During the next few days I learned to do day and night versions of eye-look on my own, until I could fix any defect even while still at the table of any restaurant, with only a slight flourish of a wand. My beard had disappeared during the three days that endowed me with breasts, electrolysized out of existence while I was asleep on tranquilizers and sedatives. So almost immediately my face became what Kate wanted, cute, sprightly, doll-like, the face of a girl who is amusing but not threatening, maybe a girl who’d be a challenge to get into bed but one who might be hard to stop once she got there. She kept training me to look fascinated by anything said to me. And to make perky little movements. And to smile and look a little grateful and a little hungry when I was complimented.
By the third week I took great pride and pleasure in the fact that I could maintain my looks by myself. We shopped whenever Kate could spare the time, and I had lots to wear. She always chose clothes that were slightly brassy and provocative. My new bras and panties were strange lacy whisps of things with oddly shaped openings, mostly from Fredericks of Hollywood, “just this side of whorish, Annie, because that’s how you’ll want to feel.” Each day she had me walk about only in my underthings and high heels for a few hours, so I’d always see myself wearing them in my own mind no matter what I was wearing on top. My blouses and dresses and skirts were a little tight. “They’re for showing off your body to strangers,” she said, so she had me practice sashaying through malls and parking lots in clinging clothes with hips that moved like a pendulum, and I got used to being stared at. Even began to like it!
I practiced my high voice — she wanted a near falsetto from me, though many women don’t talk that way, and lots of tonal range. Each day after I’d moved my bowels she had me use a “Summer’s Eve” douche down there, and then work my finger into my anus coated with KY jelly. “A girl can’t be too dainty down below,” was all she said in explanation. “And besides, doesn’t your finger feel nice moving around in there?” It was a fact, once past the anus my colon felt silky to the touch. The TV game shows and talk shows and soap operas and the women’s magazines began to get to me, until by the second month of my new life when I was back at the salon for retouching I was only one more woman leafing through style books under the dryer and gossiping in my newly trained, slightly squeaky voice, about nails and hemlines and unfaithful wives and cute guys on TV.
It was clear from the start, Kate wanted me to feel kept, dependent. Being attractive the way she wanted was the reason for my existence, and I did work at it, very hard. I really tried! A few times when I forgot some simple feminine thing — I sat knees apart when wearing a dress, or I sat knees together when I was wearing jeans — she would criticize me and punish me by denying me access to her sweet, dear pussy. Around the fourth week I started to cry when she used a rough tone with me — I couldn’t help it, I’d forgotten that she wanted me to be forgetful, and silly, and sprightly, not a real ditz but the kind of girl even a shy guy could admire close up and feel manly with. Kate credited it to my hormones and forgave me when it happened, and I was so grateful that I crawled between her legs and licked and sucked and kissed her sweet cunny all night long. And she let me, too!
One evening during the fifth week we were both putting night cream on our faces when she looked over at me and said, “Annie honey, you have made marvelous progress, by leaps and bounds. I’m sure that in your heart you really wanted this.”
“Yes, Ms. Kate,” I said. “I’m sure now too!”
“I think it’s time you enjoyed some of the distinctive pleasures of being a woman,” she said.
An odd statement, considering that I was that moment wearing my softest, laciest nightie, pink and black, and had put up my hair, and was removing the makeup I’d worn all day. I said nothing.
“So tomorrow you won’t prepare dinner for when I get home. We’ll double date and go out for dinner.”
I felt a shocked and distressed, both at once! Kate with another man? Me with…a man?
“But I’ll go easy with you this first time. With Claire and Wilmer. We’ll meet them at the Pavilion for dinner, and then come back here afterward. Your red mini with all the flounces will be just right. If you can walk and move through the dining areas with just a touch of dignity, they may not take you for a provocative tart and throw you out at first glance.” She smiled at me.
I was nervous all the next day, and kept adjusting my make-up, but at the actual dinner I was a great success. Claire looked at me with a sardonic expression, delighted and slightly mocking!
“Andy darling, you never were much of a man, but how you’ve changed!” she said, as we clasped both our hands and leaned forward to touch cheeks to each other, as women do who don’t want to mess their faces. “You’ve taken to all this so well! Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted it all your life! I never understood what Kate saw in you, when you were still playing at masculinity. Probably that you were really a closet fag!”
Kate had reminded me when we were walking from the parking lot to meet them that Claire was often insulting, but Annie was brassy, lively, and incapable of feeling offended by insults.
“Why thank you, that’s a very sweet compliment,” I gushed. “Oh, Claire, I haven’t had a chance yet to thank you for these wonderful titties you gave me that first weekend! They’re really all anyone needs to be happy, whether a man or a woman! And aren’t you lovely tonight! Is that the dress you were wearing last time we saw each other? It looks even better tonight! And Wilmer, how nice to see you again! I’ve really wanted to get to know you better!”
And I smiled at him, a restrained but unmistakable come-on Kate had made me practice repeatedly, even though I was thinking meanwhile that there was nothing much in him to get to know. Wilmer smiled back, nervously restrained with Claire close by, but I sensed he relaxed a little when he concentrated his attention on me.
Encouraged, I took his arm, thereby claiming the only male in the company for myself, and we followed the Maitre’ d to our table. I saw at once that my red mini really was a sensation for this restaurant, and decided to walk on Wilmer’s arm as if everyone in the place was applauding. Every other woman including Claire and Kate was wearing black or subdued shades, with hemlines below the knee while mine barely covered my buttocks, and my flounces exaggerated every movement of my breasts and hips. Far from embarrassed that I looked so flamboyantly feminine, I felt pleased. Attracting Claire’s husband was a kind of petty revenge against Claire, who had been part of the conspiracy to make me into what I was. Of course I didn’t dare feel that way toward Kate. Or want to.
I looked back, and was surprised to see that the two women walking together behind us were watching us with wide grins on their face, Kate delightedly telling Claire something, Claire giggling in response. As Wilmer led me to our table and held out a chair for me, I realized with a shock that I’d been set up! They’d wanted me to resent Claire, and to try to steal Claire’s husband from her! They’d wanted me to set up a liaison with a real man! And I’d done it! Just how far did they want me to go? I was suddenly frightened. But I just clutched Wilmer’s arm tighter, and then as I sat down I trailed my fingers down his arm. I’d started it, so I’d finish it! As he sat down too I looked into his face the way the magazines had advised me, eyes wide with interest, and asked him what he liked most about his work, and what he’d done he was most proud of. And marveled with prettily pursed lips as he told me about some obscure accounting practice he’d reformed.
Kate had to cue me a few times to remember my training, be very delicate with my hands when holding my silverware and wineglass, primp my curls up in back with my palms now and then, be very bold while looking around the room, and look the waiter up and down with hooded eyes when he bent over me to take my order, as if I were sizing up a delicious slab of beef. Now and then, shoulders back and shake my breasts back and forth — I did that once in Wilmer’s face, and he almost went catatonic!
We went back to our house in separate cars, and Kate established her authority over me again as soon as we were alone. “You enjoyed being a woman tonight, didn’t you, Annie?” she commented.
