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Subject: Repost TG: As Good As A Woman   by Denise Em  (1/1)
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Hi.

  A rather harmless about workand women turned into something more
serious. 

  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 <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


As Good As A Woman


                                                                   by Denise Em


1. Chapter


The barbs were begining 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 that 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 hard 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 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.

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, "your first dinner is 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."



2. Chapter


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 articles which I was wearing.

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 Diane'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 an 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?



3. Chapter


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, and 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 and I rode to work in her car, which insured that I'd see this
through, since I couldn't drive anywhere to change - not to mention that my
pants and shoes were still inside her apartment.

The jokes and jibs 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 for 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 tell 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.



4. Chapter


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 misrouting 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.  Aother 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."

"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
the same 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 an 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, forstalling 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
finangle 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.



5. Chapter


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
lose."

"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.

I couldn't help but regard her with a rather unfeminine leer.

She saw it.

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

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 -
of 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 sure 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 look better 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."

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 something else.
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?  Would I give
myself away out there in front of everyone?  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.

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 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.
6. Chapter


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, asking 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, 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
balance 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.
7. Chapter


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 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 I wasn't going ANYWHERE as Ted, this
week.

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?"
8. Chapter


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 steered 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 into the cup of her hand, 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 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 lattitude, 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 incredibily betrayed.  I'd been set up, dragged into
a hostile environment - a wolf in sheep's clothing, after the sheep had been
equiped 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 softed, "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 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 assured 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 begrudginly
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 forseen 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 mello 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 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 verball 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 are 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 was 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 tighted 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.  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 in, I knew I wasn't going in 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 pretty 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 swivelling 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 weren't 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 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.
9. Chapter



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.  The trip
lasted until after dark.  We brought all my things inside, and began to find
places to put them.  As we did so, 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."

She was followed by Kate, "Besides, Tess, you might be amazed at the places
we'll want to take our new friend."

And Tess WAS.

{.NOT. THE END}

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