<html> <head><title>Male Mother</title></head> <!-- Changed by: Nostrumo, 10-Sep-1997 --> <body> <h2 ALIGN=CENTER>Male Mother</h2><br><center> <i>by <a href="mailto:LXJE46A@prodigy.com">Jenny Leeds</a></i></center><p align=right>© 1997</p> <H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 1</H3> Wendy did her best to be cool, to drive with at least a semblance of composure, but it wasn't easy. She found herself gripping the wheel in high delight; her stomach kept lifting in excitement. The corners of her lips twitched irrepressibly.<P> In a few hours she'd have her husband Bob just where she wanted him. Mouse-trapped. He'd be hers forever.<P> Squinting against the brightness of the day she aimed the car down the highway, consciously preventing her foot from flooring the pedal as it wanted to do. There was time enough, no sense in getting stopped for speeding.<P> A limitless blue sky embraced lush summer fields and undisciplined copses of shade trees on either side of the road. Through the open windows a breeze tempered the afternoon warmth, and all was well with her world . . . and was going to get better.<P> She sneaked a glance to the side. Bob sat tense in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, lipstick a startling red against the anxious pallor of his face. Shining brown hair lifted and fell in the wind of the car's passage, offering capricious glimpses of the gold-caged garnet earrings she gave him when he agreed to have his ears pierced. He was just <EM>darling.</EM><P> He'd come a long way. Electrolysis had left his face smooth and so youthful he looked hardly eighteen instead of twenty-four. Falsies in his bra filled his dress becomingly--she'd bought them for him in a B-cup, her own size. An absence of hips and bottom betrayed a hint of his true gender, but it was cute. He had the kind of boyish figure some women would die for.<P> She should be content with that much, skirts and makeup and falsies, but she wasn't--he could still cut his hair, go back to wearing men's clothes, and resume his role in male society. Go back to being her <EM>husband</EM>. A man. Like her brutal father.<P> Never again, she thought with smug satisfaction. After today he'd be committed to life in dresses.<P> She should be ashamed of herself. What did Bob ever do but love her like a puppy dog? Taking advantage of him this way was perfectly disgraceful.<P> As if responding to her pang of conscience, Bob said, "Wendy? Maybe this isn't such a good idea."<P> She gave him a cautious look. His hazel eyes were wide with apprehension. She took one hand off the wheel and patted his knee.<P> "It's just cold feet. It'll be all right, you'll see."<P> "Doctor Goody said it would be permanent."<P> After a moment she said, "I know. But you had electrolysis, and that's permanent too. Remember how nervous you were? It worked out just fine."<P> "This is different."<P> "Sure it's different. It's better! Oh Bob, you're going to be so <EM>cute.</EM> I can hardly wait."<P> The fulfillment of her obsession was so close she was not about to listen to his protests.<P> "Besides--" she put her hand back on the stockinged knee and slid it up under his dress, up past the silkiness of nylons, onto the smoothness of bare skin, mischievously grasped the satin-covered masses at the junction of his thighs "--you won't be sorry. I'll see to that."<P> Bob jumped and pushed at her hand. "Quit! It tickles." She saw him trying not to titter.<P> She gave him a squeeze on the swelling in his panties and smiled. Bob was so responsive these days. Or maybe she was, and that started him up.<P> Ever since that first evening a year ago, when she induced him to wear one of her nighties to bed. On an impulse she hid his pajamas in the laundry and told him she hadn't done the wash yet, and urged a dainty gown on him, persuasively likening it to a nightshirt. Dressed in her frills, he was suddenly, unexpectedly, stupefyingly, <EM>non-threatening</EM>. She could relax, even take over, straddling him on top, and it made all the difference. A surprising slippery flow between her legs let her push herself down on that huge thing, and there had been no anxiety, only ecstasy. For the first time, the first time in their two-year marriage, the first time ever, she experienced orgasm.<P> And that was that. She had to have more.<P> Bob said, "It's kind of creepy, isn't it? Does wearing a dress make you feel that way too?"<P> "What?"<P> "You just went ahead and put your hand under my skirt and . . . touched me. It was like I wasn't even dressed."<P> "Oh." Bob was reacting to the--defenselessness--of having his legs all but bare, covered only uncertainly by a skirt. She remembered how her mother made her give up jeans on Sunday-school days. "I used to hate it, but I like it now. It's kind of daring."<P> At first she thought it was only the thrill of sexual fulfillment that made her egg him on to greater and greater lengths, first to wear her nighties, then little by little, step by step, panties instead of boxer shorts, stockings and garter belt secretly under his trousers, "rewarding" him at each step with the kind of erotic lovemaking she had never shown him before, until finally he was wearing her dresses and heels and let his hair grow.<P> She came to see it was more than just a thrilling new kind of sex. Making him wear her clothes put her deliciously in charge. She found a deep need to be in control of him . . . because he was a man. Because of a fear that he might dominate her instead, unless she took the initiative and rendered him powerless first.<P> Since Wendy was in other respects a well-balanced woman she knew how irrational that was.<P> From the day they met he had adored her; and not once had he been anything less than gentle and patient and tender. He never bullied her, never showed the slightest inclination to do so. It was why she married him. That gentleness, and because physically he was a small slender man, five-five, her own height, far removed from the brusque hairy masculine types who caused her to panic inside when they moved their knowing eyes over her.<P> But it wasn't enough. Men <EM>beat</EM> women and children and then deserted them.<P> Her head knew her father had been killed in a car accident; her heart knew he had abandoned her and her sister.<P> Bob's tremulous voice interrupted her train of thought.<P> "Do I have to?"<P> "You promised."<P> "I know, but it's scary." He shifted in the seat. His fingers, tipped with scarlet to match his lips, shook as he smoothed the skirt she had pushed up. His wedding ring glinted. "Maybe we should think about this some more. It's happening too fast."<P> He was right, she thought, it <EM>was</EM> scary. So--irrevocable.<P> "You know you'll like it."<P> "You will, you mean."<P> Wendy decided the car in front of them was going too slow, and focused her attention on passing it on the bright open highway before saying, "I admit it. I'll love it. Oh Bob--I mean, <EM>Barbara</EM>-- you've made me so happy these last months. Don't spoil it now."<P> "Why can't I just keep on like this? It's crazy enough just wearing a dress outside the house. Suppose someone recognized me. Or . . . "<P> His voice trailed off, and she knew what he was remembering.<P> "Like those men who--got you? Darling, you have to stop thinking about that. It's in the past. Forget it and go on from here. They did it to me too, you know."<P> "That's different. You're a woman."<P> "What's that supposed to mean, it's okay for women to be raped? Never mind. Anyway, it was good for you."<P> "Good for me!"<P> "Yes." She went on doggedly, "Now you know how women feel, and it made a change in you. You got gentler, more, I don't know, sweeter, more feminine, and you have to admit that's good if you're going to wear dresses."<P> There had been more than just a change in demeanor. After that traumatic incident he developed rudimentary swellings on his chest that reminded her of herself when she entered puberty, incipient little titties that you could jiggle, almost as if his body was reacting to its violation by feminizing itself. She loved it. The nipples were perceptibly larger, oversize for a man, and were poignantly responsive when she applied suction to them every day with her lips and tongue, in the hope of making them bigger yet.<P> Then she learned Dr. Goody had a way to make men grow breasts, real breasts. She hadn't given Bob a minute's peace until he consented to go for treatment.<P> "You like wearing dresses. It turns you on. Doesn't it."<P> Bob's voice was a shy whisper. "I guess so."<P> "Me too. You'll never know how terrifying it was after--those men-- when you wanted to stop wearing dresses and grow a beard. Everything was going straight down the drain. It was such a relief when you changed your mind and I had my darling Barbara back."<P> "It means a lot to you."<P> "More than anything." Wendy slowed to make the turn onto the country road leading to the clinic. "I'll be so proud of you! It's such a turn- on to think of you with breasts. It'll be just like two women living together. Except when we're in bed. It'll be paradise."<P> "But it's so . . . irrevocable," he said, as though he had been reading her mind before. "I couldn't ever go back to looking like a man. Say," a sudden awareness was in his tone, "that's it, isn't it? You want to make sure I can't change back."<P> "Of course not," she lied. "Don't be silly. I'm thinking of you. You'll love it."<P> He brooded. At last he said, "I'll have to get a new job next tax season. That might not be so easy."<P> "Lots of tax accountants are women. With your experience, any tax firm would jump at the chance to hire you."<P> "How would they know? I couldn't give them references."<P> Wendy relaxed. He was going to go through with it, that was all that mattered. They'd worry about a new job, or even buying a house in another part of town if the neighbors got curious, when the time came.<P> The exultation that made her stomach lift returned. He was such a dear. She wished she could stay with him at the clinic, but the doctor said it would be "counterproductive." Never mind, next week she'd go to San Cabrón with her sister and brother-in-law during the three months of treatment. It would make the time pass quicker.<P> Reading her mind again, Bob sulked, "You'll be basking on a sunny beach with Judy and Leon while I'm being tortured."<P> "Tortured." She laughed. "You know they'll treat you like a king. A queen, I mean." She nudged him with her elbow. "Places like that always do. Cheer up, it'll all be over soon."<P> "That's what they say on Death Row. I guess I'm just worried about, well, you know, everybody there knowing."<P> "Only staff. Doctor Goody said the patients don't see each other."<P> "They'll think I'm gay."<P> "Gay! You're not gay."<P> "They'll think I am."<P> "We know better."<P> "It's embarrassing."<P> A pair of black wrought-iron gates loomed ahead.<P> "This must be it. It's the end of the road."<P> "I wish you hadn't said that."<P> Wendy turned through the gates. Gravel crunched under the tires as the car moved along a winding driveway flanked by lawns and tall stately oaks.<P> "God, it's a mansion," Bob said bitterly, looking at the sprawling three- storied brick building. "This is going to be expensive."<P> She stopped in front of a columned portico. A white-coated orderly opened the passenger door. Bob's skirt pulled up as he swung his legs to the ground. She saw him blush as he stood and let it fall into place. He wasn't used to being out in public in a dress. Wendy wondered if the orderly knew what they were here for. Others must come for the same treatment.<P> Birds made cheerful trills and katydids chirped as they walked to the big doors. For a second Wendy thought Bob was going to bolt. He stared around at the outside world with a look of panic, but when she took his hand he subsided, gave her a shaky smile, and followed her to the reception desk. The click of their heels echoed in the marble lobby.<P> "Mrs. Miller to see Doctor Goody," Wendy told the girl at the desk, meaning Bob, thinking suddenly they couldn't both be "Mrs. Miller." Maybe she should take back her maiden name, Ogden. Mrs. Ogden. It sounded funny, that was her mother, rest her soul.<P> "Doctor is expecting you. You can go right in."<P> Dr. Goody looked up owlishly through milk-bottle lenses when they entered the office. He had sandy hair and a pleasant face.<P> His eyes examined each of them thoughtfully.<P> "Which one of you is here for treatment?"<P> Wendy grinned happily. "She is."<P> He said to Bob, "Mrs. Miller. I couldn't tell. Both of you are so attractive." To Wendy as she seated herself, "And you would be the lady I spoke with on the phone. Another Mrs. Miller, eh? You must be sisters-in- law," he said with a twinkle behind the thick glasses. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to speak to both of you, to be certain you are fully aware of what's involved. Protogen, the substance we'll be treating Mrs. Miller with, hasn't yet been approved by the Federal Drug Administration, so you'll both have to sign a release registering him--her--as an experimental subject. Mrs. Miller--" He hesitated. "This is too awkward. I can't be calling you both Mrs. Miller. You won't know who I'm talking to. What are your first names?"<P> "I'm Wendy and she's Barbara."<P> "Wendy and Barbara, don't let the word 'experimental' alarm you. We've been working with protogen for years. It's quite safe. Do you know what the treatment will do?"<P> "Make her breasts grow."<P> "Yes, certainly, but there is more to it than that. Let me explain how the drug works." His voice took on a kind of pedantry. "In males, the testicles produce testosterone and other androgens, hormones which cause men to look and behave like men. In females, the ovaries make estrogens, necessary for female characteristics. But in men and women alike, the suprarenal glands, small structures adhering to the renal organs, the kidneys, secrete both types of hormones in their cortex--androgens and estrogens.<P> "Protogen was discovered by a team of researchers seeking a way to increase sex drive in dysfunctional males. What it does is stimulate the production of these adrenal hormones. The glands enlarge, becoming almost the size of the kidneys to which they are attached. The output of testosterone increases sharply, and to that extent an unparalleled success was achieved, all the more because in a way that is not yet fully understood, the use of all the body's male hormone--that manufactured by the testicles as well as the adrenals--is focused on the genital complex to produce large amounts of semen and spermatozoa, resulting in a marked increase in sex drive.<P> "However, it leaves little or no male hormone to affect the rest of the body's processes, such as the development and maintenance of male physical characteristics.<P> "In the meantime the adrenals' supply of estrogen--female hormone-- increases to levels normal for women. As you might expect, in the absence of testosterone to counteract it, the body reacts by becoming feminized."<P> He droned on while Wendy's mind wandered.<P> " . . . new bone formation at symphysis pubis and iliac crest . . . flattening of the thyroid cartridge . . . general regression of thorax and corresponding drop in clavicle angle . . . gynecomastia . . . increase in subtrochanteric, gluteal and patellar fats . . . island of abdominal fat leading to deeply-set navel . . . pre-pubic cushion . . . overall reduction of amount and coarseness of lanugo . . . "<P> She didn't understand a word he was saying. Was Bob going to have tits or not? <P> Just then he said to Bob, "You would be a woman in all secondary respects," and her heart stuttered. "The effect is permanent and irreversible. Protogen is not a hormone, you understand. It merely redirects and rechannels the body's use of its own hormones, fooling it into believing it is female, as it were. Once it has done that, no further treatment is necessary. Do you understand?"<P> "I'm not sure what you mean by 'secondary'. "<P> "Your primary sexual organs are the penis and testicles, just as a woman's are the vagina, ovaries, and uterus. The other distinctions between male and female, despite their social importance, are secondary-- just window-dressing, so to speak. You would still be a male, but you would have the appearance of a female."<P> Appearance of a female. So he <EM>would</EM> have tits.<P> "Oh." Bob looked thoughtful.<P> Dr. Goody continued, "You must be quite sure you want to go through with this, because you won't be able to change your mind when we begin. Once started, the process can be slowed, but can't be stopped. Er, I assume you two enjoy normal conjugal relations? I apologize for being so personal, but it is essential that you consider every aspect of this matter."<P> Bob hesitated. Wendy thought he must be wondering about being on his back when they made love--was that normal? She saw him decide the doctor meant did they have sex together as man and woman. He said, "Yes."<P> "Do you both expect to continue after the, ah, changes appear in Barbara's body?"<P> Wendy said, "Yes! Why? Won't he be able to--?"<P> "Of course. In fact his, er, ardor, is certain to increase. As I said, that is what the treatment was originally designed to do. I meant, will you remain, ah, enthusiastic too? After all, he will look very much like another woman."<P> "You don't have to worry about that. I'll love it."<P> "Well, then. You're both of age--" He looked at Bob. "You are of age, are you not? You look younger than I remem--than I thought."<P> "I'm twenty-four."<P> "Yes. You're both of age, you know what you want, I see no reason we can't move forward. It's fortunate you are not tall and muscular. Such cases don't usually work out well."<P> He said to Wendy, "As I told you on the phone, the process goes much more smoothly if the patient doesn't have visitors. Not to worry, we won't keep him long." His eyes turned back to Bob. "Now as to financial arrangements . . . "<P> When they heard how much it would cost, Wendy saw the color drain from Bob's face.<P> It would wipe out their bank account. They depended on the money Bob made during one tax season to carry them through to the next.<P> Dr. Goody said, "I usually get half the fee before the start of treatment and the remainder when the process is complete, in about three months."<P> Wendy caught Bob's eye and pleaded silently with him to say yes. She ventured, "We could take a mortgage out on the house."<P> He knew that the house, free and clear, was her pride and joy. For her to make the offer must tell him something.<P> Bob said at last, "All right," and her heart beat so hard it made her dress vibrate.<P> Dr. Goody smiled. "Good. We can get started with your examination. Go through that door, remove your clothing, and I'll be right with you." He said to Wendy, "It will take about two hours, if you want to look over the grounds. We have an especially nice garden."<P> She stood up and bent to kiss her husband on the cheek. He looked frightened. Never mind, she told herself, he'd get used to the idea, he'd be happy about it. She'd <EM>make</EM> him be happy.<P> Her Bob with breasts! She hugged herself with excitement as she went out into the brilliant sunlight and wandered through formal gardens lush with color. Wouldn't Judy and Leon be surprised. They knew Bob wore dresses, and often they all had dinner together, three "women" and a man. Judy would be jealous. Seeing Bob in female garments aroused her for the same reasons as Wendy--how much more excited she'd be when he had boobs. She'd be green.<P> It was because of their father. A bull of a man who treated his farm animals more kindly than he did his family, he used to take her and Judy into the woodshed to whip them with a broad razor strop for the slightest misdeed. It was child abuse, she knew now. The spankings went on too long when he made them bend over the woodpile, everything showing, while their mother wrung her hands in the kitchen listening to their screams. They were too young then to understand what it meant, but they soon learned their punishments were never over until a wet stain appeared at the end of something pipe-like in his overalls.<P> It left them with a strong anxiety about men. Judy handled it by acting bold and flirtatious; but Wendy noticed she too married a man who could be dominated, at least in private. <P> She wouldn't say anything to Judy and Leon until they all got back from San Cabrón; then she'd have them over to dinner. Maybe she'd get Bob to dress up as a French maid. Wouldn't that be delicious! She recalled the time Judy made Leon serve them all, as a butler or houseboy or something, and then spanked him with his pants down when he spoke out of turn. It was a game the two of them played: Leon liked Judy to be a-- what was that word she used, a dominatrix, that was it--he liked her to discipline him and tell him what to do.<P> This was a game too, better than theirs.<P> God she was excited. She wondered if Bob would be able to wear her bras without padding. Three months wasn't all that long, but she could hardly wait. There was moisture in the join of her legs, and the prospect of three months without sex was excruciating.<P> She went to the car to remove his suitcase, gave it to the orderly, and arranged for the clinic's limousine to take her back to Chardsville. That way if something went wrong, if Judy and Leon's schedule didn't permit her to pick Bob up when he was released, he could drive himself home.<P> The sun was sinking below the trees by the time Bob came out to the garden. He was still pale but didn't look as wretched as before.<P> She asked, "How did it go?"<P> "Okay. He gave me the first shot."<P> "Already? That's wonderful! Oh Barbara, it's a dream come true. You can be my sister and my lover at the same time."<P> Bob's shy smile lifted her heart. He was so attractive. As a man he wasn't anything special, just kind of bland, but as a woman he sparkled. His eyes caught the light and turned from hazel to a deep gold; his brown hair, cut in a short bob, shone softly. The slender wrists and hands that looked out of place on a man were just right in his current guise; and his stockings caused his legs to be sleek and round; his heels slimmed his ankles.<P> Bob put his arms around her. She felt something hard against her stomach. He was erect in his panties.<P> She rubbed her pelvis suggestively against the hardness.<P> "Mm. You're going to miss me. --What's that smell?"<P> "What smell?"<P> "It's coming from you. Kind of like perfume. Sexy."<P> "I don't know. I have a funny taste in my mouth, though. It must be from the shot."<P> She kissed him deeply, then pulled away feeling breathless. "I wish I didn't have to go. You'll be all right?" Her conscience was still trying to bother her.<P> "Sure. Doctor Goody talked to me. It made me feel better."<P> "I'm glad. Let's sit here on the bench and you can tell me all about it. Did he say the stuff, what did he call it, would work?"<P> He sat next to her, smoothing his skirt primly. "Yes. He said I'd most likely have good results. It was embarrassing, though."<P> "What was?"<P> "You know, taking off my clothes. I mean, I knew he knew I was a guy, but . . . well, it was embarrassing anyway. And then when he examined me, he looked everywhere."<P> She patted his knee. There was a beep from the parking lot.<P> "Oh, there's the limo. I'm taking it back to Chardsville. Here, the keys to the car. I'll leave it here, so you won't be trapped."<P> "Thanks." His eyes widened. "Oh-oh. You better get back on time. Suppose something happened and a policeman stopped me? My license says I'm a male." A shy smile touched his lips. "I don't resemble my photo much, either."<P> They looked at each other and started laughing.<P> The limousine beeped again. Wendy said, "Quick, let's say good-bye here so the driver won't see two ladies kissing."<P> He was still hard and that odor from his skin excited her. "I'll miss you too."<P> Arm in arm they walked to the limousine. She gave him a quick self- conscious embrace in front of the driver, putting her cheek next to his in the way women do when they don't want to muss their makeup, and climbed in.<P> She said, "I'll see you in three months."<P> "Yes. Get a nice tan."<P> She looked back as the limousine passed through the gate, but he had already gone inside the building.<P> <P> <H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 2</H3> Bob's room was efficient; that was the best you could say for it. It was white and tiled and its principal article of furniture was a hospital bed. The setting sun streamed through the window.<P> He sat on the edge of the bed collecting himself, trying to still the butterflies in his stomach, forcing his mind away from the terrifying future. He felt as though he had jumped out of an airplane and was hurtling dizzily toward the ground, wondering if the chute would open.<P> Along with his fear was relief. He was committed. The decision had been made; he took a cold comfort from that. The shot the doctor gave him had started the process, and though further injections would hasten its completion, the change in his appearance was now inevitable. His body had been given notice, so to speak.<P> It was nice of Dr. Goody not to mention his earlier visit in front of Wendy. Bob had called him this morning to say he hadn't said anything about it to her; he would prefer she didn't know.<P> He first heard about the doctor through a tax client. In connection with medical deductions the man mentioned, snickering, Dr. Goody's specialty.<P> Months afterward, Bob remembered the conversation while stuffing falsies in his brassiere, and was suddenly galvanized. Real breasts in his bra! Wouldn't Wendy be thrilled. On an impulse he sneaked down to the doctor's city office.<P> When he heard the process was permanent, he was disappointed. It would have been fun. But go through life with tits? Forget it.<P> He permitted the doctor to give him a test scratch--some people were supposed to react adversely to protogen, and Bob had just enough curiosity to want to know if it would have been possible for him after all, but had no intention of going through with it.<P> Far from rejecting the drug, his body responded so enthusiastically to the minuscule presence of protogen that in a few days a certain discomfort made him examine his chest, only to discover spongy areas overlaying the pectoral muscles. In a few more days they had grown alarmingly, becoming real, though rudimentary, breasts, like a flat-chested woman, before the growth subsided. Other changes occurred. His voice lost some of its resonance; over the phone people occasionally mistook him for a female; and a not- quite-determinable modification of his body appeared, as though a marginal layer of fat smoothed the lines. Where before he could be characterized as "lean," now one would think of him as "slender."<P> He could still get a haircut and don a shirt and trousers, but something very strange had happened to his body.<P> When Wendy noticed, she was enchanted. She formed the theory that the trauma those men had put them through was the cause. She couldn't seem to leave him alone. She kept nursing on the incipient breasts, sucking hard. It was uncomfortable at first, but as he got inured to the suction he began to derive sexual enjoyment from it; her moving tongue sent thrills to his genitals.<P> "There," she would say, "I made the nipples stand up. They're so <EM>cute."</EM><P> He made the mistake of telling her what the tax client said. From that moment she was relentless. But it was <EM>permanent,</EM> he said helplessly, and finally offered to have implants put in.<P> "That's no good," she said, "They're artificial. You want to have real breasts. Besides, I heard there's a risk of cancer with implants. Or the silicone leaking."<P> "How about hormones? They're supposed to give you real ones."<P> "But then you can't do anything in bed. Except sleep," she smiled. "What good is that? Besides, you have to keep taking them, otherwise you go back to normal. Please, Bob, for me?"<P> Her slip of the tongue--"otherwise you go back to normal"--struck him at the time, but he didn't make the connection until today in the car. She <EM>wanted </EM>the change to be irreversible.<P> She got her way, as she usually did.<P> He caught himself. It was all right. He loved her dearly and wanted to please her. He had always loved her. At first he worshipped her from afar, right through high school--he never dared approach the beautiful golden-haired girl who was so aloof. It wasn't until he had gone on to college, just before his graduation, that at last he met her face to face.<P> He was on his way to a class, but stopped when he saw her huddled on a bench in the park, crying as though her heart would break. He sat next to her and handed her a handkerchief.<P> "Thanks." She pressed it to reddened eyes and gave him a tremulous tearful smile.<P> Her mother and father had just been killed in an automobile accident. He started by comforting her, and went on to court her, during the remainder of the semester.<P> If Bob had been a painter he would have put Wendy on canvas exactly the way she was--no embellishments, no "improvements," no enhancements of any kind. They were not needed. Wendy's hair was a luxury of red-gold curls, tumbling to the middle of her back. Her eyes shone green as emeralds, their shape reversed from the normal, wider at the outer corners than at the inner. She was slender with good breasts and a narrow waist and legs all the way up to her ass. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he wanted to keep her forever. If he were Sir Walter Raleigh, he would count it a privilege, not to lay his cloak over the mud puddle, but to lay himself across it so she could step on him. Her seeming aloofness turned out to be no more than shyness with boys. The day after his graduation they were married.<P> She was a virgin. He saw fear in her eyes on their wedding night and although her beauty roused in him a burning, compelling lust, he forced himself to forego intercourse until she got used to being in bed with him. In a few days she asked him to do it to her. The fear still lurked in her eyes; she was tight and dry; and breaking her maidenhead was painful to her no matter how gentle he made himself be. Later she told him she asked only because she wondered if he found her unattractive, or didn't love her as much as she did him. She knew men had certain desires that had to be satisfied. She did love him, but it wasn't long before he realized intercourse was a chore for her, not the joy he had hoped to give. As time went on, their once-a-week routine seemed to yield satisfaction to her; but he sensed it was only because it was proof that she remained desirable to him.<P> He did everything he could think of to make things better, to invoke some kind of feeling in her down there, without success.<P> Until that magic day when he had run out of clean pajamas and had to borrow one of her nightgowns. For the first time he saw excitement in her face when they went to bed, and was astonished to hear her ask timidly if she could be on top. He was thrilled. Never before had she wanted to try anything but the missionary position.<P> And then--it was beyond belief. She was like a tiger. By the time he ejaculated she had climaxed a dozen times, it seemed.<P> The key was for him to wear her garments. He was more than eager if it produced such an ardent response, and got excited because it was so bizarre and gave her so much pleasure, and that was what he wanted, to please her. There was an added bonus. He loved her so much that in a way he wanted to <EM>be </EM>like her. Wearing her clothes turned him on; he identified with her.<P> The whole thing grew more and more intense and arousing for both of them. He remembered the abandon of their lovemaking after he went out with her in public in a dress the first time, it was in Chard's Lake Park at night, he'd been terrified, but when they were safe home again the terror metamorphosed into lust.<P> Somehow it got out of hand and led them to this.<P> Not satisfied with putting him in women's clothes, she was putting him in a woman's body.<P> How were they ever going to pay for it? Wendy was right, they would have to mortgage the house. He'd have to go to work at a full- time job. Until now he'd been able to work hard for only the three months of tax season to provide them with a living for the rest of the year. Wendy liked him to be able to spend time with her, help her with chores around the house. The arrangement was financially marginal at best--it was always touch-and-go with their bank account by January--so their budget couldn't handle a mortgage payment.<P> God, a full-time job. That meant wearing a dress in front of fellow employees, not just in the house or in brief daring forays into the outside world, as today, but up close! He knew his disguise was good; he didn't know if it was <EM>that </EM>good. Could he get away with it? Find work as a <EM>woman,</EM> keep up the pretense in front of others who would see him day after day? He'd have to. There wouldn't be any choice.<P> Richard Haskell, a lawyer in town, had been after Bob to come to work for him for years, evidently seeing an increase in business if he could offer his clients tax accounting services in addition to legal. In a last-ditch effort he had recently offered Bob a partnership. He'd have liked that. It would have meant a lot more money, and a chance for them to build that new house. But he guessed it was out now.<P> A voice broke into his thoughts. "Mrs. Miller?"<P> It took a moment for him to remember <EM>he </EM>was "Mrs. Miller." When he turned, a comfortable-looking fortyish woman in a starched white uniform smiled at him.<P> "I'm Nurse Baker. I'll be attending you during the day. Mrs. Simmons, you'll meet her this evening, will be your night nurse."<P> Her eyes moved over him frankly. "My, aren't you going to be the pretty little thing. It's nice when they're not all macho to begin with. It comes out so much better. Let's see," she looked at a clipboard, "Cauc male age twenty-four, five-five, et cetera et cetera, married-- married? hm!--no children, good health, no allergies to medication. Blood type O-positive. I see we already had our first shot. Good, all we need to know. Sit right there while I unpack our suitcase."<P> She busied herself with hanging his dresses in the closet and putting his underwear in a cabinet drawer.<P> "What nice clothes you have. Does your wife pick them out for you? She has such good taste. You won't get much use out of them here, though. Did Doctor tell you what to expect?"<P> "He said I'd be sick for a while."<P> "Yes. Don't worry, dear, I'll be here to see after you. What's the matter?"<P> Bob closed his eyes, feeling queasy. He put his hand out to stop himself from swaying.<P> "Nothing. I just felt funny for a moment."<P> "We got here just in time, didn't we? We'd better get right in bed." She took a hospital gown from the closet and draped it over her arm. "Get out of those things and I'll tuck you in."<P> "I'll change in the bathroom."<P> Nurse Baker smiled. "Not on your life. Doctor would have my head if I wasn't with you every minute for the first few weeks. Oh, look how pink our face is. We don't have to be embarrassed. I've been through this many times," she said practically. "Turn around, I'll help with your zipper."<P> Bob shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not going to undress out here. I'll change in the bathroom." He took the gown from her.<P> "Honestly, some patients." She glared at Bob before capitulating, "Don't close the door all the way. I have to be able to hear."<P> Something in her manner told him she was only biding her time, she would pay him back later. He took off his clothes, leaving the panties on out of modesty, put on the short gown, and washed his makeup off with cold cream and soap before pushing the door open and climbing into bed.<P> Nurse Baker held out her hand.<P> Bob looked at her. "What?"<P> "Underwear."<P> His cheeks heated. He wriggled the panties off under the sheet and handed them to her.<P> She picked up the discarded clothing in the bathroom. He heard, "Huh. We won't be needing these in our bra any more, will we?"<P> She returned shaking a thermometer.<P> "Turn over," she said cheerfully.<P> "Uh, can't you do it another way?"<P> "This is the way we do it. Turn over."<P> Bob rolled onto his front. She pulled down the sheet and lifted the brief gown to expose his bare ass. Her warm hand spread his cheeks; a moment later the thermometer poked in, sliding icily half its length. She left her hand on him while she waited. "I'll be giving you your injection each morning after Doctor makes his rounds." She patted his ass and said sympathetically, "I'm afraid the next few days will be difficult, but we'll do our best for you."<P> That night he slept poorly. Restless in a strange bed, beginning to feel sick to his stomach, he tossed and turned until the night nurse woke him to give him a sedative. He had a moment to appreciate the irony of waking somebody up to give them a sleeping pill before he dropped off again, troubled by uneasy dreams. His chest hurt. He tried sleeping on his side, but it didn't help much.<P> In the morning he was genuinely ill. Dry, feverish, he endured Nurse Baker's ministrations, unresisting when she turned him over and inserted her thermometer, or when he felt the bite of a new injection in his backside. When she helped him to sit up and put a glass of orange juice to his lips, he sipped eagerly, hoping the clear acid of the juice would wash away the taste in his mouth; but he wasn't able to keep it down. The room spun. He moaned, and spewed into the pan the nurse held for him.<P> As from a distance he heard, "There, there, poor dear. It's taking hold very well, I can tell by the odor. It shows your glands are adjusting. Lie back, I'll give you something to make you sleep."<P> Bob felt a new needle, in his arm this time, and let himself drift down into welcome oblivion.<P> Nurse Baker had said it would be difficult. "Difficult" wasn't the word. The next weeks were pure misery. Days and nights ran into each other as, doped up and nauseated and aching in every bone and muscle, Bob endured the torment. His chest and hips hurt abominably, and he couldn't seem to get comfortable. When he lay on his stomach, burgeoning unfamiliar fleshy masses on his front warned him with pain; every time he tried to lie on his side, his pelvis protested. His skin exuded a mushrooms-and-vanilla aroma from every pore. A sweet taste of musk set up residence in his mouth.<P> He was troubled by frequent erotic dreams that left him sweating and only barely conscious of achieving release; the hospital gown seemed constantly wet and sticky near its lower edge, though it was changed often.<P> At last, through a drugged haze, he heard Nurse Baker ask the doctor, "No shot today? It's only been three weeks."<P> "You see how responsive he's been. His body has taken over on its own."<P> "I'm glad of that. He's had the whole staff in a state."<P> "I know. I feel it too. There's something, er, primal about that odor, isn't there?"<P> She gave a short laugh. "It makes you want to take off all your clothes. My husband doesn't know what to make of me."<P> Bob lapsed into a slumber that lasted through the remainder of the day and night, except for the times Nurse Simmons shook him to ask if he was asleep. The next morning he woke rested, still aching and desperately weak, but ravenously hungry.<P> He sat up unsteadily. A drag on his chest caused him to look down. The top of his gown was full. It didn't mean anything to him; he was sleepy and dazed and grateful for the relative absence of soreness in his body.<P> Nurse Baker came in with a breakfast tray.<P> "Good morning," she said cheerfully. "How are we today?"<P> "Better. Hungry." There was something wrong with his voice.<P> "We must be starving! The only nourishment we've had for three weeks has been through an IV tube."<P> "Three weeks," he repeated dully.<P> "Yes."<P> "It feels like a lifetime. Is it over?"<P> "All over but the cheering. We'll have to stay a while until everything settles down, but no more shots. We're lucky, it usually takes twice as long."<P> He was conscious of her watching him while he applied himself to the oatmeal and toast. He wished there were eggs and ham and fruit, but realized his stomach must have shrunk: the last swallows went down hard. He waited. Mercifully, the food stayed in him.<P> All over? Gradually it came to him. Then . . . the weight on his chest, the tender swellings that kept getting in the way of his arms as he fed himself, were breasts! Already! It <EM>was</EM> over. A tumultuous series of mixed emotions swept through him. A terrible sense of violation. A diaphragm-lifting excitement. Apprehension--had it worked? Were they big enough to make the torment worthwhile?<P> Bob looked down at his chest. The hospital gown was pushed out. His heart pounded.<P> He glanced up at Nurse Baker shyly. He wanted to see himself, but was too abashed to do it in front of her.<P> She smiled. "All done? I bet I know what we're thinking. I'll just put this tray away, and we'll let you have a look at yourself in the mirror. Do you think you can stand up if you lean on me?"<P> Bob struggled out of bed and sat panting weakly on the edge. The blood drained from his head. He paused while the room brightened again and stopped its reeling. It was amazing, he thought, how frail you could become in only a few weeks.<P> Nurse Baker said, "There's a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Careful." She put an arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. His skin felt as if it had been turned inside out and all the nerve endings exposed. His legs shook, knees weak, as she guided him to the bathroom.<P> "Here we are," she said, flicking on a bright overhead light and turning him to face the mirror. "Lean back against me and we'll just open our gown. We're going to be pleased."<P> She pulled a Velcro fastener at his shoulder. The whole front of the garment fell open.<P> Bob gasped, forgot his embarrassment, and stared.<P> His reflection was alien. What he was seeing wasn't <EM>him,</EM> it was a girl. Her hair was matted and stringy, but her figure was stunning. Incongruously, at the junction of her thighs she sported a penis, balls hanging under it in a rosy sack.<P> The image's slender hands lifted wonderingly to cup a pair of alluring breasts. It was not until he felt himself touching them that he identified with the reflection in the mirror.<P> His jaw dropped.<P> The tits he was holding were pert and proud, perfectly formed, very nearly as big as he remembered Wendy's. They had swollen areolas tipped by nipples as thick and pink and cylindrical as new pencil erasers. They were beautiful! A warm feeling of satisfaction came over him.<P> He squinted. He had lost weight; his ribs showed; but was his waist narrower than it had been? After a moment he felt sure of it. His satisfaction increased--he'd be able to wear form-fitting dresses without the damn' waist-cincher. That protogen was powerful stuff. Wendy would be tickled pink.<P> His knees gave way. Nurse Baker caught him.<P> "That's enough for now. There'll be plenty of time later," she said gently. "Let's get back to bed."<P> It was all he wanted. He was suddenly exhausted. By the time Nurse Baker tucked him in he was asleep.<P> When he woke again the mid-afternoon sun was making bright panes of light on the tile floor. He felt refreshed and excited.<P> He sat up, gave a wary glance at the open door, and pulled open the gown. He hadn't been dreaming. He had breasts, just like a woman! It was so kinky a thought that his cock warmed and jumped into erection. He started to caress them, but they were sore.<P> The squeak of rubber-soled shoes in the hall warned him that the nurse was coming. He closed the gown hastily.<P> "Well! We're awake at last," she gave him a cheerful smile. "How are we feeling?"<P> "Fine. Much better." He returned her smile sheepishly, conscious of his hard-on.<P> "We do look better. How about a nice sponge bath and a late lunch? Or early dinner. But first," she took out her thermometer and shook it, "let's get this over with. Turn over."<P> Bob rolled onto his stomach, making sure his erection was pressed up against it and hidden. Why couldn't she take his temperature like normal people?<P> The cold insertion caused his prick's stiffness to increase. His weight on the new breasts hurt; he had to lift the upper part of his body on his elbows.<P> Warm hand on his ass, Nurse Baker said, "Doctor was quite pleased with our progress. He said we could probably go home within a month from now."<P> "I thought it was supposed to take three months." It came out a squeak. He cleared his throat.<P> "It varies. Some people do better than others. If everything goes as well as it has so far, we'll be the fastest case yet." She removed the thermometer and looked at it. "Excellent. We're doing very well. Now we can sit up."<P> He pulled up the sheet to keep his erection hidden.<P> "What's the matter with my voice?"<P> "Voice? Oh, I see. Our vocal cords are tightening up. It's natural, just the reverse of our voice breaking during adolescence. But then we wouldn't want to sound like a baritone anymore, would we?"<P> She filled a pan of water in the bathroom sink and brought it to the bedside. "Now for a sponge bath. Tomorrow we'll do our hair."<P> She must have misinterpreted his expression because she said, "Don't worry, I know we must still have discomfort. I'll be careful." With practiced movements she dipped a washcloth, soaped it, and wrung it out. She kept up a running chatter.<P> "My, things have changed, haven't they? Welcome to the club! This is the part of my job I like best. Patients come in all full of beans and vinegar, and leave all sugar and spice."<P> Bob winced when she hefted his sore breasts to wash them.<P> "A little tender? It'll go away in a few weeks, when we're all done developing."<P> "I thought I was done."<P> "We're finished with the injections, but our body is still changing. In a month or so the process will be complete."<P> Bob thought it over, prick straining.<P> "They'll, ah, get bigger?"<P> "When the discomfort stops we'll know they aren't growing any more. I'm sure we'll have nothing to be ashamed of when we see other women. We're in for some surprises, though. It's hard out there. Men make the rules and you have to go along with them. I don't know what you do for a living, but you'll probably have to take a cut in pay for the same work. Oh, sure, men treat you with consideration, they hold doors for you, but that's only because they think you're too fragile and feeble-minded to do it yourself. Scratch any man, no matter how enlightened he says he is, and under that smug surface is someone who thinks that all that women are good for is the kitchen and bedroom. You'll see."<P> She was sharing a woman's point of view with him. Her words held bitterness, but paradoxically they gave Bob a perspective that filled him with anticipation. It would be like being a new person. He'd be able to leave his past behind, his failures, and start over.<P> Nurse Baker went on, "Never mind, there will be rewards too. Oh-oh. What have we here?"<P> She started washing his erection.<P> "It's time for us to become acquainted with Miss Vee, I see. Don't be embarrassed. This always happens. I like to think of it as the male part protesting its fate. My, he's a big fellow, isn't he?"<P> She dried him, giving his stiff penis a teasing squeeze, mercifully drew the sheet over him though it was held up like a tent, and gathered up the washing utensils.<P> "Try to get some rest, now. I'll be back later to introduce you to Miss Vee."<P> Surprisingly refreshed by the sponge bath, somewhat reassured by Nurse Baker's matter-of-fact acceptance of his hard-on, Bob lay wondering who Miss Vee was, and whether they actually expected him to be unfaithful to Wendy, and drifted in and out of sleep until Nurse Baker returned holding an instrument in her hand.<P> She said, "Hi! Ready to meet Miss Vee? Miss Vibrator. We're going to be seeing a lot of her."<P> She showed him the device she was holding. It was a clear plastic tube, the lower half of which was encased in folds of pink rubber. A hose led to a small pump.<P> Bob felt a scarlet blush flame over his entire body.<P> He remonstrated, but she overbore him. He was still too strengthless to withstand her. He remembered her expression when he refused to take off his clothes in front of her.<P> She sat on the edge of the bed, squeezed lubricating jelly on her fingertips and smeared it around the tube's opening. Lifting the gown, she exposed his swollen cock. He flinched uncontrollably when she grasped it with one hand and with the other slid the device down on it, engulfing him in slippery latex.<P> She touched a switch. Instantly suction clamped his organ wetly and the device writhed upright. An exquisite vibration began.<P> A broken sound emerged from his throat.<P> He started to pull the thing off, but she grabbed his wrists and held them away from his body.<P> In an agony of humiliation, desperately conscious of Nurse Baker watching, unable to move, he felt his genitals gather tension. The machine took over, sucking and trembling in an irresistible rhythm.<P> Within ten seconds ecstasy gripped him as he ejaculated wildly, pumping helplessly into the tube, his semen drawn by the vacuum.<P> The orgasm ended, but the vibration and clenching of the machine prevented his penis from softening. He looked desperately up at the nurse, imploring her with his eyes to remove it, but it was not long before a new warmth attested to the fact that his balls were getting ready to loose yet another series of squirts.<P> In half a minute his prick erupted again. The sensation was sharper, more intense, now that it wasn't just a matter of relieving the pressure. He gasped, "Ooh-h," and writhed in a spasm of rapture, as his testicles were drained.<P> When it was over she released his wrists. He panted, "No more."<P> "Again." Her eyes were obsessed.<P> He submitted to the continuing mechanical rape. In less than a minute he was sobbing and whining in frenzied ecstasy as surge after surge of semen pulsed through his organ. He convulsed, gripped his aching breasts, the stiffness of erect nipples sending their own zigzags of sensation down to his groin--and the turbulent throbbing went on, spurting until his balls were wracked with effort and his cock began to soften, bending in the liquid-washed tube, snatched upright again by the rhythm of the suction.<P> He moaned ecstatically, despairingly. His eyes dimmed. He lost consciousness.<P> The next thing he knew his prick was a flaccid weight on his belly and Nurse Baker was holding the device up to her eye, looking at the quantity of mottled white fluid in it.<P> She said, "Yes, indeed. We needed that." She covered him up. "There now. Don't we feel better? Miss Vee will be back tomorrow morning. Twice a day from now on."<P> He savored the pleasurable emptiness of his balls, sensing that they were already working to fill again, and thought he would welcome "Miss Vee" when Nurse Baker brought her back. God, she had made him come three times in two minutes. It must be some kind of world's record. He might look like a woman, but he was definitely still a man--though being taken over by Nurse Baker in that personal way didn't help much to make him feel like one.<P> He had a sense of fatigued well-being. The hard part was over. He would have a month more convalescence to let his body complete changing on its own, and then he could go home.<P> It would be another month and a half after that before Wendy returned. He didn't know how he could wait. He was dying to show her what he looked like. The grateful delight on her face blessed his inner eye as he drifted down again into a peaceful slumber.<P> <P> <H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 3</H3> Andrew Joiner's shoulders got warm in the sun in an hour or so despite the chill autumn air. Sweat trickled under his arms. He wished he could take off his flannel shirt, but he knew nobody would pick up a bare-chested hitchhiker. He used the inside of his elbow to wipe perspiration from his forehead. <P> He sat down on the concrete wall of a culvert that bridged a sparkling brook and thought, In a minute I'll climb down and have a drink and soak my head. He was tired and his belly felt bloated and uncomfortable. He folded his arms against it and bent forward. It helped.<P> Andy figured he'd covered about ten miles from Dr. Goody's clinic. It would be another ten to the highway. He could do that in a little more than a couple of hours if he got moving.<P> He clambered down to the brook and washed his face and drank his fill. The water was cold as ice, refreshing. He ran a pocket comb through his wet hair, staring into the stream to see his reflection, but it was running too fast. He knew what he looked like, anyway. Like somebody had chiseled his face out of rock and did a clumsy job of it. Chickadees twittered in the silence of midday.<P> He hefted his small duffel and started walking again. Thirty-six hundred bucks, he thought. Might as well be thirty-six million.<P> He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trudging doggedly along the side of the deserted road. There was little or no traffic here, small chance for a ride until he got to the main highway. The only cars he'd seen this morning had been heading toward the clinic. Didn't anyone ever leave?<P> Thirty-six hundred. His mouth had fallen open when the doctor handed him the itemized list. The basic operation alone was twelve hundred, and it wasn't any good without the cosmetic surgery to go along with it. A chagrined blush warmed Andy's cheeks when he remembered how he pleaded with him to let him work at the facility in return for the operations. He wasn't used to begging. It had almost worked, though. He saw sympathy in Dr. Goody's face, and the man hesitated before repeating that there were no openings.<P> How long would it take him to raise the money? The trade school had given him the elements of woodworking, he had graduated at the top of his class, but at eighteen he had years to go before he could claim to be a skilled cabinetmaker, and the chances of getting a carpenter's job on a construction site were zero unless he belonged to the union--and the chances of getting in the union during this recession were also zero, unless, like his classmate Ray Tynan, he had a father who was a big shot in it.<P> Never mind, he told himself. He was young and healthy and strong, and willing to do just about any kind of work. That's all you need to make a mark in the world, his father had told him before he died. He'd make out.<P> But he could see he might have to resign himself to his disorder for years and years before he could have anything done about it. It was discouraging.<P> His father had put up with it until he was past thirty; so could he. It was a family thing--his grandmother suffered from it, too, though it was different for her.<P> Andy's stomach rumbled with hunger. The pang was followed by another kind of gripe situated in his intestinal region, warning him he was in for another siege. Damn it. He hoped it would hold off until he got to a drugstore. If he got a ride soon.<P> In answer to his wish, the thin buzz of a motor behind him came to his ears. He turned and held out his thumb.<P> As the car passed, he saw that its occupant was a young woman, hair fluttering in the breeze of the car's passage. She gave him a swift appraising look from hazel eyes just before he dropped his thumb disconsolately. A woman alone in a car didn't pick up hitch-hikers.<P> An instant later, however, the car slowed to a stop. It waited by the side of the road.<P> He ran to the door, opened it, and slid in, tossing the duffel on the back seat.<P> "Thanks," he panted. "Thought I'd have to walk the rest of my life."<P> "Where are you headed?"<P> "See if I can find work in the city."<P> She put the car in gear. "I'm only going as far as Chardsville, but I can let you off on the highway when we get there."<P> Her eyes sparkled. There was an air of suppressed exuberance about her. Her happy look lifted his spirits. She reminded Andy of how he used to feel as a child when he woke up realizing it was his birthday.<P> He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Wow, nice bazooms. Nice legs, too. Her skirt was drawn up to free them for driving, showing a shapely expanse of thigh.<P> She must have sensed his interest, for she tugged her dress down to a decent height. He turned his eyes away tactfully. She had a wedding ring, hands off.<P> She was a good driver, handling the car confidently, keeping to the speed limit, braking slightly before curves but accelerating on them so he felt almost no sway. He relaxed against the seat back and enjoyed the drive.<P> When they came to the highway she got a strained look; her generous lips compressed. She slowed to well below the limit. He glanced back and saw that cars were beginning to pile up behind them, and at regular intervals they roared past impatiently. Each time it happened, she shrank and her cheeks got white under the rouge highlighting them. He wondered what was wrong.<P> After half an hour of tension he was thrown forward and back when she braked sharply and accelerated again. There was nothing in sight. He darted a glance at her. She was pale and anxious and kept looking in the rear-view mirror.<P> "What's the matter?"<P> Still staring in the mirror she said, "Oh, he's turning. A policeman. I shouldn't have put on the brakes, but I was startled when he went past."<P> Andy twisted to look back. Several cars behind, a black-and- white was completing a U-turn.<P> "Don't worry, he won't bother you. You didn't break any laws. At the most he'll want to see your license and registration."<P> "I don't have a license!"<P> "You don't have--?" He thought fast. "Okay, turn in up here. Here. The Flakey's Diner. Quick now. Park on the other side of that eighteen-wheeler. Away from the road."<P> The tires screeched as she swerved into the parking lot. Before the car had stopped rocking he was out and racing around to the driver's side.<P> He opened the door.<P> "Shove over. If he comes looking for us, I was driving, right?" Her body was delicate as he bumped her over to the passenger side with his hip.<P> They were just in time. The cruiser, lights flashing, stopped quietly behind them.<P> Andy climbed out of the car and waited.<P> A trooper, a big man of middle years with a gentle, cautious face, moved toward him and held his hand out. His eyes were amused as they glanced between Andy and the frightened-looking woman in the passenger seat.<P> Andy pulled out his worn wallet and gave him his license.<P> The trooper looked it over carefully, comparing the picture on it with Andy's face.<P> "Registration?"<P> "Uh . . . "<P> The woman scrambled in the glove compartment. A moment later she leaned over and poked the registration slip at him through the window. He passed it to the trooper.<P> "Robert Miller?"<P> "My huhk. Husband," the woman said.<P> The trooper handed the documents back to Andy. "You were driving a little erratically back there."<P> "A bee flew in. I lost my head for a moment."<P> "Yeah?" Smile wrinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes. "Gotta watch them bees. Okay, sir. You have a nice day."<P> When he got to his cruiser the trooper turned.<P> "She wants to learn to drive, take her out to some deserted road. Too much traffic on the highway."<P> Andy grinned, "Thanks."<P> He got in the car and started laughing as the trooper backed out of the lot.<P> The woman looked surprised, then giggled. "A bee! You said a bee flew in! Quick as a wink." Her laughter grew. There was relief in it.<P> "We didn't fool him for a second," Andy gasped.<P> They laughed together until she said, "As long as we're here let's get a hamburger."<P> He sobered. "Uh . . . well, you go ahead, I'm not too hungry."<P> The hazel eyes softened. "It's okay," she said. "It's on me. I owe it to you. You were so clever and resourceful. I don't know what I'd have done without you. Come on, keep me company."<P> At the table she grinned, "I guess we should introduce ourselves, since we escaped the clutches of the law together. I'm Barbara Miller."<P> He smiled back. "Andy Joiner. How come you don't have a license? You drive fine."<P> Her eyes dropped and color mounted in her cheeks. "I used to have one, but I carelessly let it expire."<P> He didn't know whether to believe her, maybe it was suspended, but let it pass.<P> The waitress brought their hamburgers. His mouth watered. He tried to eat casually, but when the last French fry was gone he realized she was still on the first half of her hamburger, and that he had wolfed his meal.<P> She said, "Oof. I can't finish this. Would you?" She pushed her dish toward him. "I don't like to leave food on my plate."<P> "You sure?"<P> "My eyes were bigger than my stomach."<P> Through a mouthful of burger he asked, "You live in Chardsville, huh?"<P> "Yes."<P> "I'll drive you there if you want."<P> "Would you? You're so nice. It won't be taking you out of your way, will it?"<P> "Naw, any town's good. Maybe I can get a job there."<P> "What kind of work do you do?"<P> "I'm a carpenter."<P> "I bet you won't have any trouble. You were at Dr. Goody's clinic, weren't you? It's the only place on that road. If I'm not being too personal can I ask why?"<P> "I went to see him about an operation," he said, and stopped. It was too private to talk about.<P> "What kind of operation?"<P> "Just . . . uh . . . kind of cosmetic surgery."<P> "Oh." Her gaze was direct and speculative, but she didn't persist. "Tell me about yourself. How old are you?"<P> "Eighteen."<P> "I thought you were older, maybe my age. I'm twenty-four. Why are you hitchhiking? Aren't your folks worried?"<P> "They died a couple of months ago in a fire, and after the funeral I decided to see if I could find work down in the city. More people, more contractors, more chance of a job."<P> "Poor boy. It must be terrible to lose both your parents at once."<P> "Yeah, well . . . " He looked at his plate. He didn't want to talk about it. He might start crying or something.<P> She said, "Look, we have a small house in Chardsville. There are all kinds of repairs we've been putting off. We can't afford to hire you, but if you don't have a place to stay you could sleep in the guest room and earn a little pocket money by doing odd jobs for us while you're looking for work."<P> He stared.<P> "You don't know me. Aren't you afraid I might be some kind of, uh, maniac?"<P> She laughed. "Are you?"<P> "No, but I mean, well . . . "<P> "I know what you mean. Let's just say I'm a good reader of character. Besides, how do you know <EM>I'm</EM> not a maniac?"<P> He grinned, "I'm a good character-reader too," and then laughed out loud at the thought that he might be afraid of this delicate creature.<P> "Come on," she smiled. "It's still an hour's drive."<P> "Okay. Can we stop at a drugstore on the way? It won't take long."<P> "I have to pick up some groceries anyhow. There's a pharmacy in the shopping center."<P> Her house was one of a row on a tree-lined side street. He maneuvered the car into a garage squeezed between the side of her house and the neighbor's, and followed her through the back door into the kitchen. When she turned on the lights he noticed the cabinets had been repainted so many times the paint was practically thicker than the wood, and the linoleum on the floor was worn.<P> He put the groceries down on an old white-enamel table that looked like it had been picked up at a rummage sale. The house had a musty unlived-in smell. Nobody seemed to be home.<P> "Where's your husband?" he asked.<P> She hesitated. "We're separated. I live with my . . . sister-in-law."<P> He heard the same artificial note in her voice as when she told him her license was expired, but it was none of his business, so he didn't press her.<P> A pang of discomfort in his belly made him wince.<P> "Uh, you mind if I use the facilities?"<P> Peering into the refrigerator, she said, "At the top of the stairs."<P> He took his duffel and the package from the drugstore and sat on the toilet to relieve himself. Damn it all, he knew it, his jockey shorts had tracks on them. Well, it happens, he thought resignedly. It would stop when he had the operation. He wiped himself, used one of the pads in the package, and secreted the box in his duffel before going back downstairs.<P> The house was neat and clean and comfortable, but shabby. It was easy to see she wasn't exaggerating when she said "all kinds of repairs." Everywhere he turned he saw something that needed done. He knew people got used to places they lived in and lost sight of just how run down things became; but it was long past time to do something to halt the downward slide. This kitchen for example . . . <P> "How about if I fix up your kitchen?"<P> "What?"<P> "The kitchen. It needs painted and a bunch of other things." He pointed to the leaking faucet and the stained wall which shouted the presence of a problem with the pipes. "You could use some new tile on the floor, too."<P> "I know! But--well, it sounds expensive."<P> "Yeah. I could look around and see if I can come up with a bargain on materials."<P> "You can't do all that just for room and board," she protested. "I didn't mean for you to do slave labor."<P> "Hey, you were nice to me, let me be nice to you. Besides, I ain't got anything else yet."<P> The more he gazed at the room, the more there seemed to do. A kind of happiness came over him. This was the kind of work he liked. Look, if he tore out the stove and built it into a counter right where the kitchen table was, an island, like, she'd have more cabinets for those orphan pots and pans, and it would save her steps. He could shift the sink over to where the stove had been to give plenty of counter space on either side, and she'd be looking out the window when she was washing the dishes instead of at the wall. It wouldn't take too much to totally transform the room--a little Formica, strip and repaint, shape up the cabinet doors so they all matched. He guessed his enthusiasm was contagious, because in the end she said, "We-ell . . . I do have some money coming in. This law firm has a couple of clients who asked for me to do some stuff for them. Maybe we could afford a <EM>little</EM> work."<P> "Trust me. I'll do it as cheap as I can. Have to rent tools, though. You got any credit in town?"<P> "You just tell me where to call and I'll fix it up."<P> The next morning he looked up a tool rental place in the Yellow Pages, drove her car there, and salivated at the tools on display. He told her about it when he returned, unloading all his treasures.<P> "The guy was real nice. At first he thought I was a do-it- yourselfer, but when I asked for sharpening stones--so's I could return his stuff in good shape, you know--he said if I did a good job for you I maybe could work off the price of the tools. So they might not cost you anything."<P> "That's good news."<P> "I told him I got in town yesterday, and he was surprised I already found work." Andy grinned. "Said I must be a Goin' Jessie, whatever that is. I didn't tell him it was only for room and board."<P> He did what he could to schedule the work to cause the least inconvenience--he built the island and counter tops before tearing out the things they were meant to replace--but inevitably there came a couple of days when the kitchen was inoperative. He turned off the gas and water and disconnected the stove and sink, and, with a propane torch and solder, set about changing the run of the pipes to the new locations.<P> Mrs. Miller was dismayed when she saw the baseboards pried off, the floor laid bare of linoleum, cabinets stripped of paint, wall torn open; and hesitantly asked if the work would be finished by the time her sister-in-law returned in a month. It surprised him. He was almost done, couldn't she see that? The hard part was the preparation. He looked around and tried to see it through her eyes. It did look kind of terrible. But everything should go like clockwork now.<P> He told her it would be finished in a couple of days. She looked doubtful, but bore up like a trooper, cheerfully ordering take-out for them and cooking their bacon and eggs on a hot plate on the dining room table in the morning.<P> She was working hard too. It turned out she was some kind of tax accountant, which amazed him at first. He didn't know she was such a big deal. She set about preparing complicated tax returns for a couple of rich people, a bank president, she said, and the owner of a big company in town. He admired her diligence when he passed through the dining room, which she was using as an office. She had large volumes of fine print piled all over the table, and was cute as a button behind big round reading glasses perched on her nose. Once or twice he tried to make out what she was doing, but it was all Greek to him. That was okay; she couldn't saw a straight line. Everyone to his own trade.<P> When he began to lay the tiles she got a worried expression.<P> "A new floor? Er, isn't this all going to be pretty expensive?"<P> "I tried to keep the cost down, but I figure it'll add to the value of your house. I'm not sure exactly--the materials, paint--I didn't want to skimp on paint, have you do the job all over again in a year. I found a place that sells seconds in plywood--and then renting the tools, they're pretty expensive. But they don't count, the rental guy said I could work them off. I guess," he said hesitantly, "I guess maybe like two-fifty."<P> "What?"<P> He blushed. "Two hundred and fifty dollars. I know it's a lot. Prices are high these days. I could've used crummy materials, but there wouldn't be no point."<P> "It sounds like too little! I thought, well, five thousand or so."<P> "Five thousand!" He laughed out loud. "Naw, I didn't have to buy anything except paint and a little bit of wood for the island and the cabinet where the stove was. And the Formica for the counter tops. I got a deal on that. Some guy had a bunch in his garage. He practically gave it to me to get rid of it."<P> "What about the flooring?"<P> "Oh that. I fixed it up with the floor man to do some work for him in return for the tile and underlayment."<P> "Two-fifty for the whole thing? Andy, you must be some kind of genius!"<P> It made him shuffle his feet.<P> A little later she asked, "Could you build a house?"<P> "Sure. You mean rough-framing and all? Well . . . I don't know too much about pouring foundations and putting in electric, but I can do plumbing and sheet rock and everything else."<P> She looked thoughtful. "You know, we own a residential lot on the other side of town. I've been thinking about putting a house on it if we can sell this one."<P> "One guy could build a house, all right, but that ain't the way to do it. It takes too long. You should have a crew."<P> "It's something to think about."<P> Having work to do boosted Andy's spirits, and his latest depressing "spell," as he had come to think of the symptoms of his disorder, was over. He felt vigorous and self-confident, and each night as he went to bed had a sense of accomplishment.<P> They got along well, keeping out of each other's way during the daytime and chatting amiably over a meal in the evenings. She was easy to talk to. Andy found himself telling her about the prospects of work he had picked up at lumberyards and the rental shop. It looked like he would be able to make a living in Chardsville, he said, and even put something by for a nest-egg. "I was thinking, maybe I wouldn't have to get a job. Maybe I could have my own business as a contractor."<P> "That would be grand! You work harder, but it's for yourself, and you don't have to worry about getting fired. I'll do your books. Then I'll be working for you instead of the other way around."<P> He laughed, then said seriously, "I dunno, I'm kind of young."<P> "You get older."<P> "You really think I could do it?"<P> "It's for you to decide, but I don't have any doubts. You're a 'Goin' Jessie', remember?"<P> He wasn't the only one with prospects. She was out of work, but confided that if she did a good job on the taxes she might get a job with that lawyer. There was more to it than that, he suspected. Her expression became guarded when she talked about it, as if she was trying to set herself up for disappointment. He figured she'd tell him what was bothering her when she got around to it.<P> She never spoke about her husband, except to respond once to his question, "Oh, that's all over."<P> It was funny, she was so classy and educated and all, but she treated him like he was special. He wasn't used to it. She talked to him like a friend, and not a day went by that she didn't do something nice for him, like he was a real human being, not just a workman remodeling her kitchen. She did his laundry and mended his jeans, so each day he started out neat and clean; and after he let it slip he had no pajamas, went out and bought him a pair. Another day she remembered him telling her how he missed his mom's apple pie, and baked him one; and watched him eat it, and seemed to appreciate his enjoyment.<P> He lost his heart to her, of course.<P> Like when he had that crush on Mrs. Mortola, his fourth-grade teacher. Only now he wasn't in fourth grade. It was sometimes hard for him to get to sleep, thinking about their being alone in the house together, her sleeping in a room right across the hall. At such times he had to play with himself until he came. It was the only way he could get relaxed enough to drop off.<P> When the kitchen was finished, she was like a little girl beside herself. Seeing her delight, he broke down and grinned hugely. He knew he had done a good job--everything was new and spanking clean and color-coordinated and efficiently laid out. The rental man came over, and though he didn't say anything beyond a dry "Hmf," Andy could see he was surprised. On the spot the man asked him to come down to the shop in a couple of days to build a storeroom in back for him. Andy would get to keep the tools he had rented, and the man would recommend him to his customers.<P> That was the day Mrs. Miller got a phone call from that lawyer, asking her to come down and talk about a job. The rich people had liked her work. He heard her on the phone making an appointment for the next day.<P> So they both had things to celebrate. She served wine at dinner in the new kitchen, and might have had a glass too many, because she asked suddenly, "Andy? Are you still thinking about getting that medical treatment?"<P> He ducked his head. "Yeah."<P> She toyed with her fork, not looking at him. "I know it's none of my business, but . . . I know about Dr. Goody's specialty. Are you sure? It might be a big mistake. It's irreversible, you know."<P> Well, of course it was irreversible. What would be the point?<P> She went on, "Please don't think I'm being a busybody, but believe me it wouldn't work all that well for you. I mean, you're such a big, handsome boy . . . Did he advise you to go through it?"<P> Big. Handsome. A pleased flush warmed his cheeks, but he knew better. Not handsome, ugly. He didn't care. He was a guy, a guy didn't have to be good-looking.<P> "Not exactly. He said he'd do it, but he wasn't all that happy about it. He said I might be sorry later. I dunno why."<P> "There. See? He knows." Crimson, she continued, "I shouldn't tell you this, but--we're friends, aren't we? So if I can do anything to keep you from making a tragic mistake . . . Can I trust you never to say anything to anybody?"<P> "Sure." What was she talking about?<P> "I had the same treatment."<P> He stared.<P> Her white grin flashed nervously. "It was all right for me, I'm kind of small, and you know, not all that muscular, but you're so masculine-looking it really wouldn't look right."<P> His mind raced. Why would she have the operation?<P> He was completely at sea.<P> "Y-you," he stammered, "h-had the operation? I don't--"<P> "It wasn't exactly an operation. It was protogen, it just made me <EM>look</EM> like a woman. Why, were you thinking of going all the way? The full operation? Oh don't," she said. "Think very carefully. I'm going to talk to you like a sister--" She gave a self- deprecating laugh. "Or like a brother. If it's because you, ah, like men . . . Is that it?"<P> For a terrible moment Andy wondered how she knew about the occasional fantasies he had about men while jerking off, or about the furtive experiences in the basement of Ray's apartment house. No, she couldn't know. She had it all wrong. He tried to make sense of what she was saying.<P> "It made you look like a woman? Y-you're not a woman?"<P> "Well," she said shyly, "That's not how we like to think about it. But yes, except for the way I look, I'm like you."<P> "Th-they're not real?"<P> "They are so!" A spark of indignation was in her eyes. "That's what happens with proto . . . Oh-oh. We haven't been talking about the same thing, have we?"<P> "I don't think so."<P> "Then what were you talking about? What operation?"<P> "Just an internal problem."<P> She turned bright red. "Oh-h. And you-- I-- I'm such a fool. I told you-- You won't say anything, will you?"<P> "I'd never."<P> "Oh God." She hesitated, peeping at his face, and stuck out her hand. He engulfed it in his, sealing the bargain.<P> She was so feminine, yet she had just told him she was a man. Unaccountably his cock stiffened in his jeans.<P> "Are you sure--? I mean, could I still be misunderstanding you? You're really a guy?"<P> Red and white chased themselves across her face, and she looked down again.<P> "Yes," she whispered.<P> "It's hard to believe. You're <EM>beautiful</EM>. How come? I don't mean how come you're beautiful, I mean how come you, uh, changed?"<P> "It's a long story. My wife--Wendy's not really my sister-in-law, she's my wife--she wanted me to wear clothes like this. Her dresses. She said it would make things better . . . in bed, you know. Anyway, the more I did it the more she liked it, and I did too. Then one day some men found out, and, well, you know, they did it to me. Wendy figured . . . well, it made me so I didn't feel as confident about being a man anymore, and she figured I might as well go all the way. Or maybe not all the way, she didn't want it cut off or anything, but at least I could take the protogen."<P> "Some men did it to you? I don't get it."<P> "You know. Did it to me." Her eyelashes fluttered. Timidly she added, "Back there."<P> "Oh." Andy tried to picture it. His cock got harder than ever.<P> A long-forgotten memory trickled up through his consciousness. A time in freshman year in high school, in the hated shower room after football practice. Seeing the other boys' naked horseplay, he had a sudden irrational terror of being raped. What was worse, the thought kindled warmth in his genitals, so he had to stand facing the wall under the spray and grimly recite the times table to himself to let his erection simmer down.<P> He made himself continue to sit and chat with her as if nothing was wrong when she served coffee, but he had a sick feeling in his stomach. He tried not to stare at her to see if there was anything, anything at all, that might give away her true gender. As soon as he decently could, he went up to take a shower before going to bed. He was shook.<P> Standing in the spray he thought, Her wife made her do it. Boy, she must be some bitch.<P> Under the shower his prick was so stiff it hurt. Its head was tumid, shiny with strain, a bright turgid red.<P> She was a guy, not a girl. He couldn't believe it. But she was telling the truth, he knew that. He'd come to know that much about her over the past week.<P> It made him kind of mad. How could she fool him like that? He. How could <EM>he</EM> fool him like that?<P> She had a cock under those dresses. The image in his mind was so stultifyingly erotic he couldn't bear it.<P> Some guys had raped her. Served her right. He wondered if she blew the whistle on them, then realized she couldn't--what would she tell the cops, she was a guy wearing a dress?<P> His soapy hand moved on the rigid organ standing like a two by four at the fork of his legs. What did they do to her? He tried to picture it. He could see her trying to run away, but caught and held by one faceless man while another shoved his cock up her ass. What would it be like to dork another man? He pretended he was the one doing it. She was being held so tight she couldn't move. He could take his time. He'd spread her ass cheeks and poke it up her while she screamed for mercy, shove it back and forth, knowing she was a guy, maybe holding onto her prick and balls while he rammed in and out. So vivid were the images that his cock erupted in his lathery hands long before he had a chance to savor the fantasy.<P> When his ejaculation was over he felt ashamed of treating her that way, even if it was only in his mind. She had been too nice to him. She didn't deserve it . . . or maybe she did for tricking him, but he was sorry for it anyway.<P> He went to bed confused and unhappy.<P> The next morning he kissed her.<P> <P> <H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 4</H3> Bob reached out with a sleepy hand to shut off the harrowing buzz of the alarm clock. He buried his face in the pillow, hair silken on his cheeks, gradually waking, gradually coming to terms with himself, as he had to do each morning.<P> In time, perhaps, he would get used to it, to the soft swelling of breasts under him, the unfamiliar breadth of hips and bottom, the bareness of shaven legs and underarms. It would take quite a bit of getting used to. All his life he had been a male; now he wasn't; not by a big margin, his unduly frequent erections notwithstanding.<P> No longer was it just a game to turn Wendy on, a sexual make- believe. He was condemned to pretend to be a woman for the rest of his life.<P> The first night home he waited until that boy had gone to bed, and tried on his old clothes. His trousers were tight around the hips and loose at the waist; his shirt buttons strained appallingly. He looked like a girl in men's clothes. That was the moment he fully comprehended what he'd done. As if it had been lying in wait, buried in his subconscious waiting for the moment when he could bear the sudden knowledge, the enormity of the change in his body crashed in on him. From the moment he left Dr. Goody's clinic he had known he couldn't wear men's clothes anymore, but it was an intellectual knowledge only, not visceral. Now it was all very real.<P> Half the time he was aghast at the consequences of his reckless surrender to Wendy's whim; half the time he was exhilarated. The trouble was, even he could see he was brilliantly successful in his masquerade. Fooling everybody was a special thrill. But he could have done that--had done that--without undergoing this drastic physical change.<P> Now he had to live with it. It was hard, especially in public. He felt naked in a dress, legs uncovered, privacy vulnerable to any vagrant breeze that might lift his skirt.<P> He was shy for other people to look at him. When he forced himself to go out he found himself hunching his shoulders to minimize his breasts.<P> Alone, however, he was proud of them, liking the way they jiggled when he moved, and the unaccustomed erotic pleasure he got from fondling them. It had taken several weeks at the clinic for their ache to subside, but it was worth it.<P> They had developed to fill a C-cup amply. When it came time for him to try on street clothes again, Nurse Baker took one look at the bra he wore when he arrived, Wendy's B-cup, and shopped for another for him in the proper size.<P> If he knew Wendy, she'd love them.<P> He shifted comfortably in bed, feeling their presence. The sensation fueled his morning hard-on. He needed sex. He thought wistfully of "Miss Vee," who had given him so much ecstasy so often despite the shame of Nurse Baker's presence. At first the nurse seemed impersonal, but as time went by he sensed more interest in the procedure than was proper. She began checking him for an erection, not just morning and night, but every time she came in, and let her hand linger just a little too long. She fondled his balls while Miss Vee worked. In the final week she said they needed laboratory samples of his semen, and milked him manually into a flask. Her fingers trembled, betraying an unseemly excitement. He pretended to believe her lab-sample story, but a furtive expression on her face alerted him; he began to watch her through half-closed eyes when she went in the bathroom ostensibly to label the sample. One morning she failed to pull the door far enough closed. He caught her tilting the "sample" to her lips, throat moving as she swallowed, a look of desperation on her face. It was as though she were a drug addict and his semen was her "fix". He didn't let on that he knew what she was doing. It would have been too embarrassing for them both. But now--where was she when he needed her?<P> He groaned. He was off the wall waiting for Wendy to return, and there was still a month to go.<P> That special musky fragrance his body emanated during the stay at the clinic had become attenuated, but remained with him nevertheless, now heightened by the closeness of the warm bedclothes around him. He breathed it in. He didn't smell like his old self at all.<P> Time to get up.<P> He drew his knees under him and raised his ass, crouching under the blankets, stretching his back luxuriously. His, um, <EM>tits</EM>- -it tickled him to call them that--hung straight down. There was a refreshing coolness in the creases under them as the dampness of sweat evaporated.<P> Why had he set the alarm for such an early hour?<P> Richard Haskell. He had an appointment with him this morning.<P> Oh, God.<P> He would have to go down to the man's office and beg for a job- -in a dress! What would Haskell think?<P> His stomach fluttered wildly; his erection disappeared, shriveling into a flaccid pendant.<P> He couldn't do it. He would call and cancel.<P> But he needed the job, they were running out of money, and he had to have a new place to work, he couldn't return to the tax- preparation firm that had employed him as a man--and the job with Haskell would be a good one. With the Chard and Myers tax returns Bob had done, Haskell would practically be forced to offer him a good salary, or maybe even the partnership he had mentioned. Well, he deserved it. He was a good tax accountant; his changed appearance didn't alter that. It was worth a shot, even if it meant laying bare his secret. He struggled out of bed. He had to face the music. Oh God. What would the man say?<P> Remembering Andy was in the house, he threw on a robe before shuffling barefoot to the bathroom. Damn, he let the cat out of the bag last night. How could he have done that? The boy must think he was awful.<P> Bob forced his mind away from his embarrassment. He was pretty sure Andy wouldn't say anything. He was a nice kid. He'd be leaving as soon as he found work, anyhow. Bob would be sorry to see him go. He worked hard, so full of energy he was about to explode, at it from morning until well after dark, grateful for the slightest human consideration. His face, which had seemed so plain to Bob at first, had a handsome roughness. When Andy smiled the sun came out, and the youthful joy simmering under the surface never failed to touch Bob's heart.<P> The boy had been good for him, his presence making him behave as womanly all the time as he possibly could. It was good practice.<P> He drizzled bath salts in the tub while it was filling, meaning to take a long relaxing bath, but found himself too nervous to lie still. He shaved his legs and under his arms--not much of a chore, the protogen treatment had all but stopped growth of body hair, even in his pubic region--and got out of the tub, toes curling luxuriously in the shaggy bath mat. He dried himself pink, dusted with body powder, and padded back to the bedroom to get dressed.<P> He would wear the new strapless bra. Supremely lacy and feminine, it looked hardly large enough to contain his tits. The underwiring lifted them and squeezed them together--the saleslady called it a push-up-push-in bra--so his cleavage was pronounced.<P> He took special pains with his garter belt, lining up the garters so they were straight along his thighs, buttoning them to beige stockings which made his legs look sleek--then changed his mind altogether and put on panty-hose instead. Wendy liked him in stockings, she said they looked naughty, and he agreed, he preferred them, but of all the things he didn't want to be today, it was "naughty". He tucked his cock carefully down into the crotch of his panties so no bulge would show under a tight skirt. He had already selected his dress for the interview. It was Wendy's blue cashmere, the top of which the seamstress at the cleaners had let out. Wendy would be irked if she knew, she liked the dress, but he would have it taken in again before she got back. The color flattered his complexion. In the mirror the dress looked sophisticated and, he hoped, reasonably businesslike.<P> He filched Wendy's pearl earrings for discreet accents, and decided against a necklace. Pumps of the same shade of blue as the dress completed the ensemble. The mirror told him the two-inch heels made his ankles trim.<P> Sitting at the dressing table he brushed his hair until it shone, and applied cosmetics with meticulous concentration, stopping at each stage to evaluate the procedure critically, resisting the temptation to use too much makeup, as if somehow makeup would be a mask to prevent anyone recognizing him.<P> He had managed to submerge his nervousness by focusing on getting dressed. Now the butterflies started up again.<P> It was still early, but he could hear Andy stirring in the kitchen. He didn't have enough to worry about, now he had to go down and face the boy. Well, it would be good practice. It seemed this was the day for having his secret known. He would have to face Andy, who knew, and then go and tell Haskell and face him too.<P> He took a breath, conscious of the way his tits lifted in a bra that held him so firmly it was beginning to be uncomfortable, and went downstairs to make breakfast.<P> Andy was putting the coffee on. He looked up cheerfully.<P> "Morning." He gave a low whistle. "Wow, you look nice!"<P> Bob smiled shyly, not quite able to look at him. "Thanks." He tied an apron around his waist, conscious of Andy's eyes following him. "I have an appointment downtown."<P> "Yeah, for that job, right? Don't worry, you'll knock 'em dead."<P> "I hope."<P> He put on bacon and eggs to cook.<P> Andy set their places saying, "Sure. You look great. It's about those taxes you did, ain't it?"<P> "Yes, kind of. You see, last spring I prepared a tax return for a man who turned out to be a bank president's son-in-law. He showed him some of the ways I saved him money, and the next thing I knew the bank president asked his lawyer, who had been doing his taxes, to get me to do them this year. Also the bank's chairman of the board, Mrs. Chard. She's rich. I knew she owned most of Chardsville but until I did her personal taxes just now I didn't have any idea how rich. I bet she's the richest person in the state."<P> He wiped his hands on the apron, served the bacon and scrambled eggs, and sat down opposite Andy.<P> "So did she like the job you did?"<P> "Mr. Haskell said so."<P> "You got it made," Andy said confidently.<P> "Yes. Well, I hope so, anyway."<P> "You look worried. Don't be. You gotta look like you don't need him. My dad said that was the only way to ask for a job."<P> "I suppose so."<P> Andy really was a very sweet boy. For a moment Bob contemplated telling him what was troubling him, but he didn't want to get into the business about his being a man again. Andy was pretending he didn't know, and maybe that was best, they could just forget the whole thing, make believe he hadn't said anything last night.<P> Andy said, "You got a nice day for it."<P> The weather was fair. An autumn sun streamed through the kitchen windows, brightening the new paint and floor tiles.<P> The boy shoved his empty plate away and finished his coffee.<P> "Want me to drive you?"<P> Bob stood up to clear the counter. "Thanks, it's such a nice day I think I'll walk." He needed exercise to settle his jumping stomach.<P> He got his coat and purse and prepared to venture out into a world that was suddenly fraught with peril.<P> His voice trembled when he said, "I'll see you later."<P> Andy's expression was sympathetic. He walked to the door with him and patted him on the shoulder.<P> "Good luck. I'll keep my fingers crossed."<P> He bent quickly and kissed him.<P> It flustered him--after all, it was inappropriate, the boy knew he was a man--but it was such a spontaneous, genuine act that it lifted his spirits. He walked down the street, self-conscious about the click of his heels on the sidewalk, but feeling better.<P> Haskell's new offices were impressive. Too impressive, Bob suspected. He didn't know how much the rent was, or, if Haskell owned the two-story building, what the mortgage payment was, but he was willing to bet it was an arm and a leg, more than half the lawyer's gross revenues at least. Add to that the cost of running expenses, secretaries, insurance and taxes and other items of overhead, Haskell must be lucky to barely clear enough to support his Mercedes and Lake District home.<P> Bob could understand why the man wanted to expand his law practice to include financial planning for his rich clients. It would probably more than double revenues. People's need for a lawyer was only sporadic, but managing their investments was a year-round proposition. Rich people talked to rich people; Bob had no doubt that if Haskell could offer successful tax-planning and management, the division would become the tail that wags the dog.<P> He hesitated in front of the intimidating front door and adjusted the new brassiere, the elastic of which seemed to be trying to crawl up his back, and smoothed his skirt. He couldn't put it off any longer. He opened the door.<P> The immaculate wine-red carpeting in the reception area was so deep his spike heels plunged in and threatened to overset him. Tall narrow windows transmitted a pearly light into the room, illuminating delicate period furniture.<P> The receptionist was a blonde girl a couple of years younger than he, obviously chosen for her attractive smile.<P> He made himself answer the smile. "I'm Barbara Miller. Mr. Haskell is expecting me."<P> He took off his coat and straightened his shoulders, self- conscious about the prominence of his breasts, but determined to brazen it out. He hung the coat on an old-fashioned oak coat-tree by the door.<P> The girl glanced down at the appointment book on her desk.<P> "Oh dear," she tittered. "I'm afraid Mr. Haskell thinks you're somebody named Bob." She spoke into the intercom. "Mrs. Miller is here, Mr. Haskell." To Bob, "You can go right in."<P> Doing his best to control his breathing, he forced one leg after the other to carry him to the office.<P> Haskell was scrutinizing some papers on an enormous polished mahogany desk. Without looking up he said, "Hi Bob, be with you in just a sec."<P> He finished reading the page with an expression of satisfaction.<P> "There," he said, "That's done. One more fat fee."<P> He stood up.<P> His expression changed to surprise. He looked him up and down. "I'm sorry, I was expecting somebody else. Janey did say Miller, did she not?" He snapped his fingers. "I get it. The resemblance is unmistakable. I didn't know Bob had a sister. Have a seat." He indicated a conversation area comprised of a comfortable- looking couch and chairs around a Hepplewhite coffee table. "What can I do for you? Where's Bob?"<P> Bob closed the door and turned.<P> "I'm Bob."<P> Haskell's uncomprehending smile stretched his pencil-mustache. Clean-shaven except for the mustache, he looked dapper and distinguished with a sprinkling of silver at his temples. The man was of average height, only a couple of inches taller than Bob was in heels.<P> Bob couldn't prevent the blush he felt coloring his cheeks. "I'm Bob. Really."<P> "The Bob Miller I'm talking about is a man. Older than you. He's a tax practitioner."<P> "That's me. I am Bob Miller, Dick," Bob insisted. "I chose a new, ah, life-style. But I'm still a tax accountant."<P> The man stared at him dumbfounded. Slowly Bob saw recognition, then belief, trickle into his eyes.<P> "You-- You-- How--?"<P> "It's a long story."<P> Still staring, Haskell said, "Come on, sit down and tell me about it, er, Bob." He waved at a chair.<P> "It's Barbara now." Bob sat as gracefully as he could, and tugged his skirt down.<P> Haskell looked at his knees.<P> "Barbara! Of course. Barbara. Forgive me, I'm having a tough time assimilating this." He dropped into a chair opposite. "Let me catch my breath."<P> His eyes traveled over Bob's figure. He shook his head. "I don't believe it. I never knew you were gay."<P> "I'm not!"<P> "Then what are you doing, er, in drag?"<P> "Wendy wanted me to do it, and then it turned out I liked it."<P> "Wendy? That's right, your wife. You two still married?"<P> "Sure we are."<P> "I just thought, with you looking like that . . . Why would she want you to adopt this life-style?"<P> Bob looked down uncomfortably. "She just does. Anyway, I can't go back to the other firm dressed like this. Everybody would know, the preparers and all my clients. So that's why I'm here. We've been acquainted for a long time, I trust you. I know you wouldn't tell on me. I thought if that offer was still open . . . "<P> "Gee, Bob--er, Barbara. Things have kind of changed, haven't they? Who else knows about this?" His eyes were calculating.<P> "Wendy. Nobody else."<P> "What about Mrs. Chard and Mr. Myers? They know you're a man."<P> "I relayed all my questions through you, remember? I never spoke with them. They don't know if I'm a man or a woman."<P> "Yes." Haskell was thoughtful. "I guess it could be passed off as some kind of mix-up. Bob. Barbara. Bobbie. It would be easy to make a mistake, I suppose. But they may not like the idea of a woman doing their finances. Some people are funny that way."<P> "Lots of tax accountants are women. Besides, you said they were pleased with my work."<P> Haskell gave an uncertain laugh. "You really are Bob, aren't you? I can't get over it. Yeah, they did like it. They raved about it. You saved them thousands in taxes, and they followed your advice about shifting funds, so now they're making more than ever, most of it tax- free. Er, what was that business about rent?"<P> "Rent? Oh. You arrange to buy the company's offices, using company money, of course, borrowing it or something. Then you charge the company rent in lieu of salary or dividends. There's no self-employment tax on rental income, so you cut your personal taxes sharply. Plus the company benefits by an expense that reduces income without having to pay its share of Social Security tax."<P> "Really? Could I do that?"<P> "Maybe. We could sit down and talk about it. I'd have to know all the factors."<P> Haskell shook his head. "That's what makes you such a good financial planner--you don't commit yourself until you know all the details."<P> "So? About working here?"<P> Haskell stared at the wall in silence. Bob could see the wheels turning, like a used-car salesman figuring out how much he could charge the buyer.<P> He said slowly, "We-ell, we could give it a try. I know I said something about a partnership, but maybe we'd better hold off on that until we see what's going to happen. I'd be sticking my neck out, you know. If anybody found out . . . I'd have to say I didn't know anything about it."<P> Again he inspected Bob. "You know, you really do look pretty good. If we're careful nobody would ever guess, would they? It's kind of a kick. Okay." Bob saw he had made up his mind. "How about this. You work for me on retainer plus a commission equal to two-fifths of any financial planning business that comes in, including Chard and Myers. And two-fifths of anything the firm bills for fiduciary tax return preparation. That's fair, isn't it? We'll get one and a half percent for managing portfolios of under a million, and one percent over a million."<P> Bob's heart lurched. Haskell had just said yes. He was taking advantage of him, he knew, last year he got two-thirds for tax returns, but the deal sounded good anyway. He did a swift calculation. His income would skyrocket immediately. With judicious application of some ideas he had already formed, it could increase tenfold in just a few short months. They could start building that house.<P> His heartbeat was so violent he feared the vibration of his dress would betray him.<P> "It's a deal."<P> He shook hands with him.<P> The lawyer asked, "Can you start tomorrow? Sam Lovell, president of Chard Industries, is coming in. Seems Mrs. Chard mentioned you. I'll have an agreement messengered to your home this afternoon. We'll have to get you a secretary too. You got anyone in mind?"<P> The president of Chard. That meant not only his individual account but the company's profit-sharing accounts as well. From Haskell's watchful expression he was almost sure Lovell had been told to ask for him personally. He should have held out for a better deal.<P> He answered the question. "Not right offhand. I'll call you if I think of somebody."<P> "Let's go meet your new associates."<P> Haskell guided him with one hand lightly on the small of his back, making Bob aware of a perceptible change in the man's reaction to him, not quite patronizing, but somehow as if Bob were a child.<P> The lawyer introduced him around. Jane Bloom, the receptionist, gave Bob a smile that was a bit too radiant; he sensed she was nettled, another "woman" was to be her boss.<P> The elderly gentleman in charge of research, Bert Jaffe, expressed surprise at Bob's youth and apparent gender, but complimented him on the precedents he had used to support certain of Mrs. Chard's deductions, and said something courtly about Bob's skill being equal to his comeliness. Bob caught an amused glitter in Haskell's eye and looked away hastily.<P> Two research assistants maintained a careful respect when Bob was introduced, but when he and Haskell left the library he heard an aggrieved whisper. "That broad is younger than we are. She's supposed to tell us what to do?"<P> Haskell made as though to reenter the library; Bob stopped him, saying gently, "These things sometimes take a little time. I'll handle it later." But the incident frightened him; he had to have the young men's cooperation to do a good job, and wondered how he'd be able to gain it. Mrs. Brower, in charge of the files, proved a doughty old battle-ax who looked at Bob with approval. "About time we got a woman associate," she said.<P> Bob's office was every bit as large and luxuriously appointed as Haskell's. The walls were paneled; the desk a gleaming expanse of dark wood in front of an imposing high-backed leather chair that made Bob think of a throne. He tried to imagine the desk covered with books and papers and a calculator, and couldn't. It was a beautiful office, but it was for show. If he wanted to get any work done he'd have to do it in Research.<P> Haskell explained, "In this game appearances are as important as anything else. You have to impress the clients with your success. Don't forget, we want to give the impression that we don't need them, they need us. It would be better if you were a man and didn't look so damn' young, but I guess there's nothing we can do about that now. They'll just have to live with it. He held out his hand. "Glad to have you with us . . . Barbara. See you tomorrow."<P> As soon as Bob got out in the deserted lobby he leaned against the wall. His vision dimmed and his knees shook. His heart was a galloping runaway in his chest.<P> I did it, he thought. I did it!<P> He rested panting until elation impelled him out to the street.<P> He walked on air, paying no attention to where he was going, just needing to work off the tension and anxiety of the morning by some kind of exercise, not feeling the chill wind that swirled up under his coat and around his stockinged legs, kept warm by the exultation ablaze in him.<P> It was the lunch hour. Office workers thronged the streets.<P> He grinned irrepressibly at the freckled redheaded girl coming toward him. "Hi, Nancy," he blurted absently, saw her startled look as they passed, and an instant later knew he had made a big mistake.<P> Nancy Dahl was the receptionist at the tax firm he worked for, a diminutive homely girl whose cheery smile was so bright it almost made her look beautiful. He had always liked her for her exuberance and energy and the tact with which she avoided office politics. They had worked closely seven days a week for three months of each year. Of all people to pull a boner with!<P> His footsteps faltered in dismay.<P> He made himself continue down the street, hoping she thought he was a customer from last tax season or something--and flinched wildly as he felt a hand on his shoulder.<P> "Bob? Bob Miller?"<P> He didn't respond, but the girl skipped ahead and stood in front of him, blocking his way. Her pale green eyes were wide.<P> "It <EM>is</EM> you, isn't it? Why, Bob!"<P> He darted a look to either side to see if anyone was watching.<P> "Shh. Not so loud."<P> The girl whispered gleefully, "Why are you like that? Let me see."<P> She stepped back and looked him up and down. "You're <EM>gorgeous!"</EM> Apparently correctly interpreting his expression she added, "Don't worry, I think it's <EM>wonderful."</EM><P> Bob opened his mouth but couldn't make himself say anything. She knew him. He couldn't deny it. He had a sinking feeling. His disguise wasn't as impenetrable as he hoped. He'd never be able to carry it off.<P> "I can't believe my <EM>eyes!</EM> I'm completely overwhelmed. Tell me all about it."<P> He murmured desperately, "Not here. I'll see you another time."<P> "Forget it. I'm not letting you go for one second. I want to hear everything." She hooked her arm through his. "Come on, I was just going to lunch. We'll go to Mitzi's and get a table all by ourselves."<P> The place was half a block away, one of those cutesy restaurants that specialized in things like little watercress sandwiches and crustless squares of brown bread with cream cheese covered with a dab of caviar. It wouldn't be crowded. Glumly he let her lead him. At the table she sparkled when he slipped his coat off.<P> "Wow. You don't do things halfway, do you? Just look at you, you're <EM>stunning!</EM> They look so real."<P> Stung, Bob said, "They are real."<P> "Oh, yeah, right. Pause for laugh. Laugh over." She gazed at him intently through narrowed eyes. "You're not kidding, are you. They're real? How did that happen?"<P> "I, um, I went to a doctor for a . . . treatment."<P> "Oh God, Bob, that's terrible! It's one thing to dress up--but to give up your . . . "<P> "I didn't! It just changed the way I look."<P> "He didn't--cut you?"<P> "No," he blushed. "No subtractions, just additions."<P> "That's <EM>marvelous.</EM> That's why your voice is like that, too. I--"<P> She broke off while the waitress took their orders.<P> Bob opened his purse, found a hanky, touched it to his temples and upper lip. He was sweating with nervousness.<P> When the waitress left he asked, "H-how did you know?"<P> She gazed at him steadily, as if making up her mind to be candid. Her freckles disappeared as pinkness overtook her face.<P> She said finally, "My husband does too. I mean he wears dresses around the house. I wouldn't have recognized you, except I was used to it. When you said hi, I didn't know you at first, but then, well, it was kind of like a double image, like seeing Jimmy--that's my husband--on the street."<P> "Your h-husband wears dresses?"<P> "Yeah. He really looks good, better than me. He did it every day when he--well, that's another story. Anyway, I'm used to it. Don't worry, love. Nobody else could ever tell."<P> Another man like him. Not gay, married to a woman. He'd like to meet him someday.<P> "Don't you mind?"<P> "What, about Jimmy? No, I think it's nice." Her pale green eyes twinkled. "You look nice too. So what's the deal? I would never of believed I'd see you like this. Jimmy would be thrilled."<P> "Oh . . . it's too long to go into now. My wife, well, she kind of encouraged me. It makes her feel, I don't know, better about things."<P> "I know what you mean. It gives me a kick to go to bed with Jimmy when he's that way."<P> Her frankness made the heat in Bob's cheeks deepen. He took advantage of the waitress' arrival to change the subject.<P> "How are things back at the ranch?"<P> "The tax orifice?" she grinned. "Usual. Slow out of season, but you know that. Myrna is still a royal pain to everybody in sight."<P> Myrna Floss was the office manager, a squatty woman with a masculine demeanor who ran the place on principles of favoritism, cronyism, and consummate disregard for the feelings of employees.<P> Nancy took a bite of her cottage cheese. "We lost four out of six tax preparers this year. Myrna's really counting on you. Wait'll she sees you. She'll have puppies."<P> Bob grinned in spite of his self-consciousness. "Are you kidding? I'm not coming back. Nobody's supposed to know. You're not going to say anything, are you? Please."<P> "Never! I told you about my husband, didn't I? Well, then. If you won't say anything I won't. Myrna's going to be pissed off, though." She seemed to derive considerable pleasure from the thought. "So what are you going to do next season?"<P> In cartoons they show a light bulb going on over somebody's head when he has an idea. To Bob it was just that way, a sudden flash of inspiration. Nancy knew about him. If he had her loyalty she could be a big help.<P> "I'm heading up a new department at Haskell and Associates." It was the first time he said it out loud. It sounded important. "Tax planning and financial management. I just got the job today. Listen, I'm going to need a secretary. You take dictation and type, don't you? And you know all the tax language. Why don't you come to work for me?"<P> He prayed Haskell would go along with the salary he was prepared to offer. If he didn't, Bob was willing to pay the difference out of his own pocket. He'd be able to afford it.<P> When he told Nancy how much she would be making, her plain face turned bright.<P> "And I'd be an executive secretary? Wow, cool. It's about time I left that crappy tax office. Wait'll I tell Myrna. Say, what <EM>will</EM> I tell her? Who'll I be working for? Not Bob Miller."<P> "Barbara Miller. Bob's sister, I guess. You'll have to cover for me if a client comes in and thinks he recognizes me."<P> "Don't worry, I will. <EM>Barbara!</EM> I love it. I'm so <EM>proud</EM> of you! You made up your mind to, what, go all the way and become a woman--sort of--and just like that you got a job as the big boss. It couldn't have happened to a better . . . girl. When do I start?"<P> Bob smiled happily. "Tomorrow?"<P> "I'll tell Myrna soon as I get back. I should give her two weeks notice, but I can't resist telling her I'm going to lunch."<P> Bob laughed. She was referring to a tax preparer a year ago who said she was going to lunch and never came back.<P> Nancy said, "Oh-oh."<P> "What?"<P> "You, uh, you're not gonna use the ladies' washroom, are you?"<P> He stared at her until he saw the twinkle in her eyes, and burst out laughing.<P> He was still smiling when he walked into Dresser's department store to celebrate with a new outfit. His own. He wouldn't have to borrow Wendy's things anymore.<P> He charged a couple of tailored knit suits and blouses to complement them; and then, carried away, half a dozen mix 'n match frocks, skirts and tops. He took pleasure in selecting dresses with