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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Subject: New TG: The New Secretary   by Amy Brett  (02/11)
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Hi.

  This nifty submission is not included yet, but it will be in next
one during the upcoming weekend. This story is a refelction of the
current jobmarket and conclusions which may occur under strange and
rare situations. So folks be happy if you had a job.

  As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

2___The_New_Secretary_______________________________________by_Amy_Brett_



I looked around for a comb or a brush but there wasn't one in the room.  I
tried instead to finger comb it into place with minimal positive effect.
Mostly it was standing on end.

I finally gave and opened the door.

Mrs.  Conklin looked up with a friendly, welcoming look.  Mike, no I was
going to have to remember "she" was Michelle, looked at me with the most
seductive look I've ever seen.

"I hope you don't mind too much, Andy.  We looked at your things," Mrs.
Conklin said.  "I suppose you know that, with the exception of the skirt and
blouse, this is all garbage."

Defensive, I responded too quickly.  I wasn't excited about standing there
in a pair of panties that I was only partially successful at covering with
my cross hands.

"I couldn't afford better or I would have gotten something better."

"It looks more like you snatched the first thing you found off the rack or
counter and ran out of the store," Michelle said with another grin.

"There's nothing wrong with the things," Mrs.  Conklin continued.  "They're
just wrong for you."

"Besides, you didn't have any panties and you can't feel like a woman
without them," Michelle added.

"Okay.  Now put on your bra," Mrs.  Conklin said and I tried.  Michelle
showed me how to fasten the back fastener in front of my stomach, turn it
around right, and then put my arms in the straps.  It was a lot easier that
way.  When it was in place Mrs.  Conklin carefully placed a heavy plastic
bag in each cup.

"My mother, bless her soul, had breast cancer," she explained.  "She used to
say that if she was going to use 'falsies', that's what she called the
breast forms, then she was going to enjoy it and got a bunch of different
sizes."

I looked at the way they moved in the bra cups and chuckled with Michelle
when she bounced them on her palms.

"As a sort of general rule," Mrs.  Conklin said, "it's better for you guys
to play down a little.  No see-through blouses or really short skirts or
spike heels.  And I probably would have advocated a little smaller breast
size for you.  But since you already had the C-cup bra, I thought we might
as well fill it out.  Maybe it's right for you."

"Put on your pantyhose," Michelle said.  I sat down and did as I was told.
We decided we'd have to replace them when she noticed the hole I'd put in
them.

Paul came out of another room I thought must be Mrs.  Conklin's bedroom, all
pink, spiky haired, and wearing a pair of blue panties.  He looked every bit
as nervous as I'd been when I came out of the bathroom.

"Michelle, why don't you go into my room and help ...  ah, let's see.  Amy.
Does that sound okay to you, honey?" Amy?  My new name?  Interesting.  I
nodded and smiled.

"Okay.  Take Amy into the bedroom and help with the rest.  Okay?" Michelle
smiled at me as I got up.

When I followed her into the bedroom, I felt the pantyhose on my legs for
the first time.  Now that I'd shaved my legs, they felt great.  They seemed
to move and almost caress my sensitized skin as I walked.  It was a funny,
enjoyable feeling.

"Now watch what I do," Michelle said as she got out a fingernail file and
tiny scissors.  "Because I'm not going to do everything." It wasn't going to
be the last time she said that or that I'd have to do it myself in the
future.

She carefully trimmed the corners of a nail that I'd let get too long, but
left the longest center part.  She used a funny shaped stick and pushed at
the cuticle and then filed the tip.  Then she turned me loose on the rest
and sat back with her elbows on the bed and watched while I continued the
process with the other fingers.

I couldn't help notice the way her breasts moved under the blouse or the way
her skirt pulled up onto her thighs.  It surprised me how comfortable she
looked as a woman.

"You must have made a decision right away after we all talked Monday," I
noted.

"I came home with Margaret Monday night and she showed me the things I'm
showing you," she said.

"You look great!  I really thought you were a woman when I saw you at the
bar," I told her honestly.  She smiled all over.

"The first couple of days are really scary.  Everything's so new.  But you
get the hang of it pretty fast."

"And you started work Wednesday?"

"That was the hardest and scariest of all.  Walking into the building and
past some of my friends up front.  Talking to Margaret was easy, of course,
and I pretty well knew that I had the job before I went in.

"Sitting down with the other people in your old department and getting
grilled about myself was tough.  But pretty soon, I got involved in the job
and it pretty much took my mind off myself a little."

"I'll bet there's a lot to remember," I said.

"Funny little things.  And maybe big things like the first time I used the
women's room," she blushed.  "You don't realize how you've been conditioned
all your life to stay out of the ladies' until you're standing there with
your hand on the door.  And things like making sure to watch your skirt and
sitting up right.  All those things."

I was finished with the clipping and filing.  She sat up and got a bottle of
clear fingernail polish and opened it.

"This is base coat," she explained.  "It seals up all the ridges and makes
them smoother."

She painted the thumbnail and one other before handing the applicator to me.
It was harder to do than it looked but I got the hang of it as I went on.
She took care of the bottle while I tried to get it to dry without touching
anything.  It dried quickly and she opened a bottle of pink fingernail
polish and did my thumb again before handing me the applicator.  This was
harder because you didn't want to leave part of the nail showing but you
couldn't get it on your finger either.

"When you're done, start over with the first one and put on another coat." I
did it finally, getting better at it as I went.  She provided another bottle
that said "seal" on it as she took the polish and put it away.

We talked more about work, getting into a batch of the stuff I knew from
doing the job for as long as I had.  And she explained how Margaret had
taken her shopping Tuesday and helped her get several mix and match outfits
without spending very much money.  Of course, that had been scary for her
too.  She kidded me because, she said, that was the plan for Paul and I
Saturday so we'd see exactly what it felt like.

Finally, I was done and they had dried to a high gloss sheen as good as most
cars' paint jobs.

"Okay now.  This is the really hard part and there's not enough to it for
you to practice right now.  Watch carefully and tomorrow you can do it
yourself."

First she used the fingernail scissors and carefully trimmed my eyebrows,
cutting the lower part and the outsides very short so what you could see of
them was slightly lifted at the outside ends and much narrower.

She took the same eyebrow pencil I'd used with such disastrous results and
applied just a little in an arch which lifted at the edges.  I looked from
inches away at what she'd done and thought I could copy it.

The mascara, she said, was the hardest for her but with short outward
strokes, she colored my eyelashes perfectly to just a minimum.  It brought
out my eyes without looking at all fake.

The lipstick she chose from Margaret's table was almost a perfect match for
the pink on my fingernails.  She carefully traced the upper edges of the top
lip and the lower of the bottom lip and had me purse them as my mother had.
There didn't even seem to be more than a touch of the color where my lips
met.

"You're lucky.  Your beard is so light, you shouldn't have to wear any
makeup base.  But if you ever do, make sure it's just a little lighter than
your normal skin color and only use it where you absolutely have to and
powder it afterward."

She looked at me critically for a minute.

"I don't think you're going to want to use any eye shadow at all.
Particularly in the daytime.  But if you do at night, I'd use blue to bring
out your eyes.  They're so pretty."

She smiled at her work so far and turned to a closet.

"I hate to say it, but I'm glad Margaret's mom had breast cancer.  She has
all sorts of neat things because of it." In the closet, she reached up to a
shelf and brought down a box.  "Oh, neat!"

I could see why she said it when she held up a mop of blond hair that
extended from her hand to her elbow as she used the other hand to fluff it
out and untangle it.

"Brush your hair flat and to the side so you don't look like a scarecrow
after you take this off," she said, bringing it to me and watching as I did
as I was told.  Then she settled it on my head like a cap and pulled down at
the sides.  Before she'd gotten it on, I saw that the underside of it looked
like a net cap almost like a swimming cap for a woman but without the ear
flaps.

She pulled and tugged at the cap over most of my hair before opening another
drawer and finding some bobby pins.  She put two in the front straight back
and almost into my scalp, then two at the back just below my crown from the
outsides in.  It felt secure but strange.

She took the brush away from me and lightly did the sides and back over my
shoulders before making light little strokes that moved pieces of hair onto
my forehead.

"Wow!  You're going to like this!" she said and I started to look in the
mirror.  "No, wait!  Get your skirt and blouse on first and then you can
look at the whole thing."

She was grinning with excitement as I stepped into the skirt and started
buttoning the blouse.

"That's hard, isn't it?" she said.  "The buttons are all backwards.  I
wonder why they did that?" It was hard but I soon had it done.

"Tuck it in a little and I'll show you a trick," she said and moved to the
hem of my skirt as I tucked it in.  "This is easier and better, too." She
jerked on the tail of the blouse all around, pulling it down tight, before
letting go of the skirt and smoothing it down.

"I'll find you a belt while you put these on," she said and handed me a pair
of white high heels a lot like the grey ones she was wearing.  They were
simple and had only two inch heels or so but I was sure I'd fall on my face
trying to walk in them.  As I stood up, she put a six inch wide white belt
around my waist and cinched up three different little buckles at least two
holes tighter than I thought would probably be comfortable.

"You're going to LOVE this!" she blubbered as she took my hand and led me
into the dark bathroom off the bedroom.  She led me to the middle of the
dark room and left me standing there, trying to decide if I was going to
fall over from the strange forward tilt of my ankles.

"Ready?" she asked and I said yes.  She flicked on the brilliant bathroom
light and I looked into the eyes of a stranger.  I had to refocus my eyes to
see that it wasn't someone else in the bathroom.  I moved and the stranger
moved as well.

There was a girl in the mirror in front of me.  I resisted looking over my
shoulder to see if she was really there.  Black skirt, white blouse, long
shapely legs to white pumps.  Tits.  Yeah.  Considerable tits that lifted
the blouse flatteringly.  Slim waist held by the white belt.

I looked up again.  Pretty blue eyes that seemed to hold you to them.
Moderate pink lips that pointed out the pink fingertips that were slowly
exploring the face.  Beautifully long blond hair in a slight disarray.
Loose and easy and almost falling to those full breasts, splitting over each
shoulder.

I smiled and she smiled back engagingly.  Her eyes sparkled and smiled back.

She walked behind me, looking over my shoulder, and put her arms around me.

"You're gorgeous.  Will you still be my friend?" I laughed.

"You're kidding!"

"Huh uh.  If I was a guy, I'd give anything to get you into bed." I looked
into her eyes reflected in the mirror.

"You know.  In the bar.  I thought that you were one of the prettiest women
I've ever seen," I said.  I grinned.  "But you're right.  If I was a guy,
I'd fuck the blond in a heartbeat."

We laughed together.
5. Chapter


Margaret's eyes twinkled when she looked at me walking into the living room.
The girl sitting between us, turned her head when she saw Margaret's look
past her and I got another start.

"Paula was just saying that she bet you'd be really pretty.  She was
certainly right."

"Paula?" I said, grinning.

"You're wow!" she said in an almost disembodied masculine voice that didn't
seem possible from her delicate red lips.  The red highlights were plain in
the auburn haired girl's short hair.  Her green eyes, huge in her pale face,
enlarged with surprise as she looked at me.

"You think it's okay?"

"Oh, Amy!  It's it's impossible!"

She stood up and walked confidently around the chair she'd been sitting in.
She was wearing dark brown women's pants, short heeled beige sandals that
red toenails peeked out of, a red and yellow silk shirt that stood out
moderately at the chest with the collar turned up, and large red and yellow
flower earrings.  A matching red and yellow series of stone flowers set in
gold settings marched around her neck over the shirt.

The auburn hair, short but full and curly, had to be her own.  Three large,
bright colored dinner rings sparkled from her fingers as her hands came up
as if reaching for my chest.

"Spectacular!" she said with a large smile as I saw she was inspecting my
tits.  I blushed.

"P-Paula," I stumbled over her new name.  "You look wonderful."

"Yeah.  I saw in the mirror.  This is going to work.  But I don't look
anything like you.  I mean, I look like a girl.  I know that.  But nobody's
going to get a hard-on when I walk in the room." Her eyes looked lustful as
she looked me up and down from this close perspective.

There's only so much praise a girl can handle and maintain any modesty.  I
looked past her to Margaret who was still sitting on the couch with the huge
smile.

"So girls.  What do you think?  Is it possible?"

"I'm still really scared," I said and Paula nodded.

"Me, too.  But you look so great "

"So do you!  You look like the girl next door.  Definitely a girl.  But
easy.  Easygoing.  You know?"

"Yeah.  That's what I wanted exactly." She smiled cutely.  "At least I'm not
going to have to worry all day about getting felt up."

"Come and sit down," Margaret said and we all chose seats, carefully sitting
down.  At least I did because of the skirt pulled above my knees.  Paula sat
down easily and I envied her pants.  Michelle stopped and asked if we wanted
drinks.  I practically begged for a beer and Paula seconded it with a
chuckle.

She brought us beers and glasses that Margaret told us to use in a few
seconds.  She returned to make hers and Margaret's.  We just made small talk
about fingernail color and my wig and her jewelry until Michelle got back
and sat down.

"Okay, ladies.  We've got some work to do," Margaret said.  She was
certainly right.

For the next three hours, she drilled Paula and I particularly on walking
(there's a right way and a wrong way for a woman), talking (slightly higher
pitch and softer), sitting in a dozen ways and situations, gestures, and the
fine points of makeup and hair that we'd now had a successful experience
with.

We discussed the options for each of us concerning all of these things and
even discussed what we'd do on Monday to try for jobs.

It amazed me that we were all chattering like crazy, sharing fears and hopes
for our new situations, and speculating on everything.  Suddenly, unlike a
few hours before in the bar, we had a future and we were looking forward to
it.

Finally, we were winding down and I could see quite a bit of work to get
ready to go home.  At least I had to change clothes and wash my face.  I
said so and both Margaret and Michelle smiled and shook their heads.

"We have plans for tomorrow, Amy," Margaret said.  "It'll be much easier if
you just stay here for the night."

Not waiting for any kind of agreement from Paula and I, who were still
sitting with our mouths open, trying to decide if this was a good idea, she
got up and went to her bedroom.  A minute later, she came back with a piece
of white fluff in one hand and a black one in the other.  Momentarily
hesitating, she finally handed me the white and Paula the black.

I held it up in front of myself and saw that it was mostly white lace with
elastic under the breasts and a short silky skirt.

"Leave the panties and bras on.  And, Amy, leave the wig, too.  In the
morning, you'll be surprised at how much more comfortable you are with it
all."

"You'll want to wash your face though," Michelle added.

Paula and I got up and went to the bedroom as we'd obviously been directed.
I washed my face of the mascara and lipstick and looked in the mirror.  With
the wig still on, I was surprised that I still looked like a girl.  I stayed
in the bathroom to take off my stockings, skirt and blouse before putting on
the white nightgown.

"Can I use the sink," Paula said when she opened the door.  I glanced in her
direction and smiled.  She looked cute in the black negligee.

She grinned back and came the rest of the way in.

"That's looks good on you," she said.  "I don't fill this one out very
well." She lifted the front of the black nightgown and blushed.  She looked
like a pixy.

"It looks right on you," I said, getting out of her way.  While she washed
her face, I had the opportunity to look at her.  She had thin, boyish legs
and hips.  Not male adult at all.  And a cute butt I almost patted.  I was
sure that wouldn't be appreciated, of course.

She washed and dried her face and looked refreshed and slightly flushed when
she turned back to face me.  Feeling the carpet on our bare feet, we went
back to the living room together.

The couch was a hide-a-bed that Margaret and Michelle were just finished
making.  It looked inviting and, luckily, they said good night and went to
the bedroom.  As Paula and I got into bed and turned out the lights, we
heard them getting ready and then everything got quiet.

"Quite a day, huh," Paula said beside me in the dark living room.

"Yeah.  Not the sort of thing you'd expect at all.  Right?"

"I didn't think it was possible.  But now I do.  I think we can really pull
it off.  I mean, it's not like it's illegal or anything.  Right?"

I thought about it.  "It's not illegal to dress as a woman.  I've heard
that.  But I'm not sure about what we intend to do at work.  I think maybe
the EEOC would be a little unhappy."

"Yeah.  Well, fuck 'em.  If we get halfway good at this, they couldn't come
in for a day and tell.  Maybe people at work will know.  I don't know.  But
as long as they play along when the inspectors are there, it doesn't
matter."

"Yeah.  I don't feel bad about the EEOC. That's for sure.  They put the
company in as much trouble as us.  If there were women beating on the door
asking for jobs, maybe it would be different.  But there's nobody out
there."

She was quiet for quite a while.

"I thought I'd hate this.  You know?"

"I knew it," I said.

"But I don't.  Really, I'm I don't know.  I guess I'm getting into it and
it's sort of fun."

"We'll see what happens tomorrow," I said.  She was quiet again.

"Yeah.  It's going to be scary going out in public, huh?"

"Yeah." I thought about it.

"But at least we'll all be together.  It's not like being alone."

"Yeah," I said.  The company DID help.  I couldn't imagine my fear and my
feelings without them.  Maybe I'd feel like some kind of pervert.

I was thinking like that when I felt her move next to me, turning toward me.
Her arm went across my stomach under the bra and her leg across my near leg.

"Amy?" she said.  I was still wondering if I liked this or not.  "Do you
feel like a girl?" I was thinking about it when she helped.  Her hand moved
up and squeezed my breast form through the nightgown and bra.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  More than I ever dreamed I would." I put my arm around
her narrow shoulders.

"Me, too." She was quiet for a long time but I felt her hand move and
squeeze my false breast the whole time.  It felt good and I was responding,
swelling in my panties.  "Does it turn you on?  Dressing?  It does me."

"Yeah," I sighed.

"It's funny, Amy," she said from close to my ear.  "I feel gay."

"Yeah.  I sort of do.  It's all mixed up."

"I feel like a lesbian," she said and twisted my mind around 180 degrees.  I
thought about it.  I didn't feel like a gay guy.  She'd hit it right on the
head.

"Yeah.  That's what I've been feeling too.  With Michelle when she was
helping me.  I got turned on but it was as much from looking at her as
anything."

She seemed to stiffen and I knew what the problem was.  It was pretty
insensitive of me not to think before I said anything.

"When I saw you in the living room, that's what I thought, too," I added and
she loosened a little.  "I thought, what a pretty girl.  I'd like to get in
her pants."

Her hand moved on my bra tentatively.  There was a long silence.

"You could," she said and, my mind was spinning so fast, I wasn't sure what
the reference was to.  "If you wanted."

I tried running my thoughts in reverse to try to pull out what she was
saying and finally remembered my statement.  Then I went into a quandary
about what I'd said.  After all, it was a saying.  I didn't really want to
do it.  Did I? Now I was thinking furiously.

That's when she moved.  Slowly, she raised slightly over me and her lips
covered mine.

I know I should have reacted differently than putting my arms around her.
And surely that moan couldn't be mine.  But the picture that sprung into my
mind had no relationship to reality.

I should have thought that I'm a guy laying here with another guy wrapped
around me.  That was hard reality, of course.  I might even have
rationalized a little and thought that I'm a guy laying here a cute little
auburn haired pixy in my arms.

If I was deluding myself, maybe I could have thought I was the girl and
Paul, my friend, was aggressively taking advantage of me.

But the dislocation was complete.  What my mind pictured was the blond I'd
seen in the mirror earlier, the long clean legs I'd practiced walking on in
high heels and crossing for hours, and the heavy breasts that were being
pressed and rubbed and that had bobbed and bounded with my movements all
night.  What my mind pictured was the pixyish auburn-haired girl with her
cute boyish hips and little tight breasts and cute upturned red lips
squirming against me and kissing me almost wildly.

I saw and felt two women enjoying each other's bodies and getting more
involved in each other by the moment.

Her tongue sought and found entry between my pink lips and mine fought back
playfully.  I tasted her lipstick and mine.  I tasted her sweet mouth.  I
smelled her perfume and the bath oil on her skin and the feminine shampoo in
her short hair.

I felt our breasts pressed together, my leg pressing between her hot legs,
her leg pressing against the coarse material of my panties and exciting me.

She sucked hard on my tongue, our wet lipstick smeared lips sliding against
each other's.  I could feel her breath puffing out her petite nose onto my
cheek.  I tried to hold, to suck her tongue as it plunged in and out of my
mouth almost wildly and in time with her body's movements against me.

"Oh Amy.  You're so beautiful," she said between kissed on my ear.

"Paula.  My pixy," I moaned.  She kissed my neck and along my chin and
across my chest.  I tried to stop her, perhaps, and she kissed my hand and
my fingers.  I held her head against my stomach as she sucked one and then
another finger and kissed and licked my palm.

"Oh Paula," I heard myself moan as she squeezed her way between my legs.

When she stopped licking my palm, she was instantly licking the inside of my
left thigh instead.  Licking and taking tiny exciting nips at the skin.  In
simple reaction, I was moving it away from her bites.

She switched to my right thigh and continued her loving assault.

Spread wide, her fingers and nails tickled at the backs of my thighs and
knees, making me vibrate with excitement.  Her fingers moved the crotch of
my lacy panties to the side and her tongue found the skin where my pussy
should be.  Should be.  Should be!

I came hard and high, losing myself completely in the orgasm for minutes or
maybe hours.

Peripherally, I felt her scrambling up between my legs and locked my ankles
behind hers as she began kissing me wildly again.

As my orgasm passed finally, I felt her humping and pumping against my front
frantically.  I put one hand on her neck and took her long tongue to suck.
The other hand found the back of her tiny panties and slid under them to
guide her movements.

I rolled my hips up and back not as fast but in rhythm with hers.  And I was
rewarded with her loud moan in my mouth and her loss of coordination.  Her
orgasm came in moan driven waves, one after another until it finally passed.

Her head nestled into my shoulder, her breathing loud below my ear as I held
her tight against me.

"Thank you, Amy," she sighed sleepily.

I thought about suggesting we clean up.  I thought about rolling her to the
side.  But I fell asleep instead.
6. Chapter


When I woke, I was on my side with Paula against my front from her neck in
front of my lips to the back of her knees against mine.  She was still
asleep with my arms still around her.

She stirred when I kissed her neck and watched the goose bumps skitter along
her skin.  Even the softness of her arms looked perfectly right.  There were
even some freckles on her neck, chest and upper arms to match her auburn
hair.  The sunlight made the red highlights glisten in the curly tangle.

When I moved away from her curved back, I felt the cool room air displace
the overheated space between us.  She moaned slightly and rolled onto her
back.  She smiled in her sleep and I leaned on one elbow and looked at the
slightly smeared lipstick around her opened mouth.  My thought was that she
was unbelievably cute.

Reality intruded when I got to the bathroom and sat on the toilet as, I
thought, it only could in this particular position.  Part of the reality was
the mass of partially dried come in my panties and smeared through my pubic
hair disgustingly.  I took them off as I sat there and wiped the pubic hair
with some toilet paper.

A bath was the first order of business, obviously.  As soon as my bladder
was empty, I dropped the panties, nightgown, and bra in a wicker hamper,
setting the silicone filled breast forms and wig on top.  The bath, filled
with fragrant oils, made me feel good again.

After soaking and washing, I replaced the wig and tiptoed into the bedroom
to search the drawers for underwear.  Surprisingly, I found them in the
first drawer I looked in.  A blue pair that had more lace on the bra and
less on the panties than those I'd worn to bed.  I also found a pair of
pantyhose that were made of sterner stuff than the sheer ones I'd worn
before.

I sat down and tried my best to emulate what Michelle had done with the
makeup.  A little eyebrow pencil, careful mascara, slight lipstick with care
to the tops and bottoms of the lips.  It looked okay.  I couldn't believe
I'd done this well.

"I wish I was as beautiful and you are," Paula's voice came from behind me.
I turned and saw her leaning on one elbow.

"You are.  In a different way," I said.  "You'll really enjoy a bath.  It
made me feel a thousand percent better."

"Good idea," she said and got out from under the sheet.  I thought it was
cute the way her bottom wiggled with the way she walked to the bathroom.

In a few minutes, I found a blue skirt and a little white shell top with
tiny blue leaves and pink flowers and blue piping around the neck and short
sleeves.

                                * * *

"Good morning," Margaret said from the table in the kitchen as she got up.
"Would you like coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You look very pretty today.  Did you do your own makeup?" Michelle said
from another chair at the table.

"Did I do okay?"

"It looks great," she said.  "You're a quick study."

"Yes.  You look wonderful," Margaret added.

"Thanks.  I hope you don't mind me wearing your clothes," I said, indicating
the skirt.

"Thank Michelle.  They're hers."

"Oh.  Thanks Michelle.  But the bra fits.  I thought you were a B-cup."

"Uh huh.  But I tried a C first.  It just wasn't for me.  You can have
those.  I think here are three or four in there."

"Thanks.  But I'll pay you back."

"Where's the little girl next door?" Michelle asked.

"She's taking a bath.  She'll be out in a few minutes." I blushed thinking
about her and wondered if Michelle and Margaret knew what we'd done the
night before.

If they did, they didn't say anything.

"You get to make the choice for breakfast then.  I don't do short order
cooking so whatever you decide, Paula will have to live with."

"Anything would be fine."

"The choice is eggs and toast or french toast," Margaret said.

"Some scrambled eggs would be great," I said.

"Are you ready or are you watching your waistline, my dear," she added for
Michelle.

"That sounds fine, Margaret."

I sat down and watched while the older woman broke eggs and poured a little
milk into a bowl and mixed them with a whisk.  A big pat of margarine went
into a frying pan and slid to one side right away.  When it had melted, she
poured in the eggs and filled the bowl with water before putting bread in
the toaster.  She'd done this before.

"Tada!" Paula said from the doorway as she walked in wearing a pair of black
leggings and a very short plaid dress over a black tee-shirt.  It was cute
and little girl just like everything but her red lips and fingertips.

"Wow, Paula!  That looks perfect on you.  Did you pick it out?"

"Yeah.  Like it?"

"It's you.  Nobody else could wear an outfit like that but it's perfect for
you," Margaret said.

She served up the eggs and continued to make toast until she finally caught
up with us and served herself.

Though Paula and I procrastinated and delayed as much as Margaret and
Michelle would let us, we ended up in Margaret's car on the way to the mall
half an hour later.

                                * * *

I'd been shopping with a woman before and wasn't surprised by the approach
to stores and the things in them.  But there was a considerable difference
when you were the one doing the shopping and the comments like "Oh, isn't
that cute.  It would look wonderful ..." were applied to things you'd be
buying and wearing.

We went into the mall entrance that went through one of the big department
stores on the way to the mall concourse.  Margaret and Michelle were cooing
over a little dress, as I'd seen women do before, within a few feet of the
entrance.  But they were cooing over it as "perfect" for me because of the
light blues and "bodice" they said I'd compliment.

Blushing, I thought I'd have support from Paula in my resistence.  She
shocked me to open mouthed staring by immediately picking out a little dress
for herself and grinning with excitement.

Michelle helped me identify and pick out a copy of the "perfect" dress, and
hurrying me to a draped fitting room at the side of the store to try it on.
I had no choice.  It was either do as they all seemed to want me to or make
a much more memorable and embarrassing scene in resisting.

So I found myself taking off my camouflage, the blue skirt and blouse, to
try on the dress in the first seconds of being there.

If I hadn't been scared to death by my first appearance as a woman outside
Margaret's home or the first steps outdoors or the first steps into the
mall, I certainly was then.  My hands and insides shook violently with the
fear, in fact.  Fear and excitement, I realized.

It helped my self-confidence a lot when I thought the dress fit perfectly,
stepped out in front of the others, and had my feelings confirmed.

"It fits perfectly, honey," Margaret said and everyone had me turn and poked
and straightened and stroked both my ego and the dress.  That's how it
started and continued in the same way through the racks of that store, the
cosmetics counter, a dozen other women's stores, and three shoe stores.

By the time we were finished, my savings was almost halved but I had clothes
that fit perfectly for all occasions, shoes, cosmetics (recommended by a
cosmetologist specially for my coloring), and some tasteful though
inexpensive jewelry.  The jewelry store was where I got my ears pierced and
small gold posts with complimentary diamonds on them as an introduction.

Michelle was the most restrained, since she'd been shopping once before, and
Paula was the most outrageous with her purchases.  Outrageous, that is, in
the numbers of things, not necessarily the styles.  In that she was very
conservative, picking the longest skirts of the three of us and the fewest
really outrageous things like corsets (Michelle and I both got one) and
garter belts (I bought two and Michelle bought a fourth for her collection).

Michelle bought the highest heels (5 inch red spikes) but I bought the ones
everybody thought were the sexiest, including the male shoe clerk.  They
were black patent leather city pumps with sharp pointed toes and heels about
3  inches high with an ankle strap.  They covered nothing else and reshaped
my legs to something that got whistles from everyone.

Of course, most of the things were functional.  Skirts and blouses that were
interchangeable, two suits for each of us, A-line and shirt-cut dresses.
And, of course, panties, bras, slips, and nightgowns even though Margaret
told us that the ones in her apartment that had belonged to her mother and
sister were ours as well if they fit and we wanted them.

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