Date: Wed, 30 Jun 2004 19:35:07 -0500
From: Cindi Johnson
Subject: Crossing Texas

CAUTION!!!  This story has explicit sexual content. If you are under the
age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE!  Or if stories involving sex or forced
crossdressing offend you, do not continue.  This story is provided without
charge to anyone who will enjoy it. Other writings by Cindi include
"Dalia's Story", "Michelle's Story", "Rebecca's Peace", and "A Texas
Change".


*   *    *    *    *    *


Crossing Texas
by Cindi Johnson
Dallas, June 2004


Prologue

I was driving across Texas on a late autumn afternoon. The landscape was
dreary, the sky gray, and I had been driving all day when, about six p.m.,
I pulled my car into a small motel just north of Dallas. After settling
into my room, I called the lobby to request an extra blanket. Shortly
thereafter a young lady brought a blanket to my room.

As I had been alone all day driving across this seemingly endless state, I
asked the young lady to join me for dinner. I needed company.  She agreed
and, after checking with her manager, she joined me. We went to a Luby's
cafeteria located about two miles away.

As we ate our meals, I mentioned that I was headed home to Iowa, and that I
had grown up near the Iowa border. This fact seemed to affect her
strangely. I asked her how an articulate, seemingly educated woman such as
herself had come to work as a motel maid.  Expecting a typically vague
reply to my routine question, I was very surprised as tears formed in the
young lady's eyes, and she began to tell the shocking tale of her own
journey across Texas.

Intrigued, I stayed three more days at that motel. I interviewed the young
lady and many others whose lives had intersected with hers.  Based upon
these interviews, I put her most unusual story down on paper.

At the end of my stay, as I loaded luggage into my car and prepared to
resume my own journey and my own life, I asked the young lady for a final
statement.

"Just tell everyone," she said, "never attempt to cross Texas. Texas is
like a true love: you may love her, then you may hate her, but you'll never
leave her."

What follows is her story.


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

Part 1

I had just passed Dallas when my troubles began. A few miles north of the
city, in a town which was fast becoming a big city suburb, my car
overheated. Perhaps it was caused by the transmission, which had been
slipping badly since I crossed the U.S- Mexico border. At any rate, I had
to pull over. Luckily, I spotted a small motel a half mile up the
highway. With steam trailing ominously behind, I pulled into the parking
lot of the Paradise View motel. The engine shook violently as I turned the
key off.

Save for a half dozen cars, the motel's parking lot was empty on this sunny
March afternoon. The motel appeared to have formerly been a chain, like a
Best Western or La Quinta, but no more.  I guessed that it had about 30 or
40 units, a restaurant, and a small pool.  From the motel, which was seated
atop a gentle rise, I could view rolling prairies to the north, while far
to the south I could just make out the Dallas skyline.

Warm, tired, hungry and very thirsty, I entered into the restaurant, which
also served as a bar for the motel's patrons.

Part 2

I sat down at the bar and ordered a hamburger and French fries and a beer.
The waitress was a young Mexican-American girl with long wavy black hair
and expressive brown eyes. Her name tag identified her as "Sara".  She wore
a yellow blouse and navy blue skirt. Tall for a hispanic girl, at about
5'6", thin, with her full lips painted bright red, Sara was simply,
undeniably beautiful. I was stunned.

As I downed a couple of beers, we conversed about the weather, the traffic,
and other typical small talk subjects. But after I had finished a couple
more beers, I began to spill out my life story. I told her I was returning
from spending the winter on the Yucatan coast; how I had left Des Moines
for Mexico on my 20th birthday, seeking an escape from Midwestern boredom;
how I was now returning to Iowa, hoping that I could get my old job back at
the bank there in my hometown.

More beers continued to loosen my tongue. I told Sara how I was alone,
nearly broke, and now had serious car troubles to boot. How there seemed to
be no one in this world who cared about me. How no one even knew where I
was on this particular day, nor cared.

"So", she asked in between waiting on the customers who came and left while
I rambled on, "why go back to Des Moines?"

Why indeed, I wondered as Sara set a stiff rum and coke be before me. "On
the house," she said.

Feeling dizzy, I moved to a booth. I recall Sara gently stroking my face as
I enjoyed another drink, again on the house. That's all I can remember,
until..

Part 3

SMACK!  Stunned, I opened my eyes. A young, tall blond woman stood before
me, pointing a handgun directly at my head. Frantically I tried to block
her hand as she swung at my face again.  SMACK!  My hands were somehow
secured behind my back.

"What is it? What's going on," I yelled at her, frightened. "You can have
all my money! Go ahead and take my wallet!"

"I'm not robbing you, IDIOT", she replied in a stern voice, before slapping
me yet again. "I'm arresting you!"

"What?  Why?  I don't understand?"

"RAPE, you pervert! You raped Sara," she yelled, glancing towards her left.
Looking there, I saw Sara huddled in a dim corner of the restaurant.  Her
yellow blouse was torn, its buttons ripped off, and her hair was
messed. There were blood stains on her blouse and on her right cheek. Half
undressed, wearing no skirt or panties, she appeared to have been
crying. Sara turned away from me, as if she did not want me to see her.

"No..no way.I couldn't have.," I muttered as I again turned towards the
blond woman and the gun pointed at me.  "I wouldn't do that," I said,
looking down towards the floor.

"You could, and you did, and you'll pay big time for it, idiot. My uncle is
the sheriff here. You know, idiot, that this is Texas, not some liberal
little yankee state. You'll rot in a filthy Texas prison. I guarantee
it. You'll be an old man before you ever again walk a street as a free
man."

"No., please."  I turned to Sara. "Please, I'm sorry. I must have been
drunk. I can't remember anything.  I'm sorry, very sorry." Sara turned
away. The room was dark. I couldn't see for sure, but she appeared to be
grimacing. Or grinning.

The blond continued, "Don't even try moving. I've already called the
police.  You're history, asshole." Then she slapped my face again. I
couldn't help it.the alcohol, the stress, the violence.  I vomited all over
myself. I was so frightened I actually began to shiver uncontrollably, and
then I began to cry.

"Please," I begged. "I'll do anything if you'll leave the police out of
this. Anything at all. You can have all of my money and my car."

"IDIOT!  Your car is a piece of junk, and I already have the little money
you had."

"But please, please.," I begged, sniveling.

At this point Sara spoke up. "Amanda," she said, "maybe we should hold off
on this. He was really drunk and all. Maybe he didn't really mean to hurt
me."

"What!  That pervert raped you!"

"I know. But., wait., I don't know what to do.  Maybe he could make it up
to me somehow, but without going to prison.  I just know he'd be dead
within a year or two behind those bars, and then I'd kind of feel bad, you
know., sort of responsible for his death. Do you know what I mean, Amanda?"

Just then we saw a police car pull into the parking lot. Luckily, the
parking area was well lit while the restaurant was quite dark, which made
it impossible for the officer to see into the restaurant window.

"Please! Listen to her.  Please!" I beseeched the young blond woman to
spare me from the hell of Texas incarceration.

"OK.OK.", she said hesitantly, "so., you will work for me.., do exactly
what I ask., with no complaints? None at all. And you'll do anything that
Sara asks.., no questions asked?"

"Yes, I will!  I promise! Please!!!"

"OK.  Sara, you win, for now.  Take that creep out the back door and lock
him in room #17. Then come right back.  We'll report the rape to the
officer, but hold off for now on turning the idiot over to the police.

With that, Sara, wearing only her torn blouse over her bra, led me to a
vacant motel room, pushed me into it, then locked the door and left. Alone
in the dark room, still shaking uncontrollably, I collapsed onto the bed,
my hands still bound. I could feel the sticky vomit and, maybe, semen,
which covered my legs and groin.  Exhausted and poisoned by alcohol, I
again slipped from consciousness.

Part 4

Amanda, seated on the couch, wearing a baby blue cotton robe and slippers,
gently brushed Sara's long black hair, while Sara sat demurely on a blanket
spread over the floor. Sara sipped herbal tea, as a dreamy Patsy Cline song
played on the stereo.

"Amanda, you should have been an actress," said Sara.  "My gosh, he's
absolutely convinced that he raped me. Heck, you nearly had me
convinced. Though I could barely keep from laughing."

"Serves him right, Sara. He shouldn't drink so much. It's his fault, not
ours. When I saw him passed out in the restaurant, well..., Sara..., I
don't much like men anyhow, particularly drunken men."

"By the way, Mandy, what did John want?"

"Oh, he was just bored. He just wanted to talk. You know, Sara, he still
wants to get into your pants. I told him you were in bed. But what timing!
That idiot really believed John had come to arrest him for rape."

"All men want to get into my pants, Mandy. That's the curse beautiful girls
like us must carry. But believe me, no man will get into mine, unless I
want it."

"Oh by the way, did you soak your blouse? If you don't, that hamburger
blood we used will set into the fabric."

"True", Sara replied, "and I'll also need to sew on new buttons."

"No, Sara, the idiot can sew on the buttons. He's our slave now."  Both
girls laughed.

"Mandy, I hope you know what you're doing with that guy. You're always
getting into mischief. What if he's insane, or dangerous?"

"Worry, worry, worry," chided Amanda. "It's all you do, Sara. I'm a big
girl now; I can take care of any man. Besides, he's no bigger than I am. I
could probably whip him, even without a gun."

"True," Sara purred while Amanda gently massaged her neck, "but I don't
really like the idea of having a guy around here."

"I understand that, and I think I can take care of that problem too.  You
know, Sara, I just enjoy manipulating males. I really do. And when you
showed me that guy, passed out in our restaurant, I saw an opportunity too
good to let pass.  Besides, we do need another worker here, now that Pam
quit. Just play along with me on this, Sara. I promise you, it'll be fun."
Amanda leaned forward and kissed Sara's neck.

Part 5

Bright sunshine fell upon my eyes, causing pain. I looked around. I was in
a sparsely furnished motel room. I struggled to get up. I tried to open the
door, but it was locked from outside the room. Just as well, I reasoned, as
the only clothing in the room was the t-shirt I wore. After drinking a
glass of water I laid down on the bed.  Strange visions flitted through my
mind; a beautiful hispanic girl, a gun, threats, a sunny Mexican beach. I
drifted back to sleep.

Part 6

SMACK!

Startled, I jumped off the bed. A young blond girl has just slapped my
face, and was now pointing a gun at me. After a few moments it begins to
come back: the car trouble, the alcohol, the.. rape.

"What's your name, idiot," she demanded.

"Michael"

"Well, Michael, I knew that. Sara told me your whole life story, which of
course you relayed to her during your drunken stupor, before you raped
her. Believe me, Michael, were it not for Sara's intervention, you'd be
behind bars right now.

"So here's the situation, idiot. We have informed the police of the rape,
but have not yet specifically identified you as the perpetrator.  Sara was
required to submit to a doctor's examination, so your semen's DNA is now a
police record. Your car was impounded. If you are identified as having
raped Sara, you're looking at twenty years in prison. Twenty years of hell
on earth, Michael.  Welcome to Texas, kid."

Amanda paused, staring at me with the pistol aimed directly at my heart. I
felt as if I would vomit again.

"Anyway, for Sara's sake, I'm willing to give you a chance. You work here
for three to six months, then maybe we'll let you be on your way and all of
this will be but a bad memory of yours. I'm shorthanded here. And Sara just
feels bad about what happened. Since she gave you the drinks, she feels
partly responsible for what you did. I told her that was pure BS, and any
cop would tell her the same thing.  But Sara's just too damn nice. Besides,
she thinks that if you've knocked her up, you'll need to support the kid
for the next twenty years, which is hard to do if you're behind bars."

"Tell Sara I'm sorry. Tell her I appreciate."

"Shut Up, Michael. Don't interrupt me, ever!"

"Yes.  I'm sorry."

"Michael, this is the South. Say 'Yes, MA'AM'."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"That's better.  Now remember, I know who you are. I have your drivers
license. If you leave here, or try anything foolish, the Texas Rangers will
be all over you."

"Now, clean yourself up. You're clothes were impounded with your car.
Here's a blouse and slacks which our maid, Pam, left behind when she
quit. They should fit you. And you can wear my slippers. And clean up this
room. When you finish, come to the restaurant."  At that, she backed slowly
out of the room, always holding the gun pointed at me.

Part 7

I couldn't help it.  I ran to the toilet and threw up. Now that the alcohol
had worn off, I saw how bleak my predicament was. If my semen was taken
from Sara's vagina, and was DNA matched to me, then no jury in the world
would set me free.  Plus there were witnesses, last night's restaurant
patrons, all who would identify me as being out-of-control drunk.

As I showered, my thoughts returned to Sara.  So beautiful!  I felt intense
gratitude to her for sparing me from the law. And even though I couldn't
remember screwing her, I nonetheless felt a tad bit of manly pride. After
all, here was I, Mr.  Michael Nobody, and I had just had sex with possibly
the prettiest girl in Texas.

Part 8

"Jesus," I muttered as I pulled on the slacks.  A bit baggy in the hips,
and a zipper on the side where it would do a man no good, but otherwise a
fairly decent fit.

Unlike the lavender slacks, the blouse was white and not readily
distinguishable from a guy's shirt, except for a few small, embroidered
flowers on the collar.  I fumbled with the buttons, which were on the wrong
side, then put on Amanda's sandals.  Feeling odd, I walked to the
mirror. Luckily, the clothes fit OK, as I was 5'8" and thin by nature. The
long hair I had grown over the winter, which until now had given me the
appearance of a hippie, combined with the clothes to give me an effeminate
appearance. Feeling embarrassed, I left the room and walked to the
restaurant. It was getting dark. I must have slept all day.

Sara stared at me as I entered the restaurant. We both blushed; me from my
situation and appearance, and she, apparently, from seeing a guy wearing a
maid's clothes.

"Sara," I said hesitantly as I approached the counter, "I'm really sorry
for what I did. I don't know what could have gotten into me. I blacked
out., I don't remember anything."

Sara said nothing. She looked embarrassed by the situation. Amanda entered
the room.

"Pervert! Leave Sara alone, will you? Just stand still and shut up!"

"What about it, Sara, do you think Michael can do Pam's job until we hire a
new girl," asked Amanda.

"I.., I suppose so.."

"OK, Michael, your job will be to clean rooms, make beds, wash linen.
Nothing too complicated."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best.  I promise."

"You'll start tomorrow morning. Sara will give you dinner, then you will
return to your room. Your workday starts at six a.m."

"Yes ma'am, thank you. But, maybe I could go out tonight to buy some
clothes. Just some jeans and a workshirt?"

"What do you think, Sara, can Michael wear Pam's clothes while he works
here?  They seem to fit him," said Amanda.

"I don't know, Mandy.  He looks a bit odd dressed like that. He might make
our guests uncomfortable. People around here don't much like queer guys."

"True. That's true.., but, let me think..".  Amanda was quiet for some
moments, pondering the situation.

"I know!  Michael can dress 100% as a female.  That way, customers won't be
offended, as they will just assume he's a girl."

"Wha..", I started to protest.

"Shut up, idiot! I won't tell you that again!" said Amanda.

After a moment of silence, Sara responded. "But Mandy, he's a guy.  He
should wear guy's clothes, not girl's clothes."

"No, Sara. I've decided. While he works here, Michael will be 100% maid.
That means he'll wear lingerie, makeup, everything. Maybe once he knows how
it feels to be a girl, he'll empathize with us, instead of raping us."

"But Mandy.," Sara tried to interrupt.

"No. That's it, Sara.  I've decided. Our guests expect our hotel maids to
be female.  Really, Sara, have you ever seen a male motel maid anywhere in
Texas?"

Amanda continued to describe to Sara the benefits of having me work as a
woman.  But this discussion was strictly between Amanda and Sara. Clearly,
my thoughts on this matter were not a factor.

"Sara, you will take the pervert to Mervyns and buy him the basics. He had
$500 in his wallet. Use it. I'll cover the restaurant for you and will also
find Pam's other uniforms for Michael to wear.

"Now remember, Sara, if tomorrow morning he doesn't look like a female,
then this deal is off. I'll call the authorities and you'll file charges
against him.  Understand?"

"Yes, Amanda."

"Oh, and one more thing. Michael, you'll be wearing Pam's clothes and
wearing her name tags. So, dear pervert, from this point on your name is
Pamela. Got it?
  Now, say your name."

"Pamela," I said hesitantly.

"Good girl," Amanda said condescendingly, as if I were a dog that had just
rolled over, "now, return to your room this minute and shave off all your
body hair.  All of it. Everywhere. There's a shaving kit in the room. And
don't even think of asking me any questions."

Angry but silent, I left the restaurant and returned to my room.

Part 9

"Wow, Mandy, you're really gonna make him dress like a girl," asked Sara.

"Sure. Why not? Let's humiliate the idiot."

"But he really didn't do anything to deserve all this."

"So? I need a maid around here, and now I have one. Sara, you love me,
don't you?"

"Yes, Mandy."

"Then play along with this. As you know, unlike you, I don't much like
guys.  I'll enjoy this.  But we've gotta play good cop- bad cop now, and
you're the good cop, Sara. Just play along. Believe me, he's harmless."
Amanda leaned towards Sara and kissed her.

"Oh, OK Mandy. I'll do my best," Sara replied with an air of resignation.

Part 10

I had barely finished shaving and showering when I heard a knock on the
door.

"C'mon, Pamela, let's get going. I don't want to be up all night with you."
It was Sara. Hurriedly I donned the lavender slacks and white blouse, then
opened the door.

"Hurry up, Pamela," said Sara, as she grabbed Amanda's sandals and grasped
my hand, then pulled me out into the night. "I don't know why I got stuck
with this job, but I did. Now please don't embarrass me."

I slipped on the sandals as Sara drove south, towards the city.

"Sara, I'm really sorry for what I did last night," I said, trying again to
apologize.

"Oh, just drop it. It's too late. You did what you did, now you have to
live with the consequences. Just don't cross Mandy, cause she will have you
arrested, you know."

"OK, but really, Sara, you surely don't expect me to., you know."

"No, what?"

"You know., wear girl clothes."

"Haven't you noticed? You already are wearing girl's clothes."

"But please, Sara!"

"No, Pamela, no. My job depends upon Amanda's happiness. So, we will both
do just what Mandy wants."

"Sara, my name is Michael."

"No. Your name is Pamela, because Amanda says it is. Hey, it's not my fault
that you raped me. You shouldn't drink so much. But believe me, Pam, you do
not want to end up in the Dallas County Jail, especially now that you have
no body hair. The men there will., you know."

Sara pulled her car into the parking lot of a Mervyn's clothing store.

"Let's get this done, Pamela, and again, please don't try to embarrass me,
OK?  I don't want these people to think I like, well., a pansy."

I followed Sara into the store. Don't embarrass her? Gosh, what about me?

Sara led me directly to the lingerie department. A cute high school girl
approached; she had dark hair, a shapely build, and deep blue eyes. Her
name tag read "Jennifer".  Jennifer stared at me as if I were a lunatic.

"May I help you," she asked Sara as she stared at the embroidery on my
blouse.

"Yes, please," Sara said, then turned towards me, "He needs to buy some new
clothes."

"Ah., women's clothes?"

"Yes.  Women's clothes."

"These clothes are for him?" Jennifer said.

"Yes," Sara replied, rolling her eyes so as to convey to the clerk how
ridiculous she thinks I am. "Yes, he wants to wear girl's clothes. Maybe
you can help him pick some out?"

"He really wants to buy lingerie?"  Jennifer continued to address her
questions to Sara, as if she were a mother shopping for her young daughter.

"Well, OK, I suppose., you know.," Jennifer grinned as she looked me over.
"May I ask your name, sir?"

"Pamela," I replied.

"Pamela?"

"Yes., Pamela."  Again I noticed Sara rolling her eyes. Clearly she was not
enjoying this shopping trip.

"Here," Sara said to Jennifer, "I have a list of things he needs."

Jennifer took the list and read from it aloud. "Let's see., hum., several
pairs of lacy panties., two panty girdles.. Several feminine bras., several
sexy skirts with matching blouses., maybe one or two pretty dresses. high
heels. lots of pantyhose. a purse.  makeup, including bright red lipstick
and nail polish.  perfume, slips. a sexy nightgown. and anything else a
young lady would love to wear.  Wow, Pamela, that's quite a list!"

"Yes, it is," I said, flustered. Apparently Amanda had drawn up a full
shopping list for me.

"I noticed it says you want to purchase "sexy" clothes, sir" said Jennifer.
"Do you mean sexy in a guy way, like Bruce Willis, or in a girl way, like,
say, Brittney Spears?"

"Well," I stammered, "in a Brittney Spears way."

"So you want to dress like Brittney Spears, the teen pop diva?"

"Yes, please."

"Jesus!" she said, "I've never done this before. This isn't a sexual thing,
like, you know, you're not gonna get excited and, you know, do what guys
do, you know.?"

Seeing that the shopping trip was stalled, Sara spoke up. "No, it's not
like that.  Believe me. Pamela will behave or else. He just doesn't feel he
fits in as a guy so he wants to be a girl. I know it's stupid. But heck, if
he prefers to wear short skirts, that's his problem."

But wearing girls clothes won't make you a girl, Pamela. There's more to it
than that, you know," Jennifer said, still unsure of my motivations.

"Please, Miss, just let her buy some clothes, OK?" Sara said, exasperated.
"Pamela's not a real guy. Not a guy like you and I think of guys. Pamela is
a girl.  Think of her as just another girl."

"Oh., OK., I suppose you're right."  Jennifer then turned toward me. "Well,
come on, girl, let's find some pretty lingerie for you to enjoy."
Apparently it eased her mind, and her confusion, to refer to me as a girl,
and as "her" rather than "him".

Jennifer beckoned me to follow her. We went to a large area filled with an
enormous assortment of women's panties.

"So, Pamela, "you're a big fan of Brittney Spears?"

"Yes," I lied, "I have all her videos and CD's."

"Well, you're not alone. A whole lot of young girls like to imitate her in
dress and style and makeup. Now that I understand who Pamela admires,"
Jennifer continued, turning to address Sara, "it'll be easy to select
several outfits for her.  She may need to shop in the Juniors section,
though."

"Yes, I suppose so," Sara replied, again rolling her eyes. "Pamela acts
like a teenage girl, so she should dress like a teenage girl."  Jennifer
was busily holding up panties for me to inspect, then selecting for me only
those that were flowery and feminine.

"You know, Pamela, you seem just a tad too old to be so into the Brittney
Spears scene. How old are you," Jennifer asked.

"I'm twenty."

"Well, I guess that's Brittney's age, too.  But you know, I'm eighteen, and
I grew out of that stage several years ago. I mean, it's none of my
business, but none of the girls at my high school are into her music and
style."

"So? Maybe Pamela prefers to act like a middle school girl," Sara
interjected, apparently annoyed by Jennifer's meddling.  "That's her
problem, isn't it?"

"OK, OK!," Jennifer said, "What about bra size, Pamela? What size are your
breasts?"  She giggled at her joke.

"I don't know."  I looked to Sara for help.

"Jesus, do I need to hold your hand all the time, Pamela?, Sara said with
obvious exasperation. "I would really like to get this over with!"

"But Sara, I don't know what size bra to buy."

"OK, fairy, OK.  Jennifer, please select her size 36B, underwire, and pick
out the most feminine bras you have. And anything you can give her for
padding, until Pamela's able to grow, or buy, her own tities. Then, Pamela,
you and I will go into the dressing room to get you fitted. I mean, really!
You're not my daughter.  I shouldn't have to dress you."

"So are you two, like, a couple? Or girlfriends?," Jennifer asked as she
began to select my brassieres.

"No Way!," Sara exclaimed, "I'm not into dating sissies."

"I'm, well., I'm her cousin," I blurted out, hoping to end Sara's
increasingly negative tone.

"Yes," Sara said, "Pamela's my sweet adorable gringo cousin. Like, our
whole familia is just so proud of little Pammy," Sara mocked.

"Well, you sure should be. It probably takes real courage for Pamela to be
herself," said Jennifer.

"Yes, it takes real courage for my cousin to buy himself panties and bras.
Yea. Real manly courage."

Strange, I thought, how Jennifer was now supportive of me while Sara was
becoming ever more rude. Maybe, I thought, Sara was angry about the
rape. Or maybe she just wanted to go home instead of spending her evening
with me at her employer's behest. Perhaps, I reasoned, Sara was not
actually angry with me at all, but was pissed at Amanda and simply was
taking it out on me. I hoped this was the case, as I was truly smitten with
the young lady.

Between them, Jennifer and Sara had soon gathered a pile of girl's
intimates, including bras, panties, slips, half-slips, pantyhose of various
hues, and even a couple of frilly nighties. Sara then sent Jennifer to
select some outfits for me, "nice, teenage, colorful and feminine," she
said, "and absolutely no slacks."

"Amanda says she wears the pants at the Paradise View," Sara whispered to
me as she pulled me towards the ladies dressing room.

"Now strip," Sara ordered, "and let's hurry!"

"In front of you," I protested.

"Yes, dear cousin. After all, I've seen what's in your pants, remember?"

Soon, with Sara's help, I was wearing pantyhose, lacy rose colored panties
with matching brassier, and a sheer slip. I felt totally foolish as Sara
stuffed the bra's cups with several old pairs of pantyhose which Jennifer
had provided for that purpose. I couldn't help but gaze at my reflection in
the full length mirror as, under Sara's guidance, my body morphed from male
to that of a slender, half-dressed girl.

"It's a good thing, my dear cousin, that God made you fairly petite. Just
think how ridiculous you'd look if you were stocky and muscular."

"I don't consider myself to be petite, Sara," I protested meekly.

"C'mon Pamela, you certainly are petite! Jesus, I didn't mean that as a put
down.  Actually, you look rather sexy in lingerie."

"Sexy? You mean like a sexy guy," I asked hopefully.

"Don't be silly. Don't be a silly sissy," Sara added, laughing.

"Pamela," Jennifer called from outside the dressing room, "come out and let
me see how you look." Before I could resist, Sara grabbed the front of my
slip and pulled me out of the security and privacy of the dressing room.

"Wow," Jennifer exclaimed. I stood still, frozen with anxiety and, I admit,
shame.  Jennifer had gathered two other girls, also clerks, to help
her. They giggled as Jennifer approached me, touched my forearm in a
sisterly manner, and addressed her friends.

"So, what do you think? Can we get Pamela looking like Brittany Spears?"

"He already does," said her friend Katie.

"I don't think I should be out hear wearing only underwear. May I go back
into the dressing room, Sara?"

"Not underwear, Pamela. Lingerie! Your lingerie. Now ask again, correctly."

Red faced I said, "Please, Sara, I shouldn't be out here wearing only my
lingerie.  May I please go back into the ladies dressing room? Please?"

"Oh, don't worry, boy," said Katie. "It's almost closing time. There's
hardly any customers in the store."

"Please, Sara!"

"OK, Pamela, but take the clothes with you and finish dressing. I've got to
get going!"

The girls had soon handed me all I needed to complete my "outfit", as Katie
called it, and I returned to the safety of the women's dressing room. With
difficulty, I began to dress. Why, I wondered, do females choose to dress
as they do? It all seems so difficult, with layers of underwear, zippers
inaccessibly located in back or on the side, buttons reversed. While I
worked at dressing, I could overhear Sara fielding questions posed by the
three high school girls, none of whom, apparently, had ever encountered a
male in female clothing. Sara took my lie about being her cousin and ran
with it.

"Has your cousin always liked girl things," Jennifer asked.

"Oh yes! That cousin of mine.., you can't imagine! I remember once when we
were just kids, I think Pamela was in the fourth grade, and his mom brought
him to visit. His mom and mine went shopping, leaving Pamela with me. I was
in my room with my girlfriends when this boy comes into my room and begs to
wear my clothes.  "I'm a girl, too," he said, "just like you are!" I was
just soooo embarrassed, as you can imagine. We tried to kick him out of my
room, but he started crying.  Well, before long my girlfriends had Pamela
all cutied up. They put my easter dress on him, pink with lace everywhere,
and put my black patent leather shoes on his feet.  They put bright red
lipstick on him. Then we all walked to the shopping center. He stood out
like crazy, wearing an easter dress in mid-summer, but we couldn't stop
him. He even bought Barbie doll clothes that day, telling my friends that
he had a Barbie doll at home. It was really embarrassing."

"What about high school? Did Pamela go to high school," I heard Katie ask.

"Yes. He was a boy then. I attended the same school, although I didn't tell
anyone that he was my cousin. I remember once Pamela nearly got expelled
because he snuck into the girl's locker room after school, and somehow got
dressed in a cheerleader's uniform. I guess a cheerleader had left her
uniform out."

"He didn't," exclaimed Jennifer.

"It's true!  So there he was, wearing a short pleated skirt which barely
began to cover his shaved legs, when the entire girls track team enters the
locker room. They laughed and taunted him, and even took all his boy
clothes. He had to walk home, three or four miles, wearing the cheerleader
outfit. Things like that.., well, you girls are in high school. I'm sure
you can guess how girls teased him after that."

"So," I heard the third girl ask, "Pamela must be gay?"

"Well, he should be," said Sara. "No girl would want a guy that steals her
clothes so as to play dress up."

"That's true," the girl added. "I wouldn't want to ever see my boyfriend
wearing panties!"

"You said it," Sara continued, "but no, I doubt that he's gay. Although I
did hear a rumor at school., well, maybe I shouldn't repeat rumors."

"C'mon, tell us," giggled Katie.

"OK, I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Anyway, after that
cheerleading incident, I heard that some jocks had a girl "donate" a short
dress. Then, after gym class, the final hour of the school day, those jocks
cornered Pamela and made her put on the dress. And then they made him suck
a boy's penis."

"Right in front of everybody," asked Katie in awe.

"Yes! Not only in front of the jocks, but the jocks also invited their
girlfriends to the big "event". So there was my sissy cousin, wearing a
short dress, kneeling on the floor sucking a penis, right in high school!
But I didn't really see it happen, you know. I heard it from friends who
heard it from others that supposedly were there.  They could be
exaggerating or lying."

"Wow," said Katie.

"Right inside school," added Jennifer.

"What a sissy," exclaimed the other girl.

"Yes, believe me, I was really embarrassed to be his cousin during high
school. I never admitted to anyone that we were related, nor did I ever
speak to him when at school. Luckily, with him being gringo-looking and me
being Hispanic, few people ever put two plus two together."

Part 11

By now I had finished dressing. I looked in the full length mirror and saw
a girl, a skinny teenaged girl, wearing a pleated green and red plaid skirt
which ended at least two inches above her knees, and a simple white
blouse. My maroon shoes had one inch heels and were open-toed.. I truly
believe that, had it been possible at that very moment, I would have fled
out the back door rather than face Sara and the three high school girls
looking as I did. But of course there is no back door in a ladies dressing
room, and besides, the consequences to me had I fled would have been
devastating.

"Oh, Pamela," gushed Jennifer as she and her two coworkers stared at the
feminine male emerging from the dressing room. "You do look pretty!"

"Pretty, yes, but rather immature. Maybe he ought to dress more like a girl
his own age instead of dressing like a middle-school girl."

"Katie!" protested Jennifer. "Please! Don't be a bitch. Pamela is our
customer, and if he wants to dress like a young girl, that's his right."

"Well, even Brittany Spears doesn't dress like that anymore. She dresses
like a hot babe," said Katie.  "He looks like an eighth grader in that
skirt."

"Except for the pantyhose," giggled the other clerk. "He's wearing
pantyhose. In eighth grade a girl can't wear pantyhose."

"Boys aren't allowed to wear pantyhose in eighth grade either, are they,"
snickered Sara.

"Girls, let's not refer to Pamela as he or him. I'm sure he would prefer we
use feminine pronouns.  Isn't that right," asked Jennifer.

"Yes.  Thank you," I responded, then turned to Sara and said, "Please, we
must get going."

"Es verdad, senorita," Sara responded. "Now get all your pretties together
and let's check out."

"Oh, but wait just a minute. Pamela needs makeup to look her cutest.
Please?"  Jennifer asked Sara, again acting as if I was a little girl and
Sara was my mother.

"Oh, OK, but we must hurry."

Within a minute the schoolgirls had me seated and, while Katie and Jennifer
were busy applying makeup to my face, the other girl, Ashley, applied red
polish to my fingernails. As Jennifer applied eyeliner, Katie took a tube
of red lipstick from her purse and had me pucker.

"Well, Pamela," she said after finishing, "I'll let you keep my lipstick. I
don't think I'll want to use it again. After all, there's no telling what
your lips have touched."  The girls giggled at the implications of Katie's
joke.

Part 12

I began gathering up my purchases when Ashley interrupted. "Hey. I have a
digital camera in my purse. Let's take a few photographs of him.

Great idea! Can we," Katie asked. She wasn't addressing me; her question
was posed to Sara. These girls apparently realized that Sara was in full
control of me.

"But wait.," I began to object before Jennifer cut in.

"Oh yes! Then we could show Pamela off to all our friends at
school. Without photographs, they will never believe us. They surely
wouldn't believe how feminine he is."

"Please! Pretty please," they giggled, imploring Sara.

"Oh, OK. I suppose a few more minutes won't matter," Sara said without even
glancing at me.

"But wait," I protested, "I can't have photos of me looking like this!"

"Well, you should have though of that before, you know..  Now give these
nice young ladies a few minutes of your time. After all, they have been
very helpful to you."

"But please, Sara."

"No.  You let them take a few photos. Or, if you prefer, I'll drive back
and you can get home on your own. Though, of course, Amanda might not be
very pleased."

With that, it was settled. The girls didn't even wait for my response;
instead they began to discuss proper poses.

The first photo wasn't bad, as I just sat in a chair, demurely, with my
knees together and hands clasped upon my lap. A couple more in similar vein
followed. But then Katie, the meanest of the girls, became more
demanding. I was required to pose standing, knees together, hands clasped
behind my back, gazing down, as if I were a little girl being scolded.  A
closeup was taken of the girls touching up my makeup.  Jennifer asked me to
pout "like Marilyn Monroe". For another shot, they tied the tails of my
blouse in a bow so that my navel showed, had me don a high school sweater,
unbuttoned, so that I was dressed very much like Brittany Spears in her
famous music video. At this, the girls had me sing Brittney's song, "I'm
not so innocent". All the while Sara sat quietly on a chair at the other
side of the lingerie department, paging through a magazine, disinterested
in what was happening to me.  What, I wondered, did Sara think of
this. Sara, the beautiful young Hispanic woman of my dreams. Did she enjoy
seeing me be humiliated?  Or rather, was she saddened to see the man who
maybe had fathered her child being treated like a Barbie doll?  I couldn't
help but hope that the latter was true.

Finally, Ashley announced that there was only enough memory left for two or
three more photos. The girls had a little pow-wow to decide the final
poses. I couldn't quite hear the discussion, only occasional giggling. I
saw Sara glance at her watch.

Addressing Sara, Katie asked, "We still have a problem. How can we prove to
our friends at school that your cousin is not just a real girl, rather than
a sissy?"

"Yes., and?" Sara said, as if she were barely listening.

"Well, maybe you would let us take a photo of his, you know, vagina area?"

"I don't understand," I interjected, although none of the females cared
what I thought.

"Go on," Sara said to Katie, while glaring sternly at me as if to say "shut
up!".

"Well, she could, you know, pull her panties down so that, you know,
Pamela's "thing" shows in the photo. That way, our friends at school will
have to believe us.  Oh, ma'am, it'll be so neat! Please let us take a
photo."

"No," I said, "that could be against the law."  The girls continued to
ignore me.  Sara, to my dismay, sided with Katie, simply saying "Go for
it".

More of my protests went ignored as the girls pulled me into the dressing
room.  Luckily, Sara didn't join us to witness my degradation. The three
young girls giggled as they discussed "the shot". Even they were blushing
at this point.

Soon Katie had pulled my pantyhose and panties down to a spot about an inch
or two above my knees. They had me lift up my skirt and the half-slip
beneath it, at which point my bare midriff and my groin were clearly
visible.

"Wow. So that's your vagina, Pamela. It sure looks funny on a girl," Ashley
said.  "It almost looks like a normal penis. I thought it would look
somehow more, you know, feminine."

"Oh, Ashley," exclaimed Katie, "just what would a feminine penis look like?
Maybe you expected it to be pink with lacy ruffles," she laughed. "What do
you think, Jennifer?"

Jennifer, who had been quietly staring at my crotch till now, responded in
a near- whisper, as if she were engaged in something naughty. "I don't
know, Katie.  I've never actually seen a real man's private parts. Although
I have seen pictures, you know, in some movies."

"What! You've never seen a guy's dick before? You can't call that thing a
real man's penis, Jen. It's a sissy dick."

"His penis is smaller than my boyfriend's," said Ashley. "And so are her
balls."

"Please," I begged the girls, "let's finish this."

"OK, sissy-boy," said Katie. "Just stand there. Hold your skirt up with one
hand, and cradle your baby penis in your other hand."  There followed a
bright flash, then another.

Unfortunately, the presence of pretty females and the handling of my cock
had a natural result. I began to harden.

"Look," Jennifer exclaimed, "it's growing!"

"That means the sissy-boy is getting turned on. I guess that wearing girls
clothes does that to you, right, Pamela?"

"No.  No, ma'am," I replied to Katie. It's just that.." My words fumbled.
"You know.  Ah. I.."

"Does that mean she's going to ejaculate," Jennifer asked Ashley.

"Ejaculate?  Jennifer, you talk like a school sex-education movie," Ashley
responded, giggling.

"I think he'd come if he rubs it. Isn't that how it works, sissy?  Oh, go
ahead, sissy, jack off. We won't tell on you," Katie said.

By this time my penis was erect and throbbing. There was a bright flash as
Ashley took the final photo. I desperately wanted to come, and the only way
it would happen was by going solo. I began to rub it, back and forth.

"So, Pamela is masturbating," asked Jennifer, as I closed my eyes and
proceeded with the task at hand.

"Yes," said Katie, "the sissy is rubbing his tiny penis."

It took only a few moments. A black, depthless sense of shame filled my
soul as I exploded. The girls were clearly shocked, even the "experienced"
Katie, by what I had done. As shame and loneliness engulfed me, I began to
quietly weep.  Most of the semen had shot out and fell to the floor,
narrowly missing Ashley, although the final few spurts soiled my panties
and pantyhose, which were still down around my knees.

"Look," whispered Jennifer, "she's crying, just like a little girl."

"You mean, like a sissy boy," Katie added.

"Hey," Jennifer said to me, ignoring Katie's cutting remark, "I'm sorry we
made you sad, Pamela. I didn't mean to hurt you.  Now stop crying or you'll
ruin your mascara."

Unsteady and drained, I could barely remain standing. Jennifer took a
tissue and very carefully wiped tears from my face. I let my skirt fall,
covering my maleness.  Jennifer gently ran her fingers through my hair,
cooing, "It's all OK, Pamela.  You're a nice girl. And pretty," as if I
were a baby.

"Jesus, Jennifer," said Katie, "your "nice girl" just jerked off in the
ladies dressing room! That's not nice and it's not girlish."

"C'mon, let's get the sissy boy out of here before we all get in trouble,"
said Ashley.

"Make him wipe up that nasty stuff first," Katie said. "We sure can't leave
it all over the floor. He can lick it up. He'd probably like it."

"No, please. I'll clean it up," I pleaded, then wiggled out of my panties
and pulled up my pantyhose. On my knees, I used my panties to wipe my cum
off the floor as the girls watched. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have
done that," I said to no one in particular.

"I really think you two should quit referring to Pamela as "he" or as
"sissy-boy".  Pamela's a girl, almost like us," Jennifer said.

"A sissy-girl," Katie laughed.

After I cleaned up my mess I exited the dressing room. Sara had been
looking over some shoes across the aisle, unaware of what had happened.

"Are you finished," she said, exasperated, as I approached her. "Now get
your pretties and let's check out."

"Yes, Sara," I replied obediently.

Part 13

A section of the floor of the ladies room was still shiny wet as the three
pretty schoolgirls chatted.

"So that's what it looks like when a guy comes," Jennifer asked innocently.

"Yes, Jen," Katie answered, "except that usually the guy isn't wearing
panties."

"Or a bra," giggled Ashley.

"Or high heels, or lipstick," Katie continued, laughing with Ashley.

"Now, don't be so hard on Pamela," Jennifer countered. "Just let her be a
girl, too.  But tell me, was Pamela's penis big, small, or medium? I just
wonder, you know."

"Oh, your sissy-boy has a small penis, believe me," Ashley lied. My
boyfriend Jimmy's is much larger. Maybe that's why the sissy wants to be a
girl, he's too small to be a real man."

"You're right, Ashley, but let's keep this to ourselves. I don't want to
get fired over this," Katie said.

Part 14

I followed Sara as she quickly walked across the store to the checkout
area.  A middle-aged woman watched me suspiciously as I set on the counter
the large amount of feminine items I was purchasing. Did she suspect my
true gender, or merely careful because I wore clothes I was purchasing?
Silently she scanned the sales receipts of the items I had removed from the
clothing I wore, then scanned all the other items. The final item was my
soiled panties. I tried to explain that I had spilled water on them, which
was why I had removed the sales receipt. Sara paid cash, over $600, and we
left the store. Outside in the darkness I felt free, as if a great anxiety
had lifted. As Sara backed from her parking place the three schoolgirls,
Jennifer, Katie and Ashley, stepped outside and waved to me. I waved
back. I'm sure they thought I was simply happy to now own so many new
clothes, girl clothes, but actually I was just overjoyed to be finished
with the shopping. And maybe, maybe I was experiencing a bit of post-sex
giddiness. Jennifer even threw me a kiss as Sara drove off.

"Looks like you've made some new girlfriends, Pamela. You're a real
prima-donna, aren't you?" She laughed sarcastically. "Maybe you'd like to
go back to school, only as a girl this time?"

"It's not like I'm enjoying this, Sara. I kinda got the impression from
Amanda that my options were limited."

"Oh, you could have tried your luck with the law, Pamela. I would guess
that's what all of the men I know would have done. They wouldn't don a
dress just to get out of trouble."

I was silent. Sara was right. I couldn't picture any of the guys I knew
succumbing so easily to Amanda's twisted notions.

"But Sara, it all happened so fast. I was hung over, scared, and far from
home. But maybe you are right. This is, well, wrong. It's like I've
surrendered my manhood.  Maybe I should have said no to Amanda. I should
have resisted more."

"You don't know Mandy, Pamela. If you now disobey her you'll end up even
worse off then had you just surrendered to the police right away. Amanda is
vindictive.  She loves being the boss. That's why Pam, the real Pamela,
quit. She couldn't take Amanda's constant orders. Mandy doesn't ride me,
though. I believe she actually is in love with me. She's bi, or maybe
lesbian. But, believe me, if you don't do exactly as she says, she'll make
damn sure that I report the rape to the police, immediately."

"And I will, Pamela. My allegiance is to Amanda, 100%. Not to you. You do
understand?"

"Yes, I suppose so."  I was thankful the darkness obscured Sara's view of
the effeminate being I had become.

"It's not that I hate you, or even dislike you. I don't, Pamela, not
really.  Maybe I should, considering that you raped me. Mandy thinks I
should hate you, that's for sure. But I don't.  I know how drunk you
were. Gosh, I gave you those rum and cokes, several of them on the
house. That's what got you to where you are now. And it's not like I was a
virgin until I met you."

"I appreciate that you don't hate me, Sara. But what should I do now? I
suppose I could just leave and if the law catches up with me, well, so be
it," I said softly.

"Oh, Pamela. I'm a woman, a pretty woman. I very much enjoy being
female. So really, to me, your punishment doesn't seem like such a big
deal. To me, being a girl is enjoyable, not punishment. That said, I do
understand that, to men, the idea of being feminine is, maybe, worse than
death."

"So, you think I should just, what, act like a woman," I asked.

"Hey, it's too late now for you to stake out some macho high ground. You've
seen yourself in a mirror. My gosh, Pamela, once you wiggled into those
pantyhose, you crossed the border."

"My suggestion to you," Sara continued after a long pause, "is to simply
accept your punishment. If you work hard, Mandy will eventually forgive you
and then you can be back on your way to Iowa."

"Accept my punishment like a man," I said dryly.

"No," Sara laughed, "not exactly like a man."

Sara turned the vehicle into the Paradise View's parking lot, my new
prison, and parked. We sat together in darkness. Sara seemed to be
thinking.

"Look, Pamela," she said as she gently grasped my hand, "whatever path you
take is OK with me. Que sera, sera.  I'm not angry with you anymore. As a
matter of fact, I rather like you. I'll accept you as a guy or as a girl,"
she whispered as she leaned towards me and gently kissed my cheek. "Your
problem is with Amanda, and with the State of Texas, neither of which
should be taken lightly."

"You know, Sara," I said solemnly, "you could be carrying our child."

Sara laughed.  "Yes, Pamela, in which case we'd better hope for a daughter.
She'll have two mothers to teach her how to be a girl!"

Part 15

I followed Sara to Amanda's house, which was about a block west of the
hotel, away from the highway noise. Unused to walking in heels, I had
difficulty keeping up. My heart throbbed with a mixture of fear and
anticipation.

Sara entered without knocking. Odd, I thought, Sara must live with Amanda.

"Mandy!" Sara called, "We're back. And Pamela looks ravishing!"

Amanda entered the room, wrapped in a large towel, her hair wet, apparently
having just stepped from the shower.

"Yes, I see, Sara," she said as she slowly walked around me, studying my
appearance carefully. "Very well, although a tad juvenile, don't you think?
What's next, diapers?"

I didn't respond. Amanda was obviously speaking to Sara, not me.

"Well, it's what Pamela wanted," she replied defensively. "He asked the
sales clerk for a Brittany Spears look. I think he looks cute."

"So, maybe Pamela should join the Mickey Mouse Club, too," Amanda said
derisively.

"Now take your clothes off," Amanda said, looking directly at me.

"What," I responded, "right here?"

SMACK!

Amanda's slap stung my right cheek. "Don't question me, ever, you pervert.
And from now on, you will address me only as "Mistress Amanda". Do you
understand?"

"Yes., yes I."

SMACK!

"What did I tell you? Now try again!"

"Yes," I said, stunned, "Mistress Amanda. I understand."

"That's better. Now undress."

As I undressed, Amanda continued. "And, Pamela, you will also always
address Sara as "Mistress Sara". Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said as I struggled to remove my pantyhose.

"Oh, Mandy, I don't want to be called Mistress," Sara interjected.

"I understand, dear," Amanda said compassionately, but Pamela must come to
know her position here. It's for the best, honey."

"OK, Mandy, whatever you say."

"If Pamela wants to stay out of prison, she must fit in around here. She
must help us out. And to do that she must be a girl, Sara. A subservient
girl. You know I never hire any males.  In fact, Pamela should address all
her coworkers as Mistress, just so she doesn't begin to think of herself as
equal to anyone."

"So, Pamela, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress Amanda," I replied while gently folding my pantyhose and
setting them atop my skirt and blouse.

Sara told Amanda about our shopping trip, about Jennifer, Katie, and Ashly.
About how nicely I cooperated and even seemed to enjoy shopping for pretty
clothes, "just like real girls do". She mentioned the photos. By this time
I was naked except for my bra, and was having difficulty reaching the
clasps at my back. I turned red with embarrassment as Sara described the
private photos the girls took of my "vagina".

"Are you saying that Pamela posed for pictures with that thing showing?"
Amanda asked, incredulously, while pointing at my penis.

"Well, yes, I guess so," Sara replied, somewhat flustered. "I didn't
actually see it.; it's what the girls wanted, Mandy."

"Show me, Pamela, how did you pose?"

"Well, ma'am, I mean Mistress, Mistress Amanda (I was trembling), they had
me set my balls and penis in the palm of my hand, like this", I said while
reaching for my cock.

"And then they took photographs?"

"Yes, mistress Amanda."  Sara was gazing at me, standing naked except for
my stuffed bra, as I withered under Amanda's interrogation.

"OK, Pamela, allow me to explain things to you once again. This is Texas.
There are more men imprisoned here than in all of China. So, now there's
clear evidence that you raped Sara, and there's also clear evidence that
you are a pervert who exposes himself to schoolgirls. Do you have any idea
how many years you'll rot in prison for this?"

"But I only did it because I thought you were forcing me."

Amanda glared at me.

"Mistress Amanda, I mean."

"That's better, Pamela, I'm Mistress to you."

She turned to Sara. "What do you think, should we just call the police
right now and get this over with?"

"Please," I said softly, "please, Mistress Sara."  I stood in the middle of
the room, nearly naked. Sara sat to my left in a chair. Amanda was seated
on the sofa, directly in from of me, wearing only a towel.

"Let's give Pamela a chance, Mandy. After all, we do need a maid around
here."

Amanda stood up. The towel fell to the floor. Her skin was soft; her
breasts, while not large, were perfectly formed, as was her ass. Slowly she
walked around me. She was taller than I had thought. Without my heels, she
appeared to be taller than me.

"Pamela has potential. She has no big muscles. Little fat. Rather pretty,
in fact.  Maybe, if you're a good girl, we can get you some nice titties,
just like mine.  Wouldn't that be nice, sissy?"

"Yes, Mistress Amanda", I lied.

"But before that, we'll need to get your hair and nails professionally
done.  You have little facial hair, but you'll need some electrolysis,
nevertheless."

She discussed my feminization with Sara even as she probed my body.

"Firm, but still a tad small for a girl," she said while feeling my ass.

"Baby soft," she laughed when feeling my biceps.

"Very feminine," she said as she ran her hand along my shaved thighs and
legs.

Given that a very pretty, naked girl was touching me all over, the natural
problem recurred. My penis, which was still cradled in my hand, hardened.

"Oh look, Sara," Amanda said sarcastically when she noticed my "problem",
"Pamela is getting aroused. Tell us, Pamela, what thoughts are you
thinking?  Why are you so excited?"

"How pretty you are, Mistress," I said honestly.

SLAP!

"Need I remind you that you're a girl," Amanda said. "Now tell me again,
what are you thinking? What is it that so excites you?"

"I,.. I don't understand." I replied.

"Sara, maybe you can help Pamela find a proper answer. As a very beautiful
girl, Sara, what excites you?"

"Oh, I get it! Men!  Men doing things to me, that turns me on," Sara
laughed.

"Right", said Amanda. "Now Pamela, describe what you're thinking. What
thoughts are turning you on so? And don't stop until I tell you to stop, or
else we end this now and I hire a real woman tomorrow." She sat back down
on the couch, naked, and waited for me to talk. It took me a few moments to
grasp what was expected of me. How, I wondered, would this nightmare end?

"Oh," I said, "Mistress Amanda."

"And Sara!"

"Yes, and Mistress Sara," I continued, blushing deeply at the humiliation
of having Sara, with whom I was so enamored, watching and listening.

"I was thinking of how I would, well, enjoy having a man., a man hold me.,
and kiss me all over," I found myself thinking of what girls used to enjoy
in high school, and used that as my guide, "and he would play with my
titties, and with my ass. He would forcibly kiss me. His tongue would probe
my mouth. He would taste my lipstick.."

"And what would your boyfriend look like, dear," Amanda asked.

"Oh, Mistresses, I suppose., I mean I know my boyfriend would be strong.
Muscular. His arms would not be like mine. They would be thick, strong,
dangerous."

"And what would he do to you, dear," Amanda asked, smiling.

"He would, well, violate me, Mistress Amanda.."

"Be more specific, Pamela! What exactly would you do to your boyfriend?"

"I would take it., his erect penis., into my mouth, Mistress Amanda and
Mistress Sara.  I would lick it all over., and then I would take it into my
mouth., and suck my..., boyfriend's cock, for a long time I would suck it.,
and then my boyfriend would ejaculate. I would please him that way,
Mistresses."

"And would you swallow his cum," Amanda asked. I glanced towards Sara. She
was watching me, wide-eyed, clearly astonished.

"Yes, Mistresses, I would swallow his cum because., because it would make
my boyfriend happy.  Girls do that, to make their boyfriends happy.."

I was still holding my erect penis and was stuttering on when Sara
interrupted.  "Mandy, Pamela has to work tomorrow. Maybe she should call it
a day."

"Oh Sara, you're so protective of your new sissy friend, aren't you?  But
OK, you're right. Pamela, go back to your room. Then you can jack off while
you imagine yourself getting screwed by your boyfriend."

"Yes Mistress. May I get dressed, then?"

"No.  Just leave, immediately!"

"Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress," I replied, then quickly picked my
clothes up and stepped out the door, still naked, still hard. Luckily the
porch light was off and no neighbors were outside. I donned my blouse and
skirt, slipped on my high heels, and swiftly returned to my room. Exhausted
and shamed, I lay down and slept.

Part 16

Thankfully my situation improved somewhat after Sunday evening's low point.
Monday morning Sara stopped by my room, told me to not worry as Amanda had
left for a couple of days to visit relatives. She said that Amanda would
ease up on me once I proved to her that I was a good worker. Sara helped me
dress properly, and taught me a bit about applying makeup. "You've got a
lot to learn, Pamela," she said. "Being a girl takes a lot of skill."

Soon I was smartly dressed in the former maid's uniform, a one piece dress,
almost like a nurses uniform, colored gray with pink pinstripes. I had
assumed that as a maid I would be allowed to wear the slacks I had worn
yesterday. However, Sara said that Amanda thought it more appropriate that
I wear the maid's dress while on duty. Which, of course, meant I also wore
pantyhose, something I found to be most uncomfortable.

Sara also suggested I wear a panty girdle, as it would hide the effect of
any "excitement" like that of the previous evening. I blushed at her
comment.

Sara and I went to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast. "Maybe it's a good
thing Amanda had to leave, Pamela. It'll take some of the pressure off you
while you adjust to your new situation.

"Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied, "you can't imagine how relieved I am that
Mistress Amanda isn't here."

"But she did leave me detailed instructions which I'm required to follow,
Pamela."

"I understand, Mistress Sara.  Am I required to use "Mistress" if Amanda is
not present?"

"Yes, Pamela. I know you must feel silly having to say "Mistress" over and
over, like you're some type of slave girl. But Amanda insists, and she's
the boss.  Anyway," Sara continued, smiling so beautifully, "I'm beginning
to enjoy it." She reached her hand and gently patted my shoulder. "It gives
me a feeling of power that I've never had before."

"At my expense, Mistress," I noted sadly.

"True," but Amanda is right. It's really all your fault.

Yes, Mistress Sara, I suppose it is," I replied.

Part 17

After finishing a dainty breakfast ("Amanda's orders," Sara said, "she says
all girls your age are dieting, and you should too!), Sara took me around
and introduced me, one by one, to the other workers.

First was Tanya, a young Russian immigrant working the front desk. She was
very pretty, slim with long dark hair and green eyes, and a sensuous
foreign accent.  Because she worked at the front desk, Tanya dressed
nicely.

Mary was a 30-something married woman who worked in the kitchen and also
cleaned rooms. I also met Amy, a petite, young high school girl. Sara
mentioned that Amy and two other girls from a nearby high school worked
part-time, doing most anything asked of them.

Given my situation, each introduction was most uncomfortable for me, and I
noticed my coworkers were also a bit embarrassed during the
introductions. Following Amanda's instructions, Sara introduced me as the
"new girl" and mentioned how appreciative I was to be the motel's full-time
maid. Each of my coworkers was told that if they needed anything, I would
respond immediately. Each was also told that, as a maid, I was required to
address each of my coworkers as "Mistress".  Then Sara would mention that I
was fairly new to the "sisterhood of females" and I would greatly
appreciate any tips they might be able to offer as to how I might become
more feminine.

Although these introductions were humiliating, I was thankful Sara did not
mention the rape. Sara told me that it must be kept secret; I must never
mention it to anyone.  If word of the rape got out, Amanda would have no
choice but to get the police involved.

My coworkers were either too surprised, or stunned, to ask any questions.
Only Amy, the high school girl, was bold (or naive) enough to say anything.

"I don't understand, Sara, what do you mean by sisterhood?" she asked. "Is
Pamela your sister?"

"No, Amy," Sara laughed, "Pamela is not my sister! Pam, maybe you should
explain yourself to Amy."

"Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied hesitantly.

"Well, you see, Mistress Amy, I am, well, sort of male, but I'm now
becoming like you, a girl like you, maybe.."

"Becoming a girl?"

"Yes, yes, but maybe not just like you. You are more girl than I am, of
course. I mean, anatomically, I'm still not really., female, but I've just
decided to dress like girls, do you understand?"

"Oh, I get it! You're one of those sissy boys that like to wear dresses. I
see! Well that's really neat, Pamela. And you're kinda cute."

"Thank you, Mistress Amy," I said.

"Let's go, Pamela, time you got to work, girl," said Sara.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, then turned and said "Bye, Mistress Amy."

Part 18

It was Mary, middle-aged mother of two daughters, who was assigned to teach
me how to be a motel maid. We started in Room 211, a second floor room with
two beds.

"Yes, Mistress Mary, I see," I said as she showed me how to make a perfect
bed.  Mary watched while I struggled to do the same.

"I wonder what Pam, the real Pam, I mean, will say when she finds out that
a guy is wearing her dresses and using her name?" I didn't respond.

"Although Pam rarely wore the dresses. She preferred slacks. Apparently Pam
wasn't as feminine as you," Mary said sarcastically.

"Mistress Amanda prefers I wear dresses, Mistress Mary," I said, avoiding
her gaze.

"And does Amanda prefer you wear high heels, mascara, and nail polish? Most
motel maids don't, you know."

"But, I prefer to look my best, Mistress," I replied, stealing a quick
glance at her.

Mary rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Well, you look more like a hooker than
a maid.  Let me warn you, sissy, and I'll warn you only once. My husband
drops me off and picks me up here, every day. He knows all the workers
here, and he flirts with them all. He'll probably flirt with you, too. But
if you so much as glance at him, or say anything more than "Hello"; if you
should wink at him, or ever so slightly raise your skirt, or lick your
lips., whatever., I will find out, sissy, and I'll scratch that pretty face
of yours so badly that no guy will ever want you!"

Stunned by Mary's outburst, I tried to apologize, but she left me to finish
the room on my own.

Part 19

Amanda returned on Friday morning. Other than the exchange with Mary, the
week was uneventful. Except for Sara, all the employees were wary of me, a
suspicion which was, I believe, prolonged by my addressing them as
"Mistress". All the women, including Sara, were uneasy with being in a
dominant position.

I worked hard. Sara explained that the motel housed mostly businessmen
during the week, and generally had few guests staying on weekend
nights. Cleaning each room was not easy, but it was solo work. I enjoyed
being alone, as my newfound gender confusion made me eager to withdraw. In
addition to cleaning the rooms and making beds, I also washed the towels
and linen, cleaned common areas, swept sidewalks, emptied trash, and at
times cleaned the kitchen and washed dishes. By day's end I was
exhausted. There was no television in my room, although Sara loaned me
magazines (Cosmo, Seventeen, Glamour) and Tanya lent me romance novels when
she finished reading them. I would have chosen other entertainment, had I a
choice. Reading such sources did give me greater insight into women's
thoughts. Also, each evening Sara required me to "do my nails," which to
females apparently means removing fingernail polish, shaping and filing the
nails, and applying a new coat of polish. Sara forbid me to lock my room,
which meant I had to stay in female attire at all times. Amanda had even
required that I sleep wearing my pink, lacy nightgown, and the staff was
allowed to peek into my room unannounced at any time to see how I was
dressed.

It was just before noon on Friday when Sara found me cleaning Room 217.
"Pamela," she said, "Amanda's back, and she wants to see you in the office,
right now."

Distraught over once again confronting Amanda, I nonetheless sat still as
Sara quickly brushed my hair and helped me "freshen up" my lipstick.

Nervously I entered Amanda's office. She was seated at the desk, working on
the computer. Amanda ignored my presence, instead addressing Sara. "Would
you please do me a favor, honey? I've made a doctor's appointment for
Pamela for this afternoon. Could you drive her there, please? I'm really
behind on paying bills."

Oh, sure Mandy," Sara replied as Amanda handed her a slip of paper.

"But," I blurted out, "but Mistress.."

Amanda quickly cut me off, saying, "That is all! Now please get Pamela
changed into something pretty, and be on your way. Thank you, Sara."

Sara grasped my hand and led me from the room. "Come on, Pamela, don't get
Mandy angry again. It's probably just a physical, maybe required for
insurance or something."

We went to my room where Sara selected a rose-colored dress. "This will
match your shoes, Pamela. You must match your outfit and your accessories,
now that you're a girl," she scolded. The dress was short and stylish. Too
stylish, as it had come from the Juniors department, and so short that the
hem extended only midway between my groin and my knees. Quickly Sara
touched up my makeup again, and we were off.

Part 20

"Mistress Sara, I can't do this. Please, please, let's not do this. You
could talk with Amanda, reason with her. Tell her how I've worked hard all
week. I would feel so foolish in a doctor's office." Traffic was light as
Sara drove towards the city.

"Pamela! I'm not your mother! If you think you could have changed Amanda's
mind, you should have done it before we left. I surely cannot. I know
Mandy.  But if this upsets you so much, I'll pull over right now and let
you out. But be willing to accept the consequences. And quit whining!"

"I'm sorry, Mistress. But I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Well, I'd suggest you just get this over with. Quit complaining. Act like
a man with a spine, Pamela."

"Yes, Mistress," I replied uneasily as Sara pulled the car into a
nondescript suburban office complex. "Grab your purse, Pamela, and let's
go. Amanda will be upset if you miss your appointment!"

I followed Sara into the building. We went to Room 11. The sign on the door
listed several physicians. Sara double-checked the paper Amanda had given
her. "OK, Pamela, your appointment is with Doctor Jenson."  I nervously
took a seat in the waiting room while Sara went to the front desk. I was
unable to overhear the brief conversation Sara had with the receptionist. I
felt a grave sense of apprehension.  Until now, my punishment had been
confined to the Paradise View and my trip to Mervyns. I had come to feel
secure at the motel; it was like a large closet where I could hide from the
world. But here I had no such security. I was a man, and while I had been
largely able to hide that fact from guests at the motel, here it was
impossible to maintain my disguise. One thing I had come to realize during
the past week: it was far better if others viewed me as a woman rather than
as a man dressed as a woman.

"You're in luck, Pamela, the nurse is ready for you," Sara said as she
approached me, then whispered, "and Pamela, I told them that you are my
niece, since you need a relative accompanying you. And Amanda is your
mom. So from now on call me "auntie", and drop the mistress stuff. Got it?"

I was shocked. How could Sara be my aunt? She was only a year older than I.
She grasped my hand and led me through a door to an examination room.

A nurse was already waiting there. She was a young woman about my age, wore
no wedding ring and was somewhat overweight, with a cheerful, girlish
demeanor.  She wore a pale pink nurses uniform, with slacks. In fact, I
realized with considerable embarrassment, so far I was the only person
wearing a dress or skirt.

"Good afternoon, Pamela, my name is Janet," she said as she sat at a small
desk.  Sara sat in the only other chair in the room. "Please have a seat on
the examining table." I did as told, and thus I was sitting up much higher
than either Janet or Sara.  Sara continued talking, occasionally writing
notes on a printout which lay on the desk.

"So," Janet continued, "your mother, Amanda, set up this appointment for
you. She mentioned that you were too shy to make the appointment for
yourself."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"Well, Pamela, you shouldn't be embarrassed. Not at all. I'd like to thank
your aunt for coming here with you," Janet said, nodding towards Sara, who
was watching this in what seemed disbelief. "The process is simple. First,
I must ask you a few mandatory questions, then we measure and record your
statistics - height, weight, and so on - and then Doctor Jenkins will visit
with you. Do you have any questions?"

"No, ma'am," I said, although in fact I had many but was afraid to ask.

"Great! Then let's get started," she said, smiling. Janet's first questions
were innocuous: name, address, prior illnesses, and so on.  "Now," she
continued, turning to the next page of the questionnaire, "we have a few
more, ah, personal questions to ask you. Let's see., Pamela.., at what age
did you first menstruate?"

"I'm sorry?" I replied, confused.

"Your period, Pamela. When did you have your first period?"

"Well., I haven't had a., period, ma'am."  I blushed with embarrassment.

"I realize these questions may be embarrassing, Pamela," Janet said,
noticing my reddened face, "particularly to a girl with your, ah., history,
for lack of a better word. But it's required I ask these questions of all
patients. Just answer honestly, dear."

I glanced towards Sara for help, but she just sat, staring, apparently
amazed at what I would do. "Oh, yes ma'am. I 'm sorry, ma'am.  No, I
haven't had a period, yet."

"So you haven't menstruated?"

"No, ma'am."

"Have you had any children, Pamela?"

"Do I have children," I asked, unsure of the question.

"Have you given birth, Pamela. Are you a mother?"

"No ma'am."

"And are you pregnant, Pamela?"

"No ma'am," I replied softly, "I'm not pregnant."

"But maybe someday, my dear niece," Sara joked, apparently trying to
relieve my tension.

"One never knows," Janet laughed. "Science can do wonders these days." Now,
let's see, next question: Pamela, are you sexually active?"

"Why, no., no I'm not."

"You don't have a boyfriend, Pamela?"

"No ma'am".

"Have you had intercourse within the past three months?"

"Do you mean., like, with a man?"

"Yes, silly girl! With a man." Janet giggled. "I mean, Pamela, has a man
had intercourse with you. I mean, has a man taken you like a woman?"

"No ma'am," I replied, ever more embarrassed.

"Final question, Pamela. Do you masturbate, and if so, how often?"

"But," I stammered, wishing I were dead, "why do you need to know that?"

"Oh Pamela, you are shy, aren't you! It's important so that when Doctor
Jenkins examines your vagina, she will properly be able to measure it."

"But, you know., I don't really have a vagina."

"As I said earlier, Pamela, these are important questions which must be
asked of all our patients. I realize they may not exactly apply to you,
given your, ah, plumbing, but please understand, you are the first girl
with your., situation., that's ever been here. We surely can't change all
our forms just for you, can we?"

Sara spoke up, "Pamela masturbates. Almost every day. She told me so. End
of discussion."

"Thank you, " said Janet, grateful to end this line of questioning. Now
Pamela, I'll give you an initial physical and then we'll get your height
and weight. Now take your clothes off, please."

"My dress, ma'am," I asked hopefully.

"Yes miss, your dress. Also your bra, panties, pantyhose., everything."

"May I wear a gown, ma'am? Please."

"Later, Pamela, but not yet. Now hurry. I have other patients to attend
to."

Sara was frowning at me, as if to add her "Hurry up" to Janet's. While I
began undressing, Sara chatted with the nurse. I reached back and, with
some difficulty, was able to undo the buttons to my dress, then carefully
slipped it off me.  Next I removed my lacy white slip. The girls chatted as
if I were not present, but I couldn't help but notice that they were both
watching me, a young man, standing before them wearing a bra, panty girdle,
and pantyhose.

"So, does your niece do her own shopping," asked Janet.

Oh sure, she enjoys it just like any other girl. You know, she bought that
cute dress just last Monday at Mervyns' Juniors department."

"The Juniors department? I wish I could shop there," Janet added.

Before long I was completely, utterly naked, crowded in the tiny
examination room with two young ladies.

"Very good, Pamela," Janet said. Her voice wavered; clearly she was a bit
flustered to see my male anatomy. "My, you do keep your fingernails and
toenails looking pretty. You are a pretty girl, you know," she continued,
apparently trying to put me at ease.

Carefully she checked my arms for needle tracks, my body for rashes, my
ears and my eyes. "At this point, I would normally check your vagina,
Pamela, but I see you have a slight problem in that area," she said,
giggling nervously.

"Yes ma'am," I agreed as she used her gloved hand to raise and lower my
penis and balls. I doubt she even knew what she was looking for. Having
been so tightly constricted by the girdle, my private parts had shrunk to a
miniscule size.

"Very good, Pamela, now say goodbye to your aunt." Janet turned to Sara and
said, "Pamela should be finished here within another thirty minutes. You
may sit in the waiting room, and I'll send her out when we're done."

"Pamela," Janet continued, "please slip your shoes on and follow me."

"But ma'am, I can't go out like this!"

"Oh, miss, don't be so shy. We only employ women here, and all our patients
are female, so you should feel comfortable. After all, you are a girl deep
inside. That is why you are here, isn't it? Now come on, Pamela. I've got
to treat you just like every other girl!"

Thus it was that I followed Janet into the hallway, naked except for my
high heels, my nails all painted bright red, my face made up and my hair
styled, looking almost female except for my flat chest and flaccid
cock. Sara, looking astonished, followed us out the door, then turned and
walked to the waiting room.

The scale was set right in the middle of the hallway, central to the office
and to the six or seven examination rooms. Janet had me stand on the scale
as she carefully measured my weight. I tried to cover my genitals with my
hands.  Two other nurses approached; they wore uniforms identical to
Janet's.

"Hi!" said Janet to the two nurses. "Pamela, I'd like to introduce you to
Kim and Mary. On a later visit one of them may be assisting you."

"Hello Kim. Hello Mary," I said weakly. Kim was a very pretty, petite,
oriental girl, while Mary was blond and tall. They were young, maybe
younger than me. Both were smiling at me or at my predicament.

"Hi, Pamela," exclaimed Kim. "It's so very nice to meet you. My, your shoes
are so pretty! Where did you get them?"

"Thank you, Kim," I stuttered. "I bought my shoes at Mervyns."

Janet had me step off the scale, and then had Kim and Mary help her take my
measurements. It was impossible to be modest, as I was required to put my
arms above my head ("like a ballerina," said Mary), while the girls used a
tape measure to carefully measure my waist, hips, underarms, thighs, and
even leg length. As this was going on all the other employees, even the
receptionist, "just happened" to walk by. Janet introduced me to each, even
as I stood with arms above my head, hands together. Each woman smiled at
me. I suspected that later on they would be laughing at me as they told
their friends or husbands about the sissy patient.

When the three nurses finished measuring me, a middle aged woman
approached.  "Hello. I'm doctor Jenkins. You must be Pamela. Follow me,
please."

My high heels clicked loudly as I minced along. "Most women don't wear high
heels when they come here. Maybe on your next visit you should wear
something more comfortable."

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

The doctor, Janet, and I entered a larger room. It had an examination
table, but also had rows of bright lights and a large amount of
expensive-looking camera equipment. First I laid face down on the table, as
doctor Jenkins pinched my ass cheeks. Then they had me lie face up, while
the doctor pinched and probed my breast area.

"Pamela, your mother says you want to have your breasts surgically
enhanced, and would also like fuller, more feminine hips. So, have you
considered what size breasts you would like, young lady?"

I was shocked. Sara had thought I would just get a routine physical! I
tried to conceal my surprise and my embarrassment.  "Well., no., no I
haven't, ma'am.  My mother said that., maybe., you could help me., decide."

"Tell me, Pamela, did you attend high school as a girl?"

"Why no, ma'am, I didn't," I replied.

"Oh. That's too bad. A girl's locker room is the best place to observe the
spectrum of female breasts. So tell me, miss, other than your breasts, have
you ever inspected, closely, first person, any female's breasts?"

"No, doctor, no., I guess I haven't," I replied. I couldn't but suspect
that the stern doctor was just pointing out that I was not manly enough to
have been intimate with a girl.

The doctor whispered something to Janet. She left, and soon returned with
Kim and Mary. Then all three nurses removed their blouses and bras.

"I'm sure you realize the importance of making a correct decision, young
lady. If, for example, you choose very large breasts, you'll find that your
back will suffer and you'll be forced to wear firm brassieres at all times.
On the other hand, if you choose very small breasts, you may
psychologically feel inadequately female.  And of course, young lady, you
must remember that as you age your breasts will sag.  That's an unfortunate
fact for all of us women."

"Now, Kim wears a B cup, Mary has a C cup, and Janet has a D cup. Notice
the difference in the size of each girl's breasts. Now, in your minds eye,
when you picture yourself getting undressed in the evening, which breast
size do you see in the mirror, Kim's, or Mary's, or Janet's?"

I was dumbfounded. I'd never imagined myself with breasts, after all. I
responded that I saw Janet's breasts in my mirror, mostly because she'd
been nice to me.

"Just as I guessed, young lady, you want large breasts. I suppose that's
understandable. OK, girls, thank you very much for helping this young lady
chose her new breasts."  Next, while the nurses dressed, Doctor Jenkins
gave me a shot.  She told me what it was, but the medical name meant
nothing to me, then she left me to the care of the three nurses.

"May I dress now, ma'am," I asked (pleaded) Janet.

"Not yet, young lady," she scolded. "You are just so modest, Pamela.
Really." Next I was required to pose under the bright lights in various
positions, while Janet took a series of photographs. For example, I was
required to stand straight, with legs together and hands clasped behind my
back; for another shot I had to squat; and for several I had to lie down on
a pink blanket, first on my side, then on my back, and then on my belly
with my head held by my forearm.

"Why are these necessary," I protested.

"Don't fuss, Miss," Mary said sternly, "you'll find out later. If you like,
we'll get your aunt in here to hold your hand during the photo session."

"Oh no, ma'am, please don't. It's OK. I won't complain," I replied. The
last thing I wanted now was Sara witnessing my degradation.

"Just imagine yourself at a beach, wearing a skimpy bikini, showing your
body off to all the boys," Mary said with a sarcastic giggle.

"Could I at least wear panties to cover up my., you know., my "thing"?"

"No, Pamela, you can't cover up your little wee-wee. Now hush up and let us
finish."

Part 21

"OK, young lady, that's it for today. You may go back and get dressed, then
tell your aunt to see the receptionist to schedule your next appointment,"
said Janet.  With the photo session finally over and I still naked except
for my maroon high heels, I slipped out the door and into the hallway. It
was empty except for the receptionist, who had just exited the ladies
room. She stared at me as I minced down the hallway in my heels. When I
opened the door to the small examination room I was surprised to see it
occupied: Dr. Jenkins was there with a middle-aged woman and her daughter,
a thin girl of high school age. The girl stared at me, smiling, while her
overweight mother scowled.

"Please, young lady," Dr. Jenkins said sternly, "get dressed! You
absolutely cannot walk naked around here. Take your clothes and dress in
the ladies room."

I apologized profusely to them as I entered the tiny examination room and
gathered up my dress, bra, panties, slip and pantyhose. As I grasped my
purse my bra fell to the floor, and when I bent down to pick it up I
couldn't help but give the woman and her daughter an unwanted, up close
look at my hairless ass.

"Look, mom," the girl whispered, "that boy wears a dress exactly like the
one you bought me for my birthday. That's so cute!"

"No," the mother said aloud, "that boy is disgusting."

The ladies room was down the hall. Luckily it was vacant. I entered a stall
and hurriedly dressed. An enormous sense of relief came over me when, fully
dressed at last, I stepped before the full-length mirror and straightened
my hair.  True, I still looked ridiculous wearing a girl's dress, but at
least I was no longer naked. I hurried to the waiting room and was
immensely relieved to see Sara there, still waiting for me. More and more I
was becoming dependant upon this beautiful girl who, it seemed, tried her
best to smooth the hard edges of my punishment.

Part 22

By the time we were seated safely in Sara's car, I felt as if I had been
twisted and torn; emotionally I had broken from my moorings. Desperately I
grasped Sara's hand, put my head to her breast, and started to cry. I could
smell the scent of her clothes, her perfume, her body, as I closed my eyes,
weeping softly.

After a few minutes I gained a semblance of control. "Oh, Sara, I said
between sniffles, "I can't do this anymore. I simply can't. You can't
imagine how humiliating it was. It's horrible. Maybe I should just run
away."

"It's OK, Pamela. It'll get better." She gently hugged me as my head
cradled upon her breast. "If you leave now it'll be worse, I'm sure. Amanda
has many incriminating photos of you, and she has your drivers license, so
she knows your home address. Not only will you be imprisoned, but your
family and friends in Iowa will receive all those photos. But then, I don't
know., maybe they will accept the sight of you in lingerie and dresses."

"She would do that?"

"Yes, Pamela, you know she will."

"What can I do, Sara. What?"

"Just relax, Pamela. The nurse told me that, at this very moment, you have
more female hormones coursing through your bloodsteam than does any real
woman.  In one sense, you're now more female than I am. Once the hormones
take hold you'll feel less anxious about being, well., feminine. Then
things will feel better to you."

"You mean that shot the doctor gave my was hormones?"

"Female hormones, Pamela. Now stop crying. Oh, by the way, the receptionist
mentioned to me that you have sexy legs."

"I suppose that's a compliment, Sara. I don't know. I'm really confused." I
was silent for awhile as Sara drove back to the hotel. Why, I wondered, did
I cry so easily. Was it the hormones? I felt confined, trapped in my new
existence.

"Mistress," I whispered as I wiped my tears with a tissue Sara had handed
me, "I've fallen very much in love with you." I saw Sara briefly smile, but
she said nothing.

Part 23

As they did each afternoon, Janet, Kim and Mary met at the building's snack
bar for break This day they were joined by Joyce, the receptionist.

"I had no idea," Joyce said as she set her coke onto the table, "I just
assumed it was just another girl. Then his aunt whispered that Pamela was
"sort of a boy".  Well, really! A boy in a short sexy dress. I just tried
not to stare, but Jesus."

"You should have been with me in the exam room," Janet said. "I tried to be
professional. But when he wiggled out of his panty girdle, and I saw that
small, withered cock, it was too much!"

"So you made the boy prance around the clinic, naked," Kim said with a hint
of anger. "He was completely humiliated, Janet, in front of everyone!"

"No, Kim, he wasn't entirely naked. I allowed the boy to wear his pretty
high heels," Janet laughed.

Mary added, "Serves him right. We women have it bad enough as it is, what
with the lack of available guys in this city. I don't like the idea of
having to compete against pretty boys in dresses."

Part 24

C'mon now, dear little girl," Sara said after parking her car, "I know
you've had a difficult day. But you've got to stop by the office and check
in with Amanda."

"Yes, Mistress."

Tanya and Amanda were working on the books as we entered. "Hi, Mandy. Hi
Tanya," Sara said. "Everything went fine."

"Good," replied Amanda. "So, Pamela, you got fitted for your new titties?"

"Yes, Mistress Amanda," I replied.  Tanya gave me a weird look as she left
the office.

"Tell me, and be truthful," Amanda asked as we sat in the lobby, "would you
like real breasts? It won't be that expensive."

"You ask me to be honest, Mistress. No.  I am a man, Mistress Amanda. Yes,
maybe I deserve punishment for what I did to Mistress Sara, that's
true. But no, I won't allow my body to be changed. No."

"But Pamela," Amanda countered, trying to sound reasonable, "after another
week of wearing dresses you'll wish you had breasts. Your clothes will fit
better, and you'll feel more., complete."

"No, Mistress, no.."

"OK, Pamela, I anticipated such an initial reaction. It's your choice."

"Thank you, Mistress," I replied, greatly relieved.

"You're welcome, young lady. Tonight., no - all weekend - you won't be
allowed to wear a bra. Maybe on Monday you'll see things differently."

"Sara," she continued, ""I've printed out your and Pamela's instructions
for the weekend. I demand they be followed religiously. If Pamela resists,
or does not follow my instructions, even for two minutes, then I want you
to contact the police immediately and report the rape. If not, you're
fired, Sara. Now please take her to her room."

Sara took the two pages of instructions and we left. I was proud to have
finally stood up to Amanda, however meekly. Once outside Sara grabbed my
hand and yanked me towards my room. "Pamela, damn it anyhow, now you've got
me in trouble again. If I lose my job, I also lose my home. This is
serious. You must follow Amanda's instructions. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress, I'm sorry. I've caused you enough trouble already, haven't
I?  I'll follow her stupid rules. After all, nothing could be worse than
what I went through this afternoon!"

Part 25

Sara and I entered my room. Thee boxes had been set upon the floor, one
labeled "Friday". One "Saturday", and one "Sunday". Sara sat down in the
chair at my makeup desk as I sat upon the edge of my bed. I felt
drained. She scanned Sara's instructions, then turned to me. She looked
sad.

"What is it, Mistress," I asked.

"Amanda., I'm sorry, Pamela, but I don't quite know how to say this. Amanda
would like you to "experience" a real girlhood.  That way, she says, you'll
better appreciate her offer of real female breasts.  She says, "Girls
anticipate puberty.  Pamela should be allowed to experience and enjoy the
same feeling"."

"I don't understand, Mistress," I said, perplexed.

"Bottom line, Pamela, is that tonight you will dress and act like a baby
girl. If and only if you accomplish that with perfection, then you'll be
allowed on Saturday to dress and act as a six year old girl. If and only if
you prove successful at that, then on Sunday you'll dress and act as a
pre-pubescent, seventh grade girl."

"But Sara!"

"Pamela, I cannot get fired because of you. I simply can't."

"Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied softly.

She continued reading Amanda's instructions: "And for the rest of this
weekend, or longer if you fail at any level, you will refer to Amanda as
"mommy" and to your coworkers as "auntie".

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Hey there, with a little luck and your total cooperation, this will be
over by Monday," Sara said, trying to cheer me up. "Now don't be so
sad. Shower and dress in whatever's in the "Friday" box. I'll be back in
twenty minutes."

Part 26

Sara deftly applied a touch of blush onto my cheeks. I lay upon a pink
blanket set upon the floor at the far end of the lobby, directly in front
of the television. I wore pink booties, a pink empire style nightgown with
a matching baby's bonnet tied securely under my chin. The skirt of my
nightgown barely extended below my waist, such that the diaper I wore was
visible to all.

"Coochie coo, Baby Pamela," Sara laughed in a sing-song voice. "My,
Amanda's new baby is so special, isn't she, Tanya?" I sucked a pacifier as
Tanya looked down at me.

Part 27

Two hours must have passed, although time was difficult to judge. I hadn't
eaten all day and was becoming ill with hunger. Having read Amanda's
instructions, I knew what was required.

"Waa., waa., waaa.," I began to cry. Sara, who had been tending the front
desk, came over to me, as did Tanya and also Emily, one of the part-time
schoolgirls.

"Well, what's wrong with the little bitty baby girl," Emily said, laughing.
Tanya, with her large Russian eyes, watched silently.

"Emily," said Sara, "maybe baby is hungry. Her bottle is in the diaper bag.
Would you warm it in the microwave, then feed baby Pamela?"

"Sure," exclaimed Emily, "I love taking care of babies."

Soon I was lying upon my side in fetal position, sucking the warm milk from
the bottle. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself as a man, far away
in Mexico.

Part 28

Another hour must have passed. As was custom on Friday evenings, the staff
gathered in the lobby to pick up their paycheck and to enjoy some wine,
snacks, and girl talk. I had been trying, extremely, to hold it in, but
couldn't. My face flushed as I felt my warm urine flow into my diaper. The
women, who were seated in a semicircle around me, had till now largely
ignored me. But my reddened face and sigh gave away my situation.

"Oh look, everyone," Emily laughed, "baby Pamela is doing wee-wee. Oh, this
is so much fun having a baby like her here!"

Again, per my instructions, I began to cry.

"Yes indeed, baby Pamela wet her diaper," Amanda said sternly. Who wants to
change her diaper?" A chorus of "no" filled the room.

Eventually they decided to draw straws, and Mary drew the short
one. Taunted by her coworkers, disgusted with me, she rolled me onto my
back and removed the drenched diaper, then wiped me and powdered my groin
and ass, and carefully put a new diaper onto me. While Mary did this,
Amanda took a number of photos, just as she had been doing all night.
Tanya asked her why she was taking them.

"Well, someday my baby girl will grow into a woman. Someday, maybe she and
her husband will enjoy looking over her baby pictures."

Part 29

I felt a sensuous kiss upon my cheek. I could smell the scent of perfume
mixed with baby powder. I opened my eyes to Sara, wearing a low cut blouse,
kneeling down to kiss me as I slept upon the pink blanket.

"Dear Pamela," she said softly, "I went out for the evening. I didn't
realize you were still on the floor, dear baby." She kissed me again. I
could detect alcohol on her breath. "But it's after midnight now, and Mandy
says you passed your first test. So go to your room now, Pammy. You're now
six years old!" She kissed me once again, a lingering kiss.

"Thank you, Auntie Sara," I said. Sara left, and I gathered my bottle,
pacifier, and blanket and then went to my room and slept soundly.

Part 30

"Wake up, girl!" I opened my eyes to daylight. Kimberly, the high school
girl, stood in the open door to my room. "It's already past nine. I've been
waiting all morning to play with my six year old niece," she giggled. "Your
mommy wants you dressed and in the lobby, right away!" She looked at me,
still wearing my diaper and bonnet, with obvious amusement, then turned and
left.

Part 31

Apprehensively I entered the lobby. The staff had gathered there for
morning coffee.  All conversation ceased as I entered. I wore a frilly,
pastel blue party dress. It had short sleeves which puffed out; the bodice
was decorated with lace, but was flat.  Not a hint of breasts. The pleated
skirt of my dress flared out over several layers of taffeta . My pink, lacy
rumba panties were not entirely covered by the short skirt.  Dainty white
ankle stockings, patent leather shoes, and a tiny pink purse completed my
ensemble.

Taking dainty steps I entered the lobby. I stared down at the floor, far
too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, and approached Amanda.  "Mommy,"
I said in the best sing-song little girl voice I could muster, "may I stay
in my room, please?"

"No, silly girl. Sit down and watch TV. Mommy's busy."

"Yes, mommy," I replied.

The women all laughed as I sat down on the floor, cross legged, and watched
cartoons. They talked about how pretty and feminine I was. Then their
discussion shifted to the differences between men and women. I shifted
uncomfortably.

"I don't know," Mary said in response to Amy's statement that "little boys"
do make "cute girls".  "I was raised in east Texas. Men aren't allowed to
be sissies over there. I never knew even one guy who acted at all
feminine. Even the gays act macho there."

"What? Gay guys in Lufkin? You must be kidding," Amanda interjected,
jokingly.

"Not many! But seriously, all the guys are masculine. All of them. Why,
even the girls in Lufkin are more masculine than that sissy on the floor.

The women laughed, while I continued to focus on Sesame Street, pretending
not to hear.

"Things here in the city are just different," Mary continued.

"Oh Mary. Pamela is just one person. Not all guys in Dallas wear dresses,
do they?"

"No., it's just that after seeing that., she-she boy over there, happily
wearing a little girl's dress., I just don't know. It's just
dispiriting. Now every time I meet a guy I'll have to wonder, is this man
like Pamela? Is this man wearing panties under those jeans? Does he wear
nighties to bed. Is he admiring me because he believes I'm sexy, or is he
simply admiring my skirt or my high heels?"

"Oh Mary, don't be so insecure," said Amanda. "We may prefer guys act like
guys and not like girls. But it's not a big deal."

The two teens, Kimberly and Emily, bored by the discussion, asked my
"mommy" if they could do my hair and makeup.

"Hi auntie Kimberly! Hi auntie Emily," I said as they approached. They
giggled.

"Stand up, baby Pammy," said Emily, "and show us your pretty dress!" I
meekly stood. Emily had me turn around while she inspected my outfit. I
could hear the taffeta of my slip rustle.  "Oh, Pammy, you are such a sweet
girl," Emily gushed. "Tell auntie, don't you just love your party dress?"

"Yes, auntie, I do. I think it's very pretty," I replied, well aware that
Amanda was likely monitoring my performance.

"Tell us, Pammy, are you a pretty little girl?"

"Yes, aunty Emily and auntie Kimberly," I replied, blushing, "I'm a pretty
girl, wearing a pretty dress."  Kimberly just laughed.

"Indeed you are," said Emily, "but we are going to put real makeup on you,
just like big girls wear. Won't that be fun!"

"Yes, auntie Emily."

While Kimberly retrieved her purse, where she kept lipstick and blusher,
Emily had me practice curtsies. Emily then had me sit upon the carpeted
floor, and while she knelt at my left and styled my hair, Kimberly knelt at
my right and applied lipstick.

Soon I had pigtails, tied with pink ribbons, and bright pink lipstick
adorned my lips.  Sara remained unusually silent. Didn't she have feelings
for me? Wasn't she hurt to see the girls humiliate me? Eventually the staff
drifted back to their tasks, leaving me alone, a little girl watching
children's television.

Part 32

At lunch, Sara tied a pink bib on me. "Pamela, your mommy says you must
wear this. She wants your dress to stay clean."  As I sat at the table, I
could smell the coffee which the women were enjoying. Oh, what I would have
done for a cup of coffee. But that was impossible, as I was just a six year
old girl.

"It is very much unusual, is it not, all this," I overhead Tanya ask in her
broken English.

"What's unusual, Tanya," said Sara.

"This Pamela. A young man be a little girl. In my land men are very
powerful. They control. Women, we do most work and we raise
children. Always weary at end of day. Our men drink and go to discos, and
hit women who ask for their help.  So why would he (Tanya looked at me,
seated demurely) wish to be woman? I do not yet understand America well at
all. It is often confused."

"I understand you, Tanya," said Sara. "Mexican men, including those here in
the U.S., are a lot like men in your country. Mexican men think they are
total masters of the universe."

"So why then does Pamela act like a girl?"

"Hard to say," Amanda said. "Men think they are so muscular, so tough.
Always ready to fight. Ever eager to fuck. Yet look at that "man" sitting
there." I looked down and nibbled my cookie, as if I were unaware she was
referring to me.  "Dressed like a little girl, ribbons in his hair, wearing
pink lipstick. Ha!  Maybe that macho image men project is just pure
bullshit. Maybe all men are like Pamela, just better at hiding their
yearnings.  Yes, ladies, we females are the supersex.  I suspect Pamela has
simply realized that fact, and succumbed to it."

"So, if you can't beat em, then join em," laughed Mary.

"Well, whatever Pamela's reasons are, she better be very careful," said
Kerri. "My cousin works at a county jail in Houston. She once told me about
a "tranny" who was arrested for not paying an outstanding traffic
ticket. The cops stuck him in a holding cell, still wearing his dress and
high heels. The jailers thought it was really funny putting him in with a
bunch of riff-raff. But by morning that poor tranny had been abused,
beaten, and raped, repeatedly. No, it's not a perfect world for sissies
like her, not at all."

"But why didn't the police help," asked Tanya.

"Tanya, don't be na‹ve," Kerri said. "Police aren't here to help anyone
that's different. Nearly all of them are republican racists. They hate all
poor people.  Hell, republicans hate anyone who's not an "upright"
fundamentalist warmonger. In fact, there's a banner in the police
department right here in this town which says "Black, Brown, or Gay?  Throw
Them Away!"  I've seen it myself, it's posted on the door that leads to the
drunk tank."

"Very true, Kerri. With the republicans in control here, nobody will ever
accuse Texas of having compassionate government," Amanda said, then cruelly
added, "but maybe Pamela would enjoy being jail raped."

Wait, now," Mary resumed, "you all are just making light of Tanya's
concerns. But it's not just her. I'm also confused by the sissy. Look,
there's a male that's what - 18 years old, at least - and he dresses and
acts like a five year old girl.  It's sick!"  The women continued to talk
as if I were not there, or rather, as if my feelings mattered not at all. I
tried to pretend like their words didn't matter, but I felt tears forming
in my eyes as I stared down at my plate, unwilling to look at any of them.

"Oh, Mary, Pamela is six years old, not five," Amanda joked. Kerry and
Kimberly laughed in an attempt to lighten the conversation.

"Look girls," Amanda said earnestly, "since Pam quit, we have been having
problems here. I've tried to hire a maid, without success. Something's
gotta give.  Who here would enjoy cleaning 30 rooms a day in addition to
your regular duties?"

"Yes," Amanda continued after a moment of silence, "I suppose Pamela is
sick.  Mentally screwed up. But she is harmless; her psychologist assured
me of that. And she's working for little more than room and board, plus the
chance to transition to womanhood.  The shrink pointed out that it's
impossible to just be born a woman.  Girlhood must always precede
womanhood. Maybe this weekend we can help Michael., I mean Pamela, purge
her masculinity and wholly embrace femininity, by allowing her to
symbolically grow into a mature woman."

"I haven't seen much masculinity to purge," said Amy dryly.

"True," Amanda continued, "but if all goes well, by Monday we'll have a
maid with fewer gender hang-ups. But Mary, you're right, I shouldn't impose
this reeducation task upon my staff without your consent. So, if any of you
are bothered by Pamela's "issues", then she's gone, immediately."

All were silent.

"OK," Amanda concluded, "Pamela stays for now. But if any of you change
your mind, for any reason whatsoever, she's out of here."

"So will Pamela always be a girl," Amy asked.

"I suppose that's ultimately up to her," said Amanda. "Pamela?"

"Yes mommy," I replied.

"Pamela, do you like being a girl?"

"Yes, mommy, very much so," I lied.

"Would you like to grow up to be a female, like us?"

"Yes mommy, I would."

Amanda, with a smirk, then had me address each of my "aunties" and thank
them for allowing me to wear such "pretty clothes".

After I finished this, Amanda addressed me again: "Pamela, would you stand
up so we can see your pigtails and makeup?"

Yes, mommy," I replied. I stood up and turned away so that they could see
my hair better.

"My, my, such a dainty little girl," Mary said sarcastically.  "Wasn't
Emily teaching you how little girls curtsy? Go ahead, sweetie, curtsey for
us."

I hesitated.

"Pamela," Amanda said sternly, "you heard auntie Mary! Now show us how
pretty girls curtsy!"

"Yes mommy," I replied, then gently grasped the hem of my dress with my
fingers, and bobbed down and up.

"Look everyone," Emily exclaimed, "Pammy curtsies just like Shirley Temple.
Isn't she sweet!"

"Very nice, Pamela. Now tell us, do you enjoy being a girl," asked Amanda.

"Yes mommy, I do.  Very much."

"Well, Pamela, six year old girls don't dirty their panties. Tell mommy,
are your panties clean?"

I hesitated, too embarrassed to answer.

"Ah, ha," Mary exclaimed, "the little girl's silence speaks volumes. Either
she's not wearing panties, or she's dirtied them."

"No., no., I didn't," I protested.

"You baby," Mary scolded.

"Maybe she needs to wear diapers again," Emily laughed.

"Pamela, show your panties to auntie Sara," Amanda commanded.

"But mommy," I cried, frightened of where this was headed.

"Do it young lady, or else!"

I walked towards Sara. She rolled her eyes in an expression of disbelief
and disgust.  "Auntie Sara," I said in a near-whisper, "will you., will
you., please.."

"OK! OK! Bend over, Pamela."

Sara remained seated as I turned away from her and bent over so that my
ass, which was covered by pink rumba panties, was nearly at the height of
Sara's breasts.  I felt her stretch the backside of my panties. "They don't
look dirty," she pronounced.

"I smell something nasty," Mary said, "what could it possibly be?"

"Seems we need a second opinion here," Amanda said. "Pamela, remove your
panties and give then to Sara, so that she can inspect them close up."

"Right here?  But., Mommy, please!"

"Do it, Pammy. I'm ordering you to remove your panties!"

I looked around the table. All the women were staring at me. Even
ever-bubbly Amy stared silently in disbelief at what I was willing to do.

"Please, mommy," I begged in a little girl's sing-song voice, hoping maybe
Amanda would reconsider, "please don't make me do that!"

Amanda was silent. She sternly gazed at me. Once again I gave in to her
demands.  Amanda was much stronger than I.  No, not physically, but
psychologically.  The thought raced through my mind that, even had I not
faced prison time, I would still succumb to her will. But why? Was it the
female hormones, or was it something else, a fundamental weakness in me?

Still facing away from the table, I reached under my skirt and carefully
lowered my panties. Red-faced, I turned to face Sara, then handed my lacy
panties to the woman I desired.

Sara took them from me, holding them between her thumb and index finger, as
if they were some type of toxic waste. "They're dry," she pronounced. From
the tone of her voice, it was clear she wasn't enjoying this.

"Very good," Amanda said, "but maybe she's dirtied her behind. After all,
Mary smells something. Bend down again, Pamela, so Sara can inspect you."

It was futile to protest. I raised my skirt and leaned forward again, my
naked hairless ass shown to the women. I did cup my right hand over my
genitals to maintain a tad of dignity.

"She looks clean," Sara said after a glance at my ass.

"I don't know, Sara. As they say, looks can be deceptive. Mary may be
right.  Here, take this napkin and rub it between my little girl's cheeks."

"No way," Sara said.

"C'mon," said Mary, "After all, I had to change her diaper yesterday."

"Do it Sara. Please," added Amanda.

"Jesus," Sara exclaimed, after which I felt her rubbing the napkin between
the cheeks of my ass. After a few moments of silence, she said, "Yes,
Amanda, the napkin has a brown stain. Pamela is a bit dirty. Just a bit."

"I knew it! My gosh, Pamela. Now you go to your room and fetch your diaper
bag.  Right away!"

"But mommy, please!" I begged Amanda. The stress and humiliation made tears
fill my eyes.

"Do it, Pamela, or I'll spank you right here in front of everybody. And
take your panties with you. Tonight you'll have to hand wash them, you
naughty girl."

Sara handed me the pink panties and I fled the restaurant.

Part 33

"You're gonna make him wear diapers again," Amy asked, astonished.

"Yes Amy. I suppose you all think I'm being mean. But Pamela's psychologist
says this is good for her. She asked my to push Pamela to the limit, so
that Pamela will be forced to choose once and for all. Maybe she'll choose
to return to the comfortable life of a male. If she doesn't, then we will
all know how important this is to her."

"Well, that thing is no real male," Mary said.

"I agree. Pamela could never be a real man, could she," added Tanya.

"Probably not," Amanda said with a grin.  "Probably not."

"So where on earth does she get those clothes in grown-up sizes," Emily
asked.

"Well, I know a woman who owns a costume shop in Fort Worth. Apparently
Amanda is not the only quirky guy in town," Amanda said with a laugh.

Part 34

I grabbed the large pink diaper bag from my closet, and quickly left.
Without panties, I could feel my cock and balls swinging as I walked to the
restaurant.

"Very good, baby daughter," Amanda said as I entered. "Now ask Auntie Sara
to put a diaper on you."

"But mommy," I pleaded.

"Do it, cry baby!"

Apprehensively I approached beautiful Sara, holding the diaper bag in front
of my crotch. With my eyes downcast, I said, "Auntie Sara, would you please
put a clean diaper on me?"

"Why do you need a diaper, Pamela? You're six years old!"

"Yes, auntie Sara, but I..., well., I do not keep myself clean. Mommy says
I'm a nasty baby girl."

Sara's exasperation flared. "No, I will NOT put a diaper on you. NO! NO!
NO!  Now just get away from me! GO AWAY!"

"OK, Sara, calm down, will you," Amanda said. "You don't have to diaper
her.  I will. Unless there are any other volunteers?"

"Oh! We will, we will, giggled Amy and Emily. Please Amanda!"

"OK, go ahead and diaper my daughter."

Enthusiastically the two petite teenagers had me lie down on the pink
blanket, on my stomach. The lifted the skirt of my party dress so that my
ass was shown.  "Naughty little girl," giggled Amy, "you dirtied your
panties and now you must wear diapers again. Well, what do you have to say
for yourself, young lady?"

"I'm sorry, auntie Amy, very sorry. But please don't force me to wear
diapers!  Please don't!"

"Your mommy says you must," Emily said, giggling. I felt baby powder
sprinkled on my ass. Emily playfully slapped my cheeks a few times to
spread the powder.  "Now turn onto your back, Baby Pamela." I did as told,
but covered my eyes with my hands.

"Gosh, Amy," Emily said with mock surprise, "look at baby Pamela's little
treasure.  It's so cute!" Amy sprinkled more powder onto me and onto my
exposed, shrunken genitals. Then the two girls, one on each side, fastened
the diaper on with safety pins. "All done. Now stand up, baby Pamela, and
show us your baby diaper!"

Humiliated, I stood up. The bulky diaper pushed out the hem of my party
dress, and thus was partly visible at all times.

"Here, young lady," Mary said to me, "since you act like a baby, you can
have your baby bottle back." Mary handed the bottle, filled with warm milk,
to me. I took the bottle and looked to Amanda for guidance.

"Go ahead, daughter," Amanda said, "and be sure to thank all your aunties."

Thank you, auntie Amy and auntie Emily, for putting the diaper on me," I
said to them as Emily grinned maliciously. Then I went to Mary and said
"Thank you, auntie Mary, for my bottle."

"Now little girl," Mary said mockingly, "try not to dirty your diaper like
you did yesterday. Maybe we'll have to ask Emily and Amy to potty train
you. Would you like that?"

"No, auntie Mary! I promise not to be naughty!"

"Well, if you do," said Mary, "I'll take you to the park where all little
girls your age play, and we'll let them see your diaper. Do you understand,
little girl?"

"Yes, auntie. I promise to be good. Please don't make me go anywhere
dressed like this, please don't.." I groveled before Mary, whom everybody
knew despised me, praying that Amanda would not force me to go out in
public in a dress and diaper.

"Why Mary, that's such a nice offer," Amanda said. "We'll see how my
daughter does. Maybe Pamela can go with you and show off her diaper. But,
let's all get back to work now. Pamela, sit on your blanket and finish your
bottle like a good baby girl."

"Yes mommy," I replied, then sat down cross-legged in front of the
television and sucked warm milk from my bottle.

Part 35

Later in the day Emily and Amy, both off work by then, stopped by with
several of their schoolmates.  "Look everyone," Emily said to her friends,
"this is baby Pamela, my six year old niece!"

"Hi auntie Emily! Hi auntie Amy!" I used the most girlish voice I could
muster. The group of teenage girls had me stand up as they oohed and ahhed
over my cute party dress. Amy even brought me a doll, a baby girl doll, to
play with. She said it was her kid sister's, who had outgrown it. "Now you
can play mommy, little girl," said one of Emily's friends, a tall redhead
with clear skin and flawless makeup.

After a half hour of mocking me and watching me as I played with my new
doll, the girls tired of the situation. "Let's go find some guys," Emily
said to the others.

"Good idea," replied the redhead. "Let's find some real guys, guys that
don't wear pastel party dresses and diapers."

Before leaving, several of the girls hugged me and said goodbye.

Part 36


Sunday's attire was much better: a simple red shift, sleeveless, with hem
just above my knees. A white, long sleeve blouse, very frilly; white knee
high stockings, and the same black patent leather shoes I had worn with
yesterday's outfit.  But my dress was clearly a girl's dress, as there was
no looseness in the chest area. No titties on me today, I realized as I
dressed.

Again I was required to stay in the lobby where "mommy" and "auntie Sara"
could watch over me. Amy brought her Barbi doll collection for me to play
with. "I used to really enjoy this when I was younger," the pretty teenager
said to me.  "You'll enjoy it too, Pammy. But let me fill you in on a
secret: Ken has nothing between his legs. Maybe he's a he-she too, kinda
like you!"

"Thank you, auntie," I replied with forced enthusiasm. From mid-morning
until mid-afternoon I stayed in the lobby, where I was required to sit on
the lobby floor and play with Amy's dolls. Amy helped me at this, showing
me how to choose Barbi's outfits and matching accessories. I was also
required to read several magazines Amy had brought in, including
"seventeen" and Cosmo Girl". Amy couldn't stop giggling as she had me take
the quizzes which apparently are a staple in such publications, and which
focus solely upon clothes and boys.

Part 37

About two in the afternoon my "mommy" sent me to the restaurant to see
Sara.  Feeling foolish, I quietly entered the restaurant carrying my small
red purse in one hand, and a fully dressed Barbi doll in the other. Sara,
Amy and Emily were seated at a table.

"Pammy dear, come sit with us. We must have a girl talk," said Sara.

"Yes, auntie Sara," I said as I gently sat at the table. I set my purse in
my lap, and the Barbi doll upon the table. The high school girls grinned at
me, while Sara had an air of seriousness.

"Pamela, your mommy asked us to explain to you what it means to become a
woman."

"Yes.," I replied quizzically.

"That's right," Amy added. "Since you're a girl and of that special age,
you must know certain things."

"I don't understand, auntie Amy, what things?"

"Woman things, Pamela. Female matters!"

"You mean like, makeup? Dresses?"

"No, that's not what Amy means," said Sara. "Look at you," Sara continued
as she reached over and touched my chest, "you have no breasts. Now look at
me; I have female breasts. Do you understand now?"

"Yes," I replied, embarrassed.

"We'll explain to you a few of the things all girls must know when they
come of age. For example, women have periods. Amy has generously
volunteered to teach you about your menstrual cycle. Isn't that nice of
her?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I said softly.

"And Emily will explain to your how your body will change is you mature
into a woman.

"Yes, auntie," I replied glumly. The idea that I, who just days ago was a
typical 20 year old male, would be instructed on such topics by girls who
were several years my junior, was almost more than I could comprehend.

"And, young lady, I will cover two difficult subjects: sex and pregnancy.
All fertile young girls must understand the consequences of sex."

And so it went. I endured the next two hours with great difficulty. Emily,
the pretty brunette girl with impish impulses, gleefully explained how my
breasts and nipples would develop, my hips and ass would become curved and
sexy, while my lips, too, would become full and sensuous. She used the
Barbi doll to illustrate, removing Barbi's prom dress to show her
tits. Arching her back slightly, she smiled and said, "Yes, Pamela, maybe
someday you'll have a beautiful female body just like mine, and you'll
drive the boys crazy, just like I do!"

Amy giggled ceaselessly while she told me how I would soon began to bleed
monthly, and how I should use the various feminine hygiene products to get
me through my periods.

Sara went into great detail about sex, explaining how a man could
impregnate me, and how I could "service" my partner (alas, she assumed a
male partner) without going "all the way". I fidgeted with the Barbi doll,
bit my lower lip and stared at a spot on the floor as Sara explained oral
sex and anal sex, from a female perspective.

"But," I countered to Sara, whom I desired so very much, "I don't like men,
not in that way. Really, I don't!"

"Oh, Pamela," Sara said knowingly, "that really doesn't matter. If you look
sexy the men will desire you, and then you must know how to make them
happy. Whether or not you desire them is irrelevant. The world doesn't
revolve around women's pleasure, you know. But believe me, Pammy, giving
pleasure to a man, particularly to your very own man, will make you feel
unbelievably fulfilled. You'll see."  The two teens giggled at Sara's
words, directed as they were at me, a male of sorts. I could only hope that
someday Sara might choose to please me, the male me, in just such a manner.

The lesson ended with all of us seated at a table in the empty restaurant.
The three females discussed the boys in their lives, and how they
"serviced" the boys, even at times when they were most fertile and also
when it was their "time of the month". I noticed Sara casually slip off one
of her high heels and, with her legs crossed, look down to inspect the red
nail polish on her toenails. She did this unconsciously. Sexy feminine
mannerisms came naturally to Sara, while I struggled to fit into even a
generic female mold. As the girls talked, I stared at Sara's naked foot and
imagined myself fondling it, smelling it, licking it.

Part 38

After I had been instructed in the process and the joys of becoming a woman
("you are a flower opening up to the morning sun," Amy said), Sara ordered
me to accompany Amy and Emily to the store. She refused to say why. Thus,
still clutching my little red purse and the Barbi doll, I sat in the back
seat of Amy's small car. Emily had taken the front, without even asking me
where I'd like to sit.  Anxious as to where I was being taken, I
nonetheless remained silent. After just five or ten minutes Amy pulled into
the parking lot of a large Walgreen's drug store. I prayed they would allow
me to remain in the car.

"Well, come on little girl," Emily commanded after opening the car door,
"get out!"

"But why, auntie Emily," I said, cowering in the back seat. "I don't want
to go in there. Not like this. Please, auntie Emily!"

"Pamela. Your mommy said you must," Amy said in an apologetic tone.

"Please, auntie.," I implored, but the girls just turned away and walked
into the drugstore.  Reluctantly I too exited the car and walked towards
the store.

Apprehensively I followed the girls into the store. I felt like a fool:
less than a man, for sure, and even less than a woman. Dressed as I was, in
a young girl's red shift, with my hair in pigtails, wearing girl's flats
and knee-high stockings, it was clear I was neither man nor woman. Surely I
was too large to pass as a young girl, and I was too flat to be a woman,
which meant any casual observer could likely easily deduce my true sex. I
realized that my situation was now much worse than during my previous
shopping trip with Sara, for then I was a man acting as a somewhat passable
woman. Now I was a man posing as a young girl, which was worse than just
odd.

Once inside, Emily said to me "Go find your tampons, Pammy," then she and
Amy went to the counter and greeted another girl. I stood frozen for a few
moments before I scurried over to an aisle labeled "feminine products".

Part 39

"Tammy," Emily said to her friend who worked as a cashier in the store,
"you won't believe this! See that person walking down that aisle?"

"Yeah," Tammy replied, "you mean that girl in the red dress? What about
her?"  Tammy was a petite brunette, her hair cut short and styled.

"It's not a her, Tammy, it's a pansy guy in a girl's dress. Can you believe
it? A guy dressed like a ten year old girl!"

"Is she a friend of yours?"

"No way," Emily said. "He works with us, and our boss paid us to take him
here.  The boss feels sorry for him."

"It's really weird," Amy added soberly.

"So what's he doing here," Tammy asked.

"Get this. He's here to buy tampons. For himself!" Emily said.

"No way!"

"Yes, it's true," Amy said. "He's got this flaky idea that he needs to have
his first period so that he'll feel more like a woman or something. It's
really kinda sad."

"I've got to see this for myself," Tammy laughed.

Part 40

Before me was an entire aisle devoted to "personal feminine hygiene". I had
little clue of what I was supposed to purchase. Suddenly I felt a touch
upon my shoulder, startling me. In my confusion I hadn't heard anyone
approach.

"Hi, miss," said a girl's voice, "May I help you?" I turned to see the girl
who had been behind the counter.  Her name tag said "Tammy".

"No., yes., well maybe.," I stammered, red faced, as the brunette's eyes
studied me closely. "I need tampons."

"Oh?  Tampons., are these for your mother?"

"No., not really. They're for me.."

"Oh. I'm sorry, " Tammy said, "I didn't realize. You don't look, you know.,
developed enough to need tampons. So, you're menstruating," she asked as
she reached for a blue box from the shelf and handed them to me.

"Well., no, not really..."

"You mean this will be your first period? You're growing up then, aren't
you?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I said as I took the box of Tampax tampons she handed
to me.

"Here," she continued, "you should also purchase these." Tammy handed me a
larger box labeled Kotex. "And do you understand how to use these, miss?"
Tammy seemed pleasant. Her voice wasn't mocking or sarcastic. Maybe she
simply thought I was a young girl, just large for my age. I couldn't tell.

"No, but thank you. I believe I understand how they work," I replied
sheepishly.

I followed Tammy to the front counter. Only then did I realize I had no
money. Amy was nowhere in sight. I approached Emily, who was busy
conversing with another young girl who had just entered the store. With
trepidation I approached her to borrow some money.

"Sure thing, Pammy dear," she replied in a voice so loud that everyone in
the front of the store could hear. "After all, sissy boys do need their
tampons, don't they, Pamela? And look! Kotex napkins, too. Why, our little
boy is all ready for his first period now, isn't she?"  All eyes turned
towards me as my face blushed beet red.  But I realized there was nothing I
could do but accept Emily's abuse.

"Thank you, Miss Emily," I said as she handed me a ten dollar bill. Tammy
rung up my purchase, smiling at me. As I picked up the items to leave,
Tammy said, "Thank you very much, miss. Please come back the next time you
need anything."

"Don't worry, Tammy," Emily said, rolling her eyes, "I'm sure the sissy boy
will be back once a month!" Emily quickly walked out as I hurried along
after her, clutching my purse and the bag containing my tampons and
napkins.

Part 41

Amy was waiting in the car. She apologized to me, an act of kindness which
touched me deeply, saying she couldn't stay inside to witness such a
pathetic scene.  She appeared to be miffed with Emily.

"Hey, don't get snotty with me," Emily said as the car pulled into the
street.  "You're not siding with the sissy, are you?"

"Emily, don't! Amanda said we must treat him like a female."

"Well, Amy, Pamela may not be a man, but he's not female, either," Emily
stated with finality, "He's just a sissy-boy pantywaist."  When we arrived
at the motel I quickly retreated to my room and collapsed on the bed. I was
unable to control my emotions. Was it because of the female hormones? I
began to weep.

Sara and Amanda entered. Sara sat onto the bed, her body touching mine as I
lay, still crying.

"Pamela," said Amanda.

"Yes, mommy," I replied.

"We all thought you made a beautiful baby girl. Really. Would you like to
remain a baby girl, Pamela? I can arrange it for you." Amanda said as Sara
gently caressed my neck and shoulders.

"No, please no."

"Well, would you like to be a little girl? You look very pretty in a party
dress, Pamela."

"No, please mommy, no."

"Then would you prefer to be a pre-teen, as you are now. That way, you
could still help us around the motel, and also play with your dolls and
such."

"No, mommy, I don't want that either."

"Well, Pamela, tell me," Amanda said sternly, "just what do you want?"

"Please, mommy, could I go back to, you know, being a., woman?"

"Explain yourself. What exactly are you asking?"

"Please, mistress, allow me to return to being a woman again, like I was
until this weekend. Please don't force me to be a little girl. It's too
humiliating.  You can't imagine! Even prison would be better." I broke down
crying again, as Sara comforted me, softly telling me not to cry, that
things would be OK.

"Stop your crying, sissy," Amanda shouted, "or I'll call the police right
now. So tell me, Pamela, why do you want to be a woman?"

"Please," I said through my sobs, "If I can have breasts, female breasts,
and can dress like a grown woman, people maybe won't ridicule me. Maybe I
can fit in. I'll try so hard to fit in as a female. And I'll work for you
as a maid. I promise.  Please."

"What do you think, Sara? Should the little girl be allowed to grow up?"

"I think so, Mandy. I realize what Michael did was wrong, even evil. But
still, to make a young man wear a little girl's party dress and play with
dolls, in full view of everyone., well, I can just imagine what Pamela's
going through. Then to have his diaper changed by two teenaged girls, right
in front of all of us, well, if Pamela were a real man, he'd probably kill
himself rather than do such things.  Yes, Mandy, let him try to be a young
lady again. I'll help her adjust to womanhood. She can work as a maid -
she's a good maid, you know - and maybe in a month or two she'll have been
punished enough and can be allowed to leave as a man. Or as a woman."

"OK," Amanda said after a few moments of thought, "starting tomorrow you
are a woman again. So act like a woman, or else!" Amanda left the room.

I remained silent, still lying on the bed with Sara sitting beside me. I
was ashamed of my weakness. What did beautiful Sara think of me now? How
could she ever consider me a man? How could she love me?

"Now, now, Pamela," Sara said softly as she ran her fingers gently through
my hair, "relax a bit. This weekend has stressed you out. Things will be
better, you'll see.  You may come to enjoy being a woman. Now get some
sleep, girl, you've got to work tomorrow."

Part 42

And things did get better, to some extent. I awoke the next morning and
realized I was, once again, a young woman. Not a baby or a young
girl. After I showered I carefully selected a white, lacy underwire bra
from my collection and skillfully put it on. I noticed my hands tremble
slightly as I removed my silicone breast forms from their box and slipped
them into the cups of my bra . I felt a rush of relief to have tits once
again. My weekend ordeal past, I studied my reflection in the mirror,
particularly my side profile, admiring the very breasts I had despised
before the past weekend. I put my legs together and tucked my penis down
and under, making it appear I had a real vagina. I truly reveled in my
reflection. I was proud of my feminine appearance. Yes, I realized Amanda's
punishment had affected me deeply; now I was joyful at being allowed to
wear women's clothing.

I slipped back into my routine: being the motel's only maid kept me busy
all day, sometimes into the evening. Other tasks were gradually assigned to
me, such as washing linen and cleaning the restaurant. Then one other task
was added to my daily schedule: each day I was required to walk to Amanda's
house and clean it thoroughly, and also wash Amanda's and Sara's clothes. I
was ordered to very gently hand wash their lingerie and pantyhose. It was
degrading, to be sure, but I found myself oddly excited as I handled Sara's
underclothes.

I also noticed that the other workers tended to accept me now, no longer
gawking at me or whispering amongst themselves as I passed. No, now they
more or less treated me like, well., a maid. Occasionally I was even
invited to join them at breaks, during which the discussion would generally
focus on typical female concerns: guys, relationships, kids, and
clothes. It was almost as if they were nearly oblivious to the fact that a
penis lurked within my panties. And I became more comfortable with the
lowly status of my new life, even as I became ever more enamored with
beautiful Sara.

Each morning I was required to report to the office and take several pills,
as the manager (usually Amanda) watched. I didn't ask what they
were. Amanda said they were vitamins, but I suspect they were female
hormones. I didn't really want to know, so I didn't press the question. I
was also required to take voice lessons twice each day, during which I
studied and mimicked the way women talked. Since I only interacted with
females now, I had many role models to mimic.

Part 43

Several uneventful weeks passed. Then, one Friday afternoon at break, with
the entire staff gathered, as was tradition, to receive their paychecks and
to gossip, Amanda ordered me to join them. Maybe, I hoped, Amanda had a
paycheck for me, too. Were I able to get some money saved up, it might be
possible to change my situation.

The all female staff and I were enjoying coffee and cookies as we listened
to Kimberly describe the cheerleading she would perform at tonight's high
school football game, when Amanda entered the restaurant with the paychecks
and what appeared to be a photo album. E