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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {VickieTern} New TG: Dolls F/m M/M F/F femdom
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{VickieTern} New TG: Dolls  2/9   F/m M/M F/f femdom

I'll appreciate knowing what you think of this:VickieTern@AOL.COM

Other Vickie Tern stories are archived in http://www.fictionmania.com  and
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern
I'll appreciate knowing what you think of any of these too, if you can still 
write after reading them.


If you shouldn't be reading this, don't.  





lived.  From the exchange he was dialing, somewhere south of town. 
But she'd always picked him up in her BMW, or they'd met somewhere,
and then she'd always dropped him off again at his place.  The
penalties of not having a car of your own.  He heard her answer the
phone, and he said simply, trying not to sound contrite, "It's
Bob."

     "Well?" was the way she answered him.  Her voice sounded hurt
and distanced, even a little impersonal he was horrified to notice. 
She'd half-written him off?

     "Diana, for you, yes, anything at all," he replied  "If that's
what you want me to do.  I'm sorry I've been such a wimp.  I told
you once, I'll always want to try anything you want, whatever you
like."

     Now that she had him, she played with him.  "Anything, Bob? 
Always?  That's a lot more than I'm asking from you now.  But now
I just might want a lot more.  You'll do anything at all for me? 
>From now on?"

     From now on!  Bob realized with joy that he hadn't blown it. 
She was still thinking they had a future together!  He felt
enormously relieved.  "Of course," he said grandly.  Then he
realized she might not be feeling altogether playful about this. 
Be serious!  He thought a moment.  "Yes," he said. "I will. I think
so."

     "Remember that, dear.  Keep thinking it.  I'll hold you to it. 
>From now on.  Remember that."

     Bob had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't
care.

     "How do you want to do this?" Bob asked.  "It isn't Halloween. 
We haven't got that excuse when people see me."

     "That's why we have to be perfect.  You'll look real.  Don't
worry, you'll pass just beautifully.  You'll make a lovely girl. 
I don't want to embarrass either of us, you should know that.  I
want you to have a wonderful experience.  You'll be my date.  Don't
give it another thought.  I'll bring everything and decide
everything.  Just be home next Friday at five p.m., naked, and
we'll take it from there.  I'll want to remake you from the skin on
out.  Trust me.  You'll love it.  It'll be exciting. It'll be our
little thing together."  

      "Let me tell you one thing more, Bobbi honey.  It won't end
Friday night.  Now that I have you I won't want to let you go.  Not
yet.  Maybe not at all.  Maybe we'll spend the whole weekend
together.  Maybe all of next week.  And I really mean together.  As
long as you're the person I want you to be, I'll see to it that
you're very, very happy.   This will be wonderful for you.   You'll
see." 

     She then hung up.  Bob just sat there, the phone still in his
hand, unable to move, tears slowly filling his eyes.  He blinked. 
He'd nearly lost her!  The most wonderful girl in the world, and
he'd nearly lost her, just because she wanted to play this game
with him and he'd balked.  Never again!  He didn't understand some
of the things she'd just said, but whatever she wanted, from now on
that was what he wanted!  

                          ****************

     Now it was Friday and nearly five.  Bob was already naked,
pacing up and down, waiting.  He had no idea what to expect. It
seemed to him a little silly, Diana wanting him to date her wearing
women's clothing.  He'd heard of men who liked to do that, and he'd
always thought them a little strange.  Well, a lot strange. 
Probably gay.  He loved seeing women's things on women, where they
fit, and curved, and declared soft, delicate things about their
bodies.  He'd always felt there was something mysterious about
dresses, and blouses, and bras, and those other things women wore
and men didn't.  Their clothes were like themselves, desireable,
remote, different, erotically charged, a large part of what being
a woman was like.  They had their things, Bob thought, and we have
ours. That's what makes them feminine, and us masculine.  He tried
not to remember that in anticipation of tonight, all week long
whenever he'd seen a girl his age and shape in the mall, or the
street, or in an office, he'd looked over their dresses, and
jackets, and blouses, and hosiery, and high heeled shoes, and
hairdos, and tried to imagine himself wearing them.  Is that what
Diana wanted?  His imagination had already submitted to her.

     It's only clothing, he told himself.  Wearing it won't make me
feminine.  Will it?   Or was it that when other people saw him and
thought he was a girl, then that would that make him feel feminine? 
Maybe.  Was this some supreme test Diana was putting him through to
see if he was worthy of her, or sincere in his feelings for her? 
Bob wanted her to be happy.  

     But as the moment approached his heart started beating faster.
For some reason, what he was about to do seemed very dangerous, a
threat to something fundamental in himself, something vulnerable,
even fragile.  When Diana's car showed up and he saw her walk
toward his building with a large valise in each hand, he felt
genuine fear. 

     She sensed this immediately as she came in, set her bags down,
looked his bare body up and down with a nod, and reached to kiss
him.  She locked both her hands behind his neck and stared into his
eyes from just a few inches away, pressing her fully clothed belly
against his naked, engorging penis.   "Don't worry, darling," she
said.  "This is something I do every day.  Half the world does this
every day.  Just think of yourself as one of me. I think you'll
enjoy pretending to be me.  Until you can decide for yourself what
kind of a girl you are and then be you, with your own style and
ways of feeling feminine, for the time being just pretend you're
me.  OK?" 

     This was getting a little more extensive than he'd figured,
Bob thought.  What's on her mind isn't just tonight.  But I've got
to humor her.  I did promise her. I want her to have what she
wants.  "Whatever you want, I want," he told her.  "I'm yours." 
And for some reason, when he said that he felt reassured.

     What she showed she'd brought in the suitcases was also
reassuring, a little.  She wasn't planning on a high-styled date,
just drinks and dinner for two in a restaurant already crowded with
other couples absorbed with each other, two women together having
a TGIF evening, then maybe a movie, then a casual drink at a bar
where men wouldn't try to hit on them.  She smiled when Bob looked
startled at that last.  Diana was dressed as always with a
simplicity that seemed elegant, in a billowing silk blouse gathered
at the wrists and a full tweed skirt to mid-calf.  She'd brought
him a similar blouse and a "dress for success" business suit, gray
with a few purple threads highlighting the fabric, the skirt
tailored and nearly knee length, the jacket short and nipped in a
little at the waist.  Not terribly effeminate or threatening.  But
form-fit, and decidedly a woman's suit.

     "No pants for my first time out," he asked hopefully?  He
realized he'd just agreed to go out with her this way other times
too.

     "When you next wear pants on a date with me," she replied,
"they'll be cut so fashionable or so cute that men will try to
climb all over your sweet litte ass.  You'll be eager to get back
into a sound, sensible skirt, like this one."  She held it up. 
"Your first Chanel classic.  The basis for your future wardrobe. 
Isn't it just lovely?"  

     Bob saw she was looking at it it with obvious pleasure, and
thought he should share that pleasure with her, show he was a good
sport.  "It's just lovely," he said.  

     She glanced sideways at him, not at all fooled.  "Yes, it is,"
she said.  "You'll love it.  You'll see.  But let's go to the
bathroom and get you started."   

     An hour later, Bob felt very peculiar indeed.  

     First of all, his body was utterly hairless.  He'd never felt
so naked.  She'd taken him into the bathroom and stood him in the
tub, and directed him to shave himself everywhere.  "You can leave
a little triangle on your crotch, around those sweet little toys of
yours," she said.  "All girls have hair on their mounds, and yours
proves you're a natural blonde.  That's an asset.  And we're going
to give you a pretty hairdo, too.  But all the rest of your hair
goes!" 

     When he was done she foamed his stubble with hair removing
lotion of some kind, and then washed it all down the drain, and
then soothed his skin with a perfumed body lotion, her slim fingers
wiping it smooth over his curves and into his crevices.  Now he was
more naked, smooth, and exposed than he'd felt since he was born. 
She looked him over appraisingly, not disapproving but somehow
speculative.

     Then something more shocking, that made him feel even more
vulnerable.  She suddenly produced two Fleet enemas and told him to
use them to clean out his "you-know-what," first one then the
other.  He'd gotten to his knees on the bathroom rug and bent way
over, shoulders also on the rug, asshole high, and inserted the
first and squeezed in the fluid, while she watched him impassively. 


     "I could fuck you with that," she said suddenly.  "But I have
better things in mind.  Still, why don't you do yourself a little
when you use the second one?"  He didn't respond.  This was her
game.

     He held the liquid from the first inside himself under orders
for nearly fifteen minutes, until he was convulsed with cramps. 
Then when she permitted he poured it all out of himself into the
toilet, embarrassed that she was there the whole time, sitting on
the edge of the tub watching him casually, waiting for him to
finish.  It smelled a little, but she seemed not to notice or mind. 


     Then she'd made him repeat the whole procedure with the other
enema kit, telling him this time to work the plastic nozzle in and
out of his anus to make sure the area inside was clear, "as if you
were fucking yourself with a pencil-sized dick."  Only clear fluid
came out the second time, when finally she gave him permission to
sit and expel it.  

     Then came a surprise.  She handed him a Massengill Douche kit
with a picture of a woman in a long white chiffon gown imaged on
the box, looking somehow pristine and soft.  She told him to use
that too.   "I want you to feel like that woman," she said. 
"Clean, as beautifully clean in your body's openings as I am in
mine.  This is very special, what we're doing tonight.  I want your
body to feel different on the inside as well as the outside.  A
woman should always feel fresh everywhere when she starts out on a
date.  Remember that.  Whatever scents and fluids then fill her
body should be those aroused by her lover."  

     She watched as Bob inserted the tip and administered the
douche to himself.  "Gently," she said.  "This is a rare privilege. 
Don't let it seem routine.  You are doing something very feminine. 
You should feel that it's helping you to feel feminine.  Work that
long tip in and out of your bottom just a little.  Lovely!  Only
women douche themselves.  And now you."  

     She smiled at him.  "Bobbi dear," she went on.  "From now on,
whether we're seeing each other or not, I want you to do this for
yourself every day.  Whenever you take a shower, cleanse your
insides thoroughly with an enema, and always finish with a douche. 
I'll supply your douche kits for you, specially prepared the way
I'd like them to be, perfumed and especially womanly in other ways
too.  So I'll know your insides are as sweet as any other part of
you.  And you'll know.  We'll both be glad you did it, afterward." 
 

     Bob nodded, amused and a little puzzled, but still willing to
go along with whatever pleased her.  He started feeling especially
comfortable shortly after his douche.  Nice.  Calm, not at all
nervous.  He imagined this was how women feel, why they always
looked so serene.  Nothing extraordinary, he was only a woman going
out on a date with his girl.

     Then just as they left the bathroom, she suddenly asked him to
bend way over, and before he was quite sure what was happening she
produced a tampon, swiped a bit of jellied lubricant on it, slipped
the plastic tube into his rear end, and then withdrew it, leaving
the tampon itself inside him with a string dangling from his anus. 
He let out a little yip, but it was over before he could tense up
or protest.  She patted his bottom.  "Inside and outside," she
said, and she smiled reassuringly as she led the way back into the
bedroom.

     He felt as if he were waddling.  His bottom waggled when he
walked, with that tampon inside him.  Was that why girls waggled
when they walked?  It was an odd sensation.  Very full.  Somehow
not dissatisfying.  He reached down to see what she had done to
him, but except for the soft string his fingers found dangling out
of him, his opening felt the same as when he'd showered or wiped
it, now tight shut, it's new secret well hidden within.

     "Now darling," Diana said, her voice slightly amused.  "Don't
play with your pussy right now.  Just imagine you're having your
period, dear.  Girls do, you know.  I told you I want your body to
feel feminine inside and out, and there's only one thing you can
put into that opening that would make you feel even more feminine,
isn't there?  You don't want that just yet now, dear, do you?"  

     Bob wasn't sure he had heard what he had heard. "What?" was
all he could utter.   

     She ignored him   "Is it very uncomfortable, dear?" Diana
replied,   "If you're feeling cramps I can give you the kind of
pill women take for cramps.  Would you like one?" 

     Bob just shook his head.  

     "Then let's get started."

     They went back into his bedroom and she settled him into his
straight-backed chair facing the bed, where both suitcases lay
open.  He was surprised to find he could bend with the tampon in
him.  He still felt sort of full, but it wasn't unpleasant.  

     "You have enough new things to deal with tonight, dear, so we
won't go anywhere that requires high heels."  She grinned.  "Maybe
after tonight you'll want to kick up your heels and be a party
girl.  But not tonight.  We'll have a lovely, gentle, easy time of
it, relaxed.  I want you to feel very comfortable, to get used to
things."

     "What do you mean, get used to things?" Bob finally asked, not
really disturbed but still, not lulled either by her reassurances. 
He was going along with her, but she seemed to have some extensive
plans in mind.
                                        
     "This bra," she said, holding it out to him.  "Put it on.  Do
you know how?  You've seen how women put their bras on.  Shall I
help you?"  

     She did.  Bob didn't know if she'd answered his question or
ignored it.  She hooked it in front, and he looked down and saw
that he now had a slight rounded cleavage between the cups, his
smooth, hairless chest caught up and compressed by the bra to form
two crescents.  "Look at that," he said, in order to say something,
anything at all.  Then to let her know he was taking it all in
stride, he added "Do I get big titties too, after a while?" 

     "Don't worry, Bobbi.  All in good time.  No breast forms for
you, love.  I want you to feel, well...natural.  I have wonderful
plans for you.  If that means right now you're just one more flat
chested girl wearing a bras with a little padding for shape or for
cleavage, then that's what you are.  When you won't want to be that
kind of girl, you won't be.  Trust me."

     The rest went as he'd imagined and anticipated all week as
he'd looked closely at the gear different women laced and buttoned
and snapped and zipped and snugged and tucked and strapped
themselves into.  She showed him how to put on pantyhose, then
watched as he practiced putting on several pair, until she was
satisfied he could handle them with care and respect.  They felt
incredible as his legs rubbed against each other.  The same with a
cute lace panty girdle she handed him, which turned out to be made
of a tight spandex that held his penis and testicles tucked way
down between his legs.  He worried for a moment whether she
expected him to sit on them.  She did, so he did.  He squirmed onto
one haunch, and she told him to sit square on his pretty bottom, to
keep his knees together, and to cross his ankles whenever he sat
like that.  Then she handed him a pair of low-heeled shoes with
little leather bows in front, and a slip that felt wonderful
whenever the insides of his arms accidentally brushed against it.

     "Now you're all gussied up, my dear.  It's time for you to say
your very own girl name.  Bobbi.  Say it."

     "Bobbi," Bob said.  It was what his mother had called him when
he was a kid.  Cute, but a little helpless.  "Are you sure ....?"

     She interrupted him.  "Bobbi," Diana repeated, with the least
hint of a stern tone in the way she said it.  "Now you've been
christened.  Dear Bobbi, turn around, and we'll do your hair. 
There isn't much we can do with it now, but it should look a little
fuller, don't you think?"

      He felt rebuked, and didn't answer at first.  "If full hair
isn't you, we can always give you curls, but that'll take a little
longer.  Do you want your hair curled now, Bobbi, or will you
settle for a big hair look until we can bring in a consultant?"

     "Big hair is fine," Bob replied hastily.  Every time he
hesitated, she seemed to raise the ante on him. 

     "I think so too, dear.  It's more like what you're used to."

     Twenty minutes later his hair was up in heat rollers, and
twenty minutes after that she had made up his face, carefully this
time, and plucked his eyebrows until they were high and delicately
shaped, like two thin comets arching together over his eyes.  She
hummed as she worked over him, pleased as under her long fingers
Bob disappeared into Bobbi.  She reminded Bob of a little girl
playing with her dolls, with total concentration.  While she was
shaping his eyebrows, he realized his face would not look feminine
just for tonight, but he didn't want to interrupt her.  She said
something about his nails being all right for now as they were, it
was better to do them right later anyway.  He was feeling quite
mellow.  He managed to smile to himself at just how far he seemed
willing to go to please her.

     "I thought so," Diana said.  "You love this almost as much as
I do, don't you. Never mind answering, Bobbi, I don't want to
embarrass you.  Just slip on this blouse and skirt, and we'll brush
out your hair, and you'll be ready for your grand debut.  Hungry?" 
  

     "Yes," Bob replied.  She never seemed to ask him questions
that allowed any other answer.  He stepped into his skirt, fastened
and zipped it up, and turned it on his waist until there was a
pocket at each hip.  He slipped his blouse over the rollers bulking
out his hair, and tucked the tail into his skirt.  She handed him
a broad belt, and when he'd cinched that tightly, he could almost
believe he had a figure.       

     "Sweetheart, don't slump.  Stick out your chest, and hold your
head high."

     The full blouse completely hid Bob's flat chest -- its drapes
and folds promised anything or nothing underneath.  Diana looked
closely at that part of him, then reached over, and with her long
fingertips lightly caressed his nipples inside his bra cups.  They
felt exquisite!

     "Yes," she said aloud, to herself.  "This is how we'll do it
for now.  Later we can get real." 

     Bob still didn't understand her.  Even so, her fingers felt
delicious, and he thrust his breasts way forward into them.  But
she moved her hands on, patted his cheek, then handed him the
jacket matching his skirt.  He slipped it on, and saw that it
flared out at his hips as if he really did have a figure.

     "See how much nicer this looks now?"  She unrolled Bob's hair
and began to brush it out.  With the heat and the spray she had
used, each strand curled loosely around itself, and his head was a
huge cluster of soft curls.  I'll never look male again with my
hair like this, he thought to himself.  But as Diana worked over
him he found to his surprise that the clusters of curls brushed
together didn't look curly but curved, falling full and abundant
down his head and covering the back of his neck, well-shaped and
full of bounce.  Not much of a male look either, not at all.  It
was what she had called it, big hair, designed to frame his face
with opulent excess, hair to make his face seem petite and pretty,
hair a man could get lost in.  But it was his hair.  Bob stood up
and looked in his mirror, the same one they'd looked into together
a few days earlier, when she'd lipsticked him.  Now he was
lipsticked again.  His eyes looked darkly romantic.  And everything
else, too.  There was nothing masculine at all in what he saw.

     "See?  You do look lovely," Diana said.  "No ponytail tonight. 
You're much more attractive wearing it full on the sides and in
back like this."  She looked him over carefully, and apparently
approved what she saw, and smiled, pleased. "You like?"  




end  2/9
(c) 1998 by Vickie Tern  May be archived if made freely available.  
Not if not.

Vickie Tern@AOL.COM


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