The Long Embrace of Change

Part V

“Wow – she’s really coming along!”

We sat at a window in a coffee shop downtown.  It was a couple of blocks away from the campus where Chris worked, and she (though, biologically, Chris was still he) was headed home.  It was a late Monday afternoon.  She walked along the sidewalk on the other side of the street.  She had no idea we were there – in fact, had no conscious idea we even existed.

I had to agree with Kim.  She really was coming along.  Four months after I’d last seen her – six months after we’d started her conversion – she was really starting to look like the woman she was becoming. Her hair was now tied back in a short ponytail.  Her ass was rounding out nicely, and her tits were visible as a pair of bulges under her shirt.  People who worked with her every day probably didn’t notice them, but I only saw her sporadically.  She wore jeans, but if wall was going well, her body under those clothes was as smooth-shaven as her face.  The drugs she was taking caused her facial hair to come in more lightly, so at the end of a long day, there was virtually no shadow.  I wondered if she even had to shave every day anymore.

“Not too much longer now, you know.  You come up with a new name for her yet?”

I turned back toward Kim.  “She’ll be Tina.”  I nodded.  “Yes.  Tina.  My Tina.”  I liked the sound of that – my Tina.

Up to now, most of the changes had been cosmetic.  She could now clearly see the changes in his appearance, and her attitude toward herself was changing, but as far as she was concerned, she was still Chris – a he.  It was fundamentally no different from making someone play dress-up or wear a costume.  We had to awaken a new self within her – one that would grow as her body changed and eventually consume the former self.  She would replace him, as though his past was nourishment for another. 

And the new self – Tina – would submit herself completely to me. 

Behavioral changes were also underway.  She started shaving her body two months ago – we would soon see if the practice had become routine – and, at the time, got a Prince Albert that forced her to piss sitting down.  The latter behavior was reinforced hypnotically by the Circle member who operated the piercing studio.  But so far, it was all just motions – nothing that really reoriented her view of herself.

I was really becoming drawn toward her.  Partly, it was appreciation of what was, in part, my own creation – but something about the former Chris was really taking root in my soul.  I could see this person becoming a lovely young woman.  The more I watched her, the more I found her quirks endearing.  The more I appreciated her developing curves, her face, her eyes.  Yes, I was going to own her – but I was also starting to really love her. 

It’s hard to explain the kind of love I felt.  It was somewhat like the love felt by an owner toward a pet.  This was someone I would care for, and she would care for (and serve) me.  I would be everything to her.  But it was more than that.  Not quite romantic love, but there was also the growing realization that this person – soon to be a male lesbian – would be able to satisfy me in many ways. 

Odd that I should feel this way, since I’d never really spoken with her.  I’d spoken to her, but it was only to issue instructions, and she was in a deep trance every time.  I really wanted to snap my fingers, get her out of her trance, talk to her.  But I couldn’t.

This was soon to change. That morning, I’d moved temporarily into an apartment near Kim’s business.  It wasn’t far away from where I worked, and I would only live there until we finished the conversion process – a few weeks.

The name of the apartment complex was wonderfully ironic – “Silk-Trappe Apartments.”  The name had nothing to do with the silken traps spun by the Circle when they converted young men into male lesbian slaves – the building happens to be on the corner of Trappe Avenue and 10th Street.  Trappe Ave. is named after a tycoon who once controlled much of the city.  Peter Trappe made his fortune from silk.  He was able to import silk thread from overseas cheap – he owned the silkworm farms in Asia and a fleet of clipper ships – and sell it to the people who made the silk textiles that made our city famous.  The silk factories were all clustered along this stretch of 10th St., which has always been called “Silk Street.” 

The silk industry was long gone, and the old factories had all been converted to other things – coffee shops, clothing stores, even a couple of lingerie shops.  The piercing studio where we’d had Chris pierce his ears, nipples, and cock was at one end of old Silk Street – the end closest to the university campus, where more upscale shopping gave way to cheap eateries.  And Kim’s business, a beauty salon and day spa, was right in the middle.

We left the coffee shop and followed Chris.  It wasn’t far to the alley that she took to her apartment, and as soon as she turned to it, Kim blew through the whistle a few times.

I heard nothing.  Neither did anyone standing around us.  But it stopped Chris as though an invisible wall had suddenly sprung from the ground.  She didn’t stagger or stumble – she simply stopped walking and stood still, with her legs spread out slightly and arms to the sides.

We walked over to her.  Her face was completely expressionless.  Her eyes were open, but not widely – there was no appearance of surprise.  Her lips were slightly parted. 

We checked to make sure no one else was in the alley – unlikely at this time of day – and hiked up her right jeans leg a few inches.  The exposed skin was hairless.  She was shaving her legs, at least.

We gently pushed at her shoulders, forcing her to back up against a wall.  An abandoned refrigerator stood between Chris and the opening to the alleyway – no one could see her but us.  Kim nodded to me, and I quickly undid her belt buckle and unfastened the top button.  Thankfully, her jeans had a zipper and not button fly, so I was able to quickly and smoothly draw her jeans open.  I pulled back on the elastic of her briefs and saw that, apart from a fuzzy dark brown triangle right over her ringed dick, her crotch was still smooth and clean. 

I turned to Kim and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

We faced Chris and gave her instructions.  She stood passively and soaked them in.

The Long Embrace of Change

Part VI

I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in just a day. I reflected on this as I walked toward the doctor’s office. 

Actually, I’d been changing for a while.  On the outside, this was obvious, and it wasn’t just that I’d pierced my ears or hadn’t had a haircut in months.  My body’s shape was changing, and I wasn’t sure it was all exercise and diet.  My abdomen was thinner than ever, so I suppose that’s why my hips seemed to spread out further, but my chest was also expanding.  It almost looked like I’d started to sprout a pair of budding breasts.  Physically, I felt fine – my nipples felt tingly from time to time, but I assumed that was from the piercings.  And I wasn’t obese, either – quite the opposite, in fact – so what I had weren’t the kind of man-tits you see on fat people. 

Rationally, I should have seen a doctor.  I didn’t know why it was happening.  But I did nothing.  In part, this was from embarrassment.  I mean, how does one go to a doctor and explain that he seems to be growing a pair of tits?  But more than that, I didn’t dislike it.  In fact, part of me deep in my core actually liked it.  My nipples were becoming more sensitive, and I found myself rubbing and pinching them after each bath.  In public, I wore loose clothes to de-emphasize my proto-bust; but at home, I would strip and look at myself in the mirror.  My hairless body, my pierced ears, my tits – the effect was almost, well, girlish.  I don’t know why I got excited, whether it was fact of the change or the image in the mirror.  I would get hard, and while I looked at my feminine chest, my hands would play with my masculine genitals until I came.

My mind was changing, too – changing in ways I couldn’t actually name.  My attention was less and less focused on research.  I no longer had a future in science.  My work was getting slow and sloppy, as if I didn’t really care, as if it was all an afterthought.  I was wasting my time and didn’t belong.  I needed to get off the path I was following and find another. 

So yesterday, a Monday morning, I quit grad school. 

My advisor wasn’t surprised.  He’d seen my dedication slip over the past few months.  He’d seen the careless mistakes I was making, and he’d watched me daydream for hours at a time.  I’d stopped participating in seminars – I’d just sit still while the others discussed the subject.  I was going through the motions, but that’s all – I was no longer progressing.  Whatever inner drive I’d had when I started was long gone. 

I didn’t really tell him I was quitting for good.  I mumbled about needing time off, about finding myself, about looking for direction in life.  Maybe I’d come back, I said.  I knew I wouldn’t, and I think my advisor understood that.  So he wished me well and helped me clean up my bench.

The hardest question to answer was what I’d do next.  I had no real idea.  I was distracted away from my work, but not toward anything in particular.  I really didn’t know where I was headed. 

Quitting school meant giving up my fellowship.  That meant getting a job.  I didn’t mind that, really – something mindless, mechanical.  Something to keep the bills paid and my hands busy while I sorted things out.  I was also asked to leave subsidized student housing near campus, so I’d have to find another place to live.  They would have let me stay through the end of the month, but I wanted to get out.  Not sure why – I just did. 

I got really, really lucky.  Unbelievably lucky.  Right after telling my advisor of my decision, I decided to go for a walk.  Instead of heading toward my apartment, I went the other way.  Something compelled me to go that way – I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t think of a reason not to go that way, so that way I went.  And eventually, I came across a white building on a corner with a sign in the window that said, “HELP WANTED.”

It was in the window of a beauty salon called “Kim’s Circle.”  The rest of the building was taken up by apartments.

I’d never been in a beauty salon before and Kim, or whoever ran the place, was probably looking for someone specifically trained to work in one.  I was nervous about going in; what if someone saw me?  What would they think?  Did straight guys – even straight guys who were looking less masculine – work in beauty salons?  But something in my head was telling me I should do this, that I was supposed to go in.  Besides, I had nothing to lose.  If they wanted a hairdresser, they would say so, and I would be on my way.  If they wanted someone to sweep floors, I’d have a job.  So I gulped and walked in.

The first thing I noticed was the smell – a mixture of the chemicals women use on their hair.  There was a row of chairs facing a long mirror against one wall.  A couple of women were having their hair done, but they were seated toward the back of the salon.  A tall woman stood at the front counter.  She had jet-black bobbed hair, and when she looked up, her dark brown eyes seemed to see right through the back of my head.  She intimidated me. 

“Uh….hello?” I said, stuttering a little.  “I saw the ‘help wanted’ sign out front….I’m looking for work….”  The back of my throat was very dry, and the words were coming out in squeaks.  “…I’m not a hairdresser or anything, but ….well….I can lift things and stuff, push brooms…..that would...” 

She introduced herself as Kim. I felt frozen in place while she spoke, glued in place by some invisible force that almost seemed to come straight from her eyes.  She expressed surprise that someone would be asking this soon – the sign had just gone up a few moments before I walked in – but for some reason I can’t explain, her face didn’t seem surprised at all.  And it wasn’t just that she wasn’t surprised to see a man ask about working in a beauty salon.  It was as though she knew I – not just some guy, but me – would be asking at that particular time. 

“We’re just looking for general labor at this point – someone to help clean up, keep inventory, maybe stay at the front desk while the rest of us are occupied.  Keep the magazines stacked neatly.  What’s your background?”

Whatever kept me immobilized suddenly snapped, and I blinked once or twice before responding.  Her eyes seemed to soften a little as I relaxed and told her I’d been in school studying biology, but that I’d recently dropped out and was looking for something to keep me going.  I didn’t say anything about trying to make sense of my life, but her eyes seemed to whisper the truth to me – that I was adrift, and she knew it. 

The job paid minimum wage, but it came with basic benefits and, since I’d had been educated, I might be given extra pay if I could keep some of their computer work in line. 

She handed me an application form.  I hesitated after filling out my name, when I got to the address lines.  I looked up at her, but before I could tell her of my status, she asked, “Got a place to stay right now?”

I shook my head.

“Well, you know,” she said, her eyes drilling right into mine, “I also manage the apartment complex in this building.  If you’re willing to help out with maintenance and cleaning around the complex, you could stay in one of the studios up on the top floor.  It’s small, but you can’t beat the location.”

I stood still, unable to speak.  I hoped my eyes were expressing the gratitude I felt.  They must have, because she took the application form, filled out the address for me, and handed it back.

Once the form was finished, I handed it back to her.  She didn’t actually look at it, though.  No one else had applied, she said, and she thought I’d be perfect for the job.  I could start work the following Monday, but could move in to the new flat that afternoon.

“Just a couple of things, though,” Kim said.  “If you’re going to live at Silk-Trappe, we’re required to have you checked over by a doctor.  A liability thing – the insurance people insist on it.”

I gasped.  It had just occurred to me that, because I was no longer in school, I could no longer use the student health clinic on campus.  “No problem,” Kim assured me, “there’s a doctor who works through our system who can see you at no cost.  In fact, we’d prefer that you saw our doctor.  I’ll arrange the appointment for you. How long before you can move in?”

“I can be back in a couple of hours,” I said.  I didn’t plan on keeping most of the stuff in my old apartment.

“Good.”  Her smile was bright, but her eyes continued to radiate power.  “Come on by when you’re ready, and I should have your exam scheduled by then.”

By mid-afternoon, I’d gotten the few belongings I’d decided to keep – some clothes, a couple of books, some cooking things – and moved over to Silk-Trappe.  I told the student housing managers they could give the rest of my things to other students.  Kim met me on the sidewalk and took me to my apartment on the top floor.  It was a small efficiency – it had a single room with a bed, a simple kitchen set against one wall, and a clean bathroom.  There was a TV on a wood stand in one corner.

“Help yourself to whatever food is in the apartment.  We keep some things for one of our employees here – clothes and such.  She won’t be here for several weeks, but we have no other place to put them.  I apologize if they get in the way; you can move them if you like.”  The look she gave me when she said that was almost predatory, and it gave me a shiver for reasons I didn’t understand.  “Come by the salon Monday morning at 8:00 sharp.  We’ll set you up with a uniform, maybe clean you up a little.”  She ran the fingers of one hand along my ponytail as she said that.  “We’ll probably have some work around the apartment complex later this week as well, but I’ll give you a couple of days to settle in first.”

As she turned to leave, Kim held out a slip of paper.  It said, “Dr. Allen, 2550 10th St., noon tomorrow.”  That was only a couple of blocks away. 

Until then, I had little to do.  It took very little time to unpack, so I looked through the apartment.  The kitchen cabinet was stocked with bottles of fortified water, and there were cans of diet milkshake in the fridge.   The closet held some blouses and pullover dresses, a couple of which had the name “Tina” embroidered on them.  I didn’t know who Tina was, but the clothes suggested someone approximately my height and weight.  They were about the same size as the shirts I was hanging up next to them.  The drawers attached to the base of the bed also had some of Tina’s clothes – panties, bras, some socks and stockings.  My own belongings fit easily in the remaining space.

After unpacking, I grabbed a bottle of water and started flipping through the channels on the TV.  I hadn’t watched much television in my former life as a grad student – odd how in less than 12 hours, I’d already thought of it as a “former life” – so I didn’t know what would be on.  I settled on a channel that was showing nature programs and began to relax.

I don’t actually recall what I watched, but it must have kept my attention.  Something snapped me back to attention, and I realized it was midnight.  I turned off the TV, brushed my teeth, and hit the sack.

The next morning, I had breakfast – a diet shake, with my usual pills washed down with protein water – and took a shower.  For some reason, I decided to shave my face, but not my body.  While waiting to head out for the doctor, I turned the TV on.  The same blank feeling came over me, and before I knew it, I felt slapped back to reality just in time to get dressed and head out to meet Dr. Allen. 

I opened the drawer to pull out some clothes.  I pulled out a pair of briefs, but as I did so, my hands brushed against a pair of satin panties evidently belonging to Tina, whoever that was.  They felt cool and smooth, and something inside me stirred.  I’m not sure what it was – whether it was the simple feel of the fabric against my skin or the image, coming without warning from deep in my head, of me actually wearing them.  I could almost hear a voice saying I should put them on, that I’d feel good wearing them, that they’d flatter my almost girlish figure.  I found my right hand reaching for them, but I held it back and stared at it for a moment.  Part of me was actually going to pick up the panties and put them on!

The thought of wearing panties wasn’t exactly disturbing, mind you - but I’d never even thought about wearing womens’ clothes before.  I’d heard that most transvestites are straight, and I had no problem with the concept of cross-dressing, but I’d never had any urges before.  That’s what caused me to stand still, staring at my hand – the feeling that these panties would feel good against my still hairless thighs seemed to come from nowhere.  It had simply never occurred to me before.

After a few moments, I decided that since the panties weren’t mine – they belonged to Tina – I should probably wear my briefs.

I grabbed a shirt and pair of jeans from the closet.  My eyes looked at one of the sun dresses left for Tina in the back of the closet, and a similar image sprang to mind – one in which I was actually wearing the bright yellow sleeveless dress, my smooth legs emerging gracefully from below the knee-length skirt, my hair let down and falling around my shoulders.  I shook my head and stepped back, amazed with the ease at which this feminized image of me came into being.  My face, hands, and legs were those of a woman, not of a man – and yet, they were mine.  A voice seemed to whisper in my ear that this was right, that it was how things were supposed to be.  And I actually liked it.  I shook my head again, trying to shed myself of this surprising mental picture like a dog shakes water from its fur, and put my own clothes on. 

As I walked toward the doctor’s office, the changes of the past 24 hours coursed through my head.  So did my recent sudden thoughts and urges – I’d never had anything like them before. 

The Long Embrace of Change

Part VII

We watched Chris walk along toward his doctor’s appointment from my new apartment window.  My apartment was much larger than his, but was strategically located so that every time he walked up or down the stairs, he would pass my door.  And very soon, we would meet.

“She still has no idea,” Kim said.  I knew of the subtle messages Chris was starting to get, some subliminally through the television, others as barely-audible voices broadcast through small speakers throughout the apartment.  She was being given suggestions to wear the womens’ clothes we’d left there.  We could see she wasn’t wearing a dress, and we suspected she hadn’t actually put on the panties, either – but the seeds of desire were nonetheless being sown.

Her gait was taking on a decidedly womanly manner.  Her ass wiggled just a little as he walked – not enough to raise the attention of onlookers, but enough to suggest a feminine side if one looked for it. 

The Long Embrace of Change

Part VIII

The office of Emily Allen, MD, was empty when I arrived except for a pretty blonde receptionist behind a desk.  I gave her my name, and she looked at a monitor screen in front of her, but she seemed to know who I was anyway.  Perhaps mine was the only appointment that day?

“Ah, yes,” said the receptionist. She wore green scrubs and a name badge that said, “Leila Baxter, RN.”  “You have a noon appointment.  Come with me.”

First, she handed me a plastic jar and pointed toward the rest room.  I didn’t have to piss very much, but I was able to provide a sample anyway.  She then took me back into an examination room, where she asked me to strip down to my underwear.  After taking my weight, blood pressure, pulse and temperature, she had me sit on the paper-covered exam table.  A plastic tourniquet was tied around my left bicep, and she inserted a needle into a vein to draw some blood.  After taking the blood sample, she left.

I only had to wait a moment or two.  Dr. Allen was a tall woman with graying chestnut hair that she’d put back in a bun.  Her approach at first seemed very businesslike and detatched, but her face projected warmth and trust.  Her dark eyes looked over the clipboard with the vital stats recorded by Nurse Baxter, then she looked up at me.  “I’m having the nurse run some tests on the blood and urine samples you gave us.  Routine stuff.”  The first things Dr. Allen did were indeed routine – she listened to my back with a stethoscope and looked into my eyes, ears, and throat.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

I wanted to tell her about my recent concerns about my chest.  Dr. Allen seemed to be someone I could really confide in.  Still, I was reluctant.  “OK, I guess.  Tired.  A lot’s been happening in my life.”

“I understand you’ve recently left school and accepted a new job?”

Kim must have filled her in before I arrived.  I nodded.

Her hands felt around the lymph nodes of my neck and then around my chest and abdomen. 

I must have flinched when her hands probed around my pectoral region – I wasn’t ready to admit I had breasts.  She looked up and asked, “Did I hurt you?”  I shook my head.  “Did I pull on one of your piercings?”  Again, I shook my head.  “Hmmm.  Something you want to tell me?”

“Well…..”  I took a deep breath, trying to collect my words.  “I don’t know if something’s wrong or not.  Over the past few weeks, my chest seems to have….well…expanded.  Just a little.  It’s not really uncomfortable or anything, just….I don’t know….I’ve been working out and dieting, and taking vitamins, so maybe it’s just that….”

Dr. Allen looked more closely at my chest.  Her hands then moved around the margins of my breasts, giving each a soft squeeze.  I exhaled when she did that – it actually felt good!

“I can’t feel any abnormal tissue in here.  The vitamins and diet could be doing this.  Are you comfortable with it?”

I thought that was an odd question.  “Uh….to be honest, yes.  No pain or anything, though if I’ve been standing for a long time my chest tends to be a little sore.  A little increased sensitivity, too – I’d figured that was from having my chest rub against my shirts.”

“Could be,” she said.  She seemed to think for a moment.  “As long as there’s no real discomfort, there’s no reason to do anything – though if you want your figure improved down the road, we could always do that.”  That surprised me; usually, when people spoke of “improving” the figure of their chest, it was in the context of a woman having her breasts enlarged, not reduced.  “But the soreness you’re feeling from standing can be taken care of fairly easily.  It’s a matter of reducing the amount of weight being supported by your chest.  Have you considered wearing a bra?”

My eyes popped wide open at that.  “Wear a bra? I……”  I was speechless.  I don’t know what shocked me more – the suggestion, or the ease with which she made it, as though it was a perfectly normal thing for a guy to do.

“We’re not talking about anything major here.  Just a small bra – an A-cup.  As long as you’re wearing normal clothes, no one would know.  Believe me, it would help.” 

I was still unable to speak. 

“Look – it’s nothing to be embarrassed about!  This happens to lots of men your age.  Wearing a bra under your clothes doesn’t mean you’re a homosexual or a pervert.  It’s just a practical solution to a minor issue.  Just give it a try.”

She continued her exam.  “Take of your underwear, please.”  I hesitated – I’d been seen by female doctors before, but never down there.  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Chris.  Please pull them down.” 

Once my underpants were off, she had me scoot back on the table and to put my feet into hoops at the front on either side.  Once in, she strapped my feet in and pulled each leg up and out.  This left my genitals and ass completely exposed.

“Relax,” she said. “This is a necessary part of the exam.  It won’t hurt.”

She felt around my genitals and tugged on my penis once or twice.  “You keep this clean, don’t you?” she asked, flicking my PA ring with her finger once or twice.  I nodded.  “Good thing you’re already circumcised with that.”  My cock began to get aroused. 

“I’m sorry, doctor,” I said, embarrassed at my lack of control, “it’s just that you….”

“I know,” she said.  “Again, nothing I haven’t seen lots of times before.  Just relax.”

Dr. Allen walked over to a set of drawers against the wall.  I could hear various implements being moved around.  When she turned back, she held two objects – a pair of calipers and a hypodermic needle.  She swabbed my right shoulder and, before I could say anything, injected me.

“What was that!?”  I rose up a little on the table, which was awkward because my legs were strapped into the stirrups.  No one had said anything about injections!

As I struggled to rear up on my elbows, Dr. Allen pulled a chain from under her lab coat.  On it was a thin brass tube.  Something about the tube seemed familiar, but I couldn’t actually recall having seen one before.

She put the tube to her lips and blew into it once.  I don’t know what happened; I didn’t hear anything, but I suddenly felt much calmer and relaxed my arms.  “Just a booster.”  I figured it must have been a vaccine booster for measles or something; last time I’d been given the normal vaccinations was early grade school.  I immediately began to calm down.  (In hindsight, I wonder if something in the shot helped relax me.)

With the calipers, she measured each of my testicles. 

She pulled a pair of rubber gloves on her hands.  I couldn’t really see what she was doing, but I felt her hand smearing something cool and slippery along the crack of my ass.  One of her fingers slipped in my anus, causing me to gasp in surprise.

I’d never had anything up my butt before.  I’d never had a prostate exam or anything.  So I was astonished to find that the experience wasn’t very unpleasant at all. 

Her finger probed my ass for a couple of minutes.  She must have found my prostate, because my cock started getting very hard.  “I’m sorry…..embarrassing…” 

“It would only be a problem if that didn’t happen,” she said, nodding to my erection.  Once my cock stopped growing, she measured it with the calipers.

To my shock, I was actually disappointed when her finger was withdrawn.  She wiped my butt with some tissue.

Once again, she put her lips around one end of the brass tube.  Things got a little fuzzy after that; next thing I knew, I was standing up and buttoning up my shirt.  For some reason, I wasn’t concerned about my lack of memory over the past couple of minutes.

The nurse came in with a sheet of paper, which Dr. Allen read.  “OK,” she said, looking up at me, “your urine and blood both came back clear.  You’re physically fine.  Keep up with the exercize and diet – it’s keeping you very healthy – and you’ll need to come in for another booster next month.  And don’t forget what I told you.  Your choice, but I really think it would help.”

I walked back to my apartment and sat on my bed.  Wear a bra?  Me? 

My feelings were muddled.  On the one hand, I was a guy, and guys just didn’t wear bras.  What would people think?  But on the other, the doctor seemed positive it would help, and the soreness I sometimes felt at the end of a long day really was a drag.  And it’s not like I’d be walking around in public just wearing a bra. 

As I thought this over, my earlier urge to put on a pair of panties came back to me.  There was something erotic about the idea of wearing womens’ underclothes, and that now included a bra.  Even if I hadn’t been dealing with an expanding chest, I felt like the desire would have eventually come to me on its own anyway.

So I’d decided to give it a go when I realized another obstacle – the act of actually buying a bra.  That’s something guys definitely did not do. We might buy sexy lingerie for our girlfriends, but not everyday bras.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin.  I’d have to ask the salespeople for something that would fit me.  And I might as well be wearing the bra in public – people would see and draw the conclusion that I wore womens’ clothing.

Then it occurred to me.  Tina.

Whoever Tina was, the clothes in the closet suggested someone of roughly the same height and weight.  And, Kim had told me, she would be gone for a long time.  I could get them washed, and she’d never know.

I opened the drawer and pulled out a bra.  Sure enough, it was an A cup – precisely what the doctor had recommended.  I looked at the bra for a few minutes, playing with the back strap to make sure I knew how it fastened.  I took a deep breath, pulled off my shirt, and put the bra on.

Getting the back of the bra to hook up was tricky, but I managed to get it done.  I went to the bathroom, where there was a full-length mirror against one wall, and took a look.

I had to admit, it looked good.  I’m not sure why – it just did.  But something was missing. 

“Ah, what the heck,” I said.  I removed my jeans and underwear, walked back to the drawer, and pulled out a pair of black satin panties.  They slipped over my legs and settled around my crotch like a glove.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the image was stunning.  I undid my ponytail and let my hair drape my shoulders.  I was a man, but I wasn’t – my earrings, my hair, my smooth skin, and now Tina’s clothes, all together, gave the impression of an attractive, seductive person.   It’s hard to describe – not quite male, but also not quite female.  Change the clothes and put the hair back, and I would be a man.  Add some makeup, maybe do my nails, and I’d be a woman. 

I became aroused looking at my image.  The bra and panties felt so good against my skin, and could already tell that the support the bra gave to my breasts – for some reason, I now felt better about calling them breasts – would make me more comfortable.  My hand slipped beneath the panties waistband and felt around at my growing cock, stroked my scrotum. 

Before I knew it, I was masturbating with real enthusiasm.  I exploded, jetting spurts of semen all over my hand and the panties. 

Once I was finished, I sat down on the toilet, caught my breath, and enjoyed the feeling for a moment.  But then, I realized I’d just soiled Tina’s panties with my fluids.  I pulled the panties off as fast as I could and ran water over them in the sink, hoping to wash it all off.  Once I thought the stain was gone, I wrung them out and draped them over the towel bar. 

”I’ll have to wash those,” I thought, looking at them hanging limp. 

I didn’t know what was happening to me.  Only a day after first feeling the compulsion to wear womens’ clothes, I found myself actually putting some on, and found myself getting excited over the fact.  I had no idea what this meant.  But before I knew what I was doing, I saw that my jeans were being pulled over yet another pair of panties – white ones – that I’d pulled out of the drawer without even thinking about it.  I shrugged, put on a shirt, and sat down.  The panties and bra actually felt normal, as if I was supposed to be wearing them.  I had a few days before the job started, so I turned on the TV and gave it my full attention.