Dalia's Story, Part 1
                            Author: Cindi Johnson
                              of Dallas, Texas


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CAUTION!!!  This story has explicit sexual content. If you are under the age
of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE!  Or if stories involving forced crossdressing offend
you, do not continue.
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Two years ago I married Kimberly.  She was younger than me by two years, and
she was beautiful. Slender, 5'4'' tall, curvy but not in the exaggerated
sense. Most would say her breasts were small, almost childlike, but to me they
perfectly matched her smooth sensuous body.  And her complexion was flawless,
again reminding one of a young girl. Kimberly was 24 years old, had recently
graduated from a small college in the Northeast, and had moved to Dallas to
begin a career as a purchasing agent for J.C. Penny.

I had never been very successful with women.  Sure, I had had a few, but they
never seemed to be the ones I really desired. They always left me wanting,
feeling somehow shortchanged. But then I met Kimberly.  I had moved to Dallas
from the midwest, so neither of us had family in the city. We were largely
alone. For us, each weekend was a void, so we naturally drifted together. She
probably was not so much attracted to me as she was just seeking
companionship, but I was immediately infatuated with her.  Within six months
we were married. Happy and proud of my sudden sexual success, I felt myself
more man than any other. I can even recall thinking how much better I must be
than the other guys I worked with; after all, didn't I win a woman more 
beautiful than any they had ever had?

The troubles began after a year of marriage. Ann, a young lady I worked with,
invited me to go to lunch with her one day. I didn't thing anything of it, and
neither did Ann, as she was happily married and not attracted to me at all
sexually. It was just that she didn't have anyone to eat lunch with that day.

Well, we drove over to the mall to eat at a fast food place, but Kimberly
just happened to be at the same mall that day. It was Friday, and she had
taken the day off. I didn't see her, but she saw us.

"Who do you think you are?", she yelled at me when I arrived at home, "don't
ever forget again that you belong to me totally!" "You're nothing more than a
slut!"  I had never seen her angry like this before, and I was scared that
our relationship might break.  By this time, Kimberly had become a part of
me, a part of my very identity, so much so that I could not imagine life
without her. "I'm sorry, very, very sorry," I said to her, "I'll do anything 
for you if you'll forget this."  Yes, in essence I just groveled before her, 
but I did it because I loved her, not because I'm weak.  Finally she calmed 
down; we ate a small dinner, then she went upstairs while I stayed down and
watched television, and had a couple of beers to relax.  I was still very
worried over this sudden storm in paradise.  At the time, I assumed she truly
was angry that I was with another woman, but looking back, I'm not so sure; 
maybe this incident was used by her to set in motion a plan she had plotted
for months.

Just before six she came back down; she stood looking down at me, her face
set with an uncompromising, unforgiving stare. "Honey," she said, "I've
thought it over and decided I must punish you for what you did. If you love
me, you must learn to think of my feelings at all times, and to obey me. If
you don't love me, then we should split now. So what will it be?"

Faced with such alternatives, there was no doubt as to my choice. I would have
done anything to keep her.   "Hon, I love you, I'm sorry, but I didn't do
anything wrong! Can't we just forget it?", I pleaded to no avail. "Yes or
no?", she asked, still standing before me as I sat on the couch, making her
appear large, strong, and very dominant. "Yes, you can punish me if you want",
I muttered, sealing my fate in a way I could not have imagined then.  A faint,
sarcastic grin flitted across her face. It was not a look of love.

"Then follow me", she commanded.  I rose and followed her up the stairs. As
she was several steps ahead of me, I could gaze under her loose white skirt,
at the white slip and pink panties that hid the treasure I so craved.

We entered our bedroom. On the bed Kimberly had laid out an assembly of
womens clothes: a pink slip with lace circling the skirt bottom, a pair of
pink panties, also edged in lace, a white bra with a tiny pink bow between
the two cups, panty hose, red open toed high heels, and a very feminine red
dress with a fluffy red sleeves and billowy skirt.  I didn't get it. I turned
towards her with a confused look.  What did this have to do with me, or with
punishment?

"Dan," she said, still with a firm voice, "you acted like a slut, so this
weekend you'll dress like one. Maybe if you're dressed like a girl, you won't
be so inclined to flirt with them. This is your punishment."

"No way," I replied, still confused, hurt, and a little high from the beer
I'd had. "This is crazy. I didn't do anything wrong."

She quickly interrupted me. "Shut up!  You'll do what I say, or you can leave
now.  First thing you will do is go into the bath and shave your legs, your
arms, your chest, your face, everything!  I want you as smooth as a baby. Now
get in the bathroom. I've poured you a bubble bath, and the razor is in
there."

Well, I couldn't say no, because I loved her. I didn't try to argue, since it
would just rile her more. So I hung my head, walked to the bathroom, and set
to work denuding my male body.  Kimberly had poured a bath all right, one with
bubbles, a sweet scented fragrance, and feminine oils meant to soften and
moisturize skin.  First I used the electric clippers to remove 90% of my body
hair, then I used the razor, while soaking in the tub, to get the remainder.
Luckily, I had not inherited a hairy body, and even my facial hair was thinner
and lighter than that of most men. Within a half hour I had finished,
showered, and dried myself with a towel. I felt more naked than ever before in
my life. As I gazed at my legs, my arms, and my chest, I felt I was looking at
a strange body, one that already looked more female than male. I was still
confused by all that had happened, and was just standing there looking at the
alien image in the mirror when the door opened a crack.

Kimberly didn't look in, but just handed me a garment.  "Close the door, get
dressed, and come out. I want to see what my new girl friend looks like."  I
looked at what she had handed me. It was pink. Looking closer,I saw it was a
nightie, made of sheer nylon and lots of lace. As I slipped it over my head
it tickled my newly smooth skin. It barely covered my ass and my male parts.
I felt foolish as I opened the door and walked out, my eyes cast down and face
red with embarrassment.

"Oh my, aren't you cute!" Kimberly said laughingly. "And look at those smooth
sexy legs! Won't they ever look good in high heels and a short skirt!"  She
was teasing me, aware of how vulnerable I felt now. For the first time, I
realized how women feel when harassed by men. "Yes, you certainly do look
pretty", she went on, as if talking to herself about an inanimate object,
like a sculpture, "but more like a pretty boy then a pretty girl.  I still
have a lot of work to do, and remember you must do what I say. If you behave,
your punishment may only last through the weekend.  I think the first thing
I'll have to do is give you a new name, something more fitting to a person
with sexy smooth legs and wearing a pink nightie.  What would you like your
new name to be?"   I was silent.  I wanted to blurt out that I quit, that I
wasn't playing this game of hers anymore. But I couldn't get it out of me.
All I could do was groan almost inaudibly, which Kimberly took to be a green
light.  "OK then, it's Dan no more.  Lets see... Cindy? No, not feminine
enough. Mary?..., no, that won't do since it implies goodness, and after all,
you were acting like a slut.  How about Dalia?  Yes, that's it, from now on
you're Dalia.  It's very feminine, and you'll get to keep your same
initials."

Finally I got my nerve up enough to resist. "Hell no," I nearly shouted,"you
can't name me Dalia.  My name is Dan. I've had enough of this game. Enough!
I'm a man!"

Kimberly quickly cut off my resistance.  "Well, you don't look much like a
man, standing there in a nightie, with less hair on your body then even I
have. Now if you act up one more time, I'm leaving, and you can stand in the
doorway dressed in your pink gown and see me off. Now it's late, and tomorrow
will be a big day for us," she continued talking so fast and forcefully that I 
couldn't interrupt, "so I want you to sit down while I shape your nails and
eyebrows."  My resistance deflated, I sat down. She had me hold my head still
and close my eyes while she plucked hair from my eyebrows; then she used
superglue to attach long imitation nails to my fingers, which she then shaped
with her nail file. After all this was done, she had me rub scented
moisturizer into my face, arms, and legs.

Finally, she finished and I thought my ordeal would end for the night. I
crawled into bed, still dressed in the pink nightie, the sheets feeling
strange against my smooth skin.  The bedroom lights were off, with only the
bath's light casting a dim glow upon the bed.  Kimberly walked to the bed,
she now also in a nightie, a simple white one less frilly than mine.  She
looked down at me and spoke softly, "Dalia,I'd really love to make love with
you now, but I can't because I've started my period.   But while we're at
this, we should do it right. Since I must wear a tampon, I think you should
also."   For the first time during the evening, a shudder of fear coursed
through me.  What could she mean?  She held up a pink plastic tube which
looked almost like a miniature dildo. "Now watch closely," she said with a
slight grin on her face (clearly she enjoyed this), "this is a tampon. Inside
one end is a ball of cotton. When it's in place, it expands to absorb your
discharge. That way you won't get your panties dirty."  She was talking down
to me, acting like a mother explaining female facts of life to her young
daughter experiencing her first period.  I felt so helpless that I blushed,
but luckily it was dim enough that I don't believe she noticed.  "Now what a
girl must do is insert that end into her, then push this small rod, which
positions the cotton into place.  Then you simply remove the plastic, and you
are done. And by the way, you are then left with a string hanging from your
pussy. When it's time to change, you pull on the string to remove your soiled
tampon."

"Now I'll help you this time. Roll over onto your belly, Dalia."  Again, I
obeyed without resistance.  Quietly, she lifted the skirt of my nightie and
pulled my panties down. I was so tense that I shivered at her touch.  She put
her finger into a jar of vaseline, then placed the greased finger into my
hole. Soon I then felt something cold and hard enter me, then in a moment it
was removed.  I felt full back there, like I suddenly had to use the bathroom.
But I knew it was just the cotton.  "Now feel back there," she said.  I did
so; there was a string which came several inches out of my hole. "Now
remember, only pull the string when it's time to change. You may share my
Tampons if you like, or if you prefer you may buy your own.  I know it's
uncomfortable, but all us girls have to go through it. Just be glad it happens
only once a month!"  She was laughing now. Some tears formed in my eyes, but 
she didn't see them. I buried my face in my pillow as she turned the light off 
and climbed into bed.  Kimberly cuddled next to me, rubbed her hand against
the smooth nylon gown, then put her hand into my panties and pulled slightly
on my tampon string, enough to increase my discomfort but not to budge the
tampon. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she said,  "it won't be so bad. And if you 
surrender yourself to me for the weekend, perhaps I'll forgive you and we can 
get back to normal. OK?"   I didn't answer, as I was unsure of what I should 
do.  Humiliated, I drifted into fitful sleep.

                                  Chapter 2

Next morning I woke up with a foggy head, unsure of what was dream and what
was real. My legs felt strange, so smooth where they touched. As the memories
of the preceding evening came back to me, I felt somewhat sick. I knew my life
was changed. I knew that even if my punishment ceased this morning, I would
never again assume my former stature in Kimberly's eyes. 

Kimberly entered the bedroom and gazed down at me, lying on the bed. "Good
morning, Dalia, you look absolutely pretty this morning! She giggled some,
then continued, "now get out of bed, cutie, because today will be a day you'll 
never forget."

I gloomily rose from the bed. "Here," she said as she handed me a pink robe,
"wear this while you go down and make coffee."  I slipped it on, then
hurried downstairs to start the coffee, relieved to be away from Kimberly's
gaze for awhile. I set out rolls for us, and when the coffee was finished I
called Kimberly. "Coffee's ready", I yelled, trying to keep my voice in a
falsetto appropriate to my new role.   "Oh, you'll make a great housewife, 
Dalia", she said as she sat at the table. "I bet you'll find the feminine 
lifestyle much more fun then the male one.  You'll be able to pamper yourself. 
Now why don't you run upstairs and get any hairiness off your face. And do a 
good job." 

Again I didn't argue. I decided that if I'd accept this madness of hers for
one weekend, then things might possibly return to normal. I went upstairs and
shaved, taking care to go back and forth so as to assure a very smooth face.
By the time I finished, Kimberly had come up also. "OK, little girl, start 
with moisturizer. Rub it into your skin... that's the way!"  I rubbed in the 
pink lotion. It smelled feminine. "Now, listen carefully Dalia, because you 
must learn this well.  Next we'll apply a foundation."   She dabbed the liquid 
onto her fingers, then applied it to my face, rubbing it in. I remained
silent, but watched her carefully.  "Always remember, a girl must wear 
mascara.  It's a girl's eyes that show her soul. A girl's eyes must be 
beautiful, and portray an openness. After you do this a few times, you'll be 
as good at it as the next girl."

"I wish you wouldn't refer to me as a girl, Kimberly."

"Well forgive me, John Wayne", she laughed. "But right now, the only thing
you have that looks like a man's possession is hidden beneath your pink gown
and frilly panties.  So I suggest you get used to being a girl, girl!"

My face reddened, and I became silent.  Kimberly finished with the eyeliner
and mascara, went on through the blusher and lipstick.  Finally finished, she
said, "Wow, girl! Aren't you a painted lady now.  You could pass for a
hooker, Dalia!"  She got up and picked a box up from the bed. It was a wig,
which the box identified as a "Melissa" model.  It was light brown in color,
slightly less than shoulder length, wavy but not overly curly. She placed it
on my head, brushed it, then said, "OK, Dalia, now get up and walk over to
the mirror."

I went to the full length mirror attached to the closet door. I was
astonished by what I saw. There stood a fairly attractive girl, with
beautiful hair, dressed in a pink frock. I felt ashamed as Kimberly giggled;
it was as if she had severed my manhood, and thought it good fun.

"What man would want a girl without breasts?  I think my little slut
definitely needs tits! So our next step is to fit Dalia with a bra." She went
through her drawers until she found a simple white bra, one with lace around
the cups and, as did the one I saw last night, a tiny bow in front, between
the two cups.  I slipped out of the frock and put the bra on; Kimberly helped
me fasten it in the back. As she stuffed the cups with cotton, she said,
"What we'll have to do is get something better than cotton, something heavier
and yet soft. I'm sure a lingerie shop should have something to help you."

Next she held up a pair of panties, white ones with plenty of delicate lace
designs all over.  "Before I let you use my good panties, maybe you better go
and change your tampon, girl."  At this, my face blushed red, so much that
Kimberly could notice it through the makeup.  "Come on, Dalia, like I said,
girls have to get used to it.  Now sashay up those stairs and do your female
duties."  Not wanting to argue I went up to the bathroom, pulled the string
that hung from my hole, relieved myself, then found Kimberly's box of tampons.
I felt strange as I opened the box and removed a pink cylinder; strange, like
a person in a land where he clearly doesn't belong. Foolishly I fumbled with
the vaseline, then carefully inserted the cylinder, pushed upon the
applicator, and removed the pink plastic. Sure enough, the cotton filled my
hole, while a little string hung between my cheeks.  I then pulled her
white lacy panties on and went back to Kimberly.

"Turn around, girl," Kimberly said as I stood before her, "let me check your
tampon."  I blushed as she pulled my panties down and tugged slightly on the
string. "Beautiful job; maybe you really should have been a girl!"  I could
tell from the faked earnestness in her voice that she was making fun of me.
"OK, now lets finish dressing." She then handed me a slip, white with plenty
of lace about the bodice and around the hem. I put it on; it fit snugly over
my "breasts", and I could feel it ruffle against my panties and legs as I
moved. It was a very peculiar feeling. Next I donned a blouse, white with
very thin, pale blue stripes, also with plenty of lace running the length of
the buttons, covering the collar and edging the cuffs. Next came a dark red
pleated skirt; as I pulled it up above my slip, Kimberly mentioned how skirts
are ultimately very feminine. "Skirts, in the old days, allowed a man easy 
access to what he desired. No need for a girl to undress; she had just to
raise her skirt to open herself to her man, to do her duty.  And back then, a
girl's principal duty was to please her man.  Try it, Dalia; lift up your 
skirt as if you were opening yourself to your man!"

By this time I had already fastened my skirt in its proper place, with blouse
tucked neatly in and belt tightened such that my waist was no more than 27
inches. I felt helpless in this attire. "Please Kimberly, don't tease me", I
pleaded.

"Come on, lift it up, do it slowly, seductively."

Again I blushed as my shaking hands reached down to my hem, which lay just
below my knees, and lifted the hem up, slowly and apprehensively to breast
level.  Kimberly grinned. "Look at you", she laughed, "any man would go wild
watching you. Good thing your hose and panties hide your little problem!" 

"But, cute little girl, your slip is still down. Now try again. Use your thumb
and index finger to catch both your skirt and slip hems. And extend your
little pinkies."

 I did it again, this time following her directions carefully. I felt
ridiculous. "Perfect", she gushed, "now just hold it there for a minute; try
thinking how a girl would feel with a man approaching her, ready to take her."
I blushed, but was too embarrassed to respond. After a minute she returned and
before I knew what was happening, she snapped a photo of me in my girlish
pose.

 "Please, Kimberly! Please don't take pictures of me like this!", I cried.

 "It's just a little insurance for me, so that you won't slut around anymore,
girl." The tone of her response was such that I dared not protest further. 
"OK; now that we've got a great picture of your lace panties, you can lower 
your skirt." I immediately did so, glad to regain even a little modesty. 
Kimberly then took several more pictures with me in wig, skirt, and shiny red
shoes with medium height heels, forcing me to pose in feminine positions. The
clothes felt unusually restricting, almost as if I were in a strait jacket.
By the time we finished it was approaching 11 a.m.

"Well, Dalia, all this training has really famished me. What do you say; 
 should us girls go out for lunch?"

"You know I can't go out like this", I replied apprehensively.

"Well why not, Dalia?", she replied. "You make a rather cute girl. And girls 
dress up to be seen, not to sit surrounded by four walls. C'mon, sweetie, I'll
do the driving. But before we go, do you have to work on your feminine
hygiene?"

 She kept changing the subject so fast that I had no opportunity to protest.
"What do you mean?", I asked.

"Your tampon, young lady. Should you change it first?"

"No, Kimberly, I don't need to change my tampon!" I spoke as brusquely as I
dared, but the words "my tampon" felt funny coming from my mouth. Apparently
Kimberly noticed, because she replied "OK, baby, leave YOUR TAMPON in for now,
but take some extras just in case!" Again she was laughing as she spoke.

"Now, before you go, you'll need a purse. All young ladies must carry a purse,
including you! I'll loan you one of mine, but maybe you can get one of your
own soon." With that, she handed me a fairly small, red leather purse with a
long thin strap. We sat at the kitchen table; she had me open it.

"You'll soon realize, Dalia, that purses are very useful. Sure, men don't 
carry them, but then, MOST men don't carry mascara and lipstick, DO THEY?" 
Kimberly was taking every opportunity to rub it in; perhaps this was part of
the punishment, and if I took it OK she would soon forgive me.

"So here you go," she spoke while handing me the essentials of womanhood, "red
lipstick to match your nails..., covergirl powder-and notice the mirror
inside, you'll need it to touch up..., mascara..., blusher..., nail polish...,
perfume..., a brush..., a change purse..., and of course, three more tampons
for you, since after all it is your time of the month!" As she handed them 
each item to me, I nervously arranged them inside my purse.

"There now, Dalia, you are as perfectly fitted out as any girl could be. In 
fact, all that's missing is what nature did not provide. I hope you don't
enjoy this weekend too much, or who knows? You may choose a surgeon to give
you what nature did not!  ha, ha!"

"Kimberly, you know better than that! Don't you think you've carried your 
punishment far enough?  What if someone we know sees us? Just think what could
happen!", I said, trying to sway her. 

"Dalia, that's enough. Remember, you are a girl now, meant to serve my needs.
You WILL do as I say!  Now grab your purse, girl, and let's go before I really 
get bitchy." With an air of hopeless apprehension, I did as she said and 
followed her out the door. Luckily, no neighbors were around as I carefully
walked to the car. The heels forced me to take short, dainty steps. Kimberly
instructed me to smooth my skirt before sitting. "You wouldn't want to wrinkle 
your pretty red skirt, would you?", she teased.  I noticed that she was 
casually dressed in a simple brown sweater and jeans, and was wearing flats,
while I, her husband, looked like a high-class secretary.

                                  Chapter 3

I was mostly silent as we drove into town. Luckily, she headed to a section of
town about ten miles from our home, where perhaps I wouldn't meet anyone I
knew. Along the way, Kimberly chatted to me as if I were a young girl in need
of guidance in the ways of this world. She suggested I smile more, as a
friendly smile would make a girl even prettier; and that I check my makeup
every so often, just in case it gets smudged. And she warned me that men might
now flirt with me; if this happened, I should just keep quiet and let her
handle the situation. "A girl like you, Dalia, just doesn't know how to handle
men; a man could easily take advantage of you!" Again, she laughed at her own
"joke".

Kimberly pulled the car into the parking lot of a mall, the largest one in the
city. Although I could see parking spaces close to the building, she parked
quite far from the entrance, apparently preferring that I get some practice
walking in heels.  "There's a very nice french restaurant in this mall, which
serves great salads", she said as we walked towards the building. She knew 
that my male self did not like salads. My heart was pounding with fear, while
I practiced the smaller steps needed when in high heels.

Once in the mall, I practiced the ostrich approach, keeping my gaze down so as
not to see anyone that might be looking at me. In front of a Bali lingerie
store, Kimberly stopped to study the display. "Oh look, Dalia, see the pretty
pink panties and matching bra. With all the lace it is beautiful, but probably
very delicate. If you want, I'll buy it for you, but you'll have to promise to
hand wash it only. No putting your pretties into a washing machine!"

"No, I don't want a bra and panties. Please, let's get moving." I spoke almost
in a whisper, afraid that my voice would cause unwanted attention. I noticed
that people would briefly stare at me as they passed us in front of the
lingerie display, but I couldn't tell if the gazes were just the usual, or 
something worse.

We walked on to the restaurant. As soon as we entered, I knew I was in
trouble. Being lunch hour, the restaurant was crowded, and I quickly realized
that almost all the customers were women. Apparently women preferred the
classy ambience and light food that was served here. Very many of them
appeared to be sales clerks, all young and nicely attired in dresses or
skirts, with plenty of makeup. After a few minutes wait, a waitress led us to
a small table in the center of the restaurant. Being a popular restaurant,
the tables were more or less crammed together, so that I had to squeeze
between a dozen tables in order to reach ours. Still not too surefooted in
my high heels, I managed to bump against several young ladies, at which time
all seated at that table would closely watch me.

When we finally got seated, Kimberly said, "See, isn't this just the nicest
restaurant. All girls like the food here. And now that you're a girl too,
this might become your favorite restaurant."  Kimberly was purposely talking
just loud enough that those around the adjacent tables, which were only inches
away, could clearly hear her. I felt frozen, but I knew if I didn't converse
with her, the situation would surely worsen. "Yes, this is a nice restaurant,"
I said uncertainly. I noticed about five young ladies seated across from me
were all staring at me while they talked. Once they heard my voice, which I
could not disguise well, they all began to openly smile and cast knowing looks
among themselves. One, a cute blond in a blue dress, started giggling, and had
to put her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement.

At that time, the waitress came to take our order. She asked kimberly first,
who ordered a salad. Then, looking at me, she asked, "Ma'am, what would you
like to order?" Trying to limit my speaking, I responded quietly, "I'll have 
the same."  "I'm sorry, Ma'am, could you repeat that?, she responded.  This
time I had to speak louder, and by now three or four tables of women were
watching me. The waitress, cued by the attention the surrounding tables were
paying to me, as well as my voice, then realized the situation. She also
grinned. After writing the order, she replied, "Very well, MISS, it will be 
about five minutes."

I wanted to just get up and run away to safety, but I knew I couldn't, so I 
just sat very still and tried not to look around me, while Kimberly chatted
about this and that, mostly about clothes and fashions. She tried to draw me
into the conversation, but I was much to embarrassed now to discuss anything.
After a couple of minutes, the young ladies surrounding us returned to their
own discussions, although I couldn't help but notice many of them stealing 
glances at me. And at one table the topic had apparently shifted to the topic
of she-males. The same young blond in the blue dress spoke loudly enough that
Kimberly and I couldn't help but overhear her. "Well, I surely wouldn't want a
man who wears panties!, she said to her friends. "Just think of it, a man with
legs as smooth as mine. No way! My boyfriend would never be caught dead in a
dress; he's a real man!"  Apparently her friends were less rude then she was,
as one of them, her eyes glancing briefly towards me, shushed the loud blond.

Soon, two waitresses came by to serve the food. Apparently our waitress wanted
to involve her friend in this happening. Both were cute young Mexican lasses,
wearing matching black dresses with white lace aprons, apparently the standard
uniform at this restaurant. After setting our food down, one girl looked
directly at me, smiling, and said, "Well, MISS, is there anything else I can 
get you? Would you perhaps be interested in our desert? It is low in calories
and guaranteed not to put on pounds!" Both Kimberly and the other waitress 
were clearly amused at my discomfort. "No", I replied, "this will be all, 
thank you."  Very well, MISS", she said; then the two waitresses left, talking
in spanish about their apparent encounter with a transvestite.

As Kimberly and I had both ordered small salads, it didn't take very long to 
finish the meal. I, in particular, was very anxious to exit this ordeal, so I
tried to hurry Kimberly as much as possible, although she did continue to make
small talk about fashions and clothes. When we finished Kimberly said that she
would go to the register and pay.

"Thanks," I said, thinking she was trying to spare me additional
embarrassment.   "No problem, Dalia", she replied, again in a voice loud
enough for others to hear, "after all, I am the only one wearing pants at this
table. I suppose it's my duty to pick up the bill for a cute young lady like 
you! While I'm paying, you better touch up your lipstick, as it's smudged."

"No, I can't do that here in front of all these women," I softly pleaded.
"Well, Dalia," she whispered, "if you can't apply your own makeup here, then I
will do it for you!"  With that she got up and walked across the room to the
cash register. I knew she meant it; if I didn't do what she asked, she would
set me down here in front of a hundred people and apply makeup on me, which
would surely draw a great deal of attention. I had no alternative. Once again,
I noticed, the young women at the surrounding tables were sneaking glances at
me; the young blond was simply staring at me, not even trying to conceal her
intrusion.

I glanced towards Kimberly; she was in line at the register, with several
others ahead of her. It would take her a few minutes to pay. She was watching
me. I placed my purse on my lap, unzipped it, and removed the covergirl
compact and the tube of bright red lipstick. Nervously, I opened the compact
and raised it close to my face so that I could use its mirror. Then, using my
other hand I carefully applied the lipstick.  The women at the three
surrounding tables (all now aware of my secret) were watching me. After
applying lipstick, I used the pad in the covergirl compact to dust a little
powder on my cheeks and nose. I looked up, and saw Kimberly watching me from
across the room.

I guess the sight of a man, dressed as a woman, applying lipstick in a busy
restaurant in the middle of the day, was just too much, because I heard a
chorus of giggles coming from the three tables near mine. All were laughing at
me! Then the young blond girl rose from her seat and came over to me.

"Oh, Miss," she gushed, "I couldn't help but notice your lovely shade of 
lipstick!  What brand is it, and where did you buy it? It is just so very
feminine!"   At a loss for words, I just sat there as she mocked me in front 
of her friends. "Well", she continued when I failed to respond, "maybe you can 
tell me where you bought your pretty red shoes?", she loudly asked while she 
gazed down at my shaved legs and panty hose.

Then Kimberly arrived and responded for me. "SHE does have such pretty shoes,
doesn't SHE?," said Kimberly to the blond girl. "As a matter of fact, my 
GIRLfriend was thinking of shopping for another pair of pretty high heels
after we leave here. Would you like to join us?"  Girlfriend, she called me, I
was no longer her husband! Clearly, Kimberly was going to make this as hard on
me as possible; I would have to pay dearly for my `crime'.

Sensing that ridicule of me was acceptable to Kimberly, the blond girl decided
to enjoy herself, at my expense. "Oh, I would love to, I'm sure that together
we could find a pair of heels that would truly flatter her cute legs, such
that all men would whistle when she passes in a short skirt!  But, I have to
be back at work shortly. Maybe your girlfriend could come by Macys' lingerie
department, where I work, and pick out a pair of cute panties?"  At this, I
decided enough was enough.

"No thank you," I said, "but we'll have to be leaving now." Whereupon 
Kimberly, angered by my disobedience, responded, "Oh, Dalia, don't be such a 
pouter! Surely we can find time to pick up a few pretties for you."

With that, the blond responded, "Fine. The lingerie department is on the 
second floor. Just ask for me, my name is Suzy." Looking directly at me, Suzy
continued, "Dalia, I'll be looking forward to helping you select some lacy 
panties!" Then she left with the others at her table, all of whom were now 
smiling and giggling.

At last I was able to leave the restaurant. Standing up, and with all the
dignity I could muster, I smoothed my skirt and followed Kimberly out into the
mall area. The girls that were still sitting near us, their curiosity perked,
stared at my  shaved legs, hose, and shoes as I walked out, still wobbling a
bit on the high heels.

Once in the mall, before I could even begin to protest my treatment, Kimberly
began to lecture me. "Dalia, if you expect me to forgive you, you must behave! 
You were doing fine until you snapped at Suzy. Only with my permission can you
talk back to anyone, do you understand, girl?"

"But," I replied, too meekly, "she was making fun of me, and so were you. How
am I supposed to act?"

"You look like a sweet young girl, and you will act like one! That's that! 
Anyway, Dalia, those girls were probably just envious of you; after all, your
makeup is as good as any of theirs, and you are dressed prettier than most of
them.

I watched you touch up your lipstick; you did a fine job. Maybe you should
have been born a girl. Just think of all the fun you missed out on.... like
wearing ribbons in your hair...., playing with your own Barbi doll..., and
flirting with guys."

"Kimberly," I interjected faintly, "I am a guy."

"I know, I know, Dalia. But just imagine... if you had been born a girl. 
Imagine your body, soft and curvy like mine. Imagine having real breasts.
Imagine having a girl's hips.  Surely, dressed as you are now, such thoughts 
are not difficult to imagine."

Yes, I thought as we walked through the mall, she was partly right. While
dressing this morning, my thoughts had briefly wandered in that direction.
But I knew I could not admit any such ambiguity if I were to have any hope of
returning to my previous stature in Kimberly's eyes. I prayed that still, even 
after what was happening, things could return to normal on Monday, and all of
this could be forgotten. So, partly to change the subject, and also because of
nature's call, I said, " "Kimberly, we must go home now. I must use the 
bathroom, and I cannot do that here."

"What do you mean, we have to go home?", she replied. Look, we happen to be
near the restrooms right now; they are just down that aisle. You go ahead,
I'll be waiting here for you."

"Kimberly", I pleaded, "I can't!"

"You can and you will, because I say so! Just go down that hallway and you'll
find a women's rest room; the men's room is down this other hall. It's your 
choice; I guess this is your moment of truth," she laughed, "will you choose
to be a boy, or a girl? Will you choose to be masculine or feminine? Pants or
skirts? Stand or squat?"  Again, she had me in a bind; surely I couldn't enter
the men's room dressed like this!  So, I walked towards the hall where the
women's room was located, while she giggled.

"Great decision! And hey, don't forget to change your tampon, girl!", she 
called after me, so loudly that I feared someone would overhear.

Redfaced, and with heart pounding, I entered the forbidden territory of the
ladies room. One young lady was in there, but she was busy applying mascara
and took no notice as I quickly slipped into a stall. As Kimberly had said, it
was time to squat. Here I was, in a woman's place, wearing women's clothes,
and even relieving myself in a woman's posture. What, I wondered, had happened
to my familiar and comfortable world? Heeding Kimberly's warning, I carefully
tugged on the string that fell from my hole. When I finished, I took the
another tampon from my purse and carefully inserted it, and then struggled to
get all the layers of clothing back into place.

When the room was quiet and apparently empty, I left the stall and stopped
before the mirror just to check my appearance. To my eyes, the figure in the
mirror looked very much a lady, and not at all like me. My male identity,
groomed over a lifetime, was fast slipping away.

I quickly exited, grateful not to have had to deal with a crowded restroom, or
worse, a security officer, and returned to the mall area where Kimberly was
waiting. "Dalia," she exclaimed, "you took forever in there! What were you up
to, primping in front of the mirror like a teenage girl? Getting a little self
conscious about your makeup? Well, you needn't worry, you still look 
gorgeous." She grabbed my hand and pulled me along, but in her jeans and flats
she was much faster than I in my skirt and heels.

"Slow down, Kimberly, I can't keep up with you," I pleaded.  "Oh, sorry, girl,
I forgot that you want to show off your legs with dainty steps. Have you
noticed that the clicking of your high heels causes all the men to stare at
your shoes; and then their gaze travels up your legs to your skirt. Wouldn't 
they be surprised to see what's under your skirt, and wouldn't you be
embarrassed?"

"Quit teasing me, Kimberly. Now where are we going?", I asked.

"Well, since you've received a personal invitation to visit Macy's lingerie 
shop, I suppose we'll have to go there next. Who knows, maybe Suzy likes you.
After all, she probably has no idea that you're married, since not too many 
women would care to share their panties with their husbands. OK, Macy's is 
this way."

I followed her into the department store; to reach the lingerie departmment we
first passed through cosmetics. Hundreds of different brands of foundation,
lipstick, mascara and perfumes were arrayed in brightly lit glass cases. As we
walked, Kimberly continued, "maybe while we're here you can purchase your own
makeup, just in case you care to dress up on your own from now on. And some
perfume." Rather than argue, I just followed her as best I could in my heels.

When we reached the lingerie department my heart began throbbing with
apprehension. While I could pass from afar, and thereby not merit much
attention, here it would be different. Suzy knew I was a man, and it was
obvious she did not like men infringing upon female territory. I feared she
would treat me badly, and to avoid further wrath from Kimberly, I would have
to take it. I hoped that she would be gone, but that wasn't the case.

"Hello!" she greeted me in a mocking tone as we approached her. I'm sorry, but
I forgot your name, Ma'am. What was it?" She was looking at me, as was
Kimberly.

"Dalia," I replied with a touch of bitterness. "Dalia! Such a sweet name!" She
motioned to a co-worker to come over. She was a Mexican girl, maybe twenty
five years old; at about five foot four she was quite a bit shorter than Suzy,
who was as tall as me. Like Suzy, the Mexican girl was also very pretty; she
had long black hair, large dark eyes, and a mouth that curved slightly up at
the sides. She wore a red dress about the same color and texture as my skirt,
and shiny black open-toed shoes with heels at least an inch higher than mine.

"Maria," Suzy said when her friend reached us, "this is Dalia. We met at lunch
today." I could tell from Maria's embarrassed but curious expression that Suzy
had already told Maria of her lunch encounter with an apparent transvestite.

"Dalia is here to purchase more pretty lingerie to add to her collection. 
Maybe you can help her choose some. I believe she prefers the really feminine
stuff. No cotton briefs for this girl!" While Suzy was speaking, Kimberly had
backed several steps away from us, and was just watching with a big grin on
her face. I was left alone to deal with Suzy and Maria, and I knew that if I
didn't go along with this, Kimberly would do something rash.

"OK. Dalia, where would you like to start? Panties, bras, slips, camisoles? We
have everything you could possibly desire." Maria spoke with a spanish accent.
Coming from a culture where males are macho, she seemed a little uncomfortable
dealing with one wearing a blouse and skirt.

Knowing Kimberly was watching closely, I stammered, "Well, I guess I would
like some panties." I blushed.

Maria led me across the aisle where there was a large assortment of panties in
a myriad of different colors and styles. "Over here we have our best panties,
our `Sara Jane' line. They come in regular or bikini cut. Which would you
like? Go ahead and browse through them; you are sure to find something
adorable."

At this I looked around and did not see Kimberly, but I knew she was nearby. I
picked up a pair of pink bikini panties and held them up, acting like I was
inspecting them for quality. Meanwhile, Suzy had started talking with another
clerk, who apparently was one of Suzy's friends.

"Maria is helping Dalia pick out some nice girl's panties. Panties are really
exciting to Dalia, particularly lacy pink ones, isn't that right, Dalia?" Suzy
posed the question to me, although she was talking to the other clerk, a
pretty brunette of about Suzy's age and height, whose name tag identified her
as Ellen. Apparently Suzy was going to treat all her friends to this scene
that I was creating. Maria's face appeared to express sympathy for me, whereas
Suzy and Ellen were strictly looking for kicks at my expense.

"I'm just shopping," I replied, trying to cut short this conversation. But 
Suzy continued, while Maria watched us uneasily. "That's OK, girl, there's 
nothing wrong with enjoying pretty panties. Most GIRLS do. That pair you are
holding is very cute. What type of panties are you wearing now, Dalia? Are
they pink, or white? Maybe you could raise your skirt and show us your
panties! Or at least you might like to try on those you are holding; Maria
could help you in the dressing room, couldn't you, Maria?" While Suzy talked,
Ellen walked slowly around me, closely inspecting my clothes, shoes, and
makeup.

I addressed myself to Maria, and tried to ignore Suzy and Ellen. "May I have 
two pair of these," I said, still holding the pink panties, "and that will be
all."

"Fine," said Maria shyly, "and would you like to see our line of bras? Our 
`Olga' bras are on sale this week."

"Thank you, Maria," I said, and followed her across an aisle to where the bras
were displayed.

"Here is one in a shade of pink to match your new panties, and the size should
fit you. If you like, you may try it on," Maria added.
"Go ahead, try on the bra!" Suzy was interjecting unwanted comments. Then she
held up the pink bra in front of my chest, and said to Ellen, "Look, Ellen, 
this bra will look great on her! Wait till her boyfriend sees her in this;
he'll go wild."  Ellen laughed at Suzy's comments.
"I don't have a boyfriend," I said brusquely, even though Suzy hadn't been
talking to me.
"What! A cute girl like you without a boyfriend? What do you think, Ellen, can
we line up a date for Dalia?" They both laughed.

"Maria, I'll take this one," I said, holding the pink bra. "I'd like to pay 
now, please."   It was time for me to leave before Suzy really got me in 
trouble.  I followed Maria to the cash register; the two panties and one bra
came to a total of $17.69. With Maria across the counter, and Ellen and Suzy
at my sides, I placed my purse on the counter and opened it. With the three
young ladies watching, I was understandably nervous. I fumbled in my purse,
looking for the money I needed. While I fumbled, a tampon fell from my purse
and onto the counter. I froze. It lay on the glass counter, long and thin in
its white and blue wrapping, with all eyes on it. Maria stared at it for some
seconds, then glanced briefly up at my face, then as quickly her gaze went
back to the bra, from which she was removing the anti-theft tag. A broad grin
had formed on her cute face.

Suzy was not so discreet with her thoughts. "Oh, miss!" she exclaimed loudly,
as she quickly picked up the incriminating evidence and held it in front of me
for all three women to see, "I'm afraid you've dropped your tampon! We
wouldn't want Dalia to be caught without her feminine protection, would we 
Ellen?" Both Ellen and Suzy were laughing, and even Maria, who had been my 
protector through this ordeal, was giggling now. "It sure is dreadful when 
your time of the month comes, isn't it Dalia? How we poor girls must suffer, 
having to stuff cotton into our bodies. Men are so lucky, they don't have to 
deal with such problems...., that is, at least MOST men don't!" Apparently 
Suzy and Ellen really thought this was funny, because they began laughing
uncontrollably. Too ashamed to accept the tampon from Kimberly, I quickly paid
Maria for the lingerie and walked out towards the mall area, flushed and
shaken.

Feeling a sense of relief when I finally got out of Macy's, I stopped to sling
my purse strap over my shoulder, and look around for Kimberly. By now the mall
was becoming more crowded, and groups of men and women were passing me. I
noticed that most of the women shoppers wore slacks, not skirts, yet here was
I, a man, wearing perhaps the cutest skirt in the entire mall.

After a few minutes she came out of Macy's.  "Dalia", she said, "there you 
are. I thought you would be in the lingerie department for quite a while, so I
stopped by the magazine department. How did it go?"

By this time my spirit was completely crushed. "It was terrible. Can we go 
home now?"

"What do you mean, terrible? Kimberly replied, feining ignorance, "I see that
you managed to find something you liked. Would you like to show me what's in 
the bag?"

"It's underwear; I can't show it to you here in the middle of a busy mall,"  I
replied with a tone of exasperation.

"Underwear! No, no, Dalia, from now on you must refer to your pretties as 
lingerie. Underwear is not a very feminine term. Now, before we go home, let's
stop and get you some shoes of your own, something to fit you better. Maybe
then you won't be walk like a ten year old girl parading around in her 
mother's high heels."

At this point my spirit was far too shattered to do anything but tag along
after Kimberly.  Her comments about my walking made me self-conscious, which
had the effect of making my walking even worse as I strained, too much, to
walk in what I thought was a normal feminine manner. After walking halfway
across the mall, we entered a typical women's shoe store named Mandy's Shoes.
I noted with a sense of relief that the store was not busy; other than the two
clerks that were standing by the cash register, we were the only ones in the
store. The clerks were too busy talking to each other to give us immediate
attention. I accompanied Kimberly as she browsed around.

"Well, Dalia," she said, "you could either purchase a pair of red shoes, which
would go nicely with the outfit you're wearing now, or you could buy a pair of
dark blue pumps, which would go good with most of your other outfits. What
would you prefer, girl?"

"I don't have any other "outfits". Remember, I'm a man. Come Monday, I'll 
never wear another dress!"

"My, but aren't you a sensitive slut!", she countered. "You'll be a girl 
tomorrow, too, so you'll have to wear something different, won't you? Or maybe
you plan to prance around all day wearing just your new lingerie...which just
may be a good idea!  And who knows, you might just decide you like being a
girl, and take to dressing up often. Don't worry, Dalia, I won't mind if you
admit you like dressing up!"

Again, Kimberly took my show of resistance and totally destroyed it. Each time
a trace of my manhood emerged, she immediately cut it off with her sharp
comments.  And dressed as I was now, how could I do anything but retreat into
passivity?

"OK, you win," I replied, "let's look for something in dark blue."

"Oh honey," she gushed, "you are so sweet! Look at this shoe. Isn't it pretty?
Wouldn't you love to slip these on?" Kimberly had picked up a navy blue, open
toed shoe with a tiny ribbon in back and a heel even higher than the shoes I
now wore.

"Kimberly, I don't think I could walk in those. They are too high," I 
responded.

"Oh, sure you can. Girls love high heels, even when they hurt. You try them 
on, and then we'll decide."

At this time one of the sales ladies came over. "Hi, my name is Patty. May I 
help you ladies?" she queried. Patty was quite young, probably in her early 
twenties, with shoulder length blond hair and a cute girlish face. She was the
first woman I had seen today wearing lipstick as red as mine. Her pastel green
skirt ended about six or seven inches above her knee, white pantyhose adorned
her shapely legs, and she wore simple black shoes with about one inch heels.
Although somewhat short, at about 5 foot two, she was fresh and sexy in a way
that only young women can be.

"Yes," Kimberly responded. "My girlfriend here would like to try on a pair of
these shoes. She loves the look of them, but she's not too sure that they will
be comfortable. Do you have a pair in her size?"

"I'm sure we do. That is a very popular shoe; it's very feminine and is also 
well made", the clerk responded to Kimberly while she eyed me quizzically,
apparently wondering why Kimberly was doing all the talking for me, as if I
were a six year old girl. "Please sit down and I'll take a measurement."

"Do you know about what size you take?" she asked me after I had seated. She
had slipped off my right shoe; my shaved legs and bright red toenails showed
through my sheer pantyhose.

"No, I'm not sure," I mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to mask my masculine 
voice. She looked up at me, stared at my face for a long minute, apparently
studying it closely; while I blushed, her gaze then slowly went down, peering
at my blouse, breasts, waist, skirt, legs, and finally ending back at the foot
she was measuring.

"Stand up and put your foot in here." I did as Patty said, while she took the
measurement. "Looks like a size ten will do, Ma'am," she stated, then rose and
went to the back room to get the shoes. I noticed she motioned her co-worker
to follow her to the back; apparently she wanted to share her discovery. My
spirit was too wounded to talk with Kimberly; I simply stared at my very
feminine legs and feet. Were these really my legs? Were these my toes, with
their nails painted so nicely? Why would I, a man, be wearing silky pantyhose?
What, Oh God, was happening to me!

"I'm sure you'll love those shoes, Dalia", Kimberly said, interrupting my
thoughts. "In fact, maybe while we are here, you could get another pair also,
something plain, like a pair of flats. Sometimes, even pretty girls don't wear
heels. You need something you can wear around the house, while you do the
cleaning and cooking, shoes you can wear to the laundrymat, things like that.
Not tennis shoes; they would not be in keeping with your image. Just some
flats. Still feminine, but practical."

"Sure", I replied meekly, "anything you say."  Kimberly smiled at my response;
she could clearly see now that she was winning, that I had reached a state of
surrender, of submission to her demands.

Patty came, carrying the shoebox. "I'm sorry, miss," she said, smiling at me,
"all I found was a size 9 and a half. It should still fit you well. Maybe a 
little bit tight, but after all, we girls are slaves to fashion, aren't we?"

I could tell from her tone that she was enjoying this, her chance to be
superior over a man. She knelt down and used a shoehorn to force my feet into
the high heels; meanwhile, her co-worker watched from a few feet away, where
she was pretending to rearrange a display.

"You have such beautiful toenails. Did you have them done at a salon, or do 
you apply your own polish?", she asked with a mocking tone. "Oh, Dalia does
her own nails, and quite well, don't you think," said Kimberly, "I really like
the bright red color she chose, it's nearly the same color that you are 
wearing."

"Oh, it is, isn't it? Hold out your hand, and let's compare," exclaimed Patty.
I was forced to hold out my right hand, with fingers extended, while Patty put
hers next to it.  I was thinking my hands were fairly pretty, but next to her
delicate and soft hand, mine looked large and coarse. A look of triumph
crossed Patty's face; she had shown herself to be far more feminine than this 
man that dared to trespass into womanhood.  Men might act superior to her, but
she had shown herself to be above me.

"Oh, you have cute hands," exclaimed Patti, "but rather large for a GIRL. But
let's see how these shoes feel on you. Go ahead and walk around a bit."


The new shoes felt tight on my feet, although less so than those I had been
wearing all afternoon. They did look very nice; as a man, I would have admired
these shoes, had I seen a comely young lady walk by wearing them. Now, on me,
I did not admire them; instead, the shoes embarrassed me deeply. The shoes
were symbols of my emasculation, witnessed by the three women that watched as
I rose to my feet and wobbled about the store.

"Dalia, you walk as if you've never worn high heels before!" Patty exclaimed 
in a joking voice. "Surely a pretty girl like you must have dozens of pairs of
high heels at home, and, I imagine, all well worn from use. Keep
walking...maybe they just need to be broken in a bit."  With Kimberly 
watching, I had no choice but to do as Patty said.

I walked up and down the aisles, while the ladies watched in amusement. It was
very difficult, as the heels were so high. To keep from stumbling, I was
forced to take short steps. My ankles wobbled .

"Notice how the high heels raise Dalia's fanny up, and causes it to wiggle 
seductively as she walks. That really drives men wild. It also make her legs
appear longer and more feminine." Although Patty was talking to her co-worker,
she spoke loudly so that Kimberly and I could not help but hear; she then
redirected her comments to me: "Tell me, Dalia, are you buying these for a 
special occasion? Maybe an important date with a special boyfriend? These
would also be good at a formal occasion, like a wedding. Perhaps you are going
to be a bridesmaid at your friend's wedding?" she asked, while nodding towards
Kimberly.

"Oh, no, I'm already married," Kimberly responded, while I continued walking 
up and down the aisle, as if a model at a floor show, "But if I ever divorce 
and remarry, Dalia will definitely be one of my bridesmaids! She would look so
very nice wearing a blue or pink taffeta gown with plenty of lace!" I blushed 
at the thought of being a bridesmaid as Kimberly, my wife, walked down the
aisle with another man. Yes, I realized, she had such a power over me that, if
she so commanded, I would do even that.  Meanwhile, all three girls were
laughing at my expense.

"I don't believe that Dalia has a special date lined up," Kimberly continued 
speaking to Patty, "at least she hasn't introduced me to any of her boyfriends
yet.  Maybe you know a nice man that Dalia could date?"

"I don't know," responded Patty, clearly enjoying this discussion, "most of 
the guys I know need a girl able to physically satisfy them. Poor Dalia might
be embarrassed if a real man's hand groped under her panties!"

I did not like where this conversation was headed, so to change the topic, I
said, "I think these shoes will be fine. I'll pay for them and go."

"Fine," replied Patty, "but first, walk one more time up and down this aisle.
I want to be sure the shoes fit properly. Now walk slow, one foot carefully in
front of another."  I did as she said, walking slowly but with greater skill 
now, down the aisle and up again, while the women watched my every move. "You
know," said Patti to Kimberly, "I think she's getting it. She's walking very
steadily now, taking small feminine steps. I bet Dalia's mother would be so 
proud of her daughter!" Patti was referring to me as if I was a young teenage
girl getting her first pair of heels.

"Before she leaves, Dalia would also like to purchase a pair of flats. 
Something she can do housework in. Would you help her with that, while I step
out for awhile?" Kimberly asked Patty.  "Sure," replied Patty, "I'll help your
cute girlfriend."  After Kimberly left, I was alone with Patty and her 
coworker.  Together we decided on a pair of beige flats; these also had a
little bow on them, "to maintain your image," as Patty said.

"Dalia," asked Patty as she was ringing up my purchases, "I see by the sack
you're carrying that you've been to Macy's. What did you get there?" I knew
that Kimberly would return soon, so I cooperated with my questioner. "Just
some underwear," I replied.

"Underwear!" Patti exclaimed, "somehow I can't picture you buying `just 
underwear'.  Let's see what you have!"   As I took my lacy pink bra and 
panties from the Macy's bag, both of the clerks started to laugh. "My, you 
really do have a thing for feminine clothing, don't you?  I bet you used to 
wear your sister's panties when you were little, didn't you?"

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

"Sure you did, Dalia. You can't fool us. Tell me, don't you often wish that 
had real breasts, like mine? Real breasts are much more soft and sensuous than
cotton balls, you know."

"I'm happy with the breasts I have," I replied, blushing.

"Well, these days anything is possible. Maybe some day you can have your own 
breasts, and at the same time, get rid of that nasty little thing that hangs
between your legs. Just imagine how nicely your new bra and panties would fit
you then", Patty cruelly joked.

At this time Kimberly returned, carrying a package from Toys-R-Us. "I see 
Dalia has selected her new shoes," she said while looking over the flats.

"Yes, she has," exclaimed Patty, "and very pretty shoes, at that! Dalia surely
does have a girl's eye for fashion, doesn't she?"

"Indeed she does," replied Kimberly, "what with her new high heels, maybe 
she'll give a floor show tonight, wearing just her new bra and panties! 
Wouldn't that be so exciting!" I blushed at the thought of appearing in front
of an audience dressed, or rather undressed, in such a manner.

"It sure would. But don't you think that Dalia should be wearing nylons and 
garter belts? That would really make her performance extra special. And we
just happen to sell them here. What do you think, Dalia, would you like to
look at our merchandise", asked Patty.

"No, I don't think so. I've bought my shoes; that's enough for today," I
responded.

"Dalia!", Kimberly exclaimed, "I think Patty has a very good idea. Go ahead, 
Patty, show Dalia what you have."  Patty then led us to the pantyhose counter,
and pointed out several pair of old fashioned nylons. At Kimberly's urging, I
selected a pair of white nylons. Patti then pulled out a pair of garter belts;
they were hot pink in color, and had plenty of lace.

"Just look at these garters!", Patty said to me, "the ultimate in femininity.
I know most men love to possess these, as a symbol of their conquests. I guess
to men, these are proof that they've had their hands in places forbidden. Of 
course, most REAL men don't actually wear the garters they collect!" At this 
joke of Patty's, all three women giggled. Once again, women were laughing at 
me while I just stood there, eyes downcast, blushing. How many times today had
I been humiliated so?  How many more episodes would follow before Kimberly's
punishment would cease? If I were a man, wouldn't I strike out at my
persecutors? But then, I realized, if I were a real man, I wouldn't be 
standing here wearing a blouse, skirt, and pantyhose, while three young women
joked about my feminization. Yes, Kimberly had chosen her punishment well; she
had severed my manhood.

"Dalia," Kimberly said loudly, rousing me from my self-pity, "look these over
and tell us what you think. Do you like these garters, or should we look at
others?"  I could tell from her voice that her anger was returning, so I 
meekly took the garter she handed to me and held it in front of me. My smooth
white hand, my bright red nails, and the hot pink garters juxtaposed into an
explosion of color. My eyes focused upon the feminine red nails (were these
really mine!) rather than the frilly garter.  "Isn't it so very, very pretty,
Dalia," exclaimed Patty, grinning as she watched me carefully handle the 
womans' merchandise, "just imagine how pretty it will look around your smooth
thigh! And if you dare raise your skirt while wearing these garters, the men
will simply go wild! Maybe you would like to try them on here, so that we can
see how they look on you?"

"No thank you," I replied meekly, "I'll take them. I don't need to try them
on."

"Oh go ahead," urged Kimberly,"we want to see how they look, don't we?"

"Sure we do," giggled Patty. "There's a small dressing area over there," she
continued, pointing to a door behind the register.

With an air of surrender, I took my newly purchased articles and went into the
changing room. It was small and had a scent of perfume. A pair of old
pantyhose lay discarded on the floor. I proceeded to remove my shoes and
pantyhose, taking care not to run them. Then I carefully pulled on each nylon,
positioned the garters in place, midway between my knees and my groin, and
slipped on my new blue heels. Such a feminine sight: slender and smooth legs,
white nylons, pink garters, and high heels with pretty blue bows. I was
flushed by contradictory feelings; the sight was sexually exciting, but the
realization that these were not the legs of a beautiful girl, but instead were
my legs, was repulsive to me.

After just a few minutes I was ready; I apprehensively opened the door and
emerged into the gaze of three smiling young women.

"Oh, isn't she seductive now!", gushed Patty, as she reached over and gently
rubbed my leg, as if to smooth a wrinkle in the nylons. The sexual ambiguity
of the situation, and the touch of such a pretty girl, caused my remaining
maleness to begin to stir. But now I lacked tight pantyhose to conceal the
problem.

"Lift your skirt some, Dalia, so that we can see your new garters," said
Kimberly.   Afraid now to disobey, I carefully reached both hands to the hem
of my red skirt, and slowly lifted my skirt until the garters became visible.
At this point, I was actually holding the hem at above waist level. This
astonished Patty's coworker, whose embarrassment at seeing a man in such a
position caused her to turn crimson.

Because I could not tell, from my position, just how high my skirt was raised,
I inadvertently raised the hem so high as to show my panties. "Dalia!",
exclaimed Kimberly with a tone of indignant mockery, "your panties are 
showing! And there's a little something in your panties, girl!  Shame on you! 
What are you hiding in your pretty panties?"

Clearly the audience had noticed the arousal underneath my panties. Quickly I
let loose of the hem, and the skirt fell back into place, hiding my panties,
garters, and other unmentionables from view.

"Well Patty", exclaimed Kimberly, "I suppose I had better take Dalia home now,
before she dirties her panties!"  Patty was giggling as I, red-faced, followed 
Kimberly out the door of the shoe store. I struggled to catch up to Kimberly,
but the new high heels were very difficult to walk in. It took several minutes
before I reached Kimberly's side.

"Please Kimberly", I begged,"PLEASE take me home now."

"Dalia," she replied, "here I am, trying to discourage you from ever acting
like a slut again, and what happens? Not only do you apparently get a sexual
kick from the punishment, but you even show your disgusting little erection to
two complete strangers. Am I supposed to be happy about this?"

"But Kimberly," I pleaded, "this was your idea. I don't want to wear these
clothes; you made me."  

That may be true, Dalia, but it doesn't excuse you. You didn't have to show
those girls that swelling in your panties, did you? But let's leave.
Maybe...maybe we can put this little incident behind us."

Kimberly's words relieved a bit of my stress. Finally, we were going home,
where I would be safe from further ridicule. Maybe at last my nightmare was
ending.

"Wait a minute, Dalia," said Kimberly, interrupting my thoughts, "you are
wearing your new shoes and nylons, but where are my red heels and pantyhose?
You didn't leave them in the shoe store, did you?"

"No...I don't know..." I stammered, fearing the worst, "let me check my bag."
Furtively I looked inside the Macy's sack I was carrying, but saw only my pink 
lingerie. No shoes. No pantyhose. God, I prayed, don't make me go back to that 
store.

"I don't see them in the bag...., but that's OK, I don't need them.  Let's go
home, Kimberly,...please," I begged, but to no avail.

"Dalia, I don't believe this! You forgot my shoes at the shoe store. Now that
you have your own pretty high heels, you want to leave mine there! No way! Now
you prance back to that store and get my shoes and my pantyhose, and while
you're there, you can apologize to the saleswomen for showing them your
bulging panties!  Meanwhile, I'll be over at Mrs. Fields having a cookie and 
coffee." Kimberly's scolding was so loud that two passing teenage girls 
stopped to watch and listen. I knew I couldn't protest any more here without 
causing worse complications, so I turned and walked slowly back to the shoe
store.

I felt conspicuous as I walked, since my blue heels were too high and did not
match the rest of my outfit. But few people seemed to notice; they just walked
by, leaving me alone in my misery.

After what seemed to be ten minutes, I finally reached Mandy's Shoes. So
nervous that my hands trembled, I walked into the store. Patty and her
coworker were in the store chatting with a customer, a pretty brunette, maybe
thirty years old, wearing a chic but professional light green business suit
with pleated skirt. Her white blouse had a lace collar. Judging from her
clothes, and the fact that she carried a woman's briefcase, I assumed her to
be a professional, perhaps an attorney or an accountant. The three women were
at the far end of the store, looking over some shoes but too engrossed in
their conversation to notice me.  I couldn't help overhearing a bit of their 
conversation as I hesitantly approached Patty.

"It was really something; there he was, all decked out like a woman, and he
lifts up his skirt as if he were a little girl! It was so funny I nearly pee'd
in my pants," said Patty.

"Makes me glad that my boyfriend is a real man. Imagine having to be with a
fem like that", the brunette interjected.

At that point Patty noticed me approaching. "Hey!", she exclaimed loudly,
"here comes Dalia again. Hi there, GIRL! What can we do for you?  Maybe you
would like to buy some more frilly garters?"  All three women were smiling as
I approached, my new heels clicking loudly as I walked. The brunette in
particular studied me closely, scrutinizing my clothes and makeup.

"No thank you, Patty," I responded, speaking softly while keeping my gaze down
in a meek manner. "I believe I left my shoes here...have you seen them?"

"I'm not sure, girl...descibe them for us."  Patty was apparently going to
make this tough for me.

"Red high heels...also, I've left a pair of pantyhose. I may have left them in 
the changing room," I replied, blushing at the embarrassment of my situation.

"Pantyhose also! Dalia, a girl simply cannot get into the habit of leaving her 
pantyhose in strange places. Only loose girls do that! And surely you are not
one of those, are you?  Well, let me check the room for you. I would let you
do it, but then, you might be tempted to play around with something in there.
My boss would not like it if you left stains in the dressing room!"

Patty was obviously trying to embarrass me in front of the two other women,
and indeed she was successful. In my situation, what could I do? If I were to
yell or stomp around, showing anger, they would simply call the mall security,
which was the last thing I wanted now. And besides, dressed as I was, I would
surely look foolish were I to rave like an angry man. So I tamely accepted her
jibes.

Patty walked off towards the dressing room, leaving me with the two others.
The brunette customer turned to me and said, "My, you make a very cute young
lady. You know, I've read about transvestites in Dear Abby's column, but I've
never met one before."

I didn't respond. I had no desire to get into a dispute about whether or not I 
was a transvestite; after all, I was wearing a skirt.

"In a way, I can understand why you prefer being a woman," the brunette
continued, while Patty's coworker sat silently, watching and listening.
"Surely not all men can be tough and independent. Some men are probably soft
and passive by nature, and what better way of expressing that then by wearing
a bra and panties?  I imagine you prefer many feminine activities, such as
sewing and housekeeping?" 

At least she wasn't being critical of me, like Patty was. I reasoned it would
be best to at least respond to her questions, so as to keep her on my side.
Maybe then, Patty would back off a little.   "Oh, I like some of those
activities, a little," I responded softly. The brunette smiled at my response, 
apparently pleased that she had gotten me to open up a bit.

Oh, I'm sure you do," she responded. "I bet you would make a great maid. I've
read that some guys like doing such work, particularly when dressed in a
maid's uniform. Myself, I don't care for that type of work. I'm a CPA. But I
say, if a guy wants to do laundry, make beds, scrub floors, clean bathrooms,
well...that's fine with me. And one must admit, for that type of work, a dress 
and apron is appropriate garb. As a matter of fact, my girlfriend and I share
a house, and we could use the services of a good maid...neither of us like
that type of work! Here, take my card and give me call....if you need a little
extra work, that is." 

She was smiling as she reached into her purse and handed me her business card.
While her words were, it seemed, derogatory towards me, the tone of her voice
remained friendly, so I thought I would at least have to remain friendly
towards her.  I accepted her card, without commenting, and placed it into my
purse.

"By the way, Dalia, your makeup is very nice, but your lipstick is smeared a
bit at one side.  You had better freshen it up....girls must look their best,
you know!"

I didn't want to cause trouble, so I just thanked her and took my compact and
lipstick from my purse. The two women smiled broadly as I fumbled with the
lipstick. Eventually I was able to hold the compact's mirror in front of me,
and touch up my lipstick with my other hand. At this moment Patty returned.

"Oh Dalia!", Patty exclaimed, "what a girl! Always have to have everything in
place. Primping like a princess!"  Then she held up my pantyhose in front of
all of us, holding it at the waist so that the legs dangled down. "Look what I
found in the dressing room. Must be your pantyhose, all right. Leggs, a
favorite brand of most women. You do have good feminine taste.

"But, Dalia, I couldn't help but notice there is a little stain on them," she
continued, whereupon all eyes focused on a greasy white spot, about an inch in
diameter, located directly in the center of the panty section of the garment.
"I'm not sure what it could be...some sort of sticky white substance. Well, 
girl..., what do you think it could be?" she asked.

Clearly Patty was playing a trick on me, making me look foolish. She must have
rubbed a little white shoe polish or cold cream on them.

"No! I didn't do that! You're just teasing me!" I exclaimed. I was flushed, as
the clothes, wig, and tension had made me suddenly very warm. I feared that I
might faint. Tears began to form in my eyes, and I felt several run down my
cheek.  "Please," I said to Patty, "I must go now."

"Now, now, Dalia. Don't cry. You're a big girl now; you might smudge your
mascara. Here," she continued, handing me the shoes and pantyhose, "whatever
the stain is, I'm glad I didn't touch it!  I certainly hope that the stain
comes out tonight when you rinse your panties and pantyhose!"

Quickly, I placed the shoes and stockings into my Macy's bag. As I turned
around to leave, I saw that Patty and her coworker were laughing. The brunette
was smiling, but I thought I noticed a touch of sympathy in her eyes.  I left
the store and began walking through the mall, listening to my high heels click
as I walked.  By the time I reached Mrs. Fields, I had regained a bit of my
composure, but the stress and the tampon had combined to make me uncomfortably
in need of restroom facilities.  I saw Kimberly seated on a bench in the
center of the mall's hall, sipping coffee.

"Dalia, come and sit down," she commanded. I immediately complied, grateful to
rest my feet.

"Well, did you get the shoes? And what took you so long, anyhow?"

"Yes, I have your shoes. It just took them awhile to find them, that's all.
I'm very tired now; can we go home?" I asked plaintively.

"See, Dalia, it's not at all easy being a girl, is it?  I suppose we can go
home now. You've at least gotten a feel for what women must contend with, and,
of course, maybe now you'll think twice before you hang around with other 
women. I suppose you deserve a rest."

I sensed a touch of compassion in Kimberly's voice. Maybe my ordeal would soon 
end. Maybe, just maybe, things could return to normal.

"Thank you, Kimberly," I said. "But first, I have to use the rest room; all
this tension has loosened my bowels." Kimberly and I both stopped at the
ladies room before leaving the mall. I felt odd entering it with my wife;
Kimberly smiled as she held the rest room door open for me. "Ladies first,"
she joked as I entered.  Luckily the rest room was empty. Kimberly watched as
I went into a stall; while I relieved myself, she touched up her makeup. After
finishing, I carefully inserted my last tampon, as I feared that Kimberly's 
apparent goodwill would vanish if I failed to do so.

Kimberly was waiting as I exited the stall. "Dalia, you can freshen up a bit
while I use change my tampon," she said. Then she looked in her purse and
said, "Oh, Dalia, I'm out of tampons. Loan me one of yours, please."

Her voice seemed to have a sarcastic edge. She was smiling at idea of her
husband letting his wife use one of his tampons. I didn't see any amusement in 
my situation.

I looked into my purse, but realized that I had none left, having already
used two, and leaving the third at Macy's. "Kimberly, I don't have any left,"
I replied meekly, "I just used my last one."

"YOUR last tampon!" she replied incredulously. "I seem to recall, girl, that
you borrowed my tampons! I thought you took three with you. What happened to
the third one?" 

Too embarressed to tell her what happened at Macy's, I told her that one fell 
into the toilet as I tried to insert it.

"Well, Dalia, I suppose all girls have some misfortunes during their first 
period.  OK, then, let's go," she continued in mock anger, "but before we 
leave, you must stop at the drugstore and buy your own tampons!"  She then 
made me touch up my makeup before leaving the ladies room. I dreaded the
thought of purchasing such a private female item, but said nothing as I feared
it would just incite Kimberly to further punish me. The end of this ordeal
was in sight, I hoped, if I could just clear this final hurdle.

There was a large drug store just a few stores up from the ladies room. It
sold a variety of merchandise, including cards, cosmetics, perfumes, film,
etc., and was for that reason a fairly busy place. In a way I was hoping that
Kimberly would accompany me with this purchase, as she was so pretty that she
diverted attention from me. However, as we approached the store, Kimberly
said, "Dalia, you go ahead and make your purchase, while I browse through the
magazine rack."

"Oh, please Kimberly, can you come with me this time?" I pleaded.

"Why? You're a very competent young lady; surely you can pick the correct
tampon for yourself. After all, most girls learn such essentials when they are
thirteen or fourteen years old. Now go to it, young lady!" Again Kimberly was 
teasing me, treating me as if I were a naive young girl. Having no choice but
to do this alone, I left her and walked down a long aisle filled with
cosmetics. Four women were there, looking at various toiletries; two of them
stared at me as I passed them and walked to the end of the long aisle, where a
"Feminine Products" sign hung. Before me was a multitude of personal items,
including douches, kotex napkins, panty shields, and tampons. Seemingly every
package had on it a picture of a young lady in a carefree, feminine pose. Why,
I wondered, was I, a man, purchasing such a product? It seemed as if I was
transgressing some natural law.

Before me lay a number of varieties of tampons. What I had thought would be a
quick process turned into a rather difficult decision. Some tampons were in
blue packages, and some were in pink. Sizes included slim, regular, and heavy.
Some had plastic applicators, others had cardboard applicators. I tried to
recall the type I had borrowed from Kimberly; I knew they came in a blue box,
and I thought they were regular size. While I was trying to decide, a tall
lanky teenager, with long blond hair, approached me; she wore a blue blouse
with a name tag ("Jennifer"), so apparently she worked here.

Jennifer was so tall that I had to look up a bit as she asked in a friendly
and cheerful voice, "May I help you, Ma'am?"

My heart sank. I had hoped she would just pass by. "I'm just looking," I
responded in an unconvincingly feminine tone. Instantly I realized my mistake.
Instead of just saying no, I had responded with what could be interpreted as a
request for assistance. Jennifer looked at me; I could tell she was unsure of
whether I wanted her help, but I guess her "customer first" training
prevailed.

"Well, this week we have a special on this new brand," she said, picking up a
pink box of tampons. "And, since they use cardboard applicators, they are
better for the environment. What is your regular brand?"

I wanted to run from the store, but knew I couldn't. Instead I would have to
discuss with this young lady my use of tampons.  "Oh," I replied uncertainly,
"I suppose that cardboard is better than plastic. But I was just looking for 
the plastic type."

I knew that once again my voice had revealed my true nature. Jennifer closely
inspected me, from head to toe. I suppose my obvious embarrassment at my
situation made it clear to her that I was not a real woman. Luckily, she
didn't appear to be frightened or angry.          

"Are you really a woman?" she asked bluntly, but in a youthful, carefree tone
of voice.  She was smiling, still holding the pink tampon box before me.

A touch of panic seized me. After a few long moments of silence, I managed to
stammer, "No...not really..., but I'm just trying to..., well... just for
today..., maybe just for today I am..."

"Just for today you are what?" she asked quizzically.

"Well..." I continued unsteadily, "I'm a woman today..., just today."

"What!" she said, laughing aloud, "how can you be a woman for just a day?.
Either you are, or you are not.  And let me guess. You're really a man, aren't
you?"

"..yes.." I replied meekly.

"Wow," she continued, but apparently without anger, "this is really something
else. You know, I've never seen a she-man before. Gosh, you really look like a 
lady. You must dress up a lot, don't you? And look! you even shave your legs!  
Very feminine, aren't you. But..., what do you do with tampons? I wouldn't
expect a boy would be able to use tampons, even if he did want to be a girl!"

"Well.., I stammered, "well, I don't use them often... just occasionally."

"Occasionally?" she laughed, "like every month?  Ha, ha,..., I bet I know what 
you do with them! You put them up your behind, don't you? I can't believe it!
You're really kind of kinky, you know.  But don't worry, it's your body. Guess 
you can do what you want with it. You know, real women hate that time of the
month, but here you are, wanting to have a period. Wow!  Anyway..., what about
this type of tampon," she asked, putting down the pink box and picking up a 
blue box, "it's the kind most real women use. Maybe they'll fit you, too. 
Would you like these?" 

"Sure," I replied, eager to get this over.

Jennifer handed me the box of tampons, and asked "well, ma'am..., or
sir...whatever...what else can I help you with. Need any cosmetics? Perfumes?" 

"No thank you. This is all. I'll go pay for it now," I said, then began
walking down the aisle to the register.

Jennifer followed me. She was still friendly, but she was not subtle. She
spoke loud, as if it were everyone's right to know about me. I got the idea
that maybe Jennifer was a little immature, a "dumb blond" type.

"I really like your white hose," she babbled, walking just behind me, "I think 
I'll get some like that. Kind of sexy, if you know what I mean. My boyfriend 
would love it if I wore them.  But your blue shoes kinda clash with your red
skirt.  Don't get me wrong, they're very pretty shoes. I just love the little
bows..., I once had shoes with bows like that, when I was a little girl. But
they are the wrong color. The blue clashes with the red, you know. But still,
you don't dress bad at all, considering you're a guy and all." 

Finally I reached the checkout counters, and luckily one of the two registers
was empty. The clerk at the register was also a teenage girl, dressed in the
same blue smock that Jennifer wore. The clerk had dark hair and a dark
complexion; her name tag identified her as Patricia. Unfortunately, as I set
the tampon box down at the counter, Jennifer stood at my side.

"Patricia," Jennifer said aloud, "guess what? This lady is actually a man. He
just dresses like a woman. Isn't that something?"

"Forget her, Ma'am, she's crazy," Patricia said to me as she passed the tampon
box over the laser scanner. "That will be three dollars and 78 cents, please."

"It's true!" Jennifer exclaimed, loudly. "Tell Patricia that I'm not lying,"
Jennifer said to me, in a laughing voice.

Blushing, I reached into my purse for money. I gave Patricia a five dollar
bill.

"She is joking, isn't she?" Patricia asked me.

"Well..." I responded, "...please, I must get going!"

"Sure," said Patricia, giggling. Here, let me put your tampons in a sack,
MISS!"   With that, she handed me the sack and I quickly left the store.
"Lady," Patricia called out loudly as I left the store, "you forgot your
change!" But I chose not to go back.

I walked through the mall towards the door we had entered over three hours
ago. The high heels forced me to take short girlish steps; it didn't take 
Kimberly more than a few minutes to catch me.

"Hi, girl!" she said cheerfully, "how did it go? Did you find what you 
needed?"

"Yes, I bought what I needed," I replied. "Now can we please leave? Please! I 
am sorry for hurting you, and I'll do anything you say, anything at all. But 
I'm very tired.  My feet hurt. My nerves are shot. Please, if you love me, 
please take me home."    

It was clear to her that she had broken my spirit. I was now hers to do with
as she wanted. "Of course, my pretty one," she exclaimed in an amused voice.
"Though you shouldn't complain so much about just a few hours in high heels. 
If anything," she continued as we left the mall, "you should thank me for
showing you a few of the pleasures of womanhood. You've experienced a bit of 
life few men have. And you do make a pretty girl, at that!

"You know, Dalia, you deserve this punishment, and more! I need you to 
realize who is in control here. As you can see, it is I who wears the pants
in this family!"  

I listened to Kimberly talk on as we slowly drove back across town, to our own
world; she talked as if intoxicated by her now clearly superior position. On
and on she went, discussing the latest fashions as if I were just another
girlfriend, not a man, not her husband. Most disconcerting, she even discussed
men, what they want of a woman and how a woman must cope with those wants,
never once acknowledging that I was a man with similar feelings towards her.
I watched the city slide past; I felt so odd and disoriented. The feel of high
heel shoes, of pantyhose tight against my waist, of a bra strap which had
slipped down off my shoulder, the distinct taste of lipstick and the pleasant
smell of perfume, all combined with my exhaustion to nearly put me into a
trance.  What, I wondered, was yet in store for me?


                                 Dalia's Story 
                          Part 2 of 3: Women's Work
                   By: Cindi Johnson of Dallas, Texas

I awoke from a deep sleep. I was in my bedroom. From the sunlight shining
through the westward facing window, I automatically realized it was not
morning. No, it was late in the day, I must have taken a nap, I thought to
myself.

Then my arm brushed against my chest, touching an unfamiliar object. I looked
down, and with a shock I realized I was wearing a bra! What's going on, I 
thought to myself, but then it all came back to me..., Kimberly's anger and my 
punishment..., the trip to the mall,..., the terrible humiliation I had
suffered at my beloved Kimberly's behest. Yes, I recalled returning from the 
mall, completely exhausted, and Kimberly's order to me to take a nap so that, 
in her words, I "would have energy sufficient to enjoy the remainder of the 
weekend."

Still laying in bed, I tossed the blanket off of me and gazed, dumbstruck by
what I saw: a woman's body! Hairless legs, arms, torso..., no hair anywhere, 
as the triangle that remained was hidden inside tight pink panties. I also
wore a slip, although its skirt had ridden up as I slept. Painted toenails! I
wiggled my toes to reassure me that those feminine feet were indeed my own.

I sat up. A dress was draped over a chair; high heels and pantyhose lay on the
floor. They belonged to me, I realized. Deeply embarrassed by what I saw, I
wanted to run far away from it all, but I knew I couldn't.  Instead, I went to 
the closet and found a pink robe of Kimberly's; I put it on so as to cover my 
frilly lingerie, then went downstairs. Kimberly was sitting at the kitchen
table, drinking coffee and reading a magazine. She looked serene and
beautiful. She did not look up from her magazine, but instead ignored me,
apparently to stress that she alone was in control, while I was at her whim,
like a dog.

"Hi Kimberly," I said hesitantly, "mind if I join you?"

Kimberly looked up at me, sternly at first, followed by a slight grin. What
was she thinking, I wondered, as she watched her husband clad in her clothes?

"Sure, get me some coffee and then have a seat. You must have fell sound 
asleep. Did your adventures tire you out, my pretty pet?"

"Yes," I replied grudgingly, "I guess so. All of this has stressed me out. 
Kimberly, I don't know how much more of this I can handle."  I set her coffee 
cup down, and sat opposite her. My red nails contrasted with the white coffee
cup as I took a sip. She didn't respond, so I continued. "I really could be 
headed for a nervous breakdown or something."   

"Really?", she laughed. "My husband having a nervous breakdown, and why? 
Because he cannot handle for one weekend what all girls must deal with
throughout their entire lives! What's bugging you? Maybe your mascara is too 
hard to apply?  Well, a ten year old girl can do it, so you can too! Or maybe
your pantyhose is uncomfortable?  So what..., do you think women enjoy donning
pantyhose each day?  It isn't so, my pet.  Or..., how can I say this without 
sounding dirty..., maybe Dalia doesn't like having her period?  It bugs you, 
having to buy tampons to shove into your private areas?  Well, honey, you
definitely are not the only girl in town who dislikes her time of the month!"

Again it seemed I had set her off. I tried to calm her. "OK Kimberly, I'm 
sorry. I know you are right. I'll try my best to do what you want, but please 
don't get mad at me!"           

"So," she said, apparently acting immediately to retain dominance, "it isn't 
that bad after all, is it, Dalia?"

"No...", I lied, "I can handle it."

"Then tell me you don't mind wearing high heels," Kimberly commanded.

"Please don't make me.." my reply was quickly cut off by Kimberly.                 

"Say it, Dalia: I enjoy wearing high heels!" she commanded.

"I enjoy wearing high heels," I replied, beaten.

"And say you like wearing a bra", she continued.

"I like wearing a bra," I replied.

Dalia, don't you wish you had real breasts, like mine?" 

"Yes," I responded, still lying but following her que, "I wish I had breasts 
like a woman's, just like yours, Kimberly."         

"Well, maybe some day you can, Dalia," Kimberly said, smiling, but breaking
off her strange interrogation, "these days anything is possible. Just relax, 
Dalia, and your punishment won't seem bad at all. Believe me, a woman's body
is something a man should envy, all soft and curvy and beautiful. Maybe by the
time this weekend ends, you will wish for more than just breasts. You may even
want another hole to place your tampon in! These days such dreams can be
accommodated!"

"But enough of that; I'll allow you to make that decision," she continued, 
then changed the subject to something a bit less threatening. Since we're not 
doing anything now, let's check out your accessories. Go get your new shoes 
and your purse."  I did as instructed, setting the high heels and purse on the 
table.

"Dalia, a girl usually tries to match a purse with her shoes. For the time 
being, I've loaned you my purse, but its red and doesn't match your new blue
heels, does it?"            

"No, I suppose not," I responded, wondering where this was leading. Kimberly's 
emphasis was on the fact that I owned my own high heels, something I was
forced to concur with.

"So, it seems you will have to buy a purse or two of your own, Dalia. Oh, 
don't worry, purses are such fun to shop for! But for now, I'll let you use my
beige purse, which more or less goes with your shoes and with your next
outfit. Let's empty out this purse," she said as she began removing the 
purse's contents and setting each item on the table, " and put everything into
this other purse. You know, most girls rather like to change purses
occasionally. It gives us a chance to see what we have in them."

"Let's see..., she continued, removing items from the purse as I watched, "two     
tubes of lipstick, slightly used, I might add!  Foundation.  Mascara.  Oh, and
here is your covergirl powder...you know, Dalia, you did a very good job of
applying your makeup in the restaurant!. I felt like a proud mother watching
her daughter blossom into womanhood," she said giggling.                      

As she talked, I was silent. Whether she was purposely teasing me, or just
saying what she believed, I didn't have any idea. But suddenly her bubbly 
comments ended, as she saw the business card the young lady had given me in
the shoe store.

"What's this, Dalia?  Jennifer Davis, CPA.  Who is she, another of your 
friends! This does it. I've had it with you!"  

"Wait, honey, that's not it at all. I don't even know that woman."

Then what the hell is her business card doing in YOUR purse!" .  

Kimberly please. It's not what you think. She was in the shoe store this 
afternoon and gave me her card for some reason. That's all."

"That's All!  Ha!  You must have come on to her, you slut. You asked for her 
phone number, didn't you?"  

No, honey, she was just in the store, and mentioned something about needing
maid service, and gave me her card. I took it so as not to offend her, that's 
all. Please believe me!"                  

"Maid service!  That's great!  So you want to be a maid? You like dressing up   
like a woman so much, that now you want to see what woman's work is like, too? 
I can't believe this, my own husband wants to be a maid, of all things. And do 
what.., wash Jennifer's clothes? Scrub Jennifer's toilet?"

"No Kimberly," I protested, but to no avail, as she would not even listen to
what I had to say.

"Well then, go right ahead. Call her now. Right now. Tell her you'll be 
available for maid service tomorrow morning.  DO IT!"  

I tried and tried to change Kimberly's mind, but she refused to listen. She 
brought the phone to the table and demanded that I dial Jennifer's home 
number, which was listed on her business card.  What else could I do?

Jennifer answered. I introduced myself as Dalia, mentioned where we had met,
and offered my services for tomorrow. With a slight tone of amazement in her
voice, she asked me to come at ten. I hung up and told Kimberly, who was
halfway between anger and laughter.

"Dalia, I had hoped we could have fun tomorrow. But now you will be going off 
to do your own thing. I'm very hurt by this, very hurt. But you can start 
tonight, right here. Go into the laundry room and wash the dirty clothes. Pull
out our lingerie and wash those in the kitchen sink, by hand. Now get to work!
After that, clean the dishes and vacuum. Get some practice for tomorrow.  Who
knows, maybe if you're a decent maid, you can make us a little extra spending 
money. At least you won't have time to slut around while you're busy cleaning
houses!"

I asked her if I could at least put some clothes on first. She gave me a denim
jumper to wear, then grabbed her purse and left without even a word. I went
upstairs and donned the jumper, then straightened and brushed my new hair. The
house was quiet and it was already dark outside as I set about my tasks, still
feeling very foolish in my new role.  I worked slowly, apprehensive about what
tomorrow would bring. By ten I had finished, so I went upstairs to bed. Not
wanting to further upset Kimberly, I slipped into the pink nightie first,
climbed into bed, and soon fell asleep.

I awoke at 8:00. Again, it took some minutes to orientate myself; the first
think I noticed was a tightness around my chest. Once I realized that this was
caused by the bra I wore. Everything came back to me. Kimberly was asleeping
next to me.

Carefully I rose from bed and went to the bathroom, thinking all the while of
escaping before Kimberly woke up. I could grab some of my clothes, a towel to
wipe the makeup still on my face, and run to the car. Just drive away! But
what would this mean to my marriage?

Interrupting my thoughts of freedom, Kimberly called out "Dalia, it's already 
after eight, and you must be at work at ten. You better take a bath and remove
any hair that returned overnight. I'll go down and make coffee."

No anger or malice in her voice, she just spoke as if everything were normal,
as if it was something I did every day, dressing like a woman to go out and
labor as a maid. But at least she wasn't angry. Maybe, I reasoned, If I did 
what she said, her mood would't change. Reluctantly, I went upstairs and 
shaved my legs, arms, chest, and face, then applied moisturizer, and even
changed my tampon. Then I went downstairs.

"Oh, sweetie, you look so refreshed! Did you sleep well last night. Did I wake 
you when I came in last night?"

"No," I replied, "but where were you?"

"Don't worry, girl," she laughed, "I wasn't out with a man. After all, I'm not 
the slut in this house, remember?" She said this in a joking manner. "Hurry
up, eat some cereal. You've got to get ready soon."

"Kimberly," I pleaded, "don't you think this has gone too far? Let's drop it, 
please. Let's get back to normal, please?"

"No way!" she said angrily. "This is all your fault, remember? Now you will 
pay the price. The weekend isn't over until midnight tonight. That's our deal,
and we will stick to it, or else!"

I dropped the subject, as it was clear she wouldn't budge. 

"But don't worry, Dalia, today will probably go by very fast, and before you
know it you will be a man again. Will I still be able to call you Dalia after
today?" she teased me.

"You know, I am taking care of you. You should thank me. For example, look 
what I bought you last night while I was out." Kimberly emptied a Pennys bag 
on the table. "First, you now have a uniform appropriate to your new career,"
she laughed as she held up a black, frilly dress. "This is a maid's uniform, 
just like they wear in the movies. You'll look so sexy in it, I'm sure!"

"How could I possibly look sexy in a dress," I grumbled.

Oh, I mean in a feminine sense. You'll make a sexy girl, you will. Not a 
typical career girl, though, ha, ha."

"Now to complement your black uniform is this white blouse," she said, holding
up a short sleeve, lacy blouse with starched lace collar. Staring at these
women's articles, I cold not, no matter how hard I tried, picture me in them.
What astonishing power Kimberly has over me, I realized.

"And of course, white pantyhose to complete the perfect maid's outfit! Now, I 
think it's time you start getting ready, girl. You wouldn't want to be late
your first day on the job, would you?  Take your clothes upstairs and get
dressed."

Defeated, I followed her orders. On the bed Kimberly had set out a clean
lingerie, including very tight spandex panties which, according to Kimberly,
would keep my "little problem from causing any trouble", as well as some type
of bra inserts which felt like water balloons, and which according to Kimberly
would "jiggle like the real things". Under Kimberly's watch, I soon was 
dressed and, again with her help, made up with what I thought to be too much
makeup, including rouge on my cheeks and bright red lipstick.

"I bet you are worried that your shoes clash with your uniform, aren't you? 
Well, guess what," she asked as she pulled a pair of black, two inch pumps 
from a box, "these should make your day brighter!"  Kimberly was being
unusually nice, even helping me put on the new shoes, which felt too tight on
me.

Finally, feeling extremely foolish and humiliated, I was ready to leave for
work. But I had a plan; instead of going to Jennifer's home, I would drive to 
an empty parking garage and stay there for a couple of hours, then tell
Kimberly I had finished with the job. After all, I reasoned, she really didn't 
expect me to go to a strange woman's home, dressed like this, to humiliate 
myself. After all, I was her husband!"

"OK, Dalia, time to go. You really look stunning! You know, we could probably 
get you a job at a hotel or something, once you get some experience. I'll tell 
you what, dear, I'll drive you to work, and then pick you back up when you 
finish. That way, I can use the car this afternoon."

I felt panic. No, this can't be happening..., I'll really have to go through
with this. How can she do this to me? I could refuse, but I need her, and
besides, she has those damn pictures of me posing in her clothes. I was too
stunned to talk as we went to the car. Luckily, no one was around to see me.

"Please," I begged her as she drove the couple of miles to Jennifer's house, 
"you can't really expect me to do this." I was so nervous that I started 
crying.

"You WILL do this, Dalia. Now quit crying like a schoolgirl, before you ruin 
your mascara. If you don't finish your punishment, then it's all over. And you
better do a good job there, because I may well check up on you!"

Kimberly easily found the destination, and pulled the car to the curb. It was
a typical surburban home. "Now get out!," Kimberly ordered.

I got out and to my surprise Kimberly immediately drove off, leaving me
standing there all alone. What if this woman had changed her mind, and wasn't 
home? How would I get back home? I slung the strap of my purse over my
shoulder, then hurried up the walkway; the neighborhood was very quiet, the
only sounds were a bird chirping and the clicking of my high heels. Truly
embarrassed, nervous, and scared, I rang the doorbell.

After an eternity lasting at least a minute, a blond girl opened the door. She
stared at me but didn't say anything, instead waiting for me to introduce
myself first. I noticed she was very pretty, with a cute page boy hairstyle,
and was as tall as me. She was casually dressed in tight jeans, a loose pink
pullover, and no makeup.

After a second I got my words out, trying to maintain a falsetto appropriate
to my attire. "Hello, I'm Dalia. I'm her to see Jennifer Davis."

"Why?", she asked, putting me on the spot. Apparently this girl was not going
to make things easy for me.

"Ah..," I hesitated a bit, "I'm a maid who has come to clean the house."

"A maid", she exclaimed, smiling broadly, "a maid has come to clean house! 
Yes, Jennifer told me about you, although I thought she was putting me on.
Well come on in, maid, I'm sure we can find you plenty of work. What a cute 
uniform you have..what was your name again?"

"Dalia," I replied softly, "my name is Dalia."

"Well, Dalia," she continued, "I'm Sheila, Jennifer's roommate, and I'm sure 
we can find you something to do. You can start with the laundry. I don't like 
doing laundry, so it stacks up a lot. I know washing clothes is woman's work, 
but some women like to do it more than others. I guess you're a girl that 
likes to wash clothes, right?"

"Yes, I do," I replied. I knew I had to appear that I wanted to do this, so I
tried to appear enthusiastic. "I'll do my best."

"I bet you will," Sheila laughed, "but be careful not to damage anything.
You'll have to separate out all the lingerie, which you can hand wash in the
kitchen sink. If there are any brown smudges, you'll have to scrub them off, 
you know. But tell me, how long have you been a maid?"          

"Oh, for a while", I answered evasively. At this time Jennifer came in from
another room, but she just stood aloof at a distance, watching but not
speaking. I had hoped she would be my ally through this ordeal, but now I
wondered if this would be so.

"And tell me, Dalia, do you clean homes every weekend? Maybe we can have you 
do this more often."                   

"Well, it's not all the time," I replied.

"OK, Miss Maid, here's the laundry room, now you can get to work. I've shown
you where the kitchen is. Now your tasks are: first, wash all the dirty
clothes, second, wash the dishes, and third, scrub and wax the kitchen floor.
If you work hard at it, you should finish by noon. Jennifer will have more for
you to do after that. In the meantime, I'll be in the den working. Don't
bother me unless I call you. Do you understand, Miss Maid?"

"Yes, I understand, Sheila," I responded. I wish she would quit calling me
Miss Maid, I thought to myself. She's just making fun of me.

Please don't call me by my first name. After all, we aren't friends or
anything. You may address me as "Miss Sheila" or "Ma'am". Remember, you are 
just the maid.  You don't mind me calling you Miss Maid, do you," Sheila asked 
me in a mocking tone.

"No, I guess not, Miss Sheila," I replied glumly.

"But gosh," Sheila exclaimed, "here I am just assuming you're not married! How 
foolish of me! Tell me, Dalia, do you have a husband? Any children? Maybe
you're an expert at changing diapers, too!"

I felt very weak, as I became aware that Sheila apparently disliked me. She
was a woman very comfortable with conventional sex roles, and would probably
punish me for transgressing those roles. I noticed that both of the women
smiled as they awaited my response.

"No," I replied, blushing, "I have no husband or children."

"Well, I'm sure such a sweet young maiden as you will catch a man soon, so 
don't worry," Sheila laughed, "but now, Miss Maid, you better get to work. Put 
your purse on the table. You know, I've never seen a real maid actually work 
in high heels before. I suppose you always wear high heels, right?"

"Yes, Miss Sheila, my shoes are part of my uniform," I responded with waning
enthusiasm as I set my purse down.

With that I entered the laundry room, and started separating the clothes,
putting lingerie in one pile, whites in another, colors in another. Once the
whites were washing, I went to the kitchen and started hand washing the girl's 
intimates, one by one. I couldn't help but notice that all of their panties
were lacy, as were the bras and slips. These girls clearly enjoyed looking
feminine, even where nobody could see. While I was busy hand washing a lacy
pair of pink panties, Sheila, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the
paper and drinking coffee, for the most part ignoring me as if I was nothing
more than an insect, took another verbal jab at me.

"Miss Maid, be careful with my panties! I wouldn't want your long nails to 
inadvertently tear them."

"I'm sorry, Miss Sheila, I'll be more careful," I responded meekly, deeply
embarrassed over my situation.

"Thank you, Miss Maid," Sheila laughed, apparently impressed that she could
cause me to tremble so easily. "But you do seem experienced in this. Tell me, 
do you rinse your own panties by hand?"

"Why,.., yes I do, Ma'am," I responded, lying, but thinking that would be
easier than to try to explain to her the real reason I was in her home,
dressed as a maid, rinsing out her dirtied panties.

"And, Miss Maid, do you handwash your own bras and slips, too?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I responded softly.

"Well that's very nice, Miss Maid," she replied, as I continued washing her 
unmentionables. "Jennifer and I usually do ours in the machine. I guess we
aren't quite as good at the feminine arts as you are," she laughed. "I bet 
you're wearing the prettiest panties under that uniform, aren't you, Miss
Maid? Tell me, what color are they?"

"Ah..., I believe my panties are pink, Ma'am," I replied nervously, wishing 
she would leave the room and let me finish.

""Pink! The favorite color of all us girls! And are they lacy, too?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied, blushing.

"You know, Miss Maid, when I was in high school, sometimes we would compare 
our panties while we were in the girls room, just to see whose were the most
feminine. I'm sure you did that in school too, didn't you?  Anyway, since
you've already seen my panties- after all, you're washing them right now- it's 
only fair that you show me yours. Go ahead, Miss Maid, lift up your skirt so I
can see!  After all, Jennifer said that yesterday you showed your panties to
everyone at the shoe store." Sheila was having a good time at my expense.

"But," I protested meekly, "they made me do that yesterday!"

"Well then, let's just say I'm making you do it today. Now raise your skirt, 
my little maid, so I can see those panties of yours!"

Embarrassed, I did what Sheila demanded. I held the hem of my skirt and slip
at breast level, so that my panties fully showed. Luckily, I thought to
myself, they were very tight and hid my maleness well. At this time Jennifer
entered the kitchen, in the center of which I stood in so undignified a pose.

"Woo-ee," Sheila exclaimed as she slowly circled me, feining such interest in
my undergarment. "My, Miss Maid does indeed have pretty panties! And no 
unsightly bulge, thank god; apparently you weren't generously endowed by the 
Creator, were you?" She laughed at my obvious discomfort at her comments.        

"Thank you, Miss Sheila," I foolishly responded to her comments about my
panties; immediately I realized that she probably thought I thanking her for
saying that my maleness was inadequate.

"MISS DALIA!" Jennifer spoke for the first time today, acting like a mother
reprimanding her daughter. "PLEASE LOWER YOUR SKIRT!"

I immediately dropped the hem of my uniform, and turned to Jennifer with a
frightened look on my face.

"What's wrong with you? Yesterday when the clerk at the shoe store told me 
about how you showed off your panties, right in the mall of all places, I
really didn't believe her. But here you are again, showing off your panties to 
a woman you hardly know. Shame on you, acting like a five year old girl. If
you insist on acting like a baby, maybe we ought to put diapers on you. Now
get back to work. And when you're done rinsing our lingerie, go out and hang 
them on the clothesline, very carefully!"

"But...," I sputtered, "shouldn't I use the dryer instead?"

"No, use the clothesline. The dryer heat could damage the lingerie. Now 
remember, you are here as a maid, so don't question what we ask you to do. I 
think, after all, that Sheila and I know exactly what services we require from
our domestic help. Your input isn't necessary. Now I'm going back into the
other room.  And by the way, Miss Dalia, while you're hanging out the wash, DO 
NOT show your panties to the neighbors!"

Sheila stood off to the side, smiling, but not admitting to Jennifer that she
had ordered me to act so indiscreetly. I felt faint; the stress of my
situation combined with my tight clothes made me light headed. My hands
trembled as picked up a delicate, baby blue bra from the dirty lingerie pile
and plucked it into the water. Once the two women were satisfied that I was
properly back at work, they left the room. I could hear them talking and
giggling in the other room; while Jennifer spoke too softly for me to
understand what she was saying, I was able to overhear Sheila.

"Wow! I just can't believe that's a man out there! What a fem! Why, even I 
would never wear a dress like that, yet "he" does! And showing off his panties
like that! Jennifer, I didn't believe you, but you were right. What else 
should we have our little maid do for us?"  At this point the TV was turned 
on, over which I couldn't here anything more than occasional giggles.

While inside Jennifer's house I at least felt somewhat protected, the thought
of going outside, dressed as I was, absolutely terrified me. But eventually I
finished washing and rinsing all the girls' lingerie, and had no choice but to 
carry the basket, half-full of lingerie, outside to dry. The door outside was
located just past the laundry room, so at least I didn't need to pass the 
girls on my way out.

My only hope was that no neighbors would be outside, but alas, such was not
the case. Jennifer's neighbors to the west, a young married couple, were 
outside barbecuing. Both took turns staring at me as I nervously hung up the
dozen bras, and a like number of panties, slips, and half-slips. I had
difficulty walking on the grass in my high heels. Finally finished, I minced
back into the house, still under the incredulous gaze of the young couple. I
could only pray they did not realize I wasn't a real woman!

By this time I had the last load in the dryer and had cleaned all the dirty
dishes; I still had to clean the kitchen floor, but didn't know exactly how to 
do this, as there was no mop. Wearily I ending up on my hands and knees, still
in high heels, scrubbing the floor by hand, and using a sponge to wipe up
afterwards. I had to take great care while doing this, so as not to soil my
dress or even my pantyhose, as I feared that Kimberly would not be happy were
I to return home a complete mess.

While I was scrubbing Sheila came into the kitchen; she had changed from her
jeans into a short olive-green skirt, and I noticed she now wore lipstick and
mascara, which transformed her into a very stunning beauty. Standing next to
me, she said "I'm sorry, Miss Maid, I didn't realize the floor was wet!"

"That's OK, Miss Sheila," I responded. As I looked up I couldn't help but gaze
under her skirt; she was wearing lacy pink panties identical to a pair I had
just hand washed. I blushed, compromised by my position, and felt an unwelcome
stiffening in my panties.

Sheila immediately noticed where my eyes had wandered to. "Miss Maid," she
exclaimed in feigned astonishment, "you're looking under my skirt. Shame on 
you! I've had men try to look under my dresses before, and I always knew just 
what they were after," she said in a bragging tone of voice. "Luckily, Miss
Maid is a nice GIRL..., you were probably just admiring my panties, weren't 
you, Miss Maid."

"Yes...," I stammered.

"I bet you were just wishing you had panties like this for yourself, isn't 
that right, Miss Maid," she asked me, laughing but still standing fully 
exposed over me.

"Yes, Miss Sheila," I responded dejectedly, my eyes again glancing up towards
her forbidden fruit, "I was just wishing I had panties like yours."

Sheila laughed, poured a cup of coffee, and again left me alone, scrubbing the
floor in my maid's uniform. Up until just two days ago no woman would have 
questioned my manhood, but now, this beautiful woman not only questions it,
but ridicules it. How, I wondered, had Kimberly gained such complete control
over me that she could force me into this?

After an hour of difficult labor, I finally had the kitchen floor cleaned and
waxed. I could see my reflection in it, or at least the reflection of my new
alter-ego, the subservient maid.

With trepidation, I minced towards the den where Jennifer was working at a
computer; the clicking of my high heels on the wooden floor warned her of my
approach. I was relieved that Sheila was not around.

"Miss Jennifer," I asked softly, afraid that she too would take offense were I
to simply call her by her first name, "I've finished with the floor, and 
folded all the clothes. Your lingerie probably won't be dry for another hour 
or so. If there's no other work for me, I'll call for a ride home."

"Well, Dalia..., or do you prefer to be called Miss Maid, as Sheila calls
you..., you really are an excellent maid. But I'm sure we have more for you to
do here. I wouldn't want to spoil your fun, after all. We have two baths in 
this house; you may start on the one over there, and then do the one upstairs.
And after that, you should probably freshen up. All this work has caused your
makeup to run a bit. And then we'll have a little surprise for you."

Aware that my ordeal would not be over for some time yet (where was Kimberly,
I wondered. Would she come by and pick me up? What if she didn't?), I set to 
work cleaning bathrooms. The downstairs one was small, more like a half bath,
and was basically clean before I even started, so it didn't take long to scrub 
it clean. After that, I went up the stairs, carrying a bucket of soapy water,
toilet cleaner, windex, and towels. I almost slipped, as I was not good at
climbing stairs in high heels (how, I wondered, do women ever get used to such
shoes!). At the top of the stairs were two large bedrooms, one smaller guest
room, and the bath. It was somehow exciting to me to be so near to where these
two pretty girls slept.

The upstairs bath was much larger than the downstairs one, and probably
because it was used more, it was much messier. Pantyhose lay strewn about, and
a pair of dirty panties lay under the sink; I set these aside, presuming I
would be ordered to rinse them out, also. Inside the waste basket were several
used panty shields and a tampon applicator; it amazed me how in two days I had
become intimately familiar with such feminine articles, which in my past life
I had disdained to even look at.

Twice, as I worked on straightening and cleaning the bathroom, Sheila came by
to humiliate me.  First, when I was on my knees cleaning the toilet bowl with
windex and a cloth , she looked into the door and said, "Cinderella, be sure 
to get the toilet as shiny as a mirror!" To which I could only reply, "I will,
Miss Sheila."                                                        

And later, while straitening the many articles on the bath's countertop, I had
just picked up a loose tampon, still in its blue wrapping. As I carefully held
the alien article with two fingers, Sheila happened to look in to the room.
Smiling as she watched me handle her intimate object, she said, "Why Miss 
Maid, go ahead, you may use that tampon. It guess it must be your time of the
month, Maid Dalia?"

Flustered, I quickly replied "No thank you, Ma'am," as I placed the tampon 
into a cabinet drawer.

"OK, Miss Maid, but let me know if you should change your mind, girl," Sheila
laughed as she left me to my labors.

Finally, both bathrooms were finished. After putting everything back in its
place, I cautiously entered the den to check with Jennifer. Maybe this was it,
I prayed, and she would allow me to leave. It wouldn't take Kimberly much more 
than a few minutes to drive here and pick me up. I would do anything for
Kimberly if she would allow me to return home and just be myself again. After
all, I am a man! I shouldn't be out like this! Surely Kimberly knows that.

Apparently Jennifer had finished her work, as she was on the couch reading the
Sunday paper. I noticed she had changed into a powder blue jumper with flower
print; her legs were curled up on the couch, such that the hem of her skirt
was some four inches above her knees. Like Sheila, Jennifer was wearing
neither stockings or a bra, and rather than high heels like I was forced to
wear, both of the girls wore sandals. In fact, I realized that these two
girls, for whom I was doing all this work for nothing, were very comfortably
dressed in breezy summer outfits, while I, the man in the house, was wearing
layers of lingerie, hose, blouse, dress, and high heels.

"Miss Jennifer," I stammered, "I have finished both bathrooms. If you have 
nothing more for me to do, I'll call for a ride home."

"Oh, Dalia, that's not necessary. You're doing such a good job - and have such
a good attitude towards your position, I might add - that I wouldn't be so 
cruel as to send you straight home. No, Sheila and I are having a few friends
over, and we would like you to help us serve them. I'm sure you will enjoy it.
So why don't you go upstairs and freshen up before the fun starts!"

"But, Miss Jennifer," I pleaded, "I probably wouldn't fit in at all, so.."

Jennifer cut in, "Dalia, you are the maid here. Now do as I say, please." The
tone of her voice was crisp, with no hint of flexibility. If I didn't do what 
she said, then how would I get home? Were I to call Kimberly, and she found
out that I had abandoned my job, I could only imagine what she would do. No, I
was trapped.

"Yes, Miss Jennifer", I said with feigned enthusiasm, then got my purse and
went upstairs. Because the day's work had been so hard, I had to reapply 
virtually all my makeup. I took extreme care to do a good job, as the only
chance I had now was to be so good as a female maid that none of the guests
would guess me to be male. Better the guests take me for a more or less
typical maid, than a very unusual man!

After about 25 minutes, as I was checking my makeup in the mirror, the
bathroom door suddenly opened. It was Sheila.

"Oh, Miss Maid, excuse me for not knocking first! But then, we GIRLS have 
nothing to be modest about between ourselves, do we? Now, Miss Maid, quit
admiring yourself so much and get downstairs; our guests are in the back. I
want you to ask them what they would like to drink, then serve them. Jennifer
has fired up the barbecue, and we may need you to cook the sausage and
weiners.

"Yes, Miss Sheila," I said. Swallowing my pride, I rushed down the stairs and
exited the back door. The sun seemed so bright, like a spotlight on me. Sheila
followed me out and introduced me. "Everyone, this is our maid, Dalia. She 
will serve you anything you like, just ask her."

Jennifer, who had been lighting the barbecue pit, came over and added, "Dalia
has been a great help around here today. Believe me, our kitchen and our
bathrooms literally shine. I don't believe they've ever been cleaner!" As she 
spoke, she reached her arm out and in a friendly manner touched my shoulder,
as women are prone to do.

Not knowing what would be an appropriate response, I said "Thank you, Miss 
Jennifer. I really enjoy working here!"

As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I noticed there were five young
ladies present, in addition to Jennifer and Sheila. All were pretty. One had a
baby with her, about six months old. While the women sat around talking I went
up to each girl and asked, "Ma'am, may I get you something to drink, please?"
Most requested small glasses of wine. While each looked at me rather oddly,
this seemed to be because of my occupation and my unusual uniform. Thankfully
Jennifer apparently hadn't told them of my gender problem.

Over a half hour went past, and soon, I thought, this would be over. Maybe I
would get through it after all. This hope caused me to try my hardest to be
feminine, so as to not give away my secret.

I had just served Sheila a second glass of wine when she suddenly spoke out,
very loudly, "Miss Maid! I just noticed..., you forgot to take my lingerie off 
the clothesline. That is absolutely tacky! A REAL woman wouldn't be so 
negligent, you know. Now please gather up the lingerie and take it in the
house!"                        

I froze. Sheila, the bitch, had just revealed my secret! All my hopes for a
reasonable extrication from this unfortunate situation were now dashed. What
could I do? I couldn't just run; where would I run to, dressed like this?

Time seemed to pass in slow motion. Sheila, who was standing only a couple of
feet away from me, had a mischievous grin on her face. Jennifer, who was
sitting at the picnic table, was not smiling; her expression was more one of
pity. The other young women, who apparently had not questioned my gender (as
they had to this point largely ignored me), all stared at me.

After some time Sheila broke the silence by repeating her command, albeit in a
friendlier tone of voice this time. "Dalia, will you please gather the clothes 
from the line and take them inside?"

"Yes, Miss Sheila," I responded, my voice trembling. I turned and walked to
the clothesline, which was about forty feet from the patio. Because of the
grass, I could only take short, mincing steps in my high heels. Reaching up, I
took the clothespins from a lacy pair of Sheila's panties; I noticed how in
the sunlight my bright red fingernails contrasted with the virgin white
panties. Carefully I folded the panties in half, and set them in the
clothesbasket. Next I removed a white bra from the line. In a way I was
relieved, since at least I wasn't facing the women, though I could almost feel 
their eyes staring at me as I removed and folded, one by one, each of the
feminine undergarments from the clothesline. After a minute or two the young
ladies resumed their discussions, but this time they spoke softly, almost in
whispers, so that I could not overhear what the said. I suppose I was now the
topic of their conversations!

When I finished, I carried the clothesbasket into the house. A gust of wind
suddenly caught my skirt and raised it so that my slip showed. All the girls
were watching now, and all of them, even Jennifer, smiled as I tried to hold
down my skirt while carrying the basket.  "Don't be so modest, girl!" Sheila
yelled. When I reached the door, Jennifer kindly opened it for me and helped
me inside.

"I'm sorry Sheila let out our little secret, Dalia. She is always joking 
around, you know. But don't worry, my guests don't mind. Now why don't you go 
out and offer your services again, while I get started on the cooking," she 
said.

Jennifer was so nice to me that I could almost forgive her for getting me into
all of this.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied, "but I really don't want to go through with this.
Sheila has embarrassed me so much," I wimpered, almost crying. The stress of 
the day was getting to me.

"Remember, Dalia, YOU called me and offered to be my maid. You LOVE being a 
maid, don't you? Why, you've probably never been happier..., now please get
out there and go back to work. Or if you prefer, you can leave here,
immediately."

Jennifer knew I was trapped. Without a car, how would I get home? I do believe
Jennifer sympathized with my plight, but on the other hand, she did want to
show me off to her friends, as a person would show off a new pet.

"Yes, Miss Jennifer," I said softly, "I'm sorry if I've angered you."

"That's OK, Dalia," she said, "but I want you to smile!  And be nice. If 
someone talks to you, don't you dare be rude!"

"Yes, Miss Jennifer," I answered with forced enthusiasm.

Outside, the girls were all together, talking somewhat louder, perhaps a
little tipsy from the wine I had served.  I walked over to them, my heels
clicking on the patio stone, and said while trying to smile, "May I get any of 
you a drink, please?"

"Come over here, Miss Maid," exclaimed Sheila, motioning me to a point in the
middle of the girls' chairs. "Sarah needs to stretch a bit, and would like you 
to hold her baby. Sarah held the baby, who was awake but quiet, out to me.

"But, I'm not very experienced with children," I protested.

"Well, Dalia, here's your chance to gain some useful experience. Who knows, 
you may be a mother someday!" All the girls laughed. I swallowed hard and took 
the baby from Sarah, who was petite , had a dark complexion and very pretty
eyes. Still standing, I cradled the child at my breast as the women looked on.

"Why, you're a natural at it, girl!" exclaimed one. Sarah rose from her chair 
and said, "Sit down, please. And be careful with my baby!"

I sat in Sarah's chair, the baby still clinging to me. With my skirt being so 
short, I felt as if I was exposing my panties to the world, so I quickly
crossed my legs in the feminine fashion. I noticed that Sheila was taking
snapshots of me with a camera she had taken from her purse; I couldn't even 
protest.

"So tell us, Dalia," asked one of the guests, "do you like being a maid?"
"No," interrupted another, "first tell us how you like being a GIRL!" All of
them laughed. I had no choice but to act as if this was my choice.

"Being a girl isn't so bad," I said, "and it can be pleasant. Being a maid is 
hard work, though!"         

Another guest added, "Tell us, how many pairs of high heels do you own? That's 
the real measure of a girl, after all!" They all laughed at the joke, and then  
Sheila interjected, "Oh, Dalia probably owns more high heels than all of us
combined. Did you know that Jennifer met Dalia at a shoe store? Dalia was
there buying new shoes and pantyhose too! And you wouldn't believe what she 
did there!" Sheila then proceeded to tell the story of how I had lifted my 
skirt up in front of everyone, "just like a little girl". All of the women
laughed at the story, as I sat there, holding a baby like a new mother,
blushing.

"But let's be fair to Dalia." Jennifer added after Sheila finished the story, 
"I didn't really see that happen. It's just what the salesclerk said. She may 
have been stretching the truth a bit."

"Well then, Dalia" asked Mary, a tall women with dark hair and flawless skin,
who apparently was a close friend of Sheila's, "tell us what happened at the 
mall yesterday. Did you REALLY lift your skirt to show off your panties?" The 
girls were now somewhat inhibited by the wine.

"Well..," I stammered, "I guess I did do it. But it was only because they 
forced me to." The girls all laughed at my obvious embarrassment.

Mary chimed in, "Then that means she will show us her panties, too..., if, 
that is, we ask her too!"  At that, all the young women grabbed the bait Mary 
had thrown out. "Yes!"  "Come on, do it!"  "Go for it, GIRL!" "Show us your 
panties!" They all laughed and prodded me; pleadingly I looked to Jennifer for 
help, but her expression seemed to say "go ahead and do it."

I stood up and handed the baby to Sheila, as the girls, seated in a half
circle in front of me, watched and laughed and shouted encouragement.

"Come on, Miss Maid," said Sheila, "lift up your skirt and show off your 
panties. Now do it!"

Slowly I did it, my fingers lifting the hems of my skirt and my slip, so that
my panties became fully visible to the girls. I thought to myself how lucky I
was that I had tucked my manly parts securely back under my crotch, where they
couldn't be easily noticed.

"Wow," said one, look how smooth his legs look. He must shave them every day!"
Another added, "His panties are much more frilly than mine. I'm sort of 
jealous!"

"I know a lot of girls at work that would die for such a narrow waist,"
exclaimed Sharon.

Sheila, never willing to be outdone in belittling me, came over and very
gently rubbed the lacy front of my panties. "See girls. Dalia has absolutely 
no unsightly bulge, does he. Or is that SHE? I'm just SO confused, everyone!" 
All the girls laughed at Sheila's boldness, so she quickly added, "OK, maid, 
now put down your dress before the neighbors complain! Then go in and bring us
out some more drinks." 

Speechless, I did as told. Somehow I felt as if I was a toy in the complete
control of others. I was devoid of free will. Several of the women had more
wine, while the others just had soda. After I finished the baby woke and
started fussing.

"Look everyone, the baby wants Dalia to hold her again. Come on Dalia, take 
little Stacy and mother her," Sheila laughed as she handed me the baby again. 
Sharon, the baby's mother, was sipping wine and clearly did not want to be 
bothered with the task of caring for the child.

All eyes were on me as I held the baby and sat down, again taking care to
demurely cross my legs.

"Maybe Bobby's hungry," exclaimed Mary. "Go ahead, Dalia, go ahead and breast 
feed him. You can be a real live nursemaid!"

"But I don't have any milk in my breasts," I responded, not sure that Mary had 
been kidding.

"Ohhhh, Dalia has no milk in her breasts," Sheila broke in. "The poor girl!
But don't worry, Dalia, maybe some day a nice handsome man will get you 
pregnant, and then you will have milk. That is how nature works, you know!"

"Oh, yes, that's right, isn't it, Miss Sheila," I stammered. Everyone was
laughing and having a fun time, at my expense, it seemed.

"Try it. Put the baby up to your breast and let's see what happens," added 
Mary.

Carefully, I did what she asked, cradling young Bobby in my arms.
Instinctively, his little mouth reached for and attached itself to my dress,
just at bra level. Sheila took another snapshot.

"Hey, everyone," Sharon said. I smell something bad. I don't think Bobby is 
hungry. He's dirty! I suppose I better change him."

"But why, Sharon," Mary asked. "After all, we do have a maid here who has 
already demonstrated her motherly skills. Let Dalia do it for you!"   

"Great idea, Mary," exclaimed Sheila. All the others enthusiastically agreed,
so Sharon said, "Fine with me. Changing diapers is not my cup of tea, anyway."

"But," I said, "I don't know how!"

"Well then, it's time you learn. All girls must learn these things. Some day, 
you may be a mother, you know," laughed Sheila.

Stacy, a quiet brunette scantily clad in shorts and a halter top, set a towel
on the picnic table, while Sharon took a diaper, baby powder, and towelettes
from the diaper bag and set those on the table also. I had no choice but to do
as the girls ordered.

I set little Bobby down and began removing the dirty diaper, then wiped him
clean, and then powdered his behind, all per the conflicting instructions of a
half dozen shouting, giggling girls. As I was setting about putting the fresh
diaper on the baby, Sheila said, "Gosh, Sharon, little Michael's thing is big. 
He's going to be a popular guy when he grow up!"

"Yea, Sharon, he's already got the biggest tool of anyone here today," added 
Mary, laughing.  I blushed at her attack on my manhood, but continued with the
job, using safety pins to secure the diaper in place.

"Woooooo...., that was mean," said Stacy, half laughing.

"But it's probably true," countered Mary with feigned seriousness. "You saw 
how smooth Dalia's panties fit him. Little Bobby's diapers show a bigger bulge
by far!" The girls laughed. Several were feeling the wine, I could tell.

"Tell us, Dalia, who's more of a man: you or Bobby," Mary asked, turning to 
me. I was silent, as I didn't know how to respond or how to change the 
subject. By now, I had finished with the diaper change and was again seated,
still holding the baby, while most of the girls sat at the picnic table with
their plates of hot dogs and bratwurst.

"I don't know," I replied sadly, I suppose I don't really look like much of a
man." Jennifer was watching me but was not laughing like the rest.       

"Well then, tell us: how long is your penis?" Mary pressed on, "You do have a 
penis, don't you?"      

"Why yes, Ma'am, I guess I do," I replied. I was praying the girls would let
up, but the alcohol had greatly loosened their inhibitions.

"Well, Miss Maid, how long is it? I would guess maybe one inch. What do you 
think, Mary," asked Sheila.

"One inch! Is that all you have, dear Dalia," laughed Mary. "Tell us, is that 
why you prefer wearing panties to underwear? Is it because you have the
tiniest crown jewels in town?"            

"No, Ma'am," I replied, "I just choose to wear panties. But I suppose you are
right. I'm not much of a man." Unfortunately, by this time I believed this to 
be true; Kimberly had succeeded in destroying my manhood.

"Well, Dalia," said Sharon as she took Bobby from me to feed, "you're nothing 
like my husband! I sure can't picture him in a dress. But you..., well, you 
really do a good job as a girl, and as a mother. Look at you. Your dress fits
nicely, your lipstick isn't smudged, and you even wiggle when you walk!  Just 
like a girl! Too bad you have a penis to contend with, even if it is as tiny
as Sheila says it is," she continued as she opened her blouse and let Bobby 
suckle.

"By the way Dalia, do you dream of having real breasts like these" she asked,
her breasts bared to all of us. Clearly Sharon was very proud of her
femaleness and eager to show it off to her friends by contrasting it with my
fake femininity.

I was looking at her breast; it was so soft. "Yes," I replied to Sharon,
"maybe it would be nice if I had breasts like yours. Maybe then I would fit in 
better, don't you think?"  By now I was confused.  Maybe I wasn't enough of a 
man. Apparently that's what my Kimberly believes, anyway.  And surely these 
girls here had good reason to question my virility.  Perhaps if I were a woman
all would be better. I was disoriented and confused; what was happening to me,
I wondered.

"Tell us, Dalia," Sharon continued in her friendly tone of voice, "do you have 
a boyfriend or anything?"

"No Ma'am," I quickly responded, "no I don't. In fact, I have a girlfriend," I
replied sincerely, thinking of Kimberly. I've never been with a man."

At this point Sheila again cut into the conversation, bringing it and me down
into the gutter. "What," she exclaimed with exaggerated astonishment, "Dalia
says she has a girlfriend! You're kidding. What real woman would want a sissy 
pantywaist like you, unless maybe its to clean her house. Surely, Miss Maid,
you don't really think you could satisfy a woman in a masculine way, do you?" 

"Besides," added Mary, "you are so feminine. You might be a decent girlfriend 
to a woman, but definitely not a boyfriend. No, little Dalia, I agree with
Sheila, you were meant to be a girl, no doubt about it!"   The other girls 
basically sat back and laughed in agreement with Mary's conclusion. Even 
Jennifer was smiling.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied with resignation, "maybe I haven't been man enough for
my girlfriend, Maybe this dress is my destiny."  

"Well don't worry, Dalia," Sheila continued, "you'll just have to join the 
other side, is all. Maybe you could do a much better job of satisfying a boy
than a girl. What do you think, girls?" They all laughed in agreement. Sheila
pushed on with her crude interrogation.

"Believe us, Dalia, it's more fun being a girl. And it's oh so easy to satisfy 
men. Just dress provocatively- and we can all see that you are good at that,
Miss Maid- and wiggle a bit as you walk, and all the men will flock to you!" 

"But Sheila," interjected Mary with feigned seriousness, "what will dear Dalia
do when she gets her man into the bedroom?"

"Ooooooo.....," the young ladies gasped in anticipation.

"Well, girls, maybe we should try to educate our new friend, so that she won't 
panic when her turn comes." Sheila had about one fourth of a weiner remaining 
on her plate, she had eaten the other three-fourths.  "Look, dear Dalia, 
suppose that your new boyfriend pulls down his pants and there you are,
staring at this," Sheila continued, holding the small section of weiner in her
fingers, " then what will you do, girl, to please your man?"

"Wait, Sheila," Mary interrupted, "that tool is much too small to be a man's, 
except maybe Dalia's, that is..... Wait! I've got an idea! That tiny thing
you're holding can be Dalia's manhood!  But it's so small and soft that it 
surely won't be of any use in a bedroom, now will it?  So, let's just set
aside that little thing."         

I was staring at the two girls, spellbound, as Mary gently took my "manhood"
from Sheila, held it carefully between her thumb and index finger, and gently
set it down on the picnic table. She then picked up a large bratwurst from the
side of the grill.

"Wooooooooo...," the girls exclaimed as they laughed and laughed. "What is 
THAT, Mary," asked one of them, although all of us knew the answer.   

"This, everyone," said Mary loudly, continuing her demonstration as if she
were teaching a gradeschool class, "belongs to Dalia's BOYFRIEND!" Everybody 
laughed as Mary held the long, thick, slightly curved sausage up for all to
see. Speechless, I watched this "demonstration" which was supposedly being
given for my benefit. Maybe if I had protested, Sheila and Mary would have
stopped, but I didn't, and I'm not sure why.

"Notice," she continued, holding the large dark sausage next to the pale
section of weiner, "Dalia's new boyfriend's tool is much different from
Dalia's tool. His is huge, while Dalia's is tiny. His is brutish, whereas
Dalia's is so sensitive. His is very hard, too," she said as she squeezed the 
sausage, "whereas Dalia's is as soft as Sharon's breast!"

I looked over at Sharon; the baby still suckled her beautiful breast, even as
she shook with laughter.

"Come over here, Dalia," Sheila half shouted. "Sit down on the ground there, 
right next to Mary."      

"Yes," most of the other girls added, "go ahead Dalia, sit down next to Mary. 
Be a good student!"

Resigned to get through this awful day, I did what I was told, sitting lotus
fashion on the patio next to Mary, who continued her demonstration.

"Now, Dalia, with her flacid little toy (she pointed to the weiner on the 
table) tucked demurely away, has enticed her handsome boyfriend into the
bedroom. What a teaser she is, isn't she girls!" "Yes, indeed she is!" several 
of the guests responded in chorus to Mary's question.

"So, Dalia, what will you do now," Mary asked, looking at me.

"I..., I don't know..." I replied hesitantly.

"Well, Dalia dear, any of us real girls would quickly tear off our clothes and 
get into bed," Mary exclaimed to the cheering of the slightly tipsy audience.

"But Dalia, you better not do that, because this little thing (she held up the 
weiner section for all to see) could get in your way, you know."

"Ohhhh, too bad! Poor Dalia's boyfriend will be so disappointed!" added 
several of the girls, laughing. I was seated on the ground, while Mary was
sitting on the picnic table's bench, such that my head was at about the same 
level as Mary's lap, forcing me to gaze up at her like a lap dog looking 
towards its master.

"Well, dear Dalia, what will you do?"

"But.., ma'am, I don't like men," I replied softly.

"What? Why else are you wearing a dress and high heels? For your comfort?" she
laughed. It's like this, dear Dalia, you may not want men, but when you go out   
in frilly dresses, high heels, and bright red lipstick, then the men are going
to want you! So, you better learn what to do, girl!" 

"So once again, dear Dalia," Mary said, "there you are in your bedroom with 
YOUR man. Picture it, everybody. Dalia has closed the door and turned the
lights low, she has put a romantic melody on the stereo. Her man is hot. Dalia
licks her lips and reaches down, slowly unzipping her man's fly. And out 
pops...this!" Mary picks up the bratwurst, holding a bit of one end in her 
hand so that nearly it's whole length extends out towards me. She holds it 
down by her lap, barely inches from my face.

"Speak up, Dalia," Mary commands, "what will you do?"

I reply, nearly shouting, "I don't know."                      

"Girls," Mary calls out, "Dalia doesn't know what to do! Any suggestions for 
our friend?"

A chorus of voices shouts, "Lick it, Dalia!"

"Come on, Dalia, we are trying to help you here. Go ahead and do it,"
commanded Mary and Sheila.

Red faced, I leaned slowly towards Mary. I gently licked the shaft with the
tip of my tongue. Everyone was having fun and encouraging me on. Everyone
except me.

"Good start, GIRL," exclaimed Mary. "I see your new boyfriend is excited now,"
she laughed, shaking the sausage. But you'll have to do more than that to 
satisfy him, girl. So, what will you do, Dalia," she loudly asked me.          

"I don't know, ma'am, I don't know," I quickly responded.

"Any suggestions, girls," Mary asked the audience.

In chorus, they all responded, "SUCK IT, DALIA!"

I turned towards Jennifer, my eyes pleading her to help me out of this. She
was my only friend here, or so I thought. The girls kept telling me to "do it"
and "suck it" as I looked towards Jennifer. She had a serious look on her
face. I believe she understood my plea, but rather than putting a stop to
Mary, she just nodded her head in agreement, silently signaling me to do what
I was told.

"Hurry, Dalia, satisfy your man before he leaves you all alone," urged Sheila
as Mary continued to hold the sausage just inches from my face. I did as
commanded.

Slowly, I again leaned forward, but this time instead of sticking my tongue
out, I opened my mouth. I closed my eyes as my mouth lowered itself onto the
shaft. I took about six inches in me. I felt as if I were puppet in the
complete control of these women.

I heard Sharon say to someone, "I can't believe it. He's really going to suck 
it! What a fem!"

"Well, he's sure not a man, is he," someone responded.

I heard Mary loudly telling me, "Come on, Dalia, suck him off. Up and down, 
Dalia. That's it, girl, up and down the shaft, Dalia! You're a natural at
this, you are!" 

I continued sucking my boyfriend's tool as the girls continued laughing and
encouraging me on; my mouth slid up and down the shaft, up and down, for what
seemed to me an hour, but was probably just a few minutes.

"Look out, Dalia," Mary suddenly yelled. Not knowing what was going on, I
quickly removed my mouth from the object and opened my eyes. Sheila was
standing near me. She had a plastic mustard container, the squeezable kind
with the spout. As soon as I backed off, she squirted a gray mustard all over
the tip of the sausage, then even squirted some on my lips. The audience
clapped and shouted.

"Good Job, Dalia," exclaimed Mary loudly, "or should I say, Good Blow Job! 
You've successfully satisfied your man." The girls laughed with Mary, who had 
assumed a combined role of teacher and master of ceremonies. "But now, 
everybody, comes the test which separates the woman from the girl. We all know
a girl would just wipe her man clean with this," Mary continued, holding a 
napkin up with her one hand, while her other hand continued to hold the
sausage, now smeared with mustard, just inches from my face. "But tell us. 
dear Dalia, what would a Real Woman do?"   

Flushed and somewhat short of breath from my ordeal, I gazed up at Mary with a
confused look on my face. "I..., I..., I don't know, ma'am," I finally said in
reply.

"Dalia doesn't know!  OK, girls, what should Dalia do?," Mary loudly addressed 
the young women. They replied, laughing in a chorus of taunts.

"Swallow it, Dalia!  Swallow it all!  Show your man that you love him!  Be a 
Real Woman, Dalia!"

A few tears came to my eyes as an awareness flashed through my being of just
how far I had fallen during this horrid weekend. But, wanting to please the
girls, I again leaned forward, opened my mouth, and carefully lowered my face
over the shaft Mary still held. I closed my eyes. I was so dazed I could
hardly taste the mustard which Sheila had so generously smeared on the
sausage. I could hear the girls, who now all stood around me, just inches from
me, chanting over and over, "Swallow it!  Swallow it!"  After a few moments I
did as they urged, swallowing several times with a gulping noise that all the
girls could hear.

"He did it!," I heard Sharon say, "he really did it! I can't believe this!"

"Dalia looks all excited," another said, "I think he might have come in his 
panties."

"How disgusting he is," I heard Stacy say.

I was so embarrassed I just stayed like that for a minute or two, on my knees,
leaning forward, with six inches of sausage down my throat. With my eyes
tightly closed at least I didn't have to look at the girls surrounding me; I 
almost mentally faded away, as for a moment all this became just a very bad
dream. Then Mary's voice interrupted me.   

"Dalia!" she was saying loudly, "Dalia! That's enough! Let him go!"    

My mind snapped back to reality. Very slowly my eyes opened, and I began to
gently tilt my body back away from Mary, my mouth sliding off the sausage. I
could see the large, dark bratwurst encased by my lipstick-red lips. When my
eyes left that focal point I saw Sheila, standing nearby, taking closeup
snapshots of me in my compromising position. "Smile," she said laughing,
"you're on candid camera!"     

Silently, I knelt there on the patio. A few tears dripped from my eyes and
down my cheeks.

"Well, girls," Sheila exclaimed, taking over the master of ceremonies position
from Mary, who still held the sausage, "what do you all think? Will Dalia be 
able to satisfy her man when her time comes?"

"Definitely," exclaimed one girl. "Without a doubt," Sharon said. Everyone was
laughing. Then Jennifer, who had said very little so far, said, "Girls, I 
think Dalia did an excellent job. How about a little applause for our wayward
maid?" All the girls clapped and howled.    

"But wait, Dalia," Sheila said after the fussing died down, "now that the fun
is over, it's always a woman's job to clean up. Here," she said, handing me a 
paper napkin, "a girl must always wipe her lipstick off her boyfriend's penis.  
She wouldn't want to leave any evidence of her naughty little acts, would 
she?"                            

Humiliated, I took the napkin, reached over to the sausage which Mary held,
and gently wiped my lipstick off it. I knew I also must have looked a mess, so
I asked Sheila, "Ma'am, do you mind if I go in and freshen up a bit," using 
the phrase Kimberly had taught me yesterday.

"Oh, there's no need to go in, dear Dalia," Sheila replied, "you can freshen
up out here. Mary, would you get our maid's purse and bring it out here for 
her. I'm sure Dalia needs a few minutes to regain her strength after such a 
torrid love scene."

"But..," I began to protest, but Sheila cut me off.

"Yes, Dalia, I can't wait to see how my photos turn out. Maybe I could send 
you copies. I'm sure your girlfriend would love to see them," she laughed as 
if she were kidding, but I could see a veiled threat in her words. I would
have to do as she said, that was clear to me.

I had now moved from the ground to a chair. Stacy sat next to me; she looked
oh so sexy in her halter top and short shorts, but, I knew, she would never
ever consider going to bed with me. I was not a real man in her eyes, nor for
that matter in any the eyes of anyone here.

Mary sat across from me and handed me a kleenex, and also the compact which
she had removed from my purse. I had no doubts about what I had to do with it.
I opened the compact and, using the small round mirror to guide me, wiped the
remaining mustard stains from my face. I applied powder, and then asked for my
lipstick.

"Oh, of course, you must have lipstick," laughed Mary, "what man would be 
caught without his lipstick on, after all?" The girls laughed. Mary reached 
into my purse, but instead of the lipstick tube, she withdrew the tampon I had
in there.

"Ohhhh, girls, look! Our little maid is having her period. How about that,"
she laughed as she held the unopened package for everyone to see.

"Please, miss Mary," I begged, "please give me my purse."

"Oh, OK," she said after looking at Jennifer, who appeared a little angry
about the way I was being treated by her guest. As the girls watched, I put
the tampon back into the purse, took out the bright red lipstick, and
carefully reapplied it.

"You're very good at that, Dalia," commented Sharon. You really should have 
been born a girl, you know."  

"Thank you, ma'am," I said to acknowledge what appeared to be a complement.   

When I had finished, Jennifer came out of the house with a sack. "Dalia," she
said, our little party will be breaking up soon, so we won't be needing your 
services anymore today. But in appreciation for the fine job you did cleaning
our house, Sheila and I would like to give you a little gift."

"Why thank you, Miss Jennifer," I responded enthusiastically. The girls
probably thought I was excited about the gift, but I was just glad to be
leaving.

"Sheila and I have some old lingerie that will probably fit you. Rather than
giving them to Goodwill, we thought you would enjoy wearing these!" As she 
spoke she removed, one by one, several pairs of pastel colored panties, two
bras, and a pink teddy from the bag, setting the articles on the table. I
remembered what Jennifer had said earlier about smiling and being
enthusiastic, so I went over to the table and pretended to inspect and praise
a few of the items, saying "Oh, ma'am, these are really beautiful. You 
shouldn't have!" Jennifer, who apparently believed that I was truly happy to 
receive a gift of her used panties, smiled happily.

"Dalia," Jennifer continued, "you had a long day, you are free to leave now."

Thank you, ma'am, but I must call for a ride first. May I go inside and use 
your phone," I asked.     

"That's not necessary,"interjected Sharon, "you can use my phone." She pulled 
a small cellular phone from her diaper bag. What's the number; I'll dial it
for you."

"I had no desire to give my phone number to any of these girls, as with that 
it would be easy for any of them to identify me, but neither was I eager to
walk home in my present state.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, "699-4234."  She dialed it for me, but there was 
no answer. Where was Kimberly?

As the girls watched, I took my leave of them and walked away, carrying my
gift of used lingerie, my high heels clicking upon the sidewalk. At least a
forty minute walk awaited me. Nobody offered me a ride, as I slowly minced
down the block. Soon out of the girl's sight, I walked on towards the setting 
sun.


                                Dalia   Part 3
                         by Cindi J. of Dallas, Texas

It took me nearly an hour to walk home from Jennifer's house. During that time 
I was stared at by everyone I passed. Two men driving an old truck tried to
pick me up; they pulled along side me as I walked, whistled at me, and made
lewd comments. I ignored them and after a few minutes they pulled away,
squealing the truck's tires in the process.  I had to walk past two little 
girls playing hopscotch; one asked me why I was dressed so funny. I didn't 
answer.   Long before I arrived at home my feet ached from walking in high
heels, and the extremely tight support panties I wore were so effective at
squeezing my maleness into an almost unnoticeable mound that I soon felt the
need to pee, while the tampon in my rear created an urge to relieve myself
there also. But obviously I could do neither; I could only try my best to hold
nature at bay as I walked on. Why, I wondered over and over, why was Kimberly
doing this to me? But all the while I knew I had no choice; I would do
anything she demanded, if it meant she would stay. My love for Kimberly was a
force much stronger than even my manhood.

At last I reached the corner of my street; our house was the fifth from the
corner. With great apprehension and self-consciousness I hurried up the
street, hoping none of my neighbors would be outside. What would I do if
confronted by one? I had to get home, that was for sure, lest a policeman stop
this unusually dressed maid wandering around town. Reaching my walkway I
nearly ran, albeit with mincing steps, up to the front door. In a near panic I
dug through my purse for several minutes, looking for my keys, before I
realized I had not taken them with me. "Please, God," I said to myself as I
rang the doorbell several times, "please let Kimberly be home."

The door opened. Kimberly stood there; she was wearing a simple tan blouse and
jeans, white cotton socks and no shoes. Grinning, she carefully looked me
over. Although I was fully dressed in a black maid's uniform with white 
pantyhose and high heels, I felt almost naked while Kimberly, my wife, stared
at me. Overcome by stress and humiliation, I could not get a word out; a few
tears formed in my eyes.

"Well, our working girl is finally home," Kimberly said cheerfully. "Come on 
in, Dalia. Sit down and tell me all about it."  At least she wasn't angry. 

I followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa, carefully straitening
my skirt first. I crossed my legs in the feminine manner.

"May I take my shoes off?" I asked her.

"Not shoes, Dalia," she replied. Heels. You are wearing heels..., high heels.
Now try again."

Flustered, I asked again, "May I take off my high heels, please?"

"That's better," she said. "Go ahead, girl, take off your pretty high heels. 
Then show me what you have in your package."     

It felt so good to be at home, away from everyone, and finally off my feet,
that I had forgotten for a moment about all that had happened. Remembering it
was not pleasant.

"Oh..., it's just some stuff Miss Davis gave me," I replied hesitantly. "It's 
nothing at all, really."

My denials just increased Kimberly's curiosity. "Come on, Dalia," she 
commanded, "show me what you have."

"OK," I replied, not wanting to get her mad again, "but it's nothing I really 
wanted. I didn't ask for anything, Kimberly, I really didn't. But I didn't 
want to refuse what was offered." As I spoke I began to removing items from
the package. First out was a pair of lacy pink panties, followed by a matching
bra.  I set them on the coffee table in front of me. Several more panties and
bras followed; last out was a pink slip with a lace hem.

"Well, well, well...," Kimberly said as I proceeded. "Look at that, will you. 
My husband now has his own collection of lingerie. I guess you won't need to 
wear mine anymore, right honey?"

"But, I didn't ask for these," I protested.

"Right, girl," Kimberly said sarcastically. "You took another woman's 
lingerie, and used lingerie at that, clothes which that other woman had
herself worn next to her most private parts.  You accepted her bras, and her
panties, not because you want to wear them, but because you didn't want to 
hurt her feelings?"

"Why..., yes...that's right..," I said hesitantly.

"Now wait a second," Kimberly countered." A woman would not be hurt if a man 
refused to wear her clothes, would she?  I mean, how many women want men in
their clothes! I really don't think, my dear husband, that you would have hurt 
her feelings by declining to accept her used panties and bras. Why, ..., what
if your friend at work said to you, "My gosh, I have a run in my pantyhose! 
Let me change, and then I'll give you my old pair, so that you can go into the 
men's room and put on my old pantyhose."  I mean, really! You would accept her 
offer to avoid hurting her feelings?  You must think I'm pretty naive, Dalia," 
she continued, in a half-joking, half serious tone of voice.

"But don't worry, Dalia, it's OK to have your own stash of girl's clothes. I 
really don't mind. Maybe you're beginning to enjoy your new role, which is
good, since we still have a few hours of fun left in this weekend."

"What do you mean," I asked apprehensively.

"I mean, my sweet thing, I want you to go upstairs and shower. Then put on 
your makeup..., you do look much cuter with makeup, you know! In the meantime
I'll set out some clothes on the bed. When you finish, get dressed and come 
down here. I'll tell you what..., I'll set out some of your gifts for your to
wear," she said as she inspected the small pile of lingerie on the 
coffeetable. "Here, You can wear this matching set of pink bra and panties, 
along with the pink slip. These should make you look so innocent, rather like
a young virgin! Now get going. I want you ready in thirty minutes."

"But please, Kimberly, I'm very tired. Don't you think I've been punished 
enough," I protested.

"Punished enough! Ha! I'm letting you off easy. In fact, I think you maybe are 
enjoying your so-called punishment. Now don't worry, the shower will refresh 
you, so get a move on, girl!"

With a sigh I rose from the couch and went upstairs. At least, I thought to
myself, she implies that my punishment will end after this weekend. Maybe if I
just go on like this for a few more hours, then everything will settle back to
normal. In the bedroom I stared at my reflection in the full length mirror
while I undressed. My God, I thought, is this really me? What has become of
me? How will I ever be "normal" again, with skin as smooth hairless as mine
now is?   Even my manliness hung small and limp, a mere shadow of its once
virile self. I went into the bath and showered.  After finishing, I
concentrated on makeup, but was too rushed to do anything but apply mascara to
my lashes and dab on some lipstick. Then I went into the bedroom, where I
noticed that Kimberly had as promised set the lingerie on the bed, as well as
a beige blouse, a soft red skirt, and an unopened L'eggs pantyhose container. 
As quickly as I could I donned the pink panties, and then struggled to get the
bra, with breast inserts, properly on. All the while I couldn't help but 
wonder where these had last been; had these very panties that I now wore been,
only yesterday, on Jennifer's beautiful body?  And now, I was wearing them! It 
was hard for me to comprehend what had happened to me during this one weekend.


Next came the pantyhose; taking great care not to run them, I slipped them
over my baby-smooth legs. The pink slip fell so easily into place that I felt
for a moment like a real girl. I picked up the blouse and held it in front of
me; it was made of a very thin material, had lace sleeves and collar, and was
somewhat low cut. Clearly, this blouse was designed for special occasions, not
for cleaning bathrooms.

Finally, I pulled the reddish-pink skirt over my legs and into place. Because
the zipper was in the back, I had a little trouble getting it zipped and
buttoned. With a shock, I realized it was short, coming only to about four
inches above my knees. And it was tight. Next came a black, patent leather
belt and beige heels, about two or three inches high.

I took a few seconds to brush my "new" blond hair, then I looked at myself in
the full length mirror. I looked like a teenage girl getting ready for a date.
Looking at the clock, I noticed I had already used more than the thirty
minutes Kimberly had allotted me, so I rushed downstairs, hoping she would not
be angry again.

"Well, well," she said as I entered the living room, "our little maid has 
blossomed into a teenage girl! Amazing! You are much more feminine than even I
ever imagined. Turn around slowly so that I can see all of this new girl on
the block."

I didn't say anything, but just very slowly turned, like a model would on a 
runway. I felt foolish.

"Very good, girl. You look like a real babe. I bet you can't wait to go out 
and tease all the boys in town, can you?"

"Kimberly, please," I replied to her jabs, "you know I'm not like that. How 
can you talk about me like that. I'm your husband, after all! Please let me go 
up and change back into my clothes. Please!"        

"Oh, that's right, I keep forgetting," she replied sarcastically. "This sweet 
young thing in the short skirt and high heels is my husband! My oh so
masculine husband!  Well, dear, next time you think about flirting with a girl
at work, just remember how you look right now. Just think to yourself, what
will that girl say when she sees you all prettied up. Because she will see you
like this if you ever try that again. I guarantee it. In fact, while I'm 
thinking of it, pose for me like a nice girl so I can take a couple of
pictures."           

With that Kimberly stood up and took the camera from atop the mantle. She
forced me into several different poses: one seated in a chair with my legs
carefully crossed while I read a copy of Elle magazine; in another, also while
seated, I was made to apply lipstick while looking in the mirror of my
compact; and in two others I was made to stand in what I thought were rather
seductive poses. Any thought I had of rebelling and just refusing to do this
anymore vanished when I realized how much incriminating evidence she now had
on me.

"Now, Dalia," she said after finishing, "grab your purse. We have an 
appointment in fifteen minutes at The Dusty Rose."       

With resignation to my plight I did as she said. Before leaving the house I
slung my purse over my shoulder so as to free both my hands; I then gently
tugged at my skirt, hoping to lower it to a less embarrassing height. I wasn't
very successful at this. I hurriedly got into the passenger side of the car;
Kimberly, still dressed in jeans and wearing flats, drove.

"What's the Dusty Rose," I asked apprehensively.

"Oh, don't worry, Dalia, you'll love it. It's a place that does nails, and 
they will also touch up your makeup, for an extra fee, of course. But, since
you were very skimpy when you painted your face tonight, I think it's worth 
the extra money." She laughed, "Won't they be amazed to find out that my 
husband wants to be made up! But don't worry, girl, I won't tell them if you
don't. After all, it is no fun to be a wife to a husband that looks like you! 
I mean, what would the ladies think of me?"

"But why do I need my nails done, they are already polished. And you can fix 
my makeup. We don't need to go anywhere to have it done," I pleaded.

Now don't argue," she commanded as we pulled into a parking lot. The Dusty 
Rose was in an expensive shopping center. Its large glass window allowed
anyone passing by to look in. Two young workers were in there, each dressed in
a rose colored smock, with white pants. I could see only one customer, a young
lady wearing flower-print slacks and a white pullover sweater. My heart
pounded as Kimberly removed the keys and opened her door. I was too shocked to
move; Kimberly came around and, opening my door, said, "Why, must I even open 
your door for you now? You really are adapting to the female role, aren't you? 
Now let's get going. They will close soon, so you are probably the last 
customer for the day."

With trepidation I left the security of the car. Gloomily I realized that I,
the only male in the store, would also be the only person in the store wearing
a skirt. My only hope was that they might not recognize my true gender.

"Hi, my name is LeeAnn. Welcome to the Dusty Rose! May I help you," asked one
of the workers as we entered; the other worker was busy doing the nails of the
other customer, who was too engrossed in reading a glossy magazine to take
notice of us.   LeeAnn was a young lady, maybe 23 or 24 years old, with light
brown hair permed into hundreds of small curls, and moused to give a wet hair
appearance. She was thin with a pretty face. She wore no wedding ring.

"Yes, please," Kimberly replied. "My niece, Dalia, has a date tonight, and
wants to look special," Kimberly smiled as she looked at me. "I realize it's 
rather late, but maybe you could take a few minutes to do her nails, and touch
up her makeup." I couldn't help but blush with the humiliation of my wife 
referring to me as her niece.

"Sure! We've got forty-five minutes before closing. That should give us plenty 
of time to make you beautiful," LeeAnn exclaimed, speaking directly to me now, 
not to Kimberly. "Come over here and sit down."

After I sat down, LeeAnn sat down opposite me, with a small thin table
separating us; Kimberly sat beside us, apparently enjoying this greatly.
LeeAnn took out a sheet with about a hundred different colors on it and asked
me, "Well, Dalia, what color nails would you like?"

Luckily, Kimberly spoke up, saving me from having to speak. "Let's give her 
something bright red; she wants to make a splash tonight!" I smiled in 
response, so as to show approval without speaking. I knew that my voice, if I
had to use it, would be my downfall.

Together, Kimberly and LeeAnn settled on a bright red color called "Scarlet
O'Hara". They began talking and more or less ignored me; I watched in scared 
fascination as LeeAnn swiftly and flawlessly stripped the polish from my
nails, gently shaped them, then applied a thick coat of red polish. After
aiming a small fan at my hands, so as to dry my nails, the talk turned again
to me.

"You know," Kimberly said to LeeAnn, "Dalia doesn't get out very much at all, 
so this night out is something very special. Do you think you'll have time to 
give her a quick glamour makeup job?  I think she definitely understates her
potential by being too conservative with her makeup."          

"No problem," LeeAnn said as she set a large makeup kit on the table, "we'll 
have her looking good in just fifteen minutes. She took a pink smock and put
it over my blouse, addressing me as she did so, "Dalia, you are very quiet. 
Why don't you tell me about your date while we pretty you up. Is it a first 
date?" 

I looked towards Kimberly, hoping she would say something to change the
subject, but she was just grinning. "Yes," Kimberly said, urging me on, "tell 
us about your date, Dalia. We would simply love to know!"  Clearly, I would
have to talk to LeeAnn; I tried as best to speak with a feminine pitch, but my
inexperience made it difficult to do so.

"No," I said softly, speaking to LeeAnn, "I don't really have a date tonight." 

LeeAnn carefully looked at me, then said suspiciously, "Is there something 
about Dalia that  you two haven't told me?" 

"Kimberly laughed aloud. "So you see something unusual with my little niece!
Like maybe my niece should be my nephew. ha, ha."

"Well," LeeAnn said as she applied blusher to my cheeks  "I'm not sure what 
Dalia should be. She sure doesn't look like any of my nephews, that's for
sure."  

"You're right," responded Kimberly, "much better a niece than a nephew. Don't 
you agree, Dalia?"  

"I suppose, " I replied softly, hoping to prevent the others in the shop from
finding out my secret, "that I would rather be your niece."  Afraid of what
Kimberly would do if I crossed her, I decided to agree with whatever she said.

Kimberly continued, "And better to be a girl than a boy, isn't that right, 
Dalia?" 

"Yes," I replied, blushing, "better to be a girl than a boy."

"Oh, honey, you are SO right at that! Yet somehow I don't think very many real 
men would agree with you," LeeAnn laughed, all the while continuing to work on 
my face.  At least she wasn't annoyed by my presence. In fact, upon 
discovering my gender she seemed to go about her task with even greater zeal,
apparently eager to feminize me.

"You know," LeeAnn said to Kimberly, "I was wondering for just a bit when you 
both came in. I thought her hands and fingers were a tad too big, and her
pores also. But those legs fooled me: they sure look like a girl's legs to me!  
Although maybe there's a little problem up where those sexy legs end, right 
Dalia?"

"I suppose so," I replied.

"Tell me," LeeAnn asked Kimberly, "is your niece always so talkative?

"I've noticed she is rather quiet," Kimberly replied. "Maybe she's just 
stunned by  her foray into the world of women."

"Well," added LeeAnn, again speaking directly to me "judging by that short 
skirt you are wearing, you must be eager to experience all aspects of
girlhood. Did you know, girl, that when you sit your skirt rides up and
exposes both your slip and your pink panties?"  

"No, I didn't, " I replied, quickly pulling on my skirt so as to hide my 
intimates.

"Oh," Kimberly said, "I think my niece actually enjoys showing off a bit,
don't you, Dalia?"     

"Well," I replied carefully, not wanting to contradict Kimberly, "yes I like 
skirts that show my legs, but no, I don't want my undies to show."

"If a girl doesn't want to show off her panties, then she shouldn't wear short 
skirts. Didn't your mother tell you that when you were a girl, Dalia," joked 
LeeAnn.

"No," I replied, embarrassed, "I guess my mom never thought I needed to know 
that."

"Now that you are my cute niece," Kimberly said, "there's lots of things you
must learn."

"Now hush, girl," LeeAnn said to me, "I'm going to touch up your lipstick, and
then you'll be ready to go out and knock em' dead! Now pout your lips like a
little girl who's been reprimanded for showing off her panties to the 
neighborhood boys." 

I did as instructed, as LeeAnn carefully applied a coat of glossy, bright red
lipstick to my lips, using a long, skinny brush.   "What do you think of your 
niece now," she asked Kimberly, "Isn't she just the prettiest girl around
town!"

"Indeed she is," Kimberly gushed. "Now stand up and look at yourself in the 
full length mirror over there."

I stood up and walked to the mirror. I was astonished; I did in fact look much
like a teenaged girl ready for the dating scene. So ashamed at what I had
become, I felt like crying, but then LeeAnn grabbed my hand and pulled me from
the mirror.

"Come with me, girl," she said, "I am so proud of my work I just must show it 
off."  She dragged me across the room to the cash register, where the other 
customer, her nails finished, was paying LeeAnn's coworker.

"Look!," she announced to the two women, "how does Dalia look after all my
work!"

LeeAnn's coworker, "Janet" according to her name tag, looked for a moment at 
us and responded, "Very pretty."  I could tell she was wondering what was with
her coworker, acting so strangely.

"Now turn around slowly, Dalia," LeeAnn commanded.  I had no choice but to do
so; tilting my head slightly back, I went round in a type of pirouette
movement. Needless to say, I felt totally humiliated by my situation.

Did you know," LeeAnn said, talking to Janet and the other customer, who had 
finished paying, "that Dalia is not a real girl!"

"What," exclaimed Janet.

It's true," LeeAnn announced, "Dalia is not a girl. He just wishes he was a
girl, and so, with my expert help, he has become one. And a pretty one at
that, right Dalia?"            

I noticed Kimberly smiling as she watched me. "Thank you, LeeAnn," I replied
as sincerely as possible.

"My," Janet said, now scrutinizing me carefully, "I don't know what kind of 
man you are, but you sure look nice as a girl. Hold out your hands so I can
see how your nails look."  I did so, holding out my hands, fingers 
outstretched and palms down, in a girlish manner.

"Shame on you," the other customer abruptly interrupted us. Looking at me with
a scowl, she continued, "God meant you to be a man, not a girl. Men are not 
meant to wear makeup and nail polish. Men are surely not meant to go around in
such teasing clothes. It's not natural. Why, in my church we would stone you. 
No good baptist girl would ever go near you. Hell, for that matter, neither
would any baptist boys..., I imagine you prefer boys to girls, don't you!"  
With that she turned and left the store. We were all very quiet for several
moments. I felt weak; I could feel the blood leave my face. Kimberly, LeeAnn
and Janet stared at me.

Finally, LeeAnn broke the icy silence. "Don't worry, Dalia, nobody's perfect. 
Just because you're not exactly masculine doesn't mean you're bad, I don't
think. But don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to date you or anything. Heck,
I wouldn't want my brother to date you either," she added, laughing at her own 
joke.

"Come on, pretty girl," she laughed. "let's get you out of here so you can 
paint the town."        

"By the way," LeeAnn said to Kimberly as we moved to the cash register, "where 
are you two headed? Does Dalia really have a date..., a boy-type date?"

I stood meekly at a distance as Kimberly paid the bill for her "niece's" 
makeover.

"No," Kimberly replied, "Dalia doesn't have a date yet. But who knows? Now 
that you've got her looking so fine, anything is possible." I kept silent, 
wishing Kimberly would start treating me like a husband again, instead of like
a Barbi doll.

"You know," LeeAnn said, "I'm going out to meet my boyfriend at Starlight 
after we close up. It's a nice club; sometimes they have live music, sometimes 
disco. Jack, my boyfriend, has a couple of friends from work that usually hang
around there, and that would always be horny for good looking girls. I know
you wouldn't have any problem," she said to Kimberly, "and I bet I could line 
up a date for Dalia too."

"I don't know...," Kimberly hesitated. I felt a sigh of relief go through my 
entire being. Finally, a limit had been reached to her madness.

"Oh come on. It will be fun. I'll line you up with Jerry. He's a great guy, 
tall and good looking. A lawyer. And your niece can date Tim. He's a big
construction worker."

"But," Kimberly asked, "what if Tim discovers Dalia's secret. She might get 
beat up or something."  Kimberly would not even ask me my thoughts on all of 
this; apparently she was going to show me that only she was in control. Her
concern was not that she had shamed me into a woman's role, but that another 
man might beat me up. The possibility that I might be able to fend for myself
in a fight never entered their thoughts; after all, I apparently wasn't a real                                             
man anymore.

"Oh, don't worry," rebutted LeeAnn, "Tim would never hurt anybody. Besides, 
who is going to tell him?  I won't tell anybody. And it's loud enough in the
club that Dalia's voice won't give her away. She can say she has a cold,
that's all. Besides, after a couple of beers, Tim may not care about Dalia's
little problem. You know how men are: show a little thigh, and they can't 
think of anything else."

You're right," conceded Kimberly, "let's do it."

Fear gripped me. This can't be true, I thought, Kimberly cannot be serious.

"But," I quickly protested, "I can't do that!"

"Dalia," Kimberly said in an angry tone, "now you be a nice girl and BEHAVE. 
You will come with us, and you will be nice to your boyfriend, now won't you?"

I knew I should have rebelled, but by now my spirit was broken. "Yes,
Kimberly," I said softly, staring down at the floor, unable to look at the two 
women in whose hands my fate now rested, "I will be a good girl and will be 
nice to Tim."   

"Then it's all settled," LeeAnn said, quickly locking up the deal before 
Kimberly might have second thoughts, "I'll meet you there at 9:00, and bring 
three guys with me. You'll have a ball, Dalia, but just leave my man alone, 
you hear," she told me, laughing. 

Silently I followed Kimberly out of the store; she opened the car door for me
and I entered without resistance.  Nothing was said for awhile; I believe that
even Kimberly was astonished that things had gone so far. In fact, I feared
that she had agreed to go not so much to punish me, but to enjoy the
opportunity of dating another man after two years of rather boring married
life.

After about ten minutes we arrived at home. "Now," Kimberly said
authoritatively as she shut off the car, "I'm going in to pretty myself up a
bit. I don't want you to mess with anything, and that's an order. Don't you  
muss up even one hair. Believe me, you look just great, and I want to keep you
that way. You may wait in the car or in the house."

"OK, Kimberly, whatever you say."  I was too weak to argue.

While Kimberly was upstairs getting ready I used the toilet. I looked at my
reflection in the mirror. My God, what was happening to me?

I realized my only chance now was to be a convincing girl, and then, tomorrow,
hope that Kimberly had tired of this game and would keep her promise to end my
punishment. While Kimberly was upstairs, I practiced walking and sitting in a
girlish manner, without showing off my undergarments; it proved very
difficult, as my high heels seemed somehow to raise my rear, and consequently
my hemline, even higher. I was just sitting down when Kimberly came down.

"My, it's nice to see you strive for perfection. I knew you could do it. I am 
so proud of you!"

"Proud," I asked somewhat sarcastically, "you are proud that your husband can 
sit like a woman?"

"Why, yes I am, in fact. Now remember, you must behave, and that includes 
having a happy disposition," she said, in a serious tone.  Kimberly had 
changed into a navy blue skirt, as short as mine, with a slit on one side
extending up about two or three inches from the hemline.  She had a frilly
yellow blouse, low cut to show her cleavage (something I lacked). Her heels
higher than mine, so that now we were more or less the same height. Several
gold bracelets adorned her wrists, while around her neck was a gold necklace
which I had given her for her birthday. She wore gold earrings with inset blue
stones, and a matching ring. I noticed she had taken off her wedding ring.
Overall, she looked very sexy, a fact that disturbed me as I knew she had
dressed this way not for my benefit, but to attract another man.

"Since we're both wearing skirts now, I suppose we can each open our own 
doors, ha, ha," she laughed as we walked to the car.

"Please, Kimberly," I begged as she drove to the club, "I don't think this is 
a good idea at all.  We don't know these people. I'm scared."

"Oh," she replied, "don't be a baby!  Why, would you rather have a date with a 
guy you know? I don't think you would, now would you?  This is going to be fun 
for both of us, just wait and see. Just remember to act like a girl. If in
doubt, just do as I do. And I promise I'll take care of you.  But," she 
laughed, "if you go to bed with your new boyfriend, then it's up to you! I
won't be able to help you there, that's for sure."

"Kimberly, please don't say that I have a boyfriend. I'm not like that."

"Well, honey, tonight you better be.  Now remember, let him do things for you, 
like get you drinks. Men like that, makes them feel important. And if you
dance, let him lead. Even if you don't like him, pretend you do; that's
something all us girls are good at."  She went on and on, as if she really 
were explaining the facts of life to her niece going on her first date.  It
was clear to me that she was very excited about dating another man.

After a fifteen minute drive we reached the club. Nine-o-clock; right on time.
The place looked clean enough. The parking lot was well lit, and the cars were
all fairly new.

"Hurry up," Kimberly called to me; she had already gotten out of the car and
was walking towards the building. I got the distinct feeling that she was more
interested in her date than she was with me, and that, if things worked out
for her, she might very well ignore me and let me fend for myself. I felt like
a kid sister tagging along on her big sister's date; Kimberly might not really 
care to have me with, but for now at least she was stuck with me. Her attitude
was definitely not one of a wife accompanying her husband on a night out,
which I guess was understandable given my appearance.

I hurriedly left the car, slung my purse over my shoulder, and walked as fast
as I could in my high heels. She reached the door before me, then turned
around, put her hands on her hips, and watched me walking towards her. She
looked annoyed.

"Hurry up, Dalia! I'm not going to be your mother tonight, you know. Either 
keep up with me or else!"     

"Yes," I said, "I'm sorry!" Like a puppydog I followed her into the club.

It was fairly dark inside, luckily for me, I thought. There was music playing
from a juke box, but it wasn't very loud; the disk jockey hadn't started up
the disco music yet. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness; being Sunday,
the club wasn't packed, although there were at least 50 or 75 people inside,
mostly two or three couples sitting together at tables, sipping wine and beer,
and talking. I walked behind Kimberly as she headed towards the bar at the far
side of the club. I was sincerely afraid that I would somehow get separated
from her, and be on my own, so I tended to stay too close to her, which just
annoyed her further.

"Hi, there! Kim! Dalia! Over here!" I recognized LeeAnn's voice. Instantly,
Kimberly headed over to the table where LeeAnn sat with three men. She was
drinking wine, and had one of her arms around her boyfriend's waist. When we 
reached her table she introduced us to everyone; her boyfriend, Jack was
bearded and over six feet; Jerry was clean shaven and by far the most handsome
of the three, was over six feet tall and had dark hair. Tim, my "date", turned
out to somewhat shorter than the other two, but still several inches taller
than me; he was huskier than his friends. Although he was clean shaven, he had
an abundance hair on his arms.

Kimberly sat between Jerry and Tim, which left only the chair next to Tim for
me to sit in. Carefully, using the feminine manner I had practiced, I sat down
and quickly crossed my legs. I noticed Kimberly set her purse on her lap, so I
did the same. All the while I just wanted to quit this farce, tear off my
damned wig, kick off the uncomfortable high heels, grab my wife and drag her
home in caveman fashion, but I couldn't. Instead, I played along, now worried 
about my new rival for Kimberly's affection.                                                       

After introducing Kimberly, LeeAnn turned to me and said, "Well, guys, this is 
Dalia, Kimberly's niece. If she looks stunning, you can thank me, since I did
her nails and makeup!  Oh, by the way, she is just getting over a cold, so her
voice comes and goes, if you know what I mean. Tell us a bit about yourself,
Dalia, like what do you do for a living, and more importantly", LeeAnn 
laughed, "do you have any boyfriends?"

Not knowing what to say, I responded in as girlish a pitch as I could, "I'm a 
sales clerk at Pennys, and no, I don't have any boyfriends."                        

Kimberly looked at me oddly, apparently surprised to hear me say that I was a
salesclerk; it was a lie, but I surely couldn't tell the truth in this type of 
situation.

"Yes," Kimberly interrupted, "Dalia is my niece, although really we are almost 
the same age. She works as a salesgirl at JC Pennys, over at NorthPark mall.
She's been selling lingerie there for over a year now, haven't you Dalia?"

"Yes, I have," I replied. Kimberly, it seems, was humiliating me further by
giving me a job that no man would ever do.

"Oh, really," said LeeAnn, looking towards me, "I didn't know you worked 
there. I guess the next time any of us needs new panties and bras, we can go
see Dalia. Maybe she can get us a discount!  But then," she said laughing, "I
guess the guys at this table don't buy many bras and panties, do you all?"  
Her "inside joke" hurt me, but I noticed that Kimberly laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jack said, whereupon the conversation changed to other 
matters.

After a bit the music started up; a disk jockey was playing generic music,
some slow 50s and 60s songs, some faster rock and roll. The music was a little
loud, making conversation difficult, which suited me just fine. Tim bought me
a glass of wine, which I drank a little too quickly because my nerves were at
their end. I couldn't help but notice that Kimberly and Jerry had hit it off; 
it turned out that both were from the same city, Albany, which gave them
something in common to discuss. She had moved her chair closer to his, and he
had even put his arm around her shoulders. The animation in her speech and
movements betrayed that she was truly excited, and I could tell I wasn't the 
one exciting her, for after the first couple of minutes she mostly ignored me.
In fact, it seemed as if she purposely was avoiding looking towards me, as if
my presence embarrassed her.

LeeAnn, meanwhile, was talking and laughing and always smiling. Every minute
or so she would stroke Jack's arm or back or leg, while he would hold her hand 
or run his finger up and down her neck.  Since she was on the far side of the
table, I couldn't make out much of her conversation, but it apparently wasn't
about me. She was clearly in love.

I was sipping on my second glass of wine when LeeAnn got up and said, "I'm 
sorry, but I have to use the little girls' room. I'll be back in a minute.
Dalia, why don't you come with?"              

I had never been invited to use a "little girls' room" before, but I presumed 
I wasn't supposed to decline, so I said, "Yes, I think I should go freshen up. 
Please excuse me." Hearing me talk, Kimberly looked towards me; again she 
appeared somewhat disoriented by my appearance, as if she was wondering what I
was doing here. But after a moment she turned her attention back to Jerry; she
obviously didn't care to accompany her husband to the "little girls' room".

I got up, took my purse, and followed LeeAnn. The ladies' room was on the 
other side of the club. The wine, taken as it was on an empty stomach, had
made me somewhat light. I wobbled a bit on the high heels, but managed to walk
with a feminine sway (it is difficult not to walk in a feminine manner while
wearing high heels!).  LeeAnn was smiling, and obviously enjoying herself; she
seemed to be a very good natured person, not malicious at all, which set me a
bit at ease.

"Well, Dalia," LeeAnn said, giddy from the wine, "how are you doing on your 
first date? Isn't it exciting! You know, I can remember my first date, back 
when I was thirteen. Just like you, I used makeup to make me so beautiful...,
or so I thought, at least. I've always loved to make myself look pretty. I 
guess it's a girl thing, you know, we all love makeup and sexy clothes, don't
we!"

"Yes, I suppose so," I replied, not really liking the direction of the
conversation but unable to do anything about it. I gazed at LeeAnn, who wore a
soft pink, flower print jumper, white hose, and red high heels; her clothes,
her hair, the perfume she wore, her attitude, all combined to give her an aura
of primal-like femininity. I could not help but feel a sexual excitement, an
attraction for her. But she clearly felt nothing like that for me; I don't
think the thought that I could possibly be attracted to her ever entered her
mind. After all, I was wearing a skirt and entering the ladies' room, so as to 
freshen up for my "boyfriend".  My realization of my schitzophrenic situation
left me somewhat confused and discouraged.

Luckily, the ladies' room was empty. "OK, Dalia, I have to pee, You better 
too, or you'll be right back here in ten minutes," LeeAnn advised.  I did as 
she suggested, entered a stall, carefully pulled down my pantyhose and
panties, lifted my skirt, and squatted down to relieve myself.

"Tell me, girl," LeeAnn called from the other stall," do you always sit to 
pee, I mean like even when you're not wearing a dress and all? I've always
kind of envied men in a way, since they can pee standing up."   

"No," I responded, though speaking more softly than LeeAnn had, "I always sit 
down just like you do." It wasn't true, but then, I assumed it was the right 
thing to say in my circumstances. By now I had finished my duties; LeeAnn was
already studying her face in the mirror, applying powder here and there.

"You're really odd, Dalia," she said as she applied lipstick, "I can't imagine
any man I've ever known in my whole life who would ever put on a dress. I 
mean, can you picture any of the guys out there in heels? But with you, it's 
just natural-like. It's just impossible for me to picture you in pants, doing 
manly things like sports, gambling, chasing girls." She laughed, "Hell, no way
can I even picture a penis on you. What a funny thought!" At that she started 
giggling uncontrollably, clearly loosened by alcohol.

After she stopped laughing, LeeAnn helped me touch up my makeup. "OK, girl, 
let's get back to our men," she exclaimed. I couldn't help but envy LeeAnn,            
so secure in her sexuality, just as I had been with mine until this horrible
weekend.

When we got back to the table Tim stood up and pulled out my chair for me. I
wasn't sure how a real girl reacts, so I carefully swept my skirt down with my 
right arm and sat on the chair; Tim then helped me slide my chair forward.
"Thank you, Tim," I said, "you're a real gentleman." Kimberly, still engrossed 
in her conversation with Jerry, hadn't noticed our return, but when she heard
me compliment Tim she looked at me for a second, then quickly put her hand to
her mouth to stifle a laugh.

So, what took you so long," Jack asked LeeAnn after she sat down.   

"Well," LeeAnn replied loudly so that all of us would listen, "we had to do 
our girl things, didn't we, Dalia."      

"Yes, we did," I replied, blushing.

"You know, Jack, we girls must deal with stuff like lipstick and mascara,"
continued LeeAnn, "plus, girls like me and Dalia have to sit down to pee, 
don't we, Dalia? You men can just stand up!"  Again LeeAnn started giggling
uncontrollably. Apparently this situation was just too amusing to her;
meanwhile I feared she would unwittingly reveal my secret.

I glanced towards Kimberly; she was still conversing in whispers with Jerry,
oblivious to LeeAnn's jokes and to me, her husband. In astonishment I saw 
Jerry place his large hand at the back of her head, then lean towards her and
force his mouth onto hers. I froze as the scene passed like slow motion before
me; I saw her face reflect a moment of surprise, a slight resistance, and
then, her neck bending slightly back, she yielded to his advance. Kimberly's 
eyes softly closed as she partook of a slow kiss forced upon her by this
stranger. She did not resist. She did not try to slap him. She did not attempt
to rise from her chair and excuse herself from this place. No; Kimberly, my
wife, yielded to another man, even as I, her husband, watched in horror.

At this very moment Tim, apparently encouraged by the progress Jerry was
making with my "aunt", chose to make a move. My right hand was on the table,
near my wine glass. As I watched my wife kissing Jerry, Tim set his hand upon
mine. With an instinctive reaction I started to pull my hand back, but Tim
grasped it and held it. My gaze shifted from Kimberly towards my hand; I saw a
slender, hairless arm and a hand with long, perfectly manicured nails painted
bright red, being held by a man's hand. The man's arm was hairy and muscular;
his hand large with thick fingers.  Momentarily disoriented, I realized with a
shock that my arm was a girl's arm, that my hand was a girl's hand.

What could I do? What could I say?  After all, I was the transgressor, wasn't 
I?  I wore a skirt; how could I blame Tim for treating me like a girl?
Immediately I realized I had no choice but to play my part, and so, with a
feeling of resignation, I let Tim hold my hand, and even grasped his hand
softly in mine.

LeeAnn and Jack were already out on the dance floor. Glancing back at my wife,
I saw Jerry standing up, holding Kimberly's hand, ready to escort her to the 
dance floor. Kimberly was apparently eager to follow. I knew I should do
something now, lest this all go way too far.

"Kimberly," I called out frantically to her just as she started towards the
dance floor, "I need to use the little girls' room! Would you like to come 
with?"

This seemed to startle Kimberly; she looked at me and for a split second
seemed to be wondering who this girl was that had called to her.

"No, my little niece," she responded with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
"You can powder your nose without my help, can't you?"         

"But," I pleaded, "I have to work tomorrow. Maybe we better go home now."

"No, Dalia, we will not go home now," she replied without the slightest waver
in her voice. "Jerry and I want to dance."  Then, to Tim she said, "Forgive my 
niece, she doesn't get out much. She's a homebody. Take her out to   the dance
floor. You know, she's really quite a girl, my little niece is!" Kimberly 
laughed and turned to follow Jerry to the dance floor.

"Well, Dalia, sounds like that was an order from your aunt, doesn't it", Tim 
said, "so we had better go out and dance."  He took my hand; I had no choice
but to demurely follow him. It was a slow song, "Dream, Dream, Dream" by the
Everly Brothers.

I saw Jerry holding Kimberly close, with her head resting on his shoulder. She
saw me following Tim; her eyes watched us, but she didn't smile or frown, her
mind apparently elsewhere. Thus it was that, as my wife watched, Tim held me
close and we danced. With my high heels I couldn't do much, mostly we just
swayed with the music. My tight skirt allowed me to take only short steps.  As
he held me, I could feel my "breasts" forced against his body; I thought to
myself how lucky I was that Kimberly had given me real silicone breast forms,
not just cotton balls.

After the song ended Tim didn't loosen his hold; instead he bent his head down 
towards mine, and forced his lips against mine. With my eyes, open with a type
of terror, I saw both Kimberly and LeeAnn standing nearby, their men at their
sides, watching me being kissed by this man. LeeAnn looked surprised by what
she saw; Kimberly watched almost impassively. After a couple of seconds I
closed my eyes and surrendered myself to circumstances I could not change; I
tried to imagine that I was kissing Kimberly, my wife, whom I loved more than
life itself, but I was not very successful at this.

We all returned to our table, where the waitress brought another round. I was
grateful for the drink, for it would help to loosen my mind from this reality.
Unfortunately, everyone else was also loosening up under the effects of
alcohol.

"Kim," LeeAnn said to Kimberly, "I think your niece may have fallen for Tim.
What do you think? Maybe this could lead to the altar. Wouldn't she look nice 
a a wedding dress?" LeeAnn laughed; I was hurt, but I knew that LeeAnn had no 
idea I was Kimberly's husband. She was just having fun.

Kimberly, who was sitting on Jerry's lap, answered, "Why yes, I had no idea my 
niece was so forward. Kissing on her first date. Maybe she's in love."

"OK, girls," Tim said, "let's not tease Dalia."

In a way I was glad that he had stopped further comments, as I felt sure that
LeeAnn would let out my secret by mistake, but on the other hand, I felt
embarrassed to have this man in the role of my protector. After all, I was not
a little girl in need.

"Come here, girl," Tim then said to me, "we'll show them."  With that he 
gently took hold of my two hands and led me to him, and had me sit on his lap
just as Kimberly was seated on Jerry's. As I sat on his lap my skirt, already 
very short, rode up some, which allowed the others a view of my pink slip and
matching pink panties. I was unable to cross my legs to hide the view. LeeAnn
started giggling, but the men just assumed she was tipsy.

Then, with the girls watching, Tim forced another kiss onto me; this kiss was
longer and more passionate. I closed my eyes and tried to react as I thought a
girl would: I submitted to the kiss with a bit of passion. Not because I liked
it, but because I definitely did not want him to think anything was amiss; if
my secret were discovered, the three men could truly cause me trouble. When,
after a minute or two I opened my eyes, I saw Kimberly watching me, a strange
"Mona Lisa" type smile on her face. What, I wondered, was she thinking as she
watched her husband acting like a sexy teenaged girl?

During the next twenty minutes this scene was repeated several times. I soon
felt Tim's maleness grow hard under me.  Several times he groped for my 
breasts; I would quickly brush off these moves and then, in order to change
the focus of his attentions, I would initiate another kiss. His tongue probed
my mouth. Being inexperienced in this situation, of course, I did not know how
best to handle Tim; I knew I must limit his advances, without putting him
down, but how? Girls, coy by nature, can play a man like a flute, but alas I
could only founder.

My mind somewhat frantically projected forward: what would I do if...?
Naturally, I knew the magic words all girls use in such a situation, "it's my 
time of the month," but what if he still demanded to be serviced? I doubted I 
could count on Kimberly to extract me from this mess, and LeeAnn just assumed
I enjoyed being the female. While embraced in a long kiss with Tim I
envisaged, with horror, me, in the role of Kimberly's "niece", unzipping Tim's
pants and taking his member into my mouth, so as to satisfy him while, at the
same time, maintaining my secret.

Luckily, salvation came from an unlikely source. About 11:30 LeeAnn broke away
from her petting session with Jack and said, "Hey! It's getting late, and I 
have to open the store tomorrow. Jack and I have to get going."

Kimberly then added, "Yes, perhaps it's best I go home also. I'll be sorry 
tomorrow if I don't."  Then, looking at me, she said in a serious tone of 
voice, "Dalia, if you want you can stay here with Tim. I'm sure he would give 
you a lift home." She sounded annoyed that I and Tim were hitting it off so 
well.

"Sure," Tim said to Kimberly, "I'll be happy to give your niece a ride home.
And I promise not to keep her out past two!" While he said that I felt his 
fingers run up and down the inside of my thigh, in a very suggesting manner.
It seemed almost that Kimberly and Tim were to decide my fate regardless of
what I wanted.

"No, Tim. I'm very sorry," I quickly said. "I have to work tomorrow, and since 
we'll be taking inventory in the morning I'll need to go in early. I'd better 
go home now, too."    

"So, tomorrow you'll be counting all the bras and panties in the store," 
Kimberly said somewhat sarcastically. "You should really have fun at that."

I blushed at her comment.

"OK, then, let's call it a night," LeeAnn said. And maybe we can get together 
like this again next week! But before we go, us girls must visit the ladies
room." 

LeeAnn and Dalia got up; it took me a second to realize that I was one of "the 
girls" LeeAnn was asking to go with her. As gracefully as possible I got off 
Tim's lap, straightened my skirt a bit, took my purse from the table, then 
hurried to catch up with LeeAnn and Kimberly.

"My gosh, girl," Kimberly said when I reached them, "you really seemed to be 
having fun. And this is your first date! Looks like you're ready to go all the 
way!" She laughed, but was smiling at me in a friendly, not angry manner.              

"Oh, I didn't know really how to handle him," I said, trying to justify my 
actions.

"Well," Kimberly said, "you certainly seemed to know what you were doing. Tim 
is ready to take you to bed right now."

"He sure is." laughed LeeAnn. "But wouldn't he be surprised when he pulled 
your panties off!" She started giggling again.  

"You better be careful, Dalia," LeeAnn added, "Tim might just get you 
pregnant! Wouldn't you look funny with a big belly and all!"       

"Please," I said to her, "don't make fun of me."

"Oh, isn't it just like a girl to be so sensitive," LeeAnn laughed. "Now get 
over here by the mirror. You're makeup is smudged from all that making out!" 
She spent a few minutes helping me reapply lipstick and powder.

We returned to the table for a minute before leaving. Jerry held Kimberly in
his arm for a couple of minutes, as they whispered to each other. Tim stood up
and held me tight for a moment, giving me one last kiss. Not knowing what to
do, I said, "Tim, thank you for the nice evening. I really enjoyed myself."

Tim tried to get my phone number, but I successfully deflected his requests.

"Goodbye, Dalia," LeeAnn called out as we left, "I'll stop by Penneys sometime 
and you can help me select some lingerie. I'm sure your taste in panties is 
impeccable!"     

Finally, Kimberly and I walked out of the club, alone. It was very dark. A
full moon hovered just above the horizon. I found myself shivering; I don't 
know whether from the cool night air or the stress of the evening. Kimberly,
more skilled in wearing high heels, walked ahead of me; I had difficulty
keeping up. She was clearly angry about something. God, I prayed, don't let 
her be mad at something I did.

"Well, my little niece, did you have a good time," Kimberly asked as she drove
out of the lot.

"No, of course not. I had a terrible time; you know that," I replied.

"A terrible time? Well, you sure looked like you were having fun! I doubt that 
you've ever kissed me as passionately as you kissed Tim. Tell me, my dearest 
husband, did you come in your panties?"         

"Are you kidding," I said, surprised.

"No, I'm not kidding.. Now tell me, did you soil your new panties? I want to 
know the truth."        

"No, of course not. My panties are clean," I exclaimed.

"Lift up your skirt and show me," she commanded.

"But why? You know I'm not that way, don't you," I pleaded.

"Do it, my husband. Lift up your skirt."

Embarrassed, I did what she asked, pulling my skirt's hem up waist high.

"Now," Kimberly continued, "take off your panties and your pantyhose."

Not wanting to anger her further, I slipped off my heels, then removed the
pink panties that Jennifer had given me earlier in the day, and then took off
my pantyhose, being very careful not to run them.

"Kimberly," I said, holding the garments, "here they are, and they are dry. 
Please believe me, I did not do that."        

Kimberly pulled over to the side of the road, then turned the interior light
on. Although the clothes were dry, the process of undressing did have the
effect of stimulating me, such that I was now hard.

"Yes, the clothes are dry," Kimberly conceded after looking them over for any
spots, "but, I see you have been amply excited by this evening's activity. So 
it is true: being with a man turns you on! Look at you, sitting there dressed
as a girl, made up like a hooker, and all excited about your date with Tim.
What kind of husband are you, anyway? I'm not blind, you know. I saw you. You 
were smiling as you danced with him, you actively and passionately kissed him,
and you even told him at the end of your date what a perfectly wonderful time
you had. Shame on you!  Here I was only trying to punish you for just two
days-and you deserved it, because you were with another woman, remember- and
what happens? You enjoy your punishment! You like being a woman! I never
imagined that you would be so good at being a girl. Have I lost my husband and
gained a girlfriend, or a maid?  Now, put your panties back on, and your
pantyhose!" She turned off the interior light and gunned the car.        

"Please, Kimberly," I begged meekly as I put one foot in the white pantyhose
and began to slip them up my leg, "that's not true. I don't like Tim! The 
thought of me being with him is ridiculous. I was just trying to please you. I
thought you wanted me to be nice to him. Please forgive me."           

"Sure," she said sarcastically, "I wanted my husband to sit on a man's lap and 
passionately kiss him, in front of a hundred people! Really, Dalia!  Now why
don't you shut up, girl. I don't want to hear you say anything till we get
home.   Maybe you'd like to jerk off on the way home, while you fantasize 
about your wonderful date? Go ahead and do it, just be quiet. I need to think
this through; I don't want to hear your heavy breathing."

Embarrassed and deeply troubled, I donned my panties and pantyhose, and had
just gotten my high heels back on when we reached home.

I followed Kimberly into the house and then to the kitchen, where she sat at
the table.

"Dalia," she said, "get me some orange juice." I quickly did so, and brought
it to her, still maintaining my silence.

"Well, girl, it's midnight. You're punishment phase is over. Take off your 
blouse and your skirt, now."'    

I did as she ordered, gently setting my clothes on a chair.

"Now take off your slip," she said."

Again I did as requested; I stood uneasily before her, wearing only my bra,
panties, pantyhose, and high heels, unsure of what to do next.

"Now I want you to relieve yourself. I can't help you, as I'm on my period. 
But I know you need it, and in a way I do feel sorry for you. So go ahead and
do it." 

"What," I said incredulously, "right here? I can't do that!"

"Do it," she commanded. "Right now. Or else you can grab your skirt and blouse 
and walk out the door. But if you do, you won't come back!"  

"But I don't understand...," I stammered.

I stood still for several moments, than gave in. Slowly I slid my panties and
pantyhose down to my thighs. "It" was already erect. I held it in my hand and
started going back and forth, back and forth, while Kimberly watched. I was
standing in bright light. I was both intensely excited and deeply humiliated.
I did not want to see Kimberly looking at me, so I closed my eyes.

"Now," she continued, "I want you to think of yourself as Dalia, a pretty girl
wearing high heels, a sexy blouse, and a skirt that shows far too much leg.
Picture yourself, dressed oh so fine, dancing with Tim; him holding you
closely, caressing you. Think of yourself, sitting on his lap, shifting your
position slightly so as to rub his erect member. Picture yourself, leaning
towards him, your mouth seeking his, and finding his; remember how you kissed
him so passionately, your lipstick leaving a smudge on his cheek. Think of his
tongue forcing its way into your mouth."          

I remembered. The thought repelled me, and for a moment I stopped rubbing
myself, but then Kimberly yelled, "Keep going, girl!"

I did so, going back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster.  After
another half a minute or so I felt the pressure build, then explode. As I
stood there with a sticky white warm liquid shooting out into my hand,
dripping down onto my panties and pantyhose, onto my shoes, and onto the
floor, I felt as if Kimberly had fully crushed my manhood. I felt the world
end. I could not comprehend why this was happening to me, why she had done
this to me. I kept my eyes closed so as not to see my wife watching me suffer
such disgrace.  I felt tears forming. I heard several clicks, and realized
Kimberly had been photographing me, but I was far too beaten to protest.

I stood there for several minutes, in the center of the well-lit kitchen,
still half-dressed in womens' lingerie. My eyes were closed; my mind was 
blank, like it had fallen into an endless abyss; I could feel a wetness
spreading over my panties and dripping down my thighs. Meanwhile, Kimberly
impassively drank her juice, and when finished, spoke to me in an unemotional,
businesslike tone of voice.

"Very good, Dalia, now I understand your true fantasies. Needless to say I am 
surprised. Now I want you to clean your mess up; be sure to clean your nasty
slime off the floor and off your new high heels. Carefully wash your soiled
lingerie and pantyhose and hang them up to dry. Then take a shower; once you
get clean, you will put on your pink negligee; I'll set it out in the bathroom 
before I go to sleep. When you come to bed, don't wake me."              

"Good night, Dalia."

With that Kimberly left me; I stood like a fool in the middle of the kitchen,
more woman than man, wearing high heels, still wearing a pink bra, my wet
panties pulled down around my knees, my member now hanging limp, with white
fluid all over everything. Tears had caused my mascara to run. Even though it
was after midnight, and my punishment was officially over, Kimberly had called
me Dalia, not Dan. Why? I could only fear what the future held for me.

                                    The End