The tubes on your chest and crotch start vibrating, and through the mask you breathe. A numbness like those times at the dentist when your jaw was injected with Novocain courses through your body, and you collapse on the bedframe.
You open your eyes and see Monica, naked as you are, on top of you. You open your mouth to speak, but she places her finger over your lips.
“Hush, my pretty, my sweet,” she whispers in a low sexy voice. She carefully massages your pectorals, which are surprisingly sensitive, and you feel yourself bursting with desire for her. Monica plants her lips on yours; you savor the fruity creamy taste of her lipstick. You feel your manhood stiffen and you thrust into Monica, both of you moaning in ecstasy.
Then you open your eyes for real.
Monica’s not here; the tubes and mask have fallen off your naked body. You run your hands over yourself, and your body feels.... different. All your body hair is gone, save for your pubic hair. And it too is different, now in a feminine triangle above your privates.
You feel your pectorals; there is some added flesh, and they feel much more sensitive than before. The nipples are larger too, almost like those on a woman’s breasts. You moan as you feel that usual stirring in your crotch.
Your penis remains limp.
Horror replaces your arousal; what’s happened to you?
The receptionist’s voice chuckles through some unseen speaker. “You can relax. You still have your male libido; it’s just been-tweaked.” Before you can ask, she goes on, “You still feel arousal, from now on you need to smell the pheromones of a woman in heat to get a boner. You mentioned having a girlfriend. Do you swing both ways? Or at least are you bi-curious?”
“No,” you reply. You never felt any attraction to men in the least, not even to other CD’s or trannies. You’ve talked about this with you support group, and one of your “sisters” with a background in sex therapy said your crossdressing was an extension of your heterosexuality-that you were SO attracted to women your sexuality manifested in a desired to wrap yourself in the trappings of womanhood.
Another “sister’s” girlfriend put it in more blunt terms: that your inner woman was simply a committed lesbian.
The receptionist speaks again, “Put these on.” A piece of the wall next to the bedframe swings around, showing a full-length mirror, a hook with a white satin bathrobe, and a medium sized box. You walk over, open the box and see inside a black lace bra, a matching set of panties, a cloth gaff to tuck your manhood in, a cincher girdle, a wig cap, a black slip, and two size DD silicon prosthetic breasts.
You take the fake boobs and peel away the adhesive paper, then place them on your pecs. You exclaim in surprise as you feel the weight pulling at your nipples; you’ve worn breast forms before, but never had it felt like this. You massage your fake cleavage; now you feel your sensitive pecs react almost like actual breasts.
After about half a minute of pleasuring yourself, you tuck your genitals into the gaff, and then slide on panties; the feel of satin against your skin sends an intense wave of pleasure throughout your body. You cup the fake boobs into the bra and with practiced hands, clasp the straps behind your shoulders. You breathe a sigh of relief that you don’t feel their weight pulling on your pecs.
Finally, you look at yourself in the mirror. Your hips flare out in a way they never did before and with feminine curves extending your ass and the breast forms help give you a very convincing feminine figure. At first glance your face looks the same but looking closer you see the eyebrows are now slimmer and more arched, your jawline is less angular, and your chin is more pointed. The most noticeable change is your lips, they are fuller and plumper, almost like they are made for wearing lipstick. Even without a wig or makeup you could easily pass as a woman.
You pull in your lips; your face looks a little more masculine, but still effeminate. That doesn’t really bother you, you always did look effeminate. Finally, you put on the slip, robe and wig cap. You look almost genderless.
You walk out the chamber and see the receptionist. “Well, well,” she says. “Well begun, is half done as they say.”
“I-certainly wasn’t expecting-this,” you say, then stop in disbelief. Your voice has always been the hardest part about the feminine allusion you try to project, always an octave too deep to be convincing. Now it sounds like a feminine contralto.
“Try to speak a little deeper.”
“Why is my voice-?” This time you sound more masculine.
“Our goal here is to help clients such as yourself to find a balance between your normal everyday male self and your inner woman. And relax, you will likely find it easier to sound like a man when dressed in male attire.” Now the receptionist smiles. “Follow me girlie, and we’ll get you all prettied up for your date tonight.”
You follow her down the hallway to a small parlor; inside, surrounding a salon chair are three twentysomething young women dressed very sexily. “Marlene, Harriet, Julia,” the receptionist says, “I’ve brought your canvas here. Time to work your magic.”
One of the girls, a slim brunette whose nametag reads JULIA smiles warmly as she leads you to the salon chair. “Marlene,” she indicates the African American woman wearing a daishiki and flower turban, “will do your nails and Harriet,” an ivory skinned redhead with green eyes, “and I will do your makeup.”
You sit down in the salon chair and lean back, giddy with excitement. Getting dolled up by a group of lovely women has always been a major fantasy of yours.
You close your eyes and tingle with pleasure as you feel Marlene stick fake nails on your hands, then file and shape them before applying nail polish. Your face feels the tickle of brushes and powder puffs and you drift off into thoughts of Monica.
How will your relationship go after tonight? And why had she seemed so intrigued? From the enthusiastic way she acted those times the two of you had sex she can’t be a closet lesbian. Is she bisexual? At least bi-curious? Or does she simply want your feminine self as a galpal? You do have a French maid outfit at home; you fantasize about cleaning her place in the getup.
Finally, you feel a wig being attached to your cap. “Open your eyes,” Julia says. You do as she swings the chair around and you gasp at the sight looking back at you.
The wig is bleach-blonde and shoulder length, ending in soft wavy curls. The foundation applied to your face makes your complexion softer and more feminine looking. Vibrant turquoise and purple shade your eyes, which are sharply outlined in black and adorned with long curly false eyelashes. Soft red rouges your cheeks, and your pouty mouth is lipsticked in bright red, hinting at the pleasures they offer. Nobody who saw you would guess that you’re really a man; your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.
Hell, you barely recognize yourself.
You get out of the chair. “Let me dress her,” Harriet says to Julia. The brunette looks at Harriet oddly, and Julia replies, “Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself.”
The redhead takes you out of the parlor to another room which is revealed to be an enormous closet filled with feminine clothes, shoes, and jewelry of every description. “Alright girlie, let’s get you dressed.”
You step out of the bathrobe while Harriet searches through the dresses. “Ah, here we go.” She helps you into a sleeveless black midi dress and matching fingerless elbow length gloves and black high heeled pumps. She then adds a pair of gold hoop clip-on earrings-like many crossdressers, you don’t bother piercing your ears-and as a final touch clasps a black rose barrette above your left ear.
You glance at a full-length mirror, amazed at how convincingly you look like a woman about to go out for a formal evening. Harriet leans behind you and squeezes your shoulders. “You look so pretty,” she says dreamily. “So sweet, so beautiful.”
You nod in agreement and then realize you are getting a most unfeminine feeling in your panties. You catch a scent coming from Harriet. Unlike a lot of men, you ENJOY performing cunnilingus and you’ve munched enough carpet to know the smell of a woman aroused. You think about what the receptionist said earlier. ‘Am I turning her on?’
You gently pull away from Harriet. “I’m flattered,” you say politely, “but I already have a girlfriend.”
“Lucky bitch.”
With mincing feminine steps, you walk to the reception area. The receptionist greets you and hands you a black handbag. “Your wallet and phone are inside,” she says, “along with some complimentary
makeup and other accessories.
You search through the handbag and find everything there like she said. “Thank you,” you reply and take out your wallet. “How much do I owe you for all of this?”
“With that coupon you gave earlier, it’s on the house,” she replies. “Although if you come here again, you’ll have to pay.”
“Thanks,” you say then add, “By the way, what you told me earlier, about how I can only get an erection if I smell a woman in heat?” She nods. “Harriet helped me get dressed and I felt-,”
“Oh Harriet?” the receptionist sighs. “She-has a fetish; feminized males turn her on. Crossdressers, drag queens-her last serious relationship was with a she-male.” She then smiles. “Look at it this way-now you have a way of knowing if a woman’s really into you or not.” You think for a bit and realize that’s true.
After thanking her again, you walk out to your car. Once inside, you take out your phone and dial Monica’s number.
“Hello gorgeous,” you say when she answers.
“Who are you?” she replies. “And why are you calling on my boyfriend’s phone?”
You take a deep breath, then reply. “It’s me,” you say, doing your best to sound more like your usual male self, which takes some effort. “You wanted to meet my other half, remember?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry, that breathy voice just sounded so convincing. Almost like Marylyn Monroe.”
“Really?” you say, sliding back into sounding female. “You like?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s kind of-sexy.”
Now you’re really excited. “Tell you what babe-how about we-,”