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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
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As Good As A Woman
by Denise Em (address withheld)

***

A guy at the office is talked into cross dressing by a 
co-worker feminist and finds that he is excited by the 
prospect. (MF, cd)

***

Chapter I

The barbs were beginning 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 worked 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 rainy 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 back lighted."

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 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', let's 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.


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. Another 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.

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 
"pleases" 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, forestalling 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 finagle 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.


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.


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 queuing 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?"


Chapter VIII

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

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

"Hello," I called out.

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

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

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

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

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

Diane's voice intruded into my thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cheapskate, you mean," she countered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what will You have, Sir?"

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

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

I couldn't talk.

Jean giggled.

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

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

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

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

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

She saw it, and leaned forward, to talk in a softer 
voice, "Tell you what:

I'll call you 'Miss' while you're here for lunch, but 
you'll know that I really mean 'Sir'. Right?" She 
finished with a wink.

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

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

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

What could I say?

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

"I gotta go," I plead.

"To the ladies room?" she asked.

"Out of here," I explained.

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

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

"What will you have?"

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

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

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

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

"Tess," Jean quickly volunteered for me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I saw was their own bewilderment.

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

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

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

Anne started to say something, then stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*--*

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

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

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

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

Kate helped me rearrange my wig, after the tousling it 
received during the clothes changing. Then she steered 
me into the hall, where the full-length mirror would 
show a complete picture of how I appeared.

I studied the image, turning this way and that. It fit 
perfectly. Kate returned to the room and brought out the 
grey blazer. With it on, I repeated my study of the 
image in the hall mirror.

"My hips are still too small, the blazer doesn't hang 
quite right," I concluded.

Kate reached over and fastened the jacket's button.

"How about now?" she asked.

That made just enough difference.

Kate disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a 
large envelope style handbag, handing it to me. "This 
will add a much more professional look to that outfit." 
I fumbled for a way to carry it.

"It can't be carried like an ordinary purse," she 
cautioned. Taking it back, she put the edge of it into 
the cup of her hand, tucking the corner under her elbow 
to demonstrate how to hold it.

After Kate returned it to me, I walked the length of the 
hall and back, practicing my carry. Kate's approving nod 
told me that I had it under control. We returned to the 
room, and Kate again helped me with getting out of the 
clothes.

Down to the foundation garments, I accepted a bathrobe 
from Kate, then we returned to the living room, where 
she picked up the first of a stack of records featuring 
dance rhythms.

*--*

Wednesday morning, Kate insisted that I ride with her. 
Considering the outfit I was wearing, it shouldn't have 
been too hard to figure why. I was wearing a cotton top 
that was nearly as thin as a T-shirt, and the slim skirt 
was three inches short of reaching my knees. It proved 
to be all but impossible to sit down without displaying 
the hem of my slip, or worse. At work, I could hardly 
move, without Diane commenting on what, or how much, I 
was showing. By the morning break, I was ready to go 
home and change, but, of course had no way to do so.

Elaine had noticed, too, and remarked, "If you keep 
showing off, some guy's going to think you want his 
amorous attention."

I blushed at that.

"You don't want that?" she continued, "Then maybe we 
need to arrange more time for you to learn ladylike 
comportment."

I never did figure out if she was kidding or not.

By noon, I had resigned myself to finishing the day 
dressed as I was. Unlike the previous days, I asked 
Diane to take the first lunch. By the time my turn came, 
I was tense with apprehension over the provocative way I 
was dressed. Nevertheless, I slung my purse strap over 
my shoulder and walked outside and down the block. Kate 
was supposed to meet me at a sandwich shop we had picked 
out during the morning drive to work.

Even though I was getting pretty well accustomed to 
being out in public dressed as a woman, I couldn't stop 
worrying about how much attention that day's outfit 
would draw. It must have been obvious, because, 
throughout our meal, Kate was clearly working hard at 
keeping my mind occupied, with marathon conversation.

As we walked back to the office, Kate pointed out what 
she saw in the faces of various passersby, and 
encouraged me.

"Tess, a lady keeps her gaze forward, looking where 
she's going," she directed. "And SMILE - show everyone 
you're happy to be who you are."

As we were about to pass a department store, Kate 
steered me inside, declaring that we still had nearly 25 
minutes. Sensing that my anxiety was rising again, she 
explained calmly how no one had taken offense on the 
street, so I could relax in here and enjoy a few minutes 
of "eyeball shopping". "Besides," she advised, "You 
might even find something you want to buy."

She guided me first into the misses' department, where 
we picked through a group of dresses that were my size. 
She even had me take a couple of them over to the full-
length mirror to hold them in front of me. I thought my 
heart wouldn't ever beat again, when one of the clerks 
asked if she could help us. Mercifully, Kate dealt with 
her.

Next she led me into the lingerie department, and 
directed my attention to a rack of nightgowns. Sorting 
through them, she asked my opinion about several. I fell 
in love with one, but I wouldn't admit it to her. Just 
as another hungry clerk was homing in on us, I convinced 
Kate that we were out of time, and we left.

I returned to the office with a few minutes to spare.

"Is the restroom clear?" I asked Diane.

"I don't know."

I sighed in indecision.

"You could try the men's room," she volunteered.

I stared at her in wide-eyed panic.

"Tess," she said, "don't you think that it's time you 
got used to being one-of-the-girls? If you need to use 
the facilities, go in and do it. If you will just accept 
in your own mind that you belong there, so will everyone 
else."

My physical needs were rapidly overtaking my will to 
argue her logic, so I just took a deep breath and went 
into the ladies' room to take care of my business. 
Fortunately for my peace of mind, it was empty, and I 
went directly into one of the stalls. However, just as I 
was ready to leave, two women from sales came in to 
touch up their appearances. I just could not bear having 
them know who was in there with them, so I waited in the 
stall until they finished. That put me a couple of 
minutes late getting back to work.

Diane got in a dig at me over that.

"My, we are acting more like a woman now, aren't we. 
Even taking longer in the ladies' room to do our 
business - right?"

"Okay, okay," I told her as I made an imaginary mark in 
the air, "Another point for the home team."

The balance of the day was fairly routine, and I began 
to forget how I was dressed, other than being careful 
with the hem of my skirt. Just at quitting time, Kate 
called from a customer's site, saying that she would be 
late, while she completed a repair. I reminded that I 
didn't have my car. She told me to wait in the parking 
lot and she'd pick me up in about half an hour.

I wasn't really thinking when I left the building - 
until the door locked behind me. There I was, in a thin, 
clinging top, short skirt, and high heels, standing 
around with nothing to do. My predicament was brought 
home powerfully when I heard a whistle from a passing 
car. That was when I got the wild idea to return to the 
department store. At least that would keep me occupied 
until Kate arrived, I reasoned.

It was as if I were being magically drawn back to the 
nightgown rack. I found a gown like the one Kate had 
shown me, which I'd liked so well. It was the wrong 
size. Eventually, I picked out two, one for myself in a 
mint color, and another in peach, which I thought that 
Kate had liked.

On my way to the service island, I realized that I still 
had my very masculine wallet in my purse. I stopped and 
carefully fished out enough money to cover my purchase, 
then stepped up to the counter with cash and merchandise 
in hand.

Even so, the youthful clerk asked whether the purchase 
would be cash or charge. I had to pause overly long to 
adjust my throat muscles, then in a soft voice I spoke 
just two words, "Cash, please." I hoped that the anyone 
listening would perceive the pause as being due to 
astonishment over the clerk not seeing the currency, 
which was in plain view.

The transaction seemed to be taking forever. Didn't this 
clerk know how to process a cash transaction? Looking at 
my watch again, I was amazed to discover that I still 
had seven minutes. Finally, she handed me my change and 
the bag containing my purchase.

As I walked away, my tenseness from dealing with the 
clerk began to be displaced by elation over having been 
accepted, apparently, as the woman I appeared to be. 
That process was momentarily reversed when, to my shock, 
I heard Diane's voice, just as I was about to leave the 
building.

"Wow! You're really getting into this, aren't you?"

With dread, I turned toward the sound to discover, to my 
relief, that she was alone. Rather than reply, I just 
shrugged.

"What did you get?" she asked, as she stepped up to me.

Quietly, I said, "nothing much."

She looked at me thoughtfully, but didn't saying 
anything else.

We took leave of each other, and I went outside. I had 
to wait another ten minutes in the office parking lot 
before Kate arrived. It felt like hours.

Kate, too, asked what I'd bought, but didn't press when 
I was evasive about it.

When we got back to my place, instead of starting 
dinner, she helped me redo my makeup.

"Just for a dinner at my own home?" I complained.

"No," she told me, "we're going out."

"We're WHAT?"

"Don't panic. We're just going to a little place where I 
know you won't be bothered."

I was puzzled, but she wouldn't explain any further.

"At least let me change to a longer skirt," I demanded.

"No. You look fine, just the way you are." Insisting 
that it was an important part of my education, she 
pushed me along.

When we drove into the parking lot of our destination, 
the name of the place sparked an uncertain recognition. 
After we had taken a table, and I'd had a chance to look 
around a little, I realized why. There weren't any men 
in the place.

Trying to be discrete, I whispered, "Isn't this a 
lesbian bar?"

"Tess," she began, "a women's club is a place for any 
woman who wants to socialize in a safe environment. It 
has nothing to do with her sexual preference."

Her explanation made me feel even more like an invader.

"What if they ...?"

"Anyone who looked at you closely already knows," she 
answered before I could finish.

A look around the room brought confirmed that I was 
conspicuous, in a way I wouldn't have imagined - for 
gathering of women. Of the twenty or so souls there, 
less than a handful were wearing any kind of skirt.

"If you behave yourself," she continued, "everyone will 
treat you pretty much like any other woman."

'Pretty much' left quite a bit of latitude, 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 incredibly betrayed. I'd been set 
up, dragged into a hostile environment - a wolf in 
sheep's clothing, after the sheep had been equipped 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 woman space 
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 softened, 
"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 begrudgingly 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 
foreseen 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 mellow 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 
verbal 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 tightened 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 swiveling 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 we're 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 IX

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 
anymore."

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!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 67