted. Kate must have

those too. I guess she put everything into her case. Do you

want me to take you home?"

"I can't get inside without the keys." The anger was fading,

giving way to hopelessness.

Seeing what she later called a "lost puppy" look on my face, she

reached out and took my right hand, asking, "Ted, am I still your

friend?"

"Uh ... yes."

"Well, you are my friend, too. The thing is, `Tess' has also

become my friend - and I'd like that friendship to continue, as

well."

"But, `Tess' doesn't really exist," I countered.

"In the legal sense, that is true," she acknowledged, "but you

seem to be very good at making `Tess' a reality. Maybe you owe

it to yourself to explore that talent more deeply."

I didn't know what to say.

Not getting a reply, Diane continued, "Did you really have a bad

time today?"

"Well ... I guess not."

"Then, what's bothering you is being out in public without the

shelter of an office full of friends - right?"

"I guess."

"But, you WILL be among friends, and no one else there will even

be noticing you, except, perhaps, how nicely you're dressed.

They'll be immersed in their own concerns."

I shrugged in uncertain agreement.

"Come on, let's fix you up, and see if you don't feel better when

I've finished adding some special touches. You'll be a work of

art."

That brought an immediate reaction, as my mind replayed an image.

I laughed anxiously, "Not an Andy Warhol, I hope."

That brought a giggle out of her, as she gently took hold of my

hand and led me toward the bathroom. I trailed along, not at all

certain that I wanted this.

After helping me remove the suit top and wig, Diane dabbed cold

cream on my face, then had me spread it around evenly, while she

soaked a washcloth in very warm water.

Once my face was clean, she lent me her electric razor. "It's for

a woman's legs, but it should be all right with no more beard

than you have."

When I was done, she took me to her room and had me sit at her

vanity table. She explained how to use the skin toner, to be

followed by a moisturizer. While I was thus occupied, she busied

herself elsewhere. By the time she returned, the moisturizer had

been thoroughly absorbed.

Now, she guided my application of the makeup base. When the

foundation had been set with powder, and the excess brushed away,

she refit the wig to my head, pulling the hair away from my face

and pinning it out of the way.

Next, she wrapped a towel around my neck, draping it over my

ersatz bust. Then, half doing it, and half instructing me in

what to do, she showed me how to apply the highlights, explaining

the differences between what we were doing now, and the daytime

makeup I had worn to work.

As the job progressed, she had me getting into the spirit of the

affair. I was growing enthusiastic about the way my appearance

was changing. When she thought everything was just right, Diane

exclaimed, "There! Don't you think you look simply beautiful?"

I was still feeling quite subdued, but agreed. The liner and

shadow played up my eyes, such that they seemed larger, without

appearing 'drawn on'. The blush gave my cheeks a roundness I'd

never seen before. My lips seemed to appear more full and moist.

Was it just wishful thinking, a result of investing all this

effort? I thought that, just maybe, I was somewhat pretty.

Before replacing the suit top, Diane sprayed me under the arms

with a scented powder. Then, keeping up a patter of talk, she

retreated to her closet to shed her robe and drop a slip over her

head. She appeared to be a little uncomfortable, dressing with me

in the room - I certainly was, about being there - but she didn't

ask me to leave. Indeed, she kept me engaged in conversation

such that I pretty much had to remain there with her. So, in

spite of my reservations about being in such an intimate setting,

I stayed. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure she didn't want to

leave me alone again, and risk letting my fears regain control.

I turned back to face the mirror, at an angle that didn't show

Diane's reflection, then deliberately avoided turning around

until she asked a question about the dress she had slipped on.

She looked so good, it became difficult for me to remember to be

"Tess".

That got easier, when she took my place at the vanity. I watched

with interest as she applied her own makeup, enhancing it for

evening wear much as she had done mine.

Jean arrived about twenty-five after seven. Her compliments on

my appearance took me by surprise in their apparent sincerity.

We didn't have long to talk, as Kate had driven into the parking

lot only a minute behind her. Quickly, we all agreed to ride

with Jean.

My resolution to see this through lost some of its firmness when

we arrived at the restaurant. To my dismay, there was no crowd

to get lost in. Although it took only a minute or two to be

given a table, I began to feel increasingly conspicuous while we

were waiting. Perched on my three inch heels, I was the tallest

person in our group.

In spite of my fears, everything went very well - at least, until

we'd finished eating. That was when we were approached, and two

of us were asked to dance. Jean and Diane accepted and left the

table with the the men.

Moments later, Kate explained, "I have to go to the powder room.

Want to come with me?"

I just stared at her. I didn't really want to be left alone, but

the ladies room at the office was one thing - entering a public

one was, to my mind, an entirely different matter. Finally, I

gave my head just the slightest shake, and replied, "I'm fine.

I'll just wait here."

Maybe I'd have been better off to have gone with her.

When the band finished its number, Kate hadn't yet returned, and

neither had Diane or Jean. The lead guitarist was going through

his patter to introduce the next tune, when a guy teetered up to

the table. He must have been the runt of his mother's litter, as

he didn't have to bend much to get his face level with mine. The

sour smell of the beer he'd been consuming drifted into my face,

along with his words.

"Hey, babe. Wa's a pretty one like you doin' just sittin' when

there's music to dance to? My, my, you ARE a big girl aren't

you?"

I froze in terror. I'd thought for sure that he'd figured out my

disguise.

"Yeah," he continued, "I'd ask you to dance, but I like to look

into my girl's eyes when we dance, not her boobs." Then he

laughed and wobbled away.

As my terror faded into disgust, I began to desperately wish that

the others would come back soon. I even considered leaving

without them, but we were on the opposite side of town from my

place. I'd be very conspicuous making the three mile walk home

alone, not to mention what kind of shape my feet would be in

after making such a trek in three inch heels. Moreover, I still

didn't have my keys.

The band rolled right from one number into the next, without

anyone returning. I caught a glimpse of Jean dancing in a most

flirtatious manner, and marveled. For being a militant feminist,

she sure was leading that guy along. Then I thought about it

more deeply. Of course! What better "revenge" than to set a

fellow's expectations and then leave him frustrated.

Another man approached, looking directly at me. This guy had to

be the epitome of what women consider a "hunk". Even though the

din of the band kept me from hearing some of his words, it was

plain that he was asking me to dance. Now what could I do? I

wasn't much of a dancer as a guy, and I had absolutely no

experience dancing the woman's part. Besides, I didn't want be

out there, dancing with another man - regardless of what he

thought me to be. Then too, how long would he continue to think

of me as a woman, once I was away from this table?

I remembered Diane's purse. Gesturing toward it, I tried to

speak both softly, and, yet, make myself understood, "Thank you,

but I'm watching the purses."

The music dropped a few decibels.

"How about when one of them gets back?" he asked.

"I probably shouldn't. My ankle has only been out of the cast a

few days," I lied.

"And wearing high heels so soon?" he grinned.

"Anything for fashion," I quipped. "But dancing would be pushing

my luck too far."

"You look tall enough to dance in your stocking feet," he

observed.

"Thank you very much for asking," I responded, "but not tonight."

Kate returned to the table just after he walked away.

"Who was the guy?" she asked.

"He wanted to dance."

"You'd have made a lovely couple," she teased.

I gave her a deadpan glare.

Soon, there was a break in the music. We saw Jean and Diane

being escorted back to the table.

Kate asked, "How about dancing with me?"

The idea of dancing with Kate was appealing, but I wasn't so sure

about trying, dressed the way I was. Which part would I take?

Then again, if it wasn't a slow dance it wouldn't matter, would

it? But, in that case would I give myself away out there in

front of everyone, moving like a guy instead of like a girl?

Then, too, there was the fellow who'd just been here.

"I can't do that now," I exclaimed, "not after telling that guy

I'd just got my ankle out of a cast."

Diane and Jean slid back into the booth, while their dance

partners pulled up a couple of free chairs.

"You two are missing out on the fun," Jean chided.

"We need to be getting home," Kate told her.

Diane was sharp, and picked up on Kate's intent immediately.

"Isn't Tess feeling well?" she asked, solicitously.

"Maybe you just need to dance it off," Jean suggested.

I shook my head, but didn't say anything.

"You're driving," Kate reminded Jean.

Jean turned to the fellow she'd been dancing with.

"Well. I guess that's the night. Thank you for the nice time."

He suggested that she let us take her car home and he'd give her

a ride home later.

She plead a busy day tomorrow. Picking up her purse, she edged

out of the booth as she talked. The rest of us followed suit.

Outside, she remarked, "Well, I can write that guy off as a

loser. He must have thought I'm some kind of airhead. Like -

right - I'm going to put myself in a position where my safe

return home tonight is dependant on a guy I just met? As if!"

On the trip back to Diane's, I remained silent, not responding to

anything Jean said. She pulled over to the curb and stopped, so

she could turn to look at me.

"I'm sorry, Tess. I wasn't trying to be mean. Do you even know

how to dance?"

She answered herself: "Even if you did, you wouldn't be used to

doing the ladies' part - in reverse. I really am sorry about

putting you on the spot. It's just that you are so `on' as Tess

tonight, I have a hard time remembering that there is a Ted

underneath. Please accept my apology?"

I wanted to call her a "witch - with a `B'", and suggest a place

where she should go to find a warmer reception. Instead, I just

sighed, and nodded, uttering a barely audible, "OK."

"I also want to apologize for using the word `sissy' the other

night. A real `sissy' wouldn't have even tried to meet the

challenge."

I accepted that one too.

Jean turned around and put the car back into gear and pulled back

into traffic. We rode in silence the remaining several blocks to

Diane's.

Once there, Diane reminded Kate about my clothes and keys, which

were, fortunately, right there in the trunk of Kate's car. While

Kate was getting it open, Jean stepped up to me, and actually

gave me a hug.

"I hope that, overall, you had a good time at dinner," she told

me. "I did - because I shared it with my friends."

I smiled, albeit somewhat weakly, wondering why the urge to

strangle her wasn't stronger. Then I took possession of my

clothes and keys and made straight for my car.

As my door unlatched, Diane asked, "Do you want to come up and

change?"

I paused, then replied, "I just want to get home." Indicating the

clothing I was wearing, I added, "Can I bring these to you

tomorrow?"

"Next week is fine; whenever it's convenient for you. There's no

hurry."

Gathering my skirt, I sat down, and, in a fairly ladylike manner,

swung my legs in under the steering wheel. Moments later, I was

on my way home.

Chapter VI

I awakened in surprise at brightness of the daylight streaming

through my window. I had slept soundly, clear into midmorning. I

closed my eyes again, and waited, listening to the sounds coming

from outside. This was supposed to be a laid-back day for me. I

hadn't scheduled anything for the whole day. I turned over, away

from the light, before I tried opening my eyelids again.

My expectations of a carefree day were shattered by the sight of

the clothing draped over drawer. It would be rude to return

dirty clothing to the people who'd lent me the various items of

yesterday's outfit, and the suit probably had to be dry-cleaned.

That was just the beginning. Jean would be expecting me over for

dinner, and ...

"Oh, heavens!" I thought aloud. I hadn't told Diane or Kate

about Elaine's request. What if they can't - or won't - help me?

I was overwhelmed with a feeling of doom. What if they did help

me? The whole idea of working as "Tess" for an entire week was

utterly crazy. It would get back to regional management, and

then Elaine and I would both be fired. Wouldn't that look great

on my next job application: "fired because I came to work dressed

as a woman." I didn't dare ask for help, but, after my promise

to Elaine, I didn't dare not ask, either.

I threw off the covers and stomped into the bathroom, in the hope

that I'd think more clearly after a shower.

After I dried off, I had to move yesterday's clothing to get at

some fresh underwear. The sensation of the slip sliding across

my forearm raised goosebumps. As I placed the pile on my bed, I

regarded the underclothing I'd been wearing several hours

earlier. I had enjoyed the silky envelopment of the panties

around my loins. I didn't miss the bra, with its band cinching

my torso, and straps digging into my shoulders, nor the girdle -

although a pleasant side effect of wearing it had been not

getting anything pinched whenever I sat down. The slip, on the

other hand, had provided a delightful tickle on my legs whenever

I was moving around.

I picked the panties up, enjoying again the silky feeling of the

material in my hands. Suddenly, I wished that they were clean.

With a sigh, I dropped them back onto the pile, and turned to my

chest of drawers for my own clothing.

Still struggling with what I'd do about next week, I put off

calling anyone until after breakfast - or rather, brunch.

It was eleven thirty. If I waited too long, Kate might not be

home.

My phone rang.

I wasn't even thinking about how I answered it.

"Good morning," I heard Kate's cheerful greeting. "Is this Ted

or Tess?"

My voice dropped a full octave.

"Very funny, Kate," I replied, drolly.

"Ah, it IS Ted," she said.

"Look, as long as you called," I opened, "I need to ask a favor."

"Yes, I know," she told me. "Elaine called me this morning, to

ask if I would help you."

"I take it that she didn't have much confidence that I'd follow

through."

"Not at all. It was more like she feared you wouldn't get any

cooperation."

"Jean called, too," Kate added, "to ask if I could handle the

dinner arrangements tonight. She has to go down to her folks'

this afternoon. It seems everyone wants my favors today."

I ignored the double entente, "Maybe I should call in sick next

week."

"Why?" she exclaimed. "We can get you set up with whatever

you'll need."

"Kate! This isn't going to work. Sooner or later, someone is

going to figure me out, or someone in the office will blow my

cover."

"No one did last night," Kate reminded me. "And Elaine was

already asking around the office, yesterday, to see if everyone

would keep their mouths shut about you."

It took a little more talking, but she eventually had me

marginally convinced that I'd be all right next week. Then she

invited me to her place for dinner at 4:00 PM.

I accepted - remarking that I'd had breakfast late, so why not an

early dinner.

She replied that dinner wouldn't be ready until 8:00. Better

still, she suggested, how soon could I come over? We'd make a

day of it.

Of what? Getting me ready for next week, of course.

I told her I'd have to take yesterday's suit to the dry-cleaner's

first.

Kate advised that it was washable, in cool water, using the

delicate cycle. Then she asked if I could come over right away.

I couldn't think of any reason not to, so I said yes. In a few

minutes, I was on my way. I had no way of knowing that it would

be nearly midnight before I returned.

As soon as I arrived at her place, she sent me down the hall to

her bathroom, insisting that I wear a pair of ladies' white nylon

briefs and camisole under my clothes, instead of my own

underwear. Despite my feelings that morning, I was resistant. I

didn't want her to know that I liked the feel of the silky

underwear. She told me to wait there, then went into her bedroom

and brought out a pair of pantyhose.

"These too," she ordered.

I didn't move fast enough to suit her.

"Better hurry, before I get more adventuresome," she warned with

a mischievous giggle.

Shaking my head in bewilderment, I did her bidding.

"Come on - time's wasting," she urged, when I came out.

"Where are we going?"

"Lots of places," she said. "We have to get groceries for

dinner, arrange for you to have clothes to wear to work, and get

you set up with your own makeup."

"Makeup?"

"You can't expect to borrow someone else's for a whole week."

That made sense, but I bemoaned spending the money.

"Look," she explained, "If you want to do it right, it's going to

take a little money. Think of it as an investment - Elaine told

me what she'd promised you for this gig."

"She didn't promise me the promotion - only her help."

Incredulously, she asked, "You think if she's signs the request,

it isn't a lock?"

"IF she signs," I reminded her.

"Ted, paranoia is clouding your mind. Of all the people I've

ever known, Elaine has been the most ... reliable ... at honoring

her word. She says it, she DOES it. You should know that as

well as I do, by now."

I mentioned that she deserved a promotion as much as I did, and

that helping me with this could actually be giving me an unfair

advantage over her.

Kate's response was that she was my friend, and she was happy to

help me. It would be bad karma for her own prospects if she

didn't help when she could. She said it so kindly, I couldn't

argue.

Once we were out doing the errands, I was glad I'd worn a

sweatshirt. The sensation of the camisole fabric rubbing against

my nipples kept them taut. Moreover, something thinner - like a

T-shirt - would have let the lace trim show through, too.

Kate led me on what was, for me, a unique tour through the

regional shopping center. At first we just went from store to

store looking at the displays. She wanted to see what I thought

looked good and what I didn't like. Then we went into the

largest department store there, straight to the lingerie section.

Again, she picked out various articles, asking my opinion.

Likewise, at the shoe store.

Our last stop of this trip was for groceries. When I saw the

cosmetics aisle, I asked if we were getting mine there. She said

no, explaining that it would be almost impossible to get the

right shades on the first try. We'd be going to a specialty shop

instead, where I could get a custom match.

"Won't that be expensive?"

"Not as expensive as getting the wrong shades and having to buy

more."

First, we went back to her place, to put the groceries away.

Then, saying that she had some private errands to complete, she

told me to enjoy a nice soak in her tub while she was gone.

"I took a shower this morning," I objected, "I can't smell bad

already."

"You smell just fine ... for a man. However, Tess will need a

different air about her," Kate explained. "Besides, how long has

it been since you've enjoyed a long, leisurely, bubble bath?

Twenty years?"

I shrugged in accession.

"When you're finished, use this bath powder all over your body.

I'll leave out a clean set of underwear for you."

I started the water running and added the bath oil.

On the sink counter, Kate deposited a pastel blue camisole and

panty set, plus another pair of pantyhose.

She was away nearly two hours.

Our last trip of the day was to a little cluster of shops away

from the main part of the city. It was nearly closing time when

we entered the studio.

The lady inside was pleasant and unassuming. Kate explained what

I needed (the works!) and Mara brought out color swatches and

charts. She then steered me over to a mirror ringed by lamps

which could be adjusted to different hues. By the time we were

done, it was getting dark, and my Master Card debt had grown by

eighty dollars.

At first, I wasn't going outside that shop until they let me

clean everything off. However, Kate had prepared for this. She

went out to her car and came back with a cylindrical box and a

bag. The bag contained a bra, a set of pads for it, and a pair

of high heeled sandals in navy. The box contained a wig, longer

than the one I'd worn Friday, and in a lighter shade.

"Good thing I had you wear panty hose, isn't it?" Kate observed.

I was still resistant.

Kate must have been a champion debater in college, every time it

came to something that was important to her, she got her way.

They had me walk around the shop for a few minutes to get used to

the wobbly nature of sandals with high heels. Then Kate and I

were let out of the shop, so Mara could close up.

When we got back to her place, Kate insisted that I take off the

sweatshirt and jeans and wear something more appropriate. She

went to her room and brought out a sleeveless sun shift, which

buttoned up the back. Handing it to me, she turned me toward the

bathroom.

"Hurry up. I'm going to need your help preparing dinner."

It took some doing, removing the wig without mussing it, so I

could get the sweatshirt off. I also had trouble reaching the

buttons at my back to fasten the dress.

After the wig was back in place, I folded up my clothes, and

carried them out with me. Still in the hallway, I called,

"What'll I do with my clothes?"

Kate called back, "I hope you're wearing them."

I reached the kitchen door.

"You told me to put on this dress."

"That's right," she said, as she took the bundle from my hands.

She walked back into her bedroom.

When she returned, she reached behind the pantry door.

"Here's an apron to protect your dress."

I put it on, and began helping her get dinner ready.

"I had no idea, when I accepted the bet," I chuckled, "that I'd

still have to prepare the dinners I'd won."

"You don't have to help, Tess," she said, "if you don't mind

waiting until midnight to eat."

I tried not to show that I'd noticed her switch to the feminine

appellation.

"I'll help, all ready. I haven't eaten since this morning."

"That's how we girls keep our trim figures," she said, as she

gave my waist a quick hug.

The rest of the evening - through the meal, and the cleanup

afterward - she made a running critique of my actions, voice

quality, and vocabulary. It seemed that nearly everything she

said to me involved some variant of, "A woman doesn't ... " or

"This is the way a woman ..."

Once again, I drove home dressed as a woman. Now I had two

feminine outfits that needed to be cleaned and returned - or so I

thought. It would be well into the next day before I would begin

to realize that I was being carefully conditioned to ENJOY

functioning in a feminine mode.

Chapter VII

Sunday morning, I was awakened by a thumping sound. Wrapping a

robe around myself, I trudged my front door and opened it. Kate

said nothing; she just stood there.

It wasn't necessary to ask why she was there, even at such an

early hour; the large case resting at her side told all.

I exhaled in a sigh, breaking the silence, "Come on in."

"Thank you."

Observing that she was fully made up, I asked, "You got up

awfully early, didn't you?"

"I don't mind, if it's for a good reason."

"And you think this is?" I pointed to the case.

"Yes, it is," she affirmed.

She led the way down the hallway and into my bedroom, placing her

case on my bed. Then she began opening my chest of drawers and

placing everything that was inside onto my bed.

Perplexed, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"You won't be needing these for a few days," she said, as she

emptied the last drawer. Then she opened the case and began

transferring items from it to the drawers. When she was done,

she moved my things from the bed into the case.

"You wearing anything under that robe?" she asked.

I was too astonished to reply.

"Go strip and put these on," she ordered, holding out a pale

yellow nylon lingerie set, consisting of panties, brassiere, and

a half slip.

I took them, but just stood there.

"We're not going to make this work," she admonished, "unless you

become Tess, completely, from right now, to whenever this is

over."

My uncertainty must have shown on my face, even though I couldn't

find a tongue to speak with.

She stepped over to me and lightly rested her hand on my arm.

"I think that will be easier if we remove from your life, as much

as is possible, every evidence of `Ted'. If I had a spare

bedroom, I'd even move you into it until this was over, just to

keep you away from all the reminders this house provides."

When I still didn't move, she added, "Everything will be just

fine. Months from now, when you are enjoying the fruits of your

efforts, you'll look back on this week as a great adventure."

She gave me a nudge toward my bathroom, "Move it, girl. You have

a busy day ahead."

When I returned, she handed me one of the pairs of bust pads I'd

accumulated. She waited until they were properly placed, then

sighed.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves," she said. "Back into the

bathroom."

"For what?" I asked.

"You're a modern woman, honey. You can't go around with all that

fur on your legs."

My eyes went wide. "I'm not shaving my legs," I announced.

"No problem," she smiled. "I have an Epilady. They'll stay

smooth longer that way, too. It removes the hair at the root."

"That wasn't the sort of alternative I had in mind."

"Tess, if you want to get through this week successfully, hairy

legs aren't an option at all."

"What's wrong with opaque panty hose, like I wore Friday?"

"It's unusual for a woman to wear them. It will call attention

to you. You want to blend in; that means sheer hosiery and

smooth limbs."

"What will I do until it grows back?"

"You mean Ted? Who's going to notice? Ted wears pants!"

"This week, though," she continued, "Tess needs smooth legs. Is

she going to shave them, or Epilady them?"

When I didn't answer immediately, she added, "If you shave,

you'll probably have to do it again Wednesday. Once with the

Epilady will get you through the whole week."

And several more, she COULD have told me.

Not knowing what I was getting into, it seemed that doing this

just once might be better than having go through it twice. In a

few minutes, I had changed my mind.

Kate warned me that it would sting a little. It didn't. It

stung a lot! She wouldn't let me switch to a razor without

trying something else. She made a dash to her car, and came back

with an overnight case. With a large cotton swab she spread a

lotion on my legs. They felt very strange afterward.

"It is a topical lidocaine solution," she explained.

After it dried, I could hardly feel the hairs being wrenched out.

In twenty minutes, my legs were as bare as a baby's.

Next, she retrieved the bag I'd brought back from the cosmetics

shop, and began guiding me in making up my face.

When she was satisfied with my efforts, Kate handed me a blouse

and skirt, made of a gauzelike material.

While I was putting it on, she gazed at me - as if in deep

thought.

"Let's try the sandals you wore yesterday," she suggested.

Getting them on was a little more trouble than it had been over

stockings. The last item to go on was yesterday's wig. It was

mine for the duration, she told me, as she touched up the

styling. Did I assume too much, when I thought she meant the

duration of the week?

I asked if she wanted breakfast, remarking that I was starved. We

went out to the kitchen, where I began gathering eggs, bacon, and

frozen hashed potatoes.

"Wait a minute," Kate stopped me. "We're not going out to dig

ditches today."

I looked at her in puzzlement.

"You simply must get this fixed in your mind: you are a woman

this week. You will see everything from a feminine viewpoint.

You will act, and react, the way a woman does."

"For starters," she explained, "that means you eat what you need

to, not what you want to - unless what you need at that moment

just happens to also be what you want."

Kate opened the refrigerator and rummaged around a few moments,

then started opening cabinets.

"Don't you have any fruit around here?"

I showed her where the cans were.

"Not as good as fresh," she noted, "but it will have to do."

The whole day went like that - a crash course in womanhood. I'm

amazed that I retained any of it, but I managed to absorb enough

- to get me started.

*--*

We arrived at the office early, among the first people in the

building. I went directly to the dispatch desk, sat down, and

began organizing for the day ahead.

I could hear Elaine getting out of her chair. When I looked up

toward the doorway of her office, I was rewarded with the vision

of a manager who was obviously startled.

Still, her only response was a knowing smile, then she silently

returned to her work.

Jean and Diane walked in from the parking lot together. Judging

by their expressions, the sight of my car in the parking lot had

left them totally unprepared for the shock of seeing me there as

"Tess", particularly appearing the way I did.

I was dressed collar to calf in pink, in a sweater suit which

featured a straight skirt. White hose with pink shoes and

accessories completed the outfit. The bright pink lipstick

provided the focal point for my face, framed by a much fuller and

fairer hairstyle than I had worn before. Kate had arranged the

styling to clearly exposed the white triangles that dangled from

loops screwed to each earlobe. Furthermore, for the first time,

my nails were enameled. Actually, they were artificial nails,

the new "active" length.

Just as significant was what they couldn't see. Kate had spent a

fair amount of money to get me a matching set of lace-trimmed

lingerie in a color called "blush". Even a plain girl - she had

explained - feels pretty when she's dressed in pretty, feminine

things from the skin out.

The air around the dispatch desk filled with compliments and

questions. Was I really going to do this for the whole week? Had

I done all the makeup, hair style, etc., by myself? What had

Elaine said about my appearance?

In a typical fashion, for Mondays, incoming calls for service

were queueing up, leaving me little opportunity to answer.

At the first lull in activity, Elaine came out again.

"You are working the whole week, right, Tess?" she asked.

"Uh, I guess so, ma'am," I replied.

"You GUESS?" she exclaimed.

Alarms went off it my mind. I'd just said the WRONG thing.

"Honey, I'm counting on you. Show the same sort of confidence in

yourself as I have in you."

My face brightened. "Yes! Ma'am."

"What is this `ma'am' stuff, anyway? YOU change clothes and

suddenly I'M a stranger?"

"No, ma'..." I cut myself off in mid-word, and grinned.

"Say `Elaine'," she instructed.

"Elaine," I responded.

"I knew you could," she affirmed. "All right then, `Tess' you

are, for the rest of the week."

She held out her hand, "Welcome to the staff."

About eleven, Kate stopped by to "invite" me out to lunch. My

confidence wasn't really up to it, but Kate had made it a

condition of her assistance.

By eleven-thirty, when Diane relieved me of the telephone

headset, our twosome had grown to five. We drove to a restaurant

that we didn't often use. Mercifully, the time spent in the

restaurant was uneventful, except that we were joined by Cheryl,

who hobbled in on crutches.

"I shouldn't even be out of bed," she explained, "but, I couldn't

pass up this opportunity to meet my temporary replacement.

`Tess' is it?" She put out her hand.

I reached out to take it and nodded.

Giving me a conspiratorial wink - which confirmed that she knew

exactly what was going on - she continued, "Well, I'm pleased to

meet you. I hear that you're doing an excellent job with my

position; I hope they'll still want me back, when I get out of

this," indicating the cast which covered her leg from knee to

toes.

"Uh, no reason for you to worry about that," I replied in the

most feminine voice I could manage. "My position there is

strictly temporary, believe me."

"Well, as good as they say you are, I wouldn't begrudge you your

own spot there, as long as I don't lose my own."

I'm sure my makeup began to show a little extra color, as the

implications of that remark soaked in.

During this exchange, everyone had been shifting over in the

booth to make room for Cheryl. She sat down just in time to

order and eat with the rest of the group.

I returned from lunch to find that the nameplate on the desk had

been replaced by an office standard laminate, engraved with

"Tess" and my last name.

When Diane relieved me for my mid-afternoon break, she reminded

me that tonight was her turn to provide dinner. Then she asked

whether to expect "Tess" or "Ted".

Apparently, Kate hadn't told her that, this week, I wasn't going

ANYWHERE as Ted.

Trying to sound very philosophical, I first asked what time

dinner would be ready. She told me, and I noted that such an

early dinner wouldn't leave a lot of time for me to change.

Adding that it was too much trouble to rush home, I sighed with

resignation and told her that I might as well come over as is,

and help with the preparation.

When I returned home that evening, there was another car in my

driveway, just as I expected. Inside, Kate was curled up in the

recliner, reading a book. Although I hadn't known exactly what

to expect, I was surprised at the extent to which Kate had made

herself at home - robe, slippers, and all.

She lowered her book and grinned, "Hi! Everything OK?"

Everything had been fine, although I had been feeling a little

conspiratorial, evading questions from Diane about how I'd

obtained my outfit; why I'd changed my mind, and my plans for the

next day.

She directed me to sit on the sofa opposite her, and continued to

ply me with questions about my evening since we left work. After

about fifteen minutes, she said, "I want to show you something."

My television is on a cart with casters, so it can be easily

placed anywhere I find convenient.

"Stay right there," she said, as she pushed it over next to the

recliner. While it was warming up, she went to a dimly lit

corner of the room and fiddled with ... oh, mercy! A video

camcorder.

A minute later, I was watching and listening to myself respond to

her. She pointed out both the good and the bad, with respect to

how femininely I behaved.

Then we went through the whole process again.

This time she turned down the brightness so there was only the

audio to critique. Afterward, she reran it normally.

We repeated the process a third time.

This time she was satisfied enough to call it a night and

followed me down the hall. When I reached my bedroom door, she

stopped me from entering.

"Not here. The next one."

She guided me into the spare room across the hall.

It was quite a shock to enter it and find that it looked like

someone actually lived there - someone with very feminine taste.

"I've moved all your things into here for the duration," she

said. "It should help you stay in character."

Too bewildered to speak for a moment, I just looked at her

quizzically.

"I'm staying in Ted's room," she informed me.

My eyes opened as wide as they could get.

"It will save me from chasing back and forth all week."

"This isn't that big of a city, Kate," I suggested. "Folks are

going to gossip, when they find out."

"Gossip about what?" she answered with an amused expression.

"That two women are house-sitting for Ted, while he's away on

vacation?"

That did sound fairly logical.

She followed up, "As long as you stay in character, who's to know

otherwise?"

Chapter IX

Tuesday morning, I awakened in a disoriented state. I still

wasn't used to sleeping in filmy nylon, plus I wasn't in my own

bedroom. It only lasted a moment, then I remembered that this

WAS my bedroom, after all - for the duration of the week.

There was a knock at the door. That brought me fully awake in

alarm, until it sunk in that it had to be Kate. An earlier knock

had been what had awakened me at first.

"Hello," I called out.

"Shake out the cobwebs, sleepyhead," she called back. "Time to

be putting yourself together for the day's work."

Compared to Monday, I arrived at work dressed much less

dramatically. Oh, it began with exquisitely feminine lingerie: a

matching set of bra, panties, and slip, floral on a black

background, trimmed generously with black lace. However, all

that could be seen was a tweed suit, featuring an A-line skirt

that didn't quite reach the top of my knees, and a cropped

jacket. The modified jewel neck of the jacket required no

blouse, sparing me the unwanted warmth of an extra layer. Then

again, it also offered no opportunity to get cooler by removing

it. The black shoes, purse, and accessories served to reinforce

a conservative image, mitigated only by the white pantyhose.

Applying my makeup had been no less painstaking. A low key

makeup is - if anything - more challenging, because it has to fix

the problems, yet appear invisible.

I guess the rest of the office staff were getting used to my

appearance. One of the guys had even remarked, "nice outfit,

Tess," without any evident sarcasm.

What was happening to me? I'd come to work dressed completely as

a woman only three days, and I was THAT easily accepted? It

wasn't as if my masculinity had been questionable before this

started. I'd been a "regular guy" in every way I could think of.

How is it that I could be so easily accepted in a feminine mode?

How well would I be accepted when I returned to being "Ted"?

Diane's voice intruded into my thoughts.

"Tess? ... Tess! The phone!"

I quickly reached for the switch that enabled my headset. It was

one of the technicians, ready to close out a service call.

When lunch time came around, Jean came by and asked me where I

was going for lunch.

I was rather surprised that she hadn't just insisted at the start

that I join her. I told her that I'd planned to eat lunch with

Kate in the break room, even though I knew that Kate would insist

that we eat out - at least there'd be just the two of us.

"Oh, come on, Tess. It's a beautiful day out, and you look too

pretty to be hiding in there. Come along with us - I'll buy."

"That's a dirty trick," I accused, "appealing to my frugal

nature."

"Cheapskate, you mean," she countered.

"Be nice," I told her, emphasizing my words with an exaggerated

pout.

"I AM being nice," Jean insisted, "I'm paying for your lunch."

No one mentioned where we were eating, so I just went along,

without asking. By the time we got to the restaurant, I'd become

so immersed in the conversation that it didn't even register on

my brain that not only did we eat here often, but we'd been here

just last Thursday.

The hostess had to open another section to seat us all in a

single booth. We went through a shuffle to let Anita sit in the

middle with Gregg and myself on either side and then Jean and

Kate at the ends.

"Your waitress will be Anne," we were told.

Shortly, Anne came by for our orders, taking those of the three

to my left before getting to mine.

"And what will You have, Sir?"

I was sure that she had already taken Gregg's order, so I was

surprised that I wasn't next. I looked up at her, only to

discover that she was looking right at me. Time stopped.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, "what will you have?"

I couldn't talk.

Jean giggled.

I glowered at her. I never got to finish my stuttering question,

"How ... ?"

"Oh, it was easy," Anne answered You folks eat here a lot; the

same group was here just last Thursday; you're all sitting around

the table in the same order as last time; and you, dear, are

holding the menu the same way you always do."

How could I be so stupid? Worse, I hadn't even tried to deny the

verity of her guess.

But don't feel bad," she continued. "If I hadn't known all of

you so well, I wouldn't have had a clue." Then she looked

directly at me, "You really do look VERY cute."

I was anxiously searching my peripheral vision to see if anyone

was listening to this exchange.

She saw it, and leaned forward, to talk in a softer voice, "Tell

you what: I'll call you 'Miss' while you're here for lunch, but

you'll know that I really mean 'Sir'. Right?" She finished with

a wink.

I wished I could just die, right there, where I sat. My makeup

couldn't possibly hide the crimson glow in my cheeks.

"Hey!" she added, "that blush makes you even cuter."

I let my head lean forward to rest in my hands, as if to hide

behind them. What could I say?

Kate touched my side with her elbow. "You haven't ordered yet."

"I gotta go," I plead.

"To the ladies room?" she asked.

"Out of here," I explained.

Anne tried to reassure me, "Oh, it all right, dear. Just relax,

and enjoy your lunchtime. There won't be any problem - really."

I didn't respond, which she apparently took to mean I was

staying.

"What will you have?"

Kate put a reassuring hand on my thigh. That steadied me enough

to place my order, after which Kate gave hers. Then Anne left

us.

In a couple of minutes we began to notice that members of the

staff were taking surreptitious glances at us. The busboy went

out of his way to pass near our table, and look - at me. As it

got busier, they had to pay less attention to us and take care of

business, but we could tell they were observing us, and talking

among themselves.

When Anne brought our lunches, she put everyone else's on the

table before mine, then proceeded to serve me with exaggerated

flair.

Gesturing across the part of me she could see, Anne asked, "Do

you have a special name to go along with this ... image?"

"Tess," Jean quickly volunteered for me.

"Well, Tess," Anne stated, "we hope that your food is equal to

this special occasion."

I was a little puzzled over what she meant. I didn't see how this

lunch time - even with the way I looked - constituted a "special

occasion".

However, she left us to take care of other customers, so I didn't

get to ask why she had said that. More bothersome, was the

notion that everyone on the restaurant's staff now knew about me,

as the guy who's dressed up as a woman. All I could do was go

ahead and eat my lunch.

In a little while, Anne stopped at our table again to ask how our

food was. She got the standard responses from everyone except me

- I just nodded. She wouldn't let me get by with that, and made

a special point of asking me how mine was.

In something like a loud whisper, I told her, "Fine - thank you."

She offered, "If you want anything else, just ask," before she

moved on to another table.

The only thing else I wanted was OUT of there, before I was

embarrassed beyond endurance.

"Very good," Diane complimented. "A little more practice on that

voice, and I think we could take you anywhere."

"Oh thanks," I responded sarcastically. "Just what I need is for

you to be parading me all over town."

Anne came by again, just as some of us were finishing, to take

away plates.

"Instead of asking for your dessert order, I have a special treat

coming," she announced.

When she saw some concerned expressions, she added, "on the

house."

A couple of minutes later, she was back, leading a train of staff

members. One was carrying something, and the rest all gathered

behind him as he set it on our table.

It took a moment for recognition to sink in. The cake had the

inscription "Happy Birthday, Tess" in blue frosting over the

white.

Then the staff, began singing the "Happy Birthday" song to me.

Filled with embarrassment, I buried my face in my hands, Then,

wondering who had set this up, I looked up and glanced in turn at

each of my companions.

All I saw was their own bewilderment.

I managed to squeak out a perplexed "Thank you," to the crew,

and, except for Anne, they disbursed back to their duties.

She looked right at me, saying, "Honey, it wasn't any of them;

this is my own doing."

I sighed, then said, "Look, this was very nice, but I'd have much

preferred that you hadn't told all of them about me."

Anne started to say something, then stopped.

"Oh," she started again, "I didn't tell them about THAT. I just

said that your friends had brought you in for a birthday

luncheon." Then she added, "They haven't a clue."

She didn't miss the "why?" in my expression, and answered without

my asking.

"It just happens that I have a very dear friend, who would just

LOVE to be able to do what you are doing today."

Suddenly, the eyes of my understanding had been opened.

Appropriately humbled, I said to her, very softly, "Thank you -

very much."

"Honey, you are so very welcome," Anne responded. "I hope you

have a lovely day."

While we hurried with our dessert, Anne made certain that the

remainder of the cake went into a box, to go with us. While she

was away from the table, I put out a substantial tip for her.

We had to walk briskly to get back to work on time.

During the first lull in phone activity, Elaine approached me.

"I have something for you," she said, as she reached out to hand

it to me.

It was a new employee badge, bearing my last name and "Tess". I

recognized the photo on it as one of those taken at Diane's, last

Friday morning. At first, I looked around the room, to see who

might be watching for my reaction.

"It seemed appropriate, under the circumstances," she said,

answering my unvoiced question. "Besides, that and the nameplate

will make wonderful souvenirs, afterward."

With a rather weak smile, I offered an uncertain, "Thanks."

On one of her visits to pick up paperwork, Jean reminded me that

I was expected for dinner at 6:30.

I asked if I there was anything I could do to help her with the

preparation. It was no problem for me to be there earlier, I

explained. I must have caught her off guard. She didn't answer

immediately. She just looked at me with a contemplative gaze,

then smiled. It was the same sort of expression that I'd seen

yesterday morning on Elaine's countenance - an unvocalized "very

in-ter-es-ting".

*--*

When I got home from dinner at Jean's, Kate was again curled up

on the recliner, reading a book. She gestured to the sofa. I

sat down, taking care to execute the move gracefully. Then we

went through the same procedure as last night - interview and

review. This time it only took one retry to satisfy her.

Kate stood up and escorted me back to my temporary bedroom.

Opening the closet, she removed a garment on a hanger.

"It's the same as in the catalog. Let's see if it's going to fit

right."

Shortly, I was down to my slip. I really didn't need the help,

but was enjoying Kate's fussing with the dress as it slid down

over my head and enveloped me in luxuriant softness. It was

black velvet, and would need the grey blazer, still hanging on

the clothes pole, to keep it from looking too after-five-ish for

office wear. At Kate's urging, I replaced the white stockings

with a pair that were off-black, then slipped on the black, ankle

strapped, high heeled sandals that awaited.

Kate helped me rearrange my wig, after the tousling it received

during the clothes changing. Then she guided me into the hall,

where the full-length mirror would show a complete picture of how

I appeared.

I studied the image, turning this way and that. It fit

perfectly. Kate returned to the room and brought out the grey

blazer. With it on, I repeated my study of the image in the hall

mirror.

"My hips are still too small, the blazer doesn't hang quite

right," I concluded.

Kate reached over and fastened the jacket's button.

"How about now?" she asked.

That made just enough difference.

Kate disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a large

envelope style handbag, handing it to me. "This will add a much

more professional look to that outfit." I fumbled for a way to

carry it.

"It can't be carried like an ordinary purse," she cautioned.

Taking it back, she put the edge of it atop the inside of her

forearm, tucking the corner under her elbow, to demonstrate how

to hold it.

After Kate returned it to me, I walked the length of the hall and

back, practicing my carry. Kate's approving nod told me that I

had it under control. We returned to the room, and Kate again

helped me with getting out of the clothes.

Down to the foundation garments, I accepted a bathrobe from Kate,

then we returned to the living room, where she picked up the

first of a stack of records featuring dance rhythms.

*--*

Wednesday morning, Kate insisted that I ride with her.

Considering the outfit I was wearing, it shouldn't have been too

hard to figure why. I was wearing a cotton top that was nearly

as thin as a T-shirt, and the slim skirt was three inches short

of reaching my knees. It proved to be all but impossible to sit

down without displaying the hem of my slip, or worse. At work,

I could hardly move, without Diane commenting on what, or how

much, I was showing. By the morning break, I was ready to go

home and change, but, of course had no way to do so.

Elaine had noticed, too, and remarked, "If you keep showing off,

some guy's going to think you want his amorous attention."

I blushed at that.

"You don't want that?" she continued, "Then maybe we need to

arrange more time for you to learn ladylike comportment."

I never did figure out if she was kidding or not.

By noon, I had resigned myself to finishing the day dressed as I

was. Unlike the previous days, I asked Diane to take the first

lunch. By the time my turn came, I was tense with apprehension

over the provocative way I was dressed. Nevertheless, I slung my

purse strap over my shoulder and walked outside and down the

block. Kate was supposed to meet me at a sandwich shop we had

picked out during the morning drive to work.

Even though I was getting pretty well accustomed to being out in

public dressed as a woman, I couldn't stop worrying about how

much attention that day's outfit would draw. It must have been

obvious, because, throughout our meal, Kate was clearly working

hard at keeping my mind occupied, with marathon conversation.

As we walked back to the office, Kate pointed out what she saw in

the faces of various passersby, and encouraged me.

"Tess, a lady keeps her gaze forward, looking where she's

going," she directed. "And SMILE - show everyone you're happy to

be who you are."

As we were about to pass a department store, Kate steered me

inside, declaring that we still had nearly 25 minutes. Sensing

that my anxiety was rising again, she explained calmly how no one

had taken offense on the street, so I could relax in here and

enjoy a few minutes of "eyeball shopping". "Besides," she

advised, "You might even find something you want to buy."

She guided me first into the misses' department, where we picked

through a group of dresses that were my size. She even had me

take a couple of them over to the full-length mirror to hold them

in front of me. I thought my heart wouldn't ever beat again,

when one of the clerks asked if she could help us. Mercifully,

Kate dealt with her.

Next she led me into the lingerie department, and directed my

attention to a rack of nightgowns. Sorting through them, she

asked my opinion about several. I fell in love with one, but I

wouldn't admit it to her. Just as another hungry clerk was

homing in on us, I convinced Kate that we were out of time, and

we left.

I returned to the office with a few minutes to spare.

"Is the restroom clear?" I asked Diane.

"I don't know."

I sighed in indecision.

"You could try the men's room," she volunteered.

I stared at her in wide-eyed panic.

"Tess," she said, "don't you think that it's time you got used to

being one-of-the-girls? If you need to use the facilities, go in

and do it. If you will just accept in your own mind that you

belong there, so will everyone else."

My physical needs were rapidly overtaking my will to argue her

logic, so I just took a deep breath and went into the ladies'

room to take care of my business. Fortunately for my peace of

mind, it was empty, and I went directly into one of the stalls.

However, just as I was ready to leave, two women from sales came

in to touch up their appearances. I just could not bear having

them know who was in there with them, so I waited in the stall

until they finished. That put me a couple of minutes late

getting back to work.

Diane got in a dig at me over that.

"My, we are acting more like a woman now, aren't we. Even taking

longer in the ladies' room to do our business - right?"

"Okay, okay," I told her as I made an imaginary mark in the air,

"Another point for the home team."

The balance of the day was fairly routine, and I began to forget

how I was dressed, other than being careful with the hem of my

skirt. Just at quitting time, Kate called from a customer's

site, saying that she would be late, while she completed a

repair. I reminded that I didn't have my car. She told me to

wait in the parking lot and she'd pick me up in about half an

hour.

I wasn't really thinking when I left the building - until the

door locked behind me. There I was, in a thin, clinging top,

short skirt, and high heels, standing around with nothing to do.

My predicament was brought home powerfully when I heard a whistle

from a passing car. That was when I got the wild idea to return

to the department store. At least that would keep me occupied

until Kate arrived, I reasoned.

It was as if I were being magically drawn back to the nightgown

rack. I found a gown like the one Kate had shown me, which I'd

liked so well. It was the wrong size. Eventually, I picked out

two, one for myself in a mint color, and another in peach, which

I thought that Kate had liked.

On my way to the service island, I realized that I still had my

very masculine wallet in my purse. I stopped and carefully

fished out enough money to cover my purchase, then stepped up to

the counter with cash and merchandise in hand.

Even so, the youthful clerk asked whether the purchase would be

cash or charge. I had to pause overly long to adjust my throat

muscles, then in a soft voice I spoke just two words, "Cash,

please." I hoped that the anyone listening would perceive the

pause as being due to astonishment over the clerk not seeing the

currency, which was in plain view.

The transaction seemed to be taking forever. Didn't this clerk

know how to process a cash transaction? Looking at my watch

again, I was amazed to discover that I still had seven minutes.

Finally, she handed me my change and the bag containing my

purchase.

As I walked away, my tenseness from dealing with the clerk began

to be displaced by elation over having been accepted, apparently,

as the woman I appeared to be. That process was momentarily

reversed when, to my shock, I heard Diane's voice, just as I was

about to leave the building.

"Wow! You're really getting into this, aren't you?"

With dread, I turned toward the sound to discover, to my relief,

that she was alone. Rather than reply, I just shrugged.

"What did you get?" she asked, as she stepped up to me.

Quietly, I said, "nothing much."

She looked at me thoughtfully, but didn't saying anything else.

We took leave of each other, and I went outside. I had to wait

another ten minutes in the office parking lot before Kate

arrived. It felt like hours.

Kate, too, asked what I'd bought, but didn't press when I was

evasive about it.

When we got back to my place, instead of starting dinner, she

helped me redo my makeup.

"Just for a dinner at my own home?" I complained.

"No," she told me, "we're going out."

"We're WHAT?"

"Don't panic. We're just going to a little place where I know

you won't be bothered."

I was puzzled, but she wouldn't explain any further.

"At least let me change to a longer skirt," I demanded.

"No. You look fine just the way you are." Insisting that it

was an important part of my education, she pushed me along.

When we drove into the parking lot of our destination, the name

of the place sparked an uncertain recognition. After we had

taken a table, and I'd had a chance to look around a little, I

realized why. There weren't any men in the place.

Trying to be discrete, I whispered, "Isn't this a lesbian bar?"

"Tess," she began, "a women's club is a place for any woman who

wants to socialize in a safe environment. It has nothing to do

with her sexual preference."

Her explanation made me feel even more like an invader.

"What if they ...?"

"Anyone who looked at you closely already knows," she answered

before I could finish.

A look around the room brought confirmed that I was conspicuous,

in a way I wouldn't have imagined - for a gathering of women. Of

the twenty or so souls there, less than a handful were wearing

any kind of skirt.

"If you behave yourself," she continued, "everyone will treat you

pretty much like any other woman."

`Pretty much' left quite a bit of latitude, as it turned out.

At least I had the presence of mind to realize that "behaving

myself" included keeping my eyes off the other patrons. Not that

it took much cogitation to realize that the only thing less

welcome in a lesbian environment than being `checked out' by a

guy, was if the guy was also pretending to be a woman.

The menu barely had enough on it to qualify the place as more

than just a bar. When the server came to take our orders, Kate

insisted I order for myself. I was tired and had trouble staying

perfectly in character, so the server knew I wasn't a "regular"

woman. Nevertheless, she graciously gave me no reason to feel

that I was unwelcome.

While we were there, several women came by the table to greet

Kate. She introduced me to each as "Tess, a friend from work."

Other than receiving a thorough scan, I was treated politely. One

friend, introduced as Janet, went a little farther. She took

another chair and sat with us, conversing mainly with Kate.

Suddenly, she turned to me, saying, "You know, you really have a

lot of nerve, coming in here dressed like that."

What could I say? I wanted to tell her that it hadn't been my

choice, but even the thought sounded so lame, that I didn't speak

at all. I looked to Kate for help, but her flat expression told

me none was forthcoming. At that moment, I felt so incredibly

betrayed. I'd been set up, dragged into a hostile environment -

a wolf in sheep's clothing, after the sheep had been equipped

with claws and fangs. What had happened? I'd thought Kate was

my friend. Why had she put me in a situation to be held up to

ridicule? Strangely, my immediate reaction wasn't an angry

retort, but rather, a welling up of tears. I fell back to a

defense I'd perfected as a child: play ignorant. Directing a

puzzled expression at Janet, I asked, "How so?"

After a sigh of disgust, she elaborated, "Why is it you

transvestites are impelled to come into womanspace trying to look

like some guy's wet dream? Who, in a place like this, do you

think is going to appreciate the image you're projecting?"

Aghast as I was at having been accused of being a transvestite,

my anger was overridden by the sensation of impending overflow of

the water in my eyes. I wanted out of there. Without any

thought for how far I was from home or how inappropriately I was

dressed for a long hike, I pushed my chair back to get up and

leave, saying "You're right, of course. I'm really sorry to have

intruded." At that moment, Kate finally deigned to speak.

"Wait!" she commanded, giving me only momentary pause. No, I was

definitely leaving - now. Her voice softened, "Please! Don't

leave."

I stopped, standing there with my hand on my purse strap.

With her eyes still on me, she said, "Janet, don't blame her.

It's my fault she looks like that. And she had no idea where we

were going."

"Her? She?" Janet responded, incredulously.

"OK, it's an honorary designation," Kate responded, as she turned

her attention to Janet. "And Ted isn't a TV, he's just a kind

and gentle person, who happens to be too easily persuaded to get

involved in unusual goings-on."

Janet sneered, "That sounds like an euphemism for a little boy

who's thoroughly `whipped' - by every female he knows."

I lifted the purse strap from the chair, but before I could say

anything, Kate snapped back, "That was uncalled for, Janet. He's

not being led around by the little head."

Janet raised an eyebrow.

Kate giggled, "Actually the truth is probably is distant cousin.

Ted originally got into this situation partly because of an

overactive masculine ego."

Janet's expression demanded amplification, so Kate said, "sit

down, Tess. It'll be all right, now." Then she began to relate

how I'd been challenged by Jean, and convoluted path by which

that had led me to have to work an extra week en-femme.

I was still standing, torn between wanting to bail out, and

wanting to hear how this conversation came out. Kate paused, and

lifted a hand toward mine, "It's all right now," she reassured

me, "please ... sit down with us."

I may not have been thinking with my little head right then, but

I wasn't at all certain that I was thinking with my right head

either. I let the purse strap slip back onto the back of the

chair and lowered myself back onto the seat, and listened to Kate

as she finished relating my story.

I'll have to give Janet credit. As Kate progressed through her

explanation, Janet's sneer metamorphosed into an expression of

respect, if begrudgingly so.

"You've actually been working as a woman for five full days?" she

queried of me.

"No," I corrected her, "Only four days as a woman, the first day

was as Ted, wearing a skirt and heels. And it's not like all the

regular staff don't know who I really am."

"Well, I have to say, then, that you certainly have a set of

brass tubes - of one kind or another."

I wasn't sure at the time, but it sounded as though it might have

been a compliment, of some sort. So I said, "Thanks ... I

think?"

Kate uttered a gentle laugh, "That's a woman's equivalent of

having `balls', Tess. It's good."

"Tubes?" I echoed, "Oh, yeah." The light finally went on inside

my head. "Uh, why not ovaries? Wouldn't that be a more accurate

analogue?"

"Too many syllables," Janet responded. "And the Fallopian tube

is as uniquely female as the ovary itself. "

"Look," she continued, "I guess I owe you an apology. You

weren't responsible for your circumstances tonight, so you didn't

deserve the insults. I'm sorry." She extended her hand to me.

Talk about mixed feelings. I was angry and hurt over her earlier

words, but I'm not much inclined to make unnecessary enemies. So

I extended my own to meet hers. She held mine in a firm grip,

while she said, with a very serious face, "But you'll have no

excuse the next time you come in, if you're dressed

inappropriately. Got it?"

I don't know where she got the idea that I'd ever want to come

back. So far, whatever few good memories I might have had from

this visit were still thoroughly overshadowed by bad ones. My

thoughts must have been a neon sign on my face.

Before she released my hand, her expression changed to a very

warm smile, and she said, "You ARE welcome here - you've been

every bit a gentle woman, even in the face of my unkindness. I

hope you'll come again, so that I can make it up to you." Then

she got up and walked away, disappearing into some other part of

the building.

After that, Kate spent half an hour or so at damage control,

trying to explain that she hadn't exactly foreseen things

developing the way they did. She also told me that Janet was one

of the club's owners, and, yes, she did have a reputation for

being rather direct.

Rather direct! Was that ever an understatement, I thought.

Before we finally got out of there, a few more of her friends had

drifted over to the table for a few moments of conversation.

Those visits were pretty much like those before Janet, so I began

to mellow out a little. Nevertheless, I was still a little

sullen when we got into the car. Kate was quiet until we'd

driven several blocks, then she spoke tentatively, "Ted, have I

blown our friendship?"

I was silent for a minute or so, then answered, "I'll be OK."

"I figured that," she said, more directly. "That doesn't answer

my question."

Several seconds of silence followed, then I added, with very

little energy, "We're still friends."

She reached over and put her right hand on my left. "Still GOOD

friends?" she pressed. She wrapped her finger tips under my

hand, exerting a slight lifting pressure. I turned my wrist to

let her get a full grip. She squeezed my hand gently.

I gave her hand a return squeeze, and said, "Still GOOD friends,"

albeit not without some misgivings that I was being *way* too

easy.

She must have sensed my reservations, and she asked, as we

approached my driveway, "Would you prefer that I stayed at my own

place tonight?"

I honestly didn't care, I was still numb from Janet's verbal

pummeling - her apologies notwithstanding. I told her she was

welcome to stay wherever she wanted to stay.

Kate stopped the car and, rather than release her grip on my

hand, reached across the steering wheel to put the transmission

in `park'. "One last thing," she said, then after a pregnant

pause, followed with, "What did you learn from tonight's

excursion?"

A miniature gasp escaped my nose, then I countered, "Are you sure

you want me to tell you?"

"You did say that we're still friends," she responded, "Good

friends, even." She continued, "Seriously, there were at least

two important lessons about how women act, versus the way men do,

that could have been learned tonight." She gave my hand a gentle

squeeze of encouragement. "Tell me one of them."

I was tired - too tired to concentrate, really. I grabbed at an

easy one. "Well, I didn't get beaten up and thrown out into the

alley tonight."

She let out a half-chuckle, "That wasn't one of the ones I was

thinking of, but it's a good one too. And there were a couple of

sisters there who could have managed it, too."

"I saw," I acknowledged.

"Got another?" she asked, with another squeeze.

I just shrugged my shoulders.

"One has to do with the way women perceive one another," she

hinted, as she brought her other hand over to sandwich mine

between hers.

"Can't we do this inside?" I protested.

Her grip tightened slightly, carrying with it a definite sense of

restrained power. Kate wasn't particularly large, but I always

did think of her as being a little stronger than most women I

knew. Right now, her strength reminded me of a guy I knew in

college. He was only 5'6" & 130 lbs., with nothing spectacular

about his muscular development, but he could jump head and

shoulders above a regulation volleyball net, from a static

position. We used to joke that his muscles were made of piano

wire.

"Nope. Once we go inside, you'll want to get ready for bed. It

has to be here. It'll only take a minute or so."

If Kate didn't want me to go, I knew I wasn't going inside

without one heck of a struggle. When I didn't try, her grip

relaxed slightly, and I noticed another sensation. It was as if

there were some kind of circuit completed through our hands, and

an inner warmth was being transmitted up my arm. With a sigh of

resignation, I slumped back in the seat.

"What did you notice about the way that women see each other,

that you hadn't before?" she prompted.

I was too tired. I started to shake my head, but then caught at a

thought, "The way Janet regarded how I was dressed," I offered.

"And ..."

"I ... I don't know. I mean, she seemed to have been offended by

it. She *was*. But then, again, it is a awfully provocative way

to dress."

Kate offered another hint, "So, do you dress differently if you

want to impress a woman than if you want to impress a man?"

"Yeah, I guess SO," I agreed. "I wouldn't have dressed like

this, if I'd been left a choice."

"Oh, now," Kate pressed, "didn't you find it at least a little

bit fun, at least some of the time? You didn't enjoy the

swiveling heads, the envious glances?"

"I don't think so," I started to answer. A change in her grip on

my hand bespoke a silent, "tell me the truth."

"Really! Well ... maybe if I hadn't been so worried about being

found out, it might have been a little fun."

"Now were getting somewhere," Kate announced. The pressure

between her hands relaxed to barely touching. I could have

easily slid mine out from between them, if I had wanted to.

"Ready to go in? Or do you want to sit and talk a while?"

We got inside far later than I would have chosen for a workday

eve, and I still had my feminine routine to deal with before I

could go to sleep. When I finally did get to bed, I didn't move

again until Kate awakened me.

*--*

I walked from my car to the office, Thursday morning, wondering

if my lingerie showed through my white satin charmeuse blouse.

Everything underneath was pastel floral. Moreover, the short

pleated skirt, in a glen plaid, fluttered not only from the light

breeze, but from the sway imparted by trying to walk in pumps

that had three and a half inch heels.

That day differed from the others only in the details. At day's

end, I was tired, and ached from the hips down, no doubt from

being on such tall heels all day. I would have gladly passed up

on eating, altogether - let alone away from home - in favor of a

relaxing soak in the tub and an early bedtime. No such luck.

I arrived at Diane's at 6:30 to be greeted with a warm hug.

Dinner was still in the preparation stage, and it progressed

slowly, while she tried to pump me for details of my

transformation. She was full of questions about where my clothes

had come from, how I'd managed to look so authentic each morning,

and what I'd been doing in the evenings.

Not quite sure how much Kate wanted known, I was mostly evasive.

I plead ignorance, telling her that Kate had arranged most of it,

which she already knew anyway.

Kate was waiting for me when I got home. She smiled

mischievously, as I recounted the way I'd sidestepped Diane's

questions. "You didn't have to be so mysterious," she told me,

when I'd finished, "I'm not trying to keep this any big secret."

Shortly before bedtime, I found an opportunity to present Kate

with the nightgown I'd bought for her. I'd already gotten over

my feelings from the night before. The kiss she gave me was

hardly in character for a "sisterly" relationship.

Friday, I went to the office in the outfit I'd tried on Tuesday

evening. I was greeted with quiet stares. Kate had done a

fantastic job on me that morning. I doubt that I could have

hoped for better from a Hollywood professional. My low-key

makeup and minimal jewelry combined with the dress/blazer duo to

produce a feminine, yet businesslike appearance.

As had been anticipated by Kate, Jean wanted to go out to a fancy

restaurant for dinner, just like last Friday. Thus, after work,

I found myself once again redoing my makeup to an evening style.

Again, she chose a restaurant which offered dancing. We hadn't

even finished eating when the band started, and before our

dessert order could be taken, we were approached with offers to

dance. To my shock, "Tess" was the first asked. To the surprise

of everyone except Kate, "she" accepted.

Jean was open-mouthed. Even after she was invited onto the

floor, she kept looking to see where I was, seemingly astonished

at how well I was doing.

I will never forget the expressions on her face that evening.

They were so precious that all the hassles I'd put up with - even

the ungentlemanly attention I got from some of the guys I ended

up dancing with - seemed, afterward, a small price to pay.

It was nearly midnight when our group finally left the

restaurant. During the drive home, Jean was effusive in her

comments about my activities of that afternoon and evening.

I was getting a warm feeling inside, partly from all the

attention, but mainly because I felt accepted as an intimate

friend. I had never been party to such discussions with females

- as "Ted" - the way I had been involved in them the past few

days, as "Tess". The feeling lasted all the way through the

change of cars at Jean's, the ride home in Kate's car, and into

bed.

Chapter X

Saturday morning, I awakened late. I wrapped myself with the

only robe available in this room, a negligee left over from a

previous night's gown. Out in the hall, I discovered that the

door to my bedroom - or rather, of late, Kate's - was ajar. I

knocked; she wasn't here. Neither was her car in the driveway. A

quick survey of the bedroom confirmed that she'd moved out. Ted's

belongings were back in place.

I caught my breath at that thought. I had actually thought of my

male self in the third person, as though he were someone else.

I called Kate, but only got her answering machine. I almost hung

up immediately, but was stopped by the message. "... If it's Ted

calling, don't worry about the stuff in the other room, we'll

take care of it next week. If it's Tess, I'll call you tomorrow.

Anyone else ..."

I couldn't think of what to say, so I hung up anyway.

Jean called early in the afternoon to tell me that she was taking

Kate's turn tonight, in return for her help last Saturday.

We had an early dinner. Over the meal, she brought the

conversation around to my role as "Tess", asking if that really

was the end of it. She had no way of knowing that under my

clothing were a most feminine set of underthings. What may have

appeared to be the outline of an undershirt was actually a

lace-edged camisole with wide shoulder straps.

I neither confirmed nor denied her speculations. I wanted to

discourage her from pushing me toward working as "Tess" again,

but I couldn't make myself lie and say that "she" was gone

forever. Especially, I didn't want to admit - to Jean, anyway -

how much I had ended up enjoying my feminine role. I settled for

leaving her with the impression that my part in our arrangement

was concluded.

*--*

I wasn't especially surprised Monday morning, when I was told

that Cheryl wasn't coming in this week, either. Still, I didn't

volunteer to take over the board again; I waited until Elaine

asked. The day went smoothly enough, calls were especially light

for a Monday, but something didn't feel quite right.

As lunch approached, Diane asked if I preferred to take my lunch

first. I deferred to her. When my own turn came, I ate alone.

I didn't know what to make of my feelings. The main sensation

was a profound sadness - the reason for which, I couldn't

identify. I had a fleeting recollection of the warm glow I'd

felt when functioning as "Tess". Yet, I couldn't relate my

current feelings to that experience, just yet.

It wasn't until the subject of dinner was brought up, that I

began to recognize the reason for my unease. I received some

confirmation of this when I ate at Jean's place that evening. As

"Ted", I was no longer the intimate friend. It was fully

confirmed at Kate's, the next evening.

Kate had invited Diane and Jean to make a foursome for dinner.

Conversation was subdued - to say the least - and Jean left

early.

I still hadn't done anything about the clothes in the spare

bedroom. When it seemed appropriate, I mentioned it. Kate

passed it off, saying that she'd been very busy.

"Besides," she observed, "a lot of those things are yours."

Seeing my puzzled expression, she continued, "You paid for them,

that certainly makes them yours."

"What about all the clothes that were borrowed?" I asked.

"Maybe we can sort all that out this weekend," she replied.

Then, Diane asked a question that made all the difference in my

life. Would "Tess" ever again appear?

I had reservations about the matter, which I expressed by saying

that I really didn't have any reason to become "Tess" again.

Diane could think of one, "How about to come over and share a

meal? Tomorrow night is the last dinner you've earned. While I

do enjoy having you as a friend, I'd go to more trouble to make

the meal special, if 'Tess' were coming."

Thus it was, that I spent three hours, Wednesday evening,

becoming Tess again, entirely on my own. Dinner conversation

gravitated to my impressions of the past two weeks.

The doorbell rang.

"That's probably dessert," Diane said, as she got up.

"Surprise!" Kate exclaimed as she entered. She laid out the

shortcake and semi-frozen strawberry yogurt she'd brought.

"Something light, so as not to spoil your figure," she explained

as she gave my tush a friendly slap.

*--*

Saturday morning was spent in returning those items that had been

borrowed. The rest of the day was spent by the three of us going

shopping. When they finally brought me home, well after dark, we

all went inside to put away my portion of the purchases.

Surveying my growing feminine wardrobe, I was struck by a

thought, which I expressed vocally, "Where am I going to wear all

this stuff? I won't be needing it at work any more."

Diane was quick. "You never know," she replied, "Cheryl might

need a substitute again. Or, you could cover for me when I take

vacation," she concluded with a grin.

She was followed by Kate, "Besides, Tess, you might be amazed at

the places we'd want to take our new friend."

And Tess WAS.

{.NOT. THE END}

copyright 1995, 1996, 2000 by Denise Em

comments are welcome at: em_de (at) hotmail (dot) com