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Subject: TG Story:Man Maid 1/?
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The same two parts of this story that I am posting here I posted at
ASSTG but they got bumped by spam so quickly that it was suggested that
I post them here also. I hope you can enjoy. It is a work in progress,
part three is about half finished and I work on it as I am able.
gennie :-)

The following story is meant for a mature audience.  If you are under
the allowable age wherever you live then you are not allowed to read
this. If you are looking for a 'hot' story with lots of sex, don't
bother to read any further.  This story was designed to express a
favorite fantasy of mine about how a self centered man is taught to
appreciate the softer side of his personality.  Unwillingly  forced
into cross dressing by his wife he ....

Man Maid  --- Part 1 ---- July 1997
gennie TV

 I woke up that morning after having another of those knock
down drag out fights with the wife. I was feeling a bit odd but,
believing it was just a hangover, I started to get out of bed and
realized...*******

 The fight was really about nothing important. All I said was
that since she has nothing else to do during the day (a dangerous
statement in itself) the least she could do is wear a dress for me now
and then. Maybe with that nice lacy corset I bought her for Valentine's
day last year. She still hasn't even tried it on, "too lacy" she said.
I ask you how could anything feminine be "too lacy"?  She claimed
I should know by now that she doesn't like the kinds of skirts and
dresses I want her to wear. She wanted to know why I couldn't wear a
dress for her since they were so sexy and comfortable. She argued that
the summer would be a great time for me to show off my 'nice ass' in
a pretty skirt.
 "Since 'you don't have anything else to do' for the summer, no
papers to grade, no lessons to plan, you could get into a dress and
panties until school starts again. You can even sleep in that nice
lacy corset you love so much."  Don't you just hate it when they use
your own words against you?

 I laughed at her. "Me?  In a dress? Ha! Get real, I'm a man."

 She just smiled (not a good sign) and purred: "But, DEAR, you
are so-o-o-o fond of tight skirts and dresses, high heels, and
lacy corsets. You should wear them now while you have the time. It's
OK dear, you don't have to feel inferior just because you're a man,
it's OK for men to look good too."

 Of course I came back with the famous, but lame line: "I'm not a
woman, and men don't wear dresses. And besides, even if I wanted to we
don't have any dresses, corsets, or high heels in my size." she just
grinned, as if she had just won the lottery or something.

  "OK, Mr. macho, no problem. Here have another beer."  Her final
words before going off to bed alone.

   I should have caught on that something was up, but I was so upset
I gulped down the beer and went to bed. Another chilly night, sleeping
back to back,  I fell immediately into a deep, sound sleep, my lovely
wife, apparently did not.

*****... that there was something wrong with my chest. I was still
groggy but, it felt as if some heavy weight had been attached to it.
I could have sworn that my chest moved after I did, almost like slow
motion.  As my mind worked through the fog I became aware of the fact
that while I was asleep my wife had somehow attached a pair of the
biggest tits I had ever seen onto MY chest. They looked  real, they
felt real, hell they even bounced when I moved. They were HUGE, and
those nipples... (So, OK maybe they weren't THAT big but, when they
are suddenly attached to a normally flat male chest they sure look big.)

She told me later they were only D she wanted larger but they were
not in stock, thank the Supreme Being for small (D small?) blessings.
I looked around for my wife but she was nowhere to be seen. I tugged
on the monstrosities on my chest, felt pain, decided to leave them
alone, and  headed off to the bathroom to take care of business.  When
I pulled down my silk boxers, (What? Lots of men wear silk underwear)
I got my next shock. She had actually attached a chastity device to
my cock and balls! It looked to be made of heavy leather covered in
pink satin, with straps between my legs attached to a band around
my waist, I could feel small padlocks under the satin on the front
panel. It was designed to allow me to expel both solid and liquid
wastes without removal, but would not allow an erection, and I would
have to sit to pee! How could I have slept so soundly that she could
have done this to me?  Was I that drunk last night?

 I did what was necessary, feeling very humiliated at having
to sit, and headed back into the bedroom. I went to my dresser to
get some fresh boxers and the drawer was empty! Empty except for
a note from the wife that is. In it she explained that the chastity
was locked on and the key was with her. That the breasts would
eventually fall off when the adhesive bond broke down, shouldn't
take more than a week or so but, if I cooperated she might share
the adhesive solvent sooner. Of course,  I could try to pull them
off but would likely take some skin with them (I could imagine her
giggling knowing that I would have already tried that). Her note went
on to say that since I was now a woman, (dear you have tits and have
to sit to pee) and since, it is so easy to wear a corset, dress,
stockings and heels (my words coming back to haunt me again) I would
now have a chance to see what it was like first hand. She explained
that all of my "male" clothes were in storage at our u-store-it
locker on the other side of town. I was instructed to dress in the
"uniform" I would find in the closet. And that when I finally got
myself dressed (finally? Yes dear, you will find getting dressed
today a bit more of a challenge than your normal jeans and T-shirt)
I should clean the house and do the laundry. Do as instructed and
she might, might, release the chastity later that nite .... maybe.

 My mind was racing, I was feeling dizzy.  Me in a dress,
unthinkable! Dresses are for women!  How could she even consider
doing such a thing to me? Why should I suffer just because she
doesn't "feel comfortable wearing a dress"?  She's a woman, and
women should wear dresses to look good for their men.

 Her words from our argument began to echo in my mind.  "Dear,
as I've said before. I don't wear 'your kind' of dresses or skirts
because they are so restrictive. While wearing one you have to be
constantly aware of how you bend and sit.  Getting in and out of a
car with any degree of modesty, especially in those short tight
skirts you want me to wear, is nearly impossible. If I wear a longer
skirt, you insist that it be 'nice and tight', so that it shows
off my 'nice ass'.  Do you have any idea at all what it's like to
wear a long tight skirt?  What it feels like to have people staring
at you as you attempt to walk but the best you can manage is kind of
a mincing two-step?  Of course you don't, if you did you would
understand and stop insisting."

 "You have no concept of what it's like to even try to do simple
things like; get into a car; go up or down stairs; walk up or down a
hill; why, even using the toilet is an adventure in those tight
skirts you are so fond of. Simple everyday tasks become difficult,
cumbersome chores, in a short tight skirt and are nearly impossible
in a long one.  And then to top it off you want me to wear high heels
with those bondage skirts! Get real! Have you ever tried to even stand
in a pair of high heels? Even short ones? Oh no, of course you haven't.
High heels are for women, so that they can look good for their men.
Isn't that what you are so fond of saying?  It's not the
inconvenience of the dresses once in a while that bothers me so much,
it's that damned attitude you have toward women."

 I'm a man damn it! She can't do this to me. It's one thing for
her to tease me about my hair (it's only a few inches past my shoulders
for goodness sake) lots of men have long hair. And she even encouraged
me to let it grow out. So what?  And my pierced ears, that was just a
college lark, my girlfriend at the time dared me to be a little wild,
teased me that I didn't have guts enough to get my ears pierced.  So
what, lots of men have pierced ears too.  That's no reason to wear
a dress. I'm a man!  I'm all man!  I'll simply refuse, I'll show her!

 Feeling better I thought I should at least read the rest of her note:

    "Knowing you as I do, you have just gone through a tantrum
 and decided that you will not dress as I have instructed, no
 matter what. You are feeling very "manly" and full of yourself
 right now.
  So answer me this:
  Since you have no "male" clothes, don't bother with the
 hamper I got those too, beautiful tits, and what looks like
 satin panties attached to your waist, how are you going to get
 out of the house? Call one of your buddies to bring you clothes
 so that he can get close enough to see the pictures I have posted
 outside on the garage door? They are really quite lovely, you
 look so content with one hand full of your own breast and the
 other on your crotch, no one would ever believe you were unaware
 of your situation. (Better hope I get home soon and take them
 down hunh?)  No, my dear sissy husband, you will not risk allowing
 anyone to see you as you currently are. Even if you should decide
 to try and wait until the adhesive breaks down on your pretty
 new breasts,  you'll never get that "panty" off without the key,
 at least not without hurting your precious little jewels.  You
 are stuck love. Go to the closet now. You will find further
 instructions there."

 I thought I would faint. I was trapped and I knew it. I knew
that if I went along with her plan that eventually she would relent
and give me back my clothes however, in the meantime I had little
choice but to obey. So it was with trembling hands and Jell-O-like
knees I opened the closet door and started my new life. True to her
word all of my clothes were gone, the only pants available were my
wife's and they would never fit me. She had even removed her sweats
and T-shirts, my only other hope. Looking at my side of the closet
revealed a zippered garment bag that I had seen before.  It had
appeared in the closet, on her side, about a week before school
ended. When I asked her about it she said that she needed something
to keep her evening gowns in. It didn't occur to me at the time that
she had not worn an evening gown in years. (I had just realized
that she must have been planning my transformation for some time,
and that last night's argument was simply her way of setting me up.)
On the floor below the garment bag was a large box with "start here"
stenciled across the top. With trembling hands and jiggling tits I
took the box to the bed to examine its contents. What a shock.  I
couldn't help being impressed with what she had chosen for me to wear.
It was beautiful, but as I was to learn beauty is only skin deep.
That beautiful lingerie would soon encase me like an unyielding
prison.

 Inside the box, lying on top and labeled number one was a
panty-girdle-like thingy that looked way too small for me and was very
heavily padded on the rump and hips. To give me a proper rump the note
said.   Next, labeled number two, were some shimmery flesh colored
pantyhose. These had a note that they were designed to cover even the
heaviest leg hair, and that by the end of the day I would be begging
her to help me shave my legs. (Ha, like I would ever beg her to help
me shave my legs.)  Labeled number three was the most beautiful corset.
It was a pastel lavender, made from silky satin, frothing with lace,
the bra cups were under-wired and huge, it had a zippered front, six
lacy garters, and what looked to be very stiff stays.  Number four was
a pair of sheer white hose with lace tops, they were so fine and silky
it was almost as if I was holding air in my hands. Further down in the
box I came upon label five, a wonderfully silky, full slip, made of
satin it flowed though my hands like water when I picked it up. It
matched the corset exactly with wonderful little lace insets at the
bodice, and a ring of lace around the bottom. This was all so beautiful,

so soft, so silky, why would any woman want to refuse to wear such
finery, I couldn't enjoy wearing any of this of course because I was
a man. At least that's what I kept telling myself. The final item in
the box almost floored me, a pair of panties, not ordinary panties,
that would be too easy.  These panties were of the same color as the
corset & slip, and were made of satin and lace, lots and lots of lace,
rows and rows of lace across the butt. The note said that they were
special sissy panties, for her special sissy.

 With the box emptied and it contents laid out in front of me, I took
a deep breath and began. The fanny panty surprised me in that it was
very stretchy and I only had to wiggle a little to get it on. I don't
know what the padding was made of but must have been a gel of some
kind because now my butt jiggled almost as much as my tits, what an
experience, instant T & A. The pantyhose was another story,  I
eventually remembered that my wife had always gathered the leg together
in her hand and then put her foot in and pulled them up from the toe
to the hip.  They felt very sensuous sliding up my legs the room light
reflecting off of them making them shimmer.  I tried to get hard but
the chastity prevented that quite effectively.  My legs felt as though
they were encased in silk stretch bandages, I could not move without
the hose moving with me.

 What can I say about that corset? My corset, so soft & silky, it
felt so light, I would never have thought that anything so beautiful
could be so difficult. After what seemed like hours, I was finally
able to contort myself enough to hold my breath, get the zipper together

and pulled up, and get its cups around my breasts, and its straps over
my shoulders, all at the same time. When I finally finished with
the zipper it was as though a great weight had been lifted from my
chest, finally those humongus orbs were under control. My relief was
short lived however, for as soon as I tried to take a deep breath and
relax my stomach and back I found that beauty could indeed be crushing.
I couldn't take a deep breath, I couldn't relax my belly, and I could
barely bend my back.  Getting the stockings on was definitely not easy,
but not too bad they felt so wondrously sensuous going on but, those
back garter tabs were sheer hell. I was so worried that I would rip
the delicate fabric, and I had no desire to find out how my wife would
handle that. Overall the slip was definitely the easiest part. I found
that raising my hands over my head posed yet another challenge in
that ever restrictive corset and I again feared that I would rip my
delicate lace stockings the garters pulled so tight.  The slip felt so
slinky sliding down across my nylon clad body, landing with its lace
hem just above my knees.  It was as if I had put my finger into a light
socket I had so many tingles of electricity running through my body.
Oh it was so wonderful. I knew deep in my mind that I would want to
wear these clothes again, but my manly self could not yet face that
reality. Looking in the mirror I was female from the neck down of
that there was no doubt.  I slowly slid my panties up my nylon clad
legs, my hands shaking, my body quaking, I had never felt such intense
sensations from clothes before. The sight of me with my massive chest
jutting out, lifting my slip and pulling my panties into place I
almost fainted from overload.  My wife was right wearing  a corset was
uncomfortable, but the body shaping and satin caress could almost
make anyone forget the severe constriction, almost.  And if nothing
else it made a great back brace. It took me some time to break the
spell I had come under and bring myself back to my contrite attitude.
"I'm a man damn it! I DO NOT! I WILL NOT! Enjoy wearing WOMEN'S'
clothes! I'm only putting these things on long enough to figure out
how to get what I need from my wife."

     Walking from the bed to the closet was almost more than I could
handle.  Of course I blamed my dizziness on the corset and the fact
that it would not allow me to take a proper breath. I could not admit
to myself that the clothes I was wearing were bringing back long
suppressed desires. Desires that as a child I had been forced to
repress.

   **** I wanted to know what it would be like to dress in my sisters'
silky nylon under things. "Why should they be allowed to wear such
pretty colors and soft fabrics, when all I was allowed to wear were
plain white BVD's and pants? It's just not fair, I want to be able
to wear pretty things too!" I had thought to myself all those years ago.

  Had I simply thought, instead of acting on those thoughts, I would
not have been caught in my older sister's bra and garter panties with
a pair of her sheerest nylons, and my younger sister's dress.  It was
a sun dress made of light cotton with a flaring skirt and fitted bodice,

it stopped about three inches above my knees, and would bounce back
against my thighs when ever I moved.  I must have spent hours just
twirling around, watching the dress spread out and then fall back
against my young nyloned legs. The bra and top of the dress holding
tight against my young chest, a constant reminder of the forbidden
fabrics encasing my young body. The panties rubbing against my groin
and butt. I felt like someone had plugged me into a light socket and
turned on the power, I was too young to understand what that feeling
meant, but wearing those clothes felt, well, right somehow.

    Then one fateful day I was so engrossed in those new and unique
feelings that I did not hear my sisters come home. They watched me
for several minutes before they could no longer contain themselves
and broke into hysterical laughter. I was so embarrassed. All I
wanted was to find a hole to crawl into and pull in behind me. They
started making fun of their cute little sissy brother. They said
they thought I was cute and should stay dressed as I was to show
our parents, but my embarrassment was so great I ran to my room and
changed back into my BVD's and jeans, thankful that it was only my
sisters that had seen me.

     That night at dinner my sisters would start to giggle every time
they looked in my direction, which of course started my dad wondering
what was going on. So they told him, since they saw nothing wrong with
me wearing a dress, they did not think that his reaction would be any
different than theirs. I thought my dad was going to have a stroke
right there at the dinner table. He made it very clear that men wore
pants and that women and perverts wore dresses. He screamed at my mother

for allowing such an awful thing to happen in his house and set about
training me to be a "man". After that incident he never missed an
opportunity to explain to me how women were put on Earth to please
their men. To cook and clean and dress pretty so that they could keep
their men happy. I now know that out of fear of my father's wrath and
disapproval I suppressed that day and those heavenly feelings,
suppressed and not thought about, but not completely forgotten. *******

    All I could do as I walked to the closet was wonder why I felt so
good. I could not understand why the sound of my nylons rubbing
against each other caused images of women with tight sweaters, short
skirts, high heels and MY face to form in my mind.  Nor, why I would
get a shiver up my spine each time my nylon encased legs came in
contact with my slip. I was still trying to convince myself that I was
a man, all man, and men do not wear dresses. Men do not enjoy the
sensations caused by satin rubbing on satin while encasing their
bodies. I had to pause at the closet to catch my breath before I could
get to the garment bag and see what further humiliation my wife had
planned for me.

   With trembling hands and closed eyes I pulled down the zipper on
the garment bag that held my uniform. I had no idea what to expect,
but I felt that if I could just keep my eyes closed long enough the
bag would be empty.

 I took as deep a breath as my satin prison would allow, and opened
my eyes. My "uniform" consisted of: A high neck, long sleeve, cream
colored silk blouse with lots of ruffles and very loose fitting
sleeves with lace trimmed cuffs. A knee length black satin pencil
skirt. A barrette with a huge white satin bow with ribbons for my
hair, and pair of black patent leather pumps, with 3" heels. I felt
a sharp pain in my groin as my entrapped manhood once again attempted
to rise to the occasion. There were no instructions from wife with
my uniform, so I decided that it would be best to start with the
blouse and then move on to the skirt.

  I removed the blouse from the hanger and realized that all those
shiny little pearl buttons ran up the back of the blouse. I was so
absorbed with the slippery feeling of the silk and the contortions
needed to button my blouse I barely noticed how it seemed to make
my newfound breasts stand out even further from my chest. After
what seemed an eternity, with my shoulders sore from being bent in
such unnatural positions, I finally got the last button buttoned.
(Why did she have to choose a top that buttoned in back? One with
a zipper in the back at least would have been much easier to handle
than those itsy back buttons.) After all that exertion I felt I had
earned myself a break and decided to walk over and see what a real
man looked like in a blouse and slip. I gasped, the blouse! It was
not only driving me wild rubbing against my slip and corset; it not
only made me feel like I had a '71 Cadillac attached to my chest; it
was almost transparent! There was no doubt what color my slip was
underneath, the lovely lavender and all the pretty lace showed
through in all it's glory. So I promptly did what any red blooded
American male would do under these circumstances. I fainted.

 I don't know how long I was out, could have been minutes, could have
been hours, time was totally out of sync for me at that point. Working
my way back onto my feet was an experience in itself. Between the
corset not allowing me to bend and my stockinged knees sliding against
my slip I almost wanted to just stay on my knees and crawl back to
the bed to get my skirt. I felt so weak and humiliated by this time.
My wife had not only made me look like a woman, now I even fainted
like one. What next?

 I was able to get the skirt on without further incident even though
the button and zipper were also in the back. Wow, was that skirt tight.
With my padded ass and nyloned legs though, I thought I looked great in
that skirt. I didn't yet realize how hard my beautiful new outfit would
be to move in because with what little thought I had left I had
positioned the shoes so that I was able to step right into them. (Why
did
I do that? That's not like me. Was I thinking like a woman now?) The
restriction of the skirt actually kept me from falling over when I first

stood in those shoes. A few practice steps informed me that, restrictive
as
the corset and skirt were, walking in heels had its own restrictions.
After a few minutes of practice however, I learned to take steps even
shorter than what the skirt would allow, that way each step would place
one foot directly in front of the other, thereby allowing me to have my
toes land before my heels.  I found that in this way I seemed to have
the
best balance and most graceful stride. (If I was going to wear these
clothes I wanted to look good in them.) I was very self conscience
however,
of the fact that walking in such a way also made my ass and hips sway in

a very feminine way. But I could find no alternative. I think an ape
dressed in that outfit, with those shoes, would have had to have had a
sexy
sway to his walk. I couldn't help it. Honest. At least I would be able
to
mince around the house without breaking an ankle. I hoped.

 My next lesson came when I attempted to sit at my wife's vanity
table.  Being the "man" that I was, I was accustomed to a rather
ungracious plopping down motion when getting into a chair, spreading my
legs for balance and comfort. This time however, not only did I not
plop,
I didn't even sit! I found that in order to sit in a tight skirt
required
a grace and balance unknown in the normal male world. Keeping my back
straight (what choice did I have?) and my knees and ankles together
(yeah, like I had any choice again) I folded at the hip and carefully
lowered myself onto the chair where, just like a proper lady I sat with
my back straight and knees together. When I looked into the mirror I was

appalled at the image that greeted me.  From the neck down was a
beautifully
shaped, well endowed, heavenly dressed woman.  From the image presented
to my eyes there was no doubt that the body I was admiring, (who
wouldn't,
it reminded me of Mae West) was 100% pure human female. From the  neck
up however was the exact opposite. Perched upon that heavenly shaped
(even
if man maid) body, was a face that could stop a train. Scruffy beard,
untrimmed mustache, bushy eyebrows, and soft blue eyes (so I have nice
eyes, what can I say?) formed into an expression of complete horror. I
had
never thought of myself as ugly before, and I really am not, but to have

that furry face attached to that body was just too much. I had to do
something with that face! Of course I rationalized my decision as a need

to do things properly, I could hear my father's words ring in my mind:
"Son, if you are going to do something, then do it right or don't do it
at all." Well my wife said she had always wondered what I looked
like without a mustache, I guess this would be her chance to find out.
So with my mind made up, I planted my feet and ever so graciously (well
it felt like I had some grace) keeping my knees together arose from the
chair and minced into the bathroom. A trip that for my normal stride
would have been maybe seven or eight steps now seemed to take hundreds.

 The sight of my furry face in the medicine cabinet mirror only
strengthened my resolve. As I watched my hand reaching up to open the
cabinet I thought how much better, more feminine, it would look with a
proper manicure. I heard myself saying out loud, "What a strange
thought,
men shouldn't have such thoughts. Stop it now!" I sounded weak and
unsure even to myself. I continued pulling the door open, I started to
reach for my shaving gear, but it wasn't there! In it's place was a
bright
pink, make-up bag with an envelope addressed to "gennie" attached to it.

I almost fainted again. Time came to a halt, long suppressed memories
returned in a rush. Feelings so long repressed, so long denied, engulfed

me in a tsunami of released emotion.  How could she know?  Was that why
she was doing this to me? To help my sisters get even with me for the
way
I treated them after that awful day? It wasn't my fault, my fear of and
respect for my father made me assume that macho persona. He made me
believe that my sisters should be treated as less than equals because
they were just weak females. I loved my sisters, I would never have done

anything to hurt either of them had I known.

 With my heart pounding in my ears, and my mind numbed, I reached out
with trembling hands and carefully removed the letter from the make-up
bag.
"gennie" was the name my sisters had used to help humiliate me all those

years before. It was a derivation of my middle name of Gene, they
thought
that Jean was too strong a name for such a sissy boy, and Gene was a
man's
name, so they agreed on gennie. They made sure I understood that the
first
letter was lower case to reflect my status as less than a real woman. I
just stood there for what seemed an eternity, holding that letter,
thoughts
of an ended marriage running through my head. I was convincing myself
that
Debbie (my wife) was doing this to me to teach the pervert (that's me,
hey
I was not rational at the time, I was still stuck in my father's imposed

mind-set) one last lesson before divorcing him. What other reaction
could
she possibly have had? I finally fumbled the envelope open, convinced by
now
that I knew what it would say, and withdrew my wife's note to "gennie".

 My eyes were tearing and my hands were shaking so much I had to
sit down and brace my arms on the bathroom vanity before I could even
attempt to see what she had written. What a sight I must have been, a
flowingly curvaceous female form, awkwardly attempting to fold herself
into
a sitting position, with masculine hands clutching a piece of paper as
if it were gold, topped off by a scruffy male face. It took some time
but
I was finally able to focus enough to read Debbie's letter to gennie:

 "Dear gennie,
  You are undoubtedly wondering why I would do what I have to
 you. By this time you have convinced yourself that I am out for
 revenge. That this is my way of getting even with you. That I'm
 trying to humiliate you before I throw you out on your ear. That
 I am working with your sisters so that they can also get their
 revenge on you.
  Well dear in some ways you are absolutely correct. You have
 been, on frequent occasions, a... ahhh.... oh what can I say;... An
  inconsiderate ass?; A chauvinistic pig?; Or perhaps a petulant
 little, over pampered, princess? Yes, that's it you've acted like
 a spoiled little princess. Always whining and complaining until
 you get your way. Just like a 3 year old. A three year old little
 girl. Well now my spoiled little sissy princess of a husband gets
 to not only act, but dress the part s/he fits so well.
  Yes, I have talked with your sisters, they told me all
 about how much you loved dressing in their clothes. How they named
 you gennie, and how sweet you were to them during the time you
 were dressing in their clothes. Yes, dear they knew of your
 experimentation with their clothes long before they confronted
 you. They disliked you borrowing their clothes but they liked how
 gracious, and humble you would become after each session. That's
 why they always left certain clothes out where you could find
 them easily. They also told me that your personality changed
 permanently for the worse, and your dressing adventures stopped after
 your father humiliated and belittled you for your harmless little
 adventures.
  Well dear as I told you last night, I am fed up with your
 attitude towards women. As are your sisters. We know why you act
 the way you do and feel that that is no excuse. We have put up
 with it long enough. It is time to put an end to it once and for
 all. We want the real you to emerge not the silly, nasty, arrogant,
 "manchild" that you have been acting like for far too long. We all
 believe the old adage about walking a mile in another's shoes
 before you can judge them. That is why my dear gennie, (better get
 used to that name, it's the only one you have until school starts,
 perhaps longer) you look as you do now. So that you can walk a
 mile, or two, or three in proper high heeled shoes. Having fun
 in your new clothes yet? Any trouble walking? Think you can do
 that mile yet? Aren't your new tities just to die for? Having
 trouble seeing your pretty new shoes when you look down? Don't
 you just love the way your chest gets there before you do? Be
 careful going through doors dear, you don't want to hurt your
 new self. Oh gennie, you'll be so happy to know that your sister
 Susan, helped me get your new breasts and the surgical adhesive
 just for you. She was so excited to be able to be of help. Don't
 forget to thank her when you see her next.
  Anyway, by now you should have experienced several episodes
 of sexual arousal because of your pretty new clothes. Sorry about
 the chastity but it was necessary. Susan helped get that also. She
 says it's custom made and based on the Tolly Boy design, with a
 steel band between layers of rubber and leather around your waist,
 and a metal plate over your precious jewels. The padlocks are
 special tempered steel, attached so that the shank is covered by a
 metal button. It would  take a surgical team with a cutting torch
 to get it off without the key, and I don't think you would want
 that would you? Yes dear before you ask it was very expensive,
 and took us almost a year to receive after ordering. But the result
 was well worth the wait and expense. Don't you think so gennie?
 We decided that the chastity was necessary for your own peace of mind.
 With it you will not have to worry so much about forgetting to sit
 when you pee, standing would be so un-gennie like. You don't have to
 worry about that unsightly bulge under your pretty skirts or dresses
 (pants are forbidden of course). And best of all it will help keep
 your panties from getting soiled from that all that nasty cum that
 would oooze out of your cute little clittie without it. Doesn't
 Susan come up with some of the sweetest ideas ever?
  Why I'll bet that by the end of the summer you will shudder
 at even just the thought of men's trousers, shirt & tie, adorning
 your body. You may not realize it yet gennie but you are a
 transvestite. A man who loves enmeshing himself in his feminine
 side; Relishes the silky feel of satin and lace caressing her
 ah his body. No dear, being a transvestite has nothing to do with
 being gay, nor being as your father so hatefully put it, a pervert.
 It has to do with a desire, a need actually, to express a part of
 yourself that our society deems feminine, and not appropriate for
 men to feel or express. Donning the attire of the opposite sex is
 not necessarily an expression of sexual identity, but much rather
 an expression of your complete identity. By becoming gennie, you
 are able to express your self as a whole. Not "man" or "woman" but
 human. A combination of the traits that make all of us what we are
 and so few of us are willing to express or accept. Now you have an
 opportunity to experience that fulfillment.
  You will not have to feel guilty for wearing a dress, or
 painting your nails, ever again. You will not have to worry about
 what your family or wife thinks of you in a cute little mini-skirt.
 You will be allowed to express your feminine self and wallow in the
 depth of the release of emotions that gennie will allow you, all
 because you have no choice in the matter.  No guilt, no regrets,
 no choice. What more could ask? You gotta love it!
  After years of trying to get you to loosen up some on your
 "I wear the pants in this family" attitude I realized that you
 would never let yourself go enough to accept the "gennie" in you
 until you either exploded from repressed emotions, or were forced
 to face gennie and learn who you really are. Unbeknownst to you
 my dear little sissy husband, I've known your sister Karin since
 High School. It was with her help that I snagged you <Surprise!>.
 It was Karin that told me about gennie, and how your father treated
 you. She told me long before we were even married. I told her about
 my brother, (yes dear, Sharon was/is my brother not my sister) and
 how much better s/he has felt since s/he has been able to appear
 on the outside how s/he felt on the inside. Sharon is different
 than you though my love. Sharon was born with the mind and feelings
 of a female in the body of a male, she is a trans-sexual dear,
 something few people actually know about her. She was lucky, our
 parents understood, and accepted that their son was actually their
 daughter. They allowed him to start hormone therapy and live as
 Sharon starting on his 16th birthday, and he underwent SRS on
 his/her 19th birthday. That's why I know so much about the
 difference between a Transvestite (you) and a Trans-sexual (Sharon),
 I have had personal reasons to research the subject for years.
  It was Karin's idea to pretend that we barely knew each
 other. That way she reasoned, we could talk about you and you would
 never suspect. She really loves you and wants you to be happy as
 much as I do. That's why when all else failed we resorted to our
 current methods. I have watched stress added to stress without
 release build up in you, and it gets worse every day. gennie will
 help you to release that stress, allow you to become whole once
 again as you were all those years ago in your sisters' bedroom.
  So "gennie" inside the attached make-up bag you will find
 a pretty pink razor, and feminine shave cream. A pair of tweezers
 taped to a pair of plastic templates to help you get just the
 right shape to your eye brows. A pretty pink lipstick and matching
 nail polish. And of course a pair of nice dangly earrings for you
 to complete your look. Shave twice dear, we will take care of your
 arm pits and legs later. Karin will do your hair, make-up, and
 nails properly tomorrow. Get to work girl! I'll be home by 2:00.
    I Love you my little gennie,
     grant me my wish and be ready
         before I get home.
      Kisses & Huggs,
         Debbie"

 Hair, make-up, and nails tomorrow! That would mean that she expects
me to go to Karin's salon! That can't be! No Debbie would never carry
this
little game of hers that far. She must mean that Karin will come here to

the house tomorrow. Of course, that's what she means, Karin will come
here
tomorrow. Just as well it will give me chance to tell her what I think
of
a sister that shares such intrigues with a MAN's wife. And Susan too!
How
could they? Yep, all three of them are going to get a major piece of my
mind! If I have any mind left by the time I see them that is.

 Using the shave cream my wife had so thoughtfully supplied, I set
about the task of removing the excess fur from my face. I was surprised
that the shave cream felt so good, it didn't sting at all like the
menthol
stuff I was used to, a real man's shave cream, a little sting on your
face
in the morning helps to wake you up. This stuff smelled like the perfume

counter at the local department store, but since it was all I had...

 Tweezing my eyebrows hurt even more than I had expected. Using the
self-adhesive templates my wife had so generously supplied, I pulled out

each uncovered hair one at a time. I didn't realize how little would be
left by the time I was done. My efforts left me with thin arched brows
that any man ahh, I mean, woman would be proud of. My brows felt like
someone had used hot little pokers all around my eyes. "How does Debbie
put up with this ritual every week? It HURTS. Why if God had intended
us to tweeze our eye brows s/he would have had us born with tweezers in
our hands. But I'm a man. I can take it." Yeah right, my eyes would
tear more with each plucked hair.

 My first attempt at applying lipstick made me look more like Bozo
than a human female. I learned quickly to be conservative, and apply in
layers, removing the extra with a tissue. Licking my lips for the first
time with lipstick on was a memorable experience. I could feel my lips
but
at the same time I couldn't, it was really strange. I found that in
spite of myself I enjoyed the slight adhesion caused by the lipstick
when I pressed my lips together. And that sweet smell right under my
nose that wouldn't go away. It amazed me how something as simple as
some colored goo on my lips could be such a major reminder of my current

situation. Were my sisters and wife correct? Could I possibly be a
transvestite? I had to admit that the clothes and lipstick felt good,
even if I wanted so badly for them not to.

 My efforts at applying nail polish were only slightly less
successful than my first attempts at applying lipstick. I learned
quickly
that if I wanted to wipe away excess polish I had to be quick. That
stuff
gets sticky real quick but takes forever to dry. I found that I could do
a
reasonable job of covering my mistakes with a tissue by using enough
coats
of polish to plaster the stuck on tissue piece to my nail under the
polish.
If only Debbie had left me with some nail polish remover, I would have
done
much better. "Just because a man does not usually polish his nails
doesn't
mean he can't, anything that a weak little woman can do a man should
certainly be able to do even better. (Except of course having babies,
but
that doesn't count.)" I was still determined that I would not admit I
had a feminine side.

 I used the time it took my nails to dry to try and reflect on the
events of my morning. My head was spinning so fast. So much had happened

to me already, so much to adjust to, so much to digest, and it was
barely
10am, more than 2 hours to get dressed and I still wasn't done. My skirt

would not allow my knees to separate the way they wanted to. The corset
kept me from any kind of slouch, I had to stretch my neck to it's limit
in order to see my hands around my massive faux mammaries. I couldn't
even slide down in the chair to give my butt some relief. I could sit
with my back straight and knees together, or I could stand. I tried that

too, found out that if I stood too long my ankles would start to wobble
and my feet would hurt. The slippery, sliding feeling I kept getting
from
the lack of friction between my satin panties, slip and skirt, kept
giving
me the impression that I would slide right off of my chair. My encased
manhood continued to cry for attention. Several times I reached for my
crotch to offer myself some relief only to hit a wall of reality
reminding
me of my new station in life.

 Was I going crazy? I was taught that men do not enjoy soft feminine
clothing. That men are not to be caught dead wearing satin and/or lace.
The
idea of a man in a skirt should have been repulsive to me, only women
and
perverts wear skirts, my father had pounded that message into me over
and
over, frequently physically with a switch from the tree in the back
yard.
Yet here I was, in a form fitting skirt, with tits that would make Loni
Anderson jealous, sitting at my wife's vanity table waiting for my nails

to dry. I had to sit to pee, my eyebrows were narrow and arched, I was
wearing lipstick and I wasn't screaming my lungs out. What was happening

to me? How could I be so calm, my wife couldn't be right, I'm not a
transvestite, am I?  At this point I had two choices. Stay where I was
and
dwell on what was happening, what my wife and sisters had said about me,

and go crazy(ier). Or I could get up and do as instructed, clean the
house
and do the laundry, show them that I, a man, could function just fine no

matter how I was dressed. In essence keep busy enough that I would not
have time to consciously think about all that was happening to me.


Should there be more, or am I wasting my time?

gennie :-)

miss_gennie@hotmail.com  <--- please let me know.

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