From suelmann@forwiss.uni-passau.de Tue Apr 01 17:00:01 1997
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From: suelmann@forwiss.uni-passau.de (Michael Suelmann)
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Subject: TG: As Good As A Woman by Denise Em (complete)
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I didn't write this story, I am just reposting.
There was an incomplete repost, so I think a complete
repost would be good.

TG, cd							§§§§§§§§
From: Denise Em <"em_d"@rem$01.com>
Subject: New TG: As Good As A Woman
Date: Tue, 24 Dec 1996 16:50:48 -0800

Hello all,

It's long since time that I made some, however humble,
attempt to give something back to this newsgroup for
all the _good_ stories I've enjoyed reading here.

As Good As A Woman was written in 1990 and 1991, and
rejected by Sandy Thomas as too tame.  So, I'm sorry,
I happen to like sweet tales with minimimal coercion,
(although maximum con-job is OK with me.)

Kudos - if any actually result from this - will be
cheerfully accepted here, as will _reasonable_ criticism.

Flames: send them to my (obviously, bogus) mail address.

Sorry about that, but I haven't yet found a suitable
substitute for PENet, and Netscape won't let me send
anything without *something* in the field.

Enjoy,
Denise Em


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

Actually, I'd be *very* surprised if you'd find anything in this
that wouldn't be found on prime-time television network programming.

Nevertheless, standard disclaimers apply.  This is a work of fiction.
Any similarity to any real persons or events is purely coincidental.


AS GOOD AS A WOMAN (Part 1 of 6)

by Denise Em

Chapter I

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."


Chapter II

After work, Diane stopped at Cheryl's and brought her up to date
on events at the office, including my agreement.

Cheryl is a big girl - not fat, but 71 inches tall and size 14.
Reviewing Diane's list, Cheryl noted that she could have supplied
almost everything I'd needed.  This led to an animated
conversation, and a trip through Cheryl's closet and chest of
drawers.

When I arrived at Jean's apartment, I didn't make much notice of
the crowd of cars, until the door opened and I discovered that,
seemingly, half of the women in the office were present.

"Dinner won't be until eight," Diane announced.  "In the
meantime, you can get changed and try out your outfit."

"Why can't we start after dinner?"

"Because we have lots of time now.  Besides, then you can
practice even while you are eating."

Again, I wasn't thinking fast enough to ask what it might be that
I'd need to practice, while sitting down to eat.  It would be
quite awhile before it dawned on me that they intended for me to
learn more about femininity than just adeptness at walking in
high heeled shoes.

They sent me into the bathroom with an A-line skirt to put on in
place of my slacks.  In a tartan plaid, which barely reached the
tops of my kneecaps, it presented a kiltish appearance.

On returning, I was presented a pair of mid-height, black,
T-strap pumps.  When I had difficulty getting my feet into the
close fitting shoes, I was given a pair of slipper-like nylon
half socks, which allowed my feet to slide right in.

Then my education began.  I was drilled in walking, turning,
sitting, and all I would need to know to be able to handle the
thin heels and flaring skirt.  Just about the time I was
beginning to feel accustomed to walking mainly on the balls of my
feet, dinner was ready.

One thing I might have noticed, had I not been so preoccupied
with my situation, was that no one was digging at me, as had been
the case during the day.  It was almost as if I was being
accepted into the conversation nearly as "one of the girls", even
if most of what they had to say concerned my efforts to master
the feminine 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?


CHAPTER III

Early the next morning, I drove over to Diane's.  While I was
getting into my "uniform of the day", I began to doubt the wisdom
of my insistence that the change stop at the waist.  Last night,
some of the women had expressed dismay at the overall image I
presented.  They had suggested that a complete makeover might be
preferable, even from my point of view, since I would draw less
attention that way than dressed half-and-half.

Next, I was confronted with the problem of what to do with the
things I usually carried in my pockets.  I didn't find Diane's
suggestion, that I might need a purse, the least bit funny, 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.


AS GOOD AS A WOMAN (Part 2 of 6)

by Denise Em

Chapter IV

The next morning, I was back on the job with my normal
appearance.  The day started well enough, but, from the first
time that Jean came by for the paperwork, things started going
awry.

She hadn't been the least bit subtle in telling me that I
didn't belong there.  She insisted that I couldn't hope to fill
the shoes of the person whose job I was pitifully trying to do.
Her criticism actually unnerved me.  I began 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.


AS GOOD AS A WOMAN (Part 3 of 6)

by Denise Em

Chapter V

The next morning started early.  The image which they had
built for me last night had to be completely re-created.  Kate,
too, had stayed overnight with Diane, to be on hand to help with
the project.  Fortunately, it went faster than expected, leaving
them plenty of time to attend to their own needs.

Left essentially alone, while they made ready for the day, I
passed the time walking around the apartment.  After Kate was
ready, she appeared with a camera.  I didn't want any
photographs, but she invoked the privileges of friendship.  When
Diane came out a little later, they double-teamed me into
assuming some very feminine poses for additional pictures.

When they were finished, Kate brought out a purse to match
the shoes.  My wallet and a few personal effects were dropped
into it, as well as various makeup and grooming items.

That was when I realized I needed to visit to the bathroom.
When I came out, Kate was already gone.  I followed Diane down to
her car and rode to work with her.

When we arrived at the office, we were both astonished to find
that Jean was most cooperative and unabrasive.  In fact, she
quickly assumed much of the responsibility for fending off snide
comments - taking the `blame' for the fact of my appearance, if
not for the quality of it.

By nine, someone had kludged an overlay for Cheryl's
nameplate which had my last name with only a first initial
preceding it.

Shortly after that, I noticed that several others were
following the lead of Diane and Jean in calling me "Tess".

Morning gave way to midday, and I discovered that a small
difference in heel height seemed much greater after three hours
of up and down, back and forth, stoop and rise.  Smarter now, I
slowed down enough to allow for my fatigue.

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

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

"What a waste," she chided.  "You go to all the trouble to
look fabulous, and then you hide yourself.  Come along with us,
and put some sunshine in your life, as well as food in your
tummy."

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

Kate returned from a service call just as I'd sat down to eat
my microwaved lunch.  She sat down next to me, and removed her
lunch from her backpack.

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

"Come with me," she said.

I was following right along until I realized she was leading
me into the ladies' room.  I stopped abruptly.

"Come on," she said.

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

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

"I'll wait until after work."

"What if you can't last that long.  There's no one in here to
care, if you use it now."

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

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

"I knew that," I drolly replied.

After we'd each finished with the necessities, Kate directed
my attention to my makeup.  It needed touching up, especially the
lipstick.  Fortunately, it only took a minute or so; the longer
we remained in there, the more nervous I got.

Upon returning to the dispatch desk, I discovered that the
nameplate had been changed again.  This time to read `Tess' in
front of my last name.  During the afternoon, that drew some
additional chuckles from a couple of the passersby, but I
pointedly ignored them, and continued with my work.  About mid-
afternoon, it suddenly occurred to me that even Elaine was
addressing me as `Tess'.  The feeling of oddness increased, when
I realized that I was beginning to respond to it as though it
really were my name.

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

"I thought you'd want to know that I think you've done an
excellent job, today, in spite of the extra `handicap' you've
been enduring."

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

"I had some serious misgivings," she went on, "about You
showing up for work appearing so thoroughly feminized.  It wasn't
what I had been expecting after Diane's explanation yesterday."

Inwardly, I cringed a little at that remark.  It wasn't much
like I'd imagined either - yesterday.

Elaine continued, "I came very close, this morning, to ending
this ... wager ... and sending you home to change clothes.  Do
you know why I didn't?"

Now, I couldn't speak at all, and shook my head "no" with
only the slightest motion.  I had a vision of her giving me my
termination notice.

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

I must not have appeared as shocked as I felt, because I
didn't notice any change in her demeanor.  I'd swear I had goose
bumps everywhere.

"At first, I was angry," she explained, "partly because I
thought I'd been deceived; and partly because I feared that you
intended to act out an unflattering caricature.  Fortunately, I
was too involved to leave my office just then, so I had to be
content with observing."

She continued, "Now, I'm not saying that you performed with
perfect feminine grace.  Nevertheless, I saw what seemed an
honest effort to 'be' the woman you appeared to be."

I finally found a little residue of voice, and squeaked out
another, albeit tentative, "Thank you."

"What I'm really trying to say is: as `Tess', you've been a
very welcome member of the staff today."

Jean, who seemed to have a nose for being in a place at just
the right moment, had just come for another batch of reports.

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

She paused, her face reflecting exasperation.

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

My smile filled my face.

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


AS GOOD AS A WOMAN (Part 4 of 6)

by Denise Em
Chapter VI

I awakened in surprise at brightness of the daylight streaming
through my window.  I had slept soundly, clear into midmorning.
I closed my eyes again, and waited, listening to the sounds
coming from outside.  This was supposed to be a laid-back
day for me.  I hadn't scheduled anything for the whole day.  I
turned over, away from the light, before I tried opening my
eyelids again.

My expectations of a carefree day were shattered by the sight
of the clothing draped over drawer.  It would be rude to return
dirty clothing to the people who'd lent me the various items of
yesterday's outfit, and the suit probably had to be dry-cleaned.

That was just the beginning.  Jean would be expecting me over
for dinner, and ...

"Oh, heavens!" I thought aloud.  I hadn't told Diane or Kate
about Elaine's request.  What if they can't - or won't - help me?

I was overwhelmed with a feeling of doom.  What if they did
help me?  The whole idea of working as "Tess" for an entire week
was utterly crazy.  It would get back to regional management, and
then Elaine and I would both be fired.  Wouldn't that look great
on my next job application: "fired because I came to work dressed
as a woman."  I didn't dare ask for help, but, after my promise
to Elaine, I didn't dare not ask, either.

I threw off the covers and stomped into the bathroom, in the
hope that I'd think more clearly after a shower.

After I dried off, I had to move yesterday's clothing to get
at some fresh underwear.  The sensation of the slip sliding
across my forearm raised goosebumps.  As I placed the pile on my
bed, I regarded the underclothing I'd been wearing several hours
earlier.  I had enjoyed the silky envelopment of the panties
around my loins.  I didn't miss the bra, with its band cinching
my torso, and straps digging into my shoulders, nor the girdle -
although a pleasant side effect of wearing it had been not
getting anything pinched whenever I sat down.  The slip, on the
other hand, had provided a delightful tickle on my legs whenever
I was moving around.

I picked the panties up, enjoying again the silky feeling of
the material in my hands.  Suddenly, I wished that they were
clean.  With a sigh, I dropped them back onto the pile, and
turned to my chest of drawers for my own clothing.

Still struggling with what I'd do about next week, I put off
calling anyone until after breakfast - or rather, brunch.

It was eleven thirty.  If I waited too long, Kate might not
be home.

My phone rang.

I wasn't even thinking about how I answered it.

"Good morning," I heard Kate's cheerful greeting.  "Is this
Ted or Tess?"

My voice dropped a full octave.

"Very funny, Kate," I replied, drolly.

"Ah, it IS Ted," she said.

"Look, as long as you called," I opened, "I need to ask a
favor."

"Yes, I know," she told me.  "Elaine called me this morning,
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.


Chapter VII

Sunday morning, I was awakened by a thumping sound.  Wrapping
a robe around myself, I trudged my front door and opened it.
Kate said nothing; she just stood there.

It wasn't necessary to ask why she was there, even at such an
early hour; the large case resting at her side told all.

I exhaled in a sigh, breaking the silence, "Come on in."

"Thank you."

Observing that she was fully made up, I asked, "You got up
awfully early, didn't you?"

"I don't mind, if it's for a good reason."

"And you think this is?"  I pointed to the case.

"Yes, it is," she affirmed.

She led the way down the hallway and into my bedroom, placing
her case on my bed.  Then she began opening my chest of drawers
and placing everything that was inside onto my bed.

Perplexed, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"You won't be needing these for a few days," she said, as she
emptied the last drawer.  Then she opened the case and began
transferring items from it to the drawers.  When she was done,
she moved my things from the bed into the case.

"You wearing anything under that robe?" she asked.

I was too astonished to reply.

"Go strip and put these on," she ordered, holding out a pale
yellow nylon lingerie set, consisting of panties, brassiere, and
a half slip.

I took them, but just stood there.

"We're not going to make this work," she admonished, "unless
you become Tess, completely, from right now, to whenever this is
over."

My uncertainty must have shown on my face, even though I
couldn't find a tongue to speak with.

She stepped over to me and lightly rested her hand on my arm.

"I think that will be easier if we remove from your life, as
much as is possible, every evidence of `Ted'.  If I had a spare
bedroom, I'd even move you into it until this was over, just to
keep you away from all the reminders this house provides."

When I still didn't move, she added, "Everything will be just
fine.  Months from now, when you are enjoying the fruits of your
efforts, you'll look back on this week as a great adventure."

She gave me a nudge toward my bathroom, "Move it, girl.  You
have a busy day ahead."

When I returned, she handed me one of the pairs of bust pads
I'd accumulated.  She waited until they were properly placed,
then sighed.

"We're getting ahead of ourselves," she said.  "Back into the
bathroom."

"For what?" I asked.

"You're a modern woman, honey.  You can't go around with all
that fur on your legs."

My eyes went wide.  "I'm not shaving my legs," I announced.

"No problem," she smiled.  "I have an Epilady.  They'll stay
smooth longer that way, too.  It removes the hair at the root."

"That wasn't the sort of alternative I had in mind."

"Tess, if you want to get through this week successfully,
hairy legs aren't an option at all."

"What's wrong with opaque panty hose, like I wore Friday?"

"It's unusual for a woman to wear them.  It will call
attention to you.  You want to blend in; that means sheer hosiery
and smooth limbs."

"What will I do until it grows back?"

"You mean Ted?  Who's going to notice?  Ted wears pants!"

"This week, though," she continued, "Tess needs smooth legs.
Is she going to shave them, or Epilady them?"

When I didn't answer immediately, she added, "If you shave,
you'll probably have to do it again Wednesday.  Once with the
Epilady will get you through the whole week."

And several more, she COULD have told me.

Not knowing what I was getting into, it seemed that doing
this just once might be better than having go through it twice.
In a few minutes, I had changed my mind.

Kate warned me that it would sting a little.  It didn't - it
stung a lot!  She wouldn't let me switch to a razor without
trying something else.  She made a dash to her car, and came back
with an overnight case.  With a large cotton swab she spread a
lotion on my legs.  They felt very strange afterward.

"It is a topical lidocaine solution," she explained.

After it dried, I could hardly feel the hairs being wrenched
out.  In twenty minutes, my legs were as bare as a baby's.

Next, she retrieved the bag I'd brought back from the
cosmetics shop, and began guiding me in making up my face.

When she was satisfied with my efforts, Kate handed me a
blouse and skirt, made of a gauzelike material.

While I was putting it on, she gazed at me - as if in deep
thought.

"Let's try the sandals you wore yesterday," she suggested.

Getting them on was a little more trouble than it had been
over stockings.  The last item to go on was yesterday's wig.  It
was mine for the duration, she told me, as she touched up the
styling.  Did I assume too much, when I thought she meant the
duration of the week?

I asked if she wanted breakfast, remarking that I was
starved.  We went out to the kitchen, where I began gathering
eggs, bacon, and frozen hashed potatoes.

"Wait a minute," Kate stopped me.  "We're not going out to
dig ditches today."

I looked at her in puzzlement.

"You simply must get this fixed in your mind: you are a woman
this week.  You will see everything from a feminine viewpoint.
You will act, and react, the way a woman does."

"For starters," she explained, "that means you eat what you
need to, not what you want to - unless what you need at that
moment just happens to also be what you want."

Kate opened the refrigerator and rummaged around a few
moments, then started opening cabinets.

"Don't you have any fruit around here?"

I showed her where the cans were.

"Not as good as fresh," she noted, "but it will have to do."

The whole day went like that - a crash course in womanhood.
I'm amazed that I retained any of it, but I managed to absorb
enough - to get me started.

*--*

We arrived at the office early, among the first people in the
building.  I went directly to the dispatch desk, sat down, and
began organizing for the day ahead.

I could hear Elaine getting out of her chair.  When I looked
up toward the doorway of her office, I was rewarded with the
vision of a manager who was obviously startled.

Still, her only response was a knowing smile, then she
silently returned to her work.

Jean and Diane walked in from the parking lot together.
Judging by their expressions, the sight of my car in the parking
lot had left them totally unprepared for the shock of seeing me
there as "Tess", particularly appearing the way I did.

I was dressed collar to calf in pink, in a sweater suit which
featured a straight skirt.  White hose with pink shoes and
accessories completed the outfit.  The bright pink lipstick
provided the focal point for my face, framed by a much fuller and
fairer hairstyle than I had worn before.  Kate had arranged the
styling to clearly exposed the white triangles that dangled from
loops screwed to each earlobe.  Furthermore, for the first time,
my nails were enameled.  Actually, they were artificial nails,
the new "active" length.

Just as significant was what they couldn't see.  Kate had
spent a fair amount of money to get me 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?"


AS GOOD AS A WOMAN (Part 5 of 6)

by Denise Em

Chapter IX

Tuesday morning, I awakened in a disoriented state.  I still
wasn't used to sleeping in filmy nylon, plus I wasn't in my own
bedroom.  It only lasted a moment, then I remembered that this
WAS my bedroom, after all - for the duration of the week.

There was a knock at the door.  That brought me fully awake
in alarm, until it sunk in that it had to be Kate.  An earlier
knock had been what had awakened me at first.

"Hello," I called out.

"Shake out the cobwebs, sleepyhead," she called back.  "Time
to be putting yourself together for the day's work."

Compared to Monday, I arrived at work dressed much less
dramatically.  Oh, it began with exquisitely feminine lingerie: a
matching set of bra, panties, and slip, floral on a black
background, trimmed generously with black lace.  However, all
that could be seen was a tweed suit, featuring an A-line skirt
that didn't quite reach the top of my knees, and a cropped
jacket.  The modified jewel neck of the jacket required no
blouse, sparing me the unwanted warmth of an extra layer.  Then
again, it also offered no opportunity to get cooler by removing
it.  The black shoes, purse, and accessories served to reinforce
a conservative image, mitigated only by the white pantyhose.

Applying my makeup had been no less painstaking.  A low key
makeup is - if anything - more challenging, because it has to fix
the problems, yet appear invisible.

I guess the rest of the office staff were getting used to my
appearance.  One of the guys had even remarked, "nice outfit,
Tess," without any evident sarcasm.

What was happening to me?  I'd come to work dressed
completely as a woman only three days, and I was THAT easily
accepted?  It wasn't as if my masculinity had been questionable
before this started.  I'd been a "regular guy" in every way I
could think of.  How is it that I could be so easily accepted in
a feminine mode?  How well would I be accepted when I returned to
being "Ted"?

Diane's voice intruded into my thoughts.

"Tess? ... Tess!  The phone!"

I quickly reached for the switch that enabled my headset.  It
was one of the technicians, ready to close out a service call.

When lunch time came around, Jean came by and asked me where
I was going for lunch.

I was rather surprised that she hadn't just insisted at the
start that I join her.  I told her that I'd planned to eat lunch
with Kate in the break room, even though I knew that Kate would
insist that we eat out - at least there'd be just the two of us.

"Oh, come on, Tess.  It's a beautiful day out, and you look
too pretty to be hiding in there.  Come along with us - I'll
buy."

"That's a dirty trick," I accused, "appealing to my frugal
nature."

"Cheapskate, you mean," she countered.

"Be nice," I told her, emphasizing my words with an
exaggerated pout.

"I AM being nice," Jean insisted, "I'm paying for your
lunch."

No one mentioned where we were eating, so I just went along,
without asking.  By the time we got to the restaurant, I'd become
so immersed in the conversation that it didn't even register on
my brain that not only did we eat here often, but we'd been here
just last Thursday.

The hostess had to open another section to seat us all in a
single booth.  We went through a shuffle to let Anita sit in the
middle with Gregg and myself on either side and then Jean and
Kate at the ends.

"Your waitress will be Anne," we were told.

Shortly, Anne came by for our orders, taking those of the
three to my left before getting to mine.

"And what will You have, Sir?"

I was sure that she had already taken Gregg's order, so I was
surprised that I wasn't next.  I looked up at her, only to
discover that she was looking right at me.  Time stopped.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, "what will you have?"

I couldn't talk.

Jean giggled.

I glowered at her.  I never got to finish my stuttering
question, "How ... ?"

"Oh, it was easy," Anne answered  You folks eat here a lot;
the same group was here just last Thursday; you're all sitting
around the table in the same order as last time; and you, dear,
are holding the menu the same way you always do."

How could I be so stupid?  Worse, I hadn't even tried to deny
the verity of her guess.

"But don't feel bad," she continued.  "If I hadn't known all
of you so well, I wouldn't have had a clue."  Then she looked
directly at me, "You really do look VERY cute."

I was anxiously searching my peripheral vision to see if
anyone was listening to this exchange.

She saw it, and leaned forward, to talk in a softer voice,
"Tell you what: I'll call you 'Miss' while you're here for lunch,
but you'll know that I really mean 'Sir'.  Right?"  She finished
with a wink.

I wished I could just die, right there, where I sat.  My
makeup couldn't possibly hide the crimson glow in my cheeks.

"Hey!" she added, "that blush makes you even cuter."

I let my head lean forward to rest in my hands, as if to hide
behind them.  What could I say?

Kate touched my side with her elbow. "You haven't ordered
yet."

"I gotta go," I plead.

"To the ladies room?" she asked.

"Out of here," I explained.

Anne tried to reassure me, "Oh, it all right, dear.  Just
relax, and enjoy your lunchtime.  There won't be any problem -
really."

I didn't respond, which she apparently took to mean I was
staying.

"What will you have?"

Kate put a reassuring hand on my thigh.  That steadied me
enough to place my order, after which Kate gave hers.  Then Anne
left us.

In a couple of minutes we began to notice that members of the
staff were taking surreptitious glances at us. The busboy went
out of his way to pass near our table, and look - at me.  As it
got busier, they had to pay less attention to us and take care of
business, but we could tell they were observing us, and talking
among themselves.

When Anne brought our lunches, she put everyone else's on the
table before mine, then proceeded to serve me with exaggerated
flair.

Gesturing across the part of me she could see, Anne asked,
"Do you have a special name to go along with this ... image?"

"Tess," Jean quickly volunteered for me.

"Well, Tess," Anne stated, "we hope that your food is equal
to this special occasion."

I was a little puzzled over what she meant. I didn't see how
this lunch time - even with the way I looked - constituted a
"special occasion".

However, she left us to take care of other customers, so I
didn't get to ask why she had said that.  More bothersome, was
the notion that everyone on the restaurant's staff now knew about
me, as the guy who's dressed up as a woman.  All I could do was
go ahead and eat my lunch.

In a little while, Anne stopped at our table again to ask how
our food was.  She got the standard responses from everyone
except me - I just nodded.  She wouldn't let me get by with that,
and made a special point of asking me how mine was.

In something like a loud whisper, I told her, "Fine - thank
you."

She offered, "If you want anything else, just ask," before
she moved on to another table.

The only thing else I wanted was OUT of there, before I was
embarrassed beyond endurance.

"Very good," Diane complimented. "A little more practice on
that voice, and I think we could take you anywhere."

"Oh thanks," I responded sarcastically. "Just what I need is
for you to be parading me all over town."

Anne came by again, just as some of us were finishing, to
take away plates.

"Instead of asking for your dessert order, I have a special
treat coming," she announced.

When she saw some concerned expressions, she added, "on the
house."

A couple of minutes later, she was back, leading a train of
staff members.  One was carrying something, and the rest all
gathered behind him as he set it on our table.

It took a moment for recognition to sink in.  The cake had
the inscription "Happy Birthday, Tess" in blue frosting over the
white.

Then the staff, began singing the "Happy Birthday" song to
me.

Filled with embarrassment, I buried my face in my hands,
Then, wondering who had set this up, I looked up and glanced in
turn at each of my companions.

All I saw was their own bewilderment.

I managed to squeak out a perplexed "Thank you," to the crew,
and, except for Anne, they disbursed back to their duties.

She looked right at me, saying, "Honey, it wasn't any of
them; this is my own doing."

I sighed, then said, "Look, this was very nice, but I'd have
much preferred that you hadn't told all of them about me."

Anne started to say something, then stopped.

"Oh," she started again, "I didn't tell them about THAT.  I
just said that your friends had brought you in for a birthday
luncheon."  Then she added, "They haven't a clue."

She didn't miss the "why?" in my expression, and answered
without my asking.

"It just happens that I have a very dear friend who would
just LOVE to be able to do what you are doing today."

Suddenly, the eyes of my understanding had been opened.
Appropriately humbled, I said to her, very softly, "Thank you -
very much."

"Honey, you are so very welcome," Anne responded. "I hope you
have a lovely day."

While we hurried with our dessert, Anne made certain that the
remainder of the cake went into a box, to go with us.  While she
was away from the table, I put out a substantial tip for her.

We had to walk briskly to get back to work on time.

During the first lull in phone activity, Elaine approached
me.

"I have something for you," she said, as she reached out to
hand it to me.

It was a new employee badge, bearing my last name and "Tess".
I recognized the photo on it as one of those taken at Diane's,
last Friday morning.  At first, I looked around the room, to see
who might be watching for my reaction.

"It seemed appropriate, under the circumstances," she said,
answering my unvoiced question.  "Besides, that and the nameplate
will make wonderful souvenirs, afterward."

With a rather weak smile, I offered an uncertain, "Thanks."

On one of her visits to pick up paperwork, Jean reminded me
that I was expected for dinner at 6:30.

I asked if I there was anything I could do to help her with
the preparation.  It was no problem for me to be there earlier, I
explained.  I must have caught her off guard.  She didn't answer
immediately.  She just looked at me with a contemplative gaze,
then smiled.  It was the same sort of expression that I'd seen
yesterday morning on Elaine's countenance - an unvocalized "very
in-ter-es-ting".

*--*

When I got home from dinner at Jean's, Kate was again curled
up on the recliner, reading a book.  She gestured to the sofa.  I
sat down, taking care to execute the move gracefully.  Then we
went through the same procedure as last night - interview and
review.  This time it only took one retry to satisfy her.

Kate stood up and escorted me back to my temporary bedroom.
Opening the closet, she removed a garment on a hanger.

"It's the same as in the catalog.  Let's see if it's going to
fit right."

Shortly, I was down to my slip.  I really didn't need the
help, but was enjoying Kate's fussing with the dress as it slid
down over my head and enveloped me in luxuriant softness.  It was
black velvet, and would need the grey blazer, still hanging on
the clothes pole, to keep it from looking too after-five-ish for
office wear.  At Kate's urging, I replaced the white stockings
with a pair that were off-black, then slipped on the black, ankle
strapped, high heeled sandals that awaited.

Kate helped me rearrange my wig, after the tousling it
received during the clothes changing.  Then she 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.


AS GOOD AS A WOMAN (Part 1 of 6)

by Denise Em

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 feelings from the night before.  The kiss she gave me
was hardly in character for a "sisterly" relationship.

Friday, I went to the office in the outfit I'd tried on
Tuesday evening.  I was greeted with quiet stares.  Kate had done
a fantastic job on me that morning.  I doubt that I could have
hoped for better from a Hollywood professional.  My low-key
makeup and minimal jewelry combined with the dress/blazer duo to
produce a feminine, yet businesslike appearance.

As had been anticipated by Kate, Jean wanted to go out to a
fancy restaurant for dinner, just like last Friday.  Thus, after
work, I found myself once again redoing my makeup to an evening
style.

Again, she chose a restaurant which offered dancing.  We
hadn't even finished eating when the band started, and before our
dessert order could be taken, we were approached with offers to
dance.  To my shock, "Tess" was the first asked.  To the surprise
of everyone except Kate, "she" accepted.

Jean was open-mouthed.  Even after she was invited onto the
floor, she kept looking to see where I was, seemingly astonished
at how well I was doing.

I will never forget the expressions on her face that evening.
They were so precious that all the hassles I'd put up with - even
the ungentlemanly attention I got from some of the guys I ended
up dancing with - seemed, afterward, a small price to pay.

It was nearly midnight when our group finally left the
restaurant.  During the drive home, Jean was effusive in her
comments about my activities of that afternoon and evening.

I was getting a warm feeling inside, partly from all the
attention, but mainly because I felt accepted as an intimate
friend.  I had never been party to such discussions with females
- as "Ted" - the way I had been involved in them the past few
days, as "Tess".  The feeling lasted all the way through the
change of cars at Jean's, the ride home in Kate's car, and into
bed.


Chapter X

Saturday morning, I awakened late.  I wrapped myself with the
only robe available in this room, a negligee left over from a
previous night's gown.  Out in the hall, I discovered that the
door to my bedroom - or, rather, of late, Kate's - was ajar.  I
knocked; she wasn't here.  Neither was her car in the driveway.
A quick survey of the bedroom confirmed that she'd moved out.
Ted's belongings were back in place.

I caught my breath at that thought.  I had actually thought
of my male self in the third person, as though he were someone
else.

I called Kate, but only got her answering machine.  I almost
hung up immediately, but was stopped by the message.  "... If
it's Ted calling, don't worry about the stuff in the other room,
we'll take care of it next week.  If it's Tess, I'll call you
tomorrow.  Anyone else ..."

I couldn't think of what to say, so I hung up anyway.

Jean called early in the afternoon to tell me that she was
taking Kate's turn tonight, in return for her help last Saturday.

We had an early dinner.  Over the meal, she brought the
conversation around to my role as "Tess", asking if that really
was the end of it.  She had no way of knowing that under my
clothing were a most feminine set of underthings.  What may have
appeared to be the outline of an undershirt was actually a
lace-edged camisole with wide shoulder straps.

I neither confirmed nor denied her speculations.  I wanted to
discourage her from pushing me toward working as "Tess" again,
but I couldn't make myself lie and say that "she" was gone
forever.  Especially, I didn't want to admit - to Jean, anyway -
how much I had ended up enjoying my feminine role.  I settled for
leaving her with the impression that my part in our arrangement
was concluded.

*--*

	I wasn't especially surprised Monday morning, when I was told
that Cheryl wasn't coming in this week, either.  Still, I didn't
volunteer to take over the board again; I waited until Elaine
asked.  The day went smoothly enough, calls were especially light
for a Monday, but something didn't feel quite right.

As lunch approached, Diane asked if I preferred to take my
lunch first.  I deferred to her.  When my own turn came, I ate
alone.

I didn't know what to make of my feelings.  The main
sensation was a profound sadness - the reason for which, I
couldn't identify.  I had a fleeting recollection of the warm
glow I'd felt when functioning as "Tess".  Yet, I couldn't relate
my current feelings to that experience, just yet.

It wasn't until the subject of dinner was brought up, that I
began to recognize the reason for my unease.  I received some
confirmation of this when I ate at Jean's place that evening.  As
"Ted", I was no longer the intimate friend.  It was fully
confirmed at Kate's, the next evening.

Kate had invited Diane and Jean to make a foursome for
dinner.  Conversation was subdued - to say the least - and Jean
left early.

I still hadn't done anything about the clothes in the spare
bedroom.  When it seemed appropriate, I mentioned it.  Kate
passed it off, saying that she'd been very busy.

"Besides," she observed, "a lot of those things are yours."

Seeing my puzzled expression, she continued, "You paid for
them, that certainly makes them yours."

"What about all the clothes that were borrowed?" I asked.

"Maybe we can sort all that out this weekend," she replied.

Then, Diane asked a question that made all the difference in
my life.  Would "Tess" ever again appear?

I had reservations about the matter, which I expressed by
saying that I really didn't have any reason to become "Tess"
again.

Diane could think of one, "How about to come over and share a
meal?  Tomorrow night is the last dinner you've earned.  While I
do enjoy having you as a friend, I'd go to more trouble to make
the meal special, if 'Tess' were coming."

Thus it was, that I spent three hours, Wednesday evening,
becoming Tess again, entirely on my own.  Dinner conversation
gravitated to my impressions of the past two weeks.

The doorbell rang.

"That's probably dessert," Diane said, as she got up.

"Surprise!" Kate exclaimed as she entered.  She laid out the
shortcake and semi-frozen strawberry yogurt she'd brought.
"Something light, so as not to spoil your figure," she explained
as she gave my tush a friendly slap.

*--*

Saturday morning was spent in returning those items that had
been borrowed.  The rest of the day was spent by the three of us
going shopping.  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}