Chapter 5

I awoke late that Saturday morning, feeling groggy and confused. What the hell happened last night? The memories, if they came at all, were disjointed, kaleidoscopic flashes of light, sound and sensation. I remembered coming like there was no tomorrow; the most explosive climax of my life. I should have awoken on a cold wet spot on the sheets, but there was nothing; not a trace that I had even had sex, either on the bed or my person. Did I hurt, ache from the experience? No. In fact, I felt ... cleansed, uplifted, physically and emotionally liberated – but why, if nothing happened?

I looked around and ... Alexis was gone.

That reality was like a punch in the gut. It was all real. My wife had gone out, gotten laid, brought her toy boy home, did unspeakable things with and to me. Then she had left with him. Would she return? If not, how would I find her? Should I find her? Would I be able to convince her to come back to me after last night? Maybe if I called Mama, she could give me a clue...

Then I saw the handwritten note, folded into a tent, sitting on my nightstand.

My Darling Michael,

You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to wake you before I left for the salon. Last night was our best yet. I see nothing but good things ahead for the two of us. I have so much love for you in my heart, it hurts.

Be a lamb and pop over and join us as soon as you can, won’t you? Your mama and I have talked, and decided last night was so good, we are going to do it all over again tonight. This time Brandi is going to join us. I think it is high time she and I met, don’t you? We have so much to discuss; especially after last night.

Your One and Only,

Alexis

P.S. Your mama has everything you will need, so just bring your sweet self. She promised me I wouldn’t be disappointed. She has been right about everything so far. I hope she is right about this.

This punch was worse; much worse. She knows! At least she hadn’t left me already. She had simply gone to the salon; one of her favorite pastimes, of late. I re-read her note, then read it a third time. It sounded hopeful. She told me she loved me and we had a future, in spite of this. What choice did I really have?

I took the time to run my usual five miles first, just to clear my head and get my mind in a good place. The bathroom in our master suite contained a marbled shower stall with multiple shower heads, including a hand-held wand at the end of a six-foot articulated stainless steel hose. The wand featured multiple screw-on attachments. I availed myself of the probe attachment to give myself a cleansing enema to make sure I was thoroughly clean inside, then washed the rest. While I was patting myself dry, I wondered if Alexis truly understood the implications of what Mama had promised her?

I had to handle the first part myself. This was short notice and the medication would need time to take effect. I kept the necessary kit duct-taped to the back of a drawer in my nightstand. It took a few moments to prepare and administer the injection of Depro-Gen. The drug was the fastest-acting and most powerful anti-androgen currently available. It was the medication of choice for the Department of Corrections to chemically-castrate hard-core sex offenders. The single dose I had injected would keep me profoundly limp for seventy-two hours; extreme, but necessary for what was to come. I smoothed Alexis’ rich, emollient body lotion over every inch of exposed skin from my shoulders to my feet, then followed with a dusting of scented powder. I dressed quickly, grabbed wallet and keys and headed out the door.

Saturdays are always the busiest day of the week at the salon and this day was no exception. Mama stepped away from her station and closed the portable curtained partitions that had been set up around it. That was unusual, but not unheard of. There was a VIP room in the back for clients who wished additional privacy. The partitions in the main salon would be employed when two VIPs were booked at the same time. To my surprise, the breathtaking blonde hustled me through the shop into the VIP suite in the back. As soon as she shut the door behind us, I buried my face on her shoulder.

“She knows, Mama,” I cried out.

“Yes, Baby, she knows,” my mother confirmed, patting me on the back, “and it’s about time you came out to her. It was wrong of you to hide this from her – just as it was wrong of you to hide it from me so long ago. How do you feel?”

“Nervous as hell,” I admitted. “My stomach is doing flip-flops.”

“I thought so,” she acknowledged sagely, reaching into a pocket. “Take this.”

The small circular tablet went down smoothly, even without water.

“That will help ease those jitters,” she promised. “Now, you get started. Do your body, then get into the new corset I have for you. It’s over there on the counter, with a thong and a wrap. Do the lip plumper, too. That’s also there. Then wait for us. Gayle, Jennifer and I have blocked out the late afternoon for you. We want you to be flawless for Alexis tonight. I already have everything else you will need for that. See you in a bit.”

That Mama was right didn’t make the situation any more palatable. ‘Brandi’ had been a work in progress since childhood. It had begun with those overheard comments from those men. If Mama was that popular, I wanted to be just like her. It had been easy at first. Gramma and Grampa both worked. My uncles were either in school, doing sports or working their own jobs. Mama worked at the salon all day with Gramma. I was the ‘good kid’ who never got into trouble, so she felt secure in leaving me alone after I returned from school.

I used my time alone to go into her closet and dresser. The first thing I tried on was a pair of lacy panties. They felt so good! I had progressed to other intimates, then clothes, then her high heels. She didn’t catch me until I was twelve. She didn’t throw a fit. She just sat me down and we had a quiet conversation. She told me it was wrong to go through her things without her permission, but there was no real harm done. In fact, she thought I made a really cute girl. It was okay with her if I dressed up, and she was pretty sure Gramma would be cool with it, but Grampa and her brothers would not like it. We really needed their support right now, so we would have to keep this our little secret.

‘Brandi’ had evolved with age and experience. Mama had begun giving me ‘vitamins’ – I never knew the source – which would keep me looking and feeling a little more feminine than masculine. When I could ‘pass’, she took me shopping and to the salon. As she had predicted, Gramma was cool with me. So were the other operators and clients. I began spending afternoons after school and Saturdays at the salon, learning new things. My favorite subjects were makeup, hair and nails. Mama and Gramma helped me with the first two, while Gramma’s nail techs helped me with the third. I eventually got a pair of breast forms and padded to make myself look more passable.

In the summer before I went away to college, I earned my certifications as a cosmetologist and nail tech. Also during that summer, I added a whole new dimension to my alter ego. My voice had never deepened; the low-level hormone therapy had seen to that. Still, it needed training, according to Mama. She had acquired a booklet and compact disk for me through the Internet; Speaking as a Woman. Those, plus a tape recorder, set me on the path to develop the perfect ‘Brandi voice’. I needed a benchmark; someone to emulate. Mama had that, too, in the form of videos of another of her Hollywood icons. By the time I left for school, I knew that voice the way D’Arcy now emulated ‘Alexis’.

Alone in the VIP suite, I began my transformation in earnest with my prosthetics. Disposable income – and lots of it – had again been my blessing. These next-generation prosthetics were the best yet; latex-skinned and silicone-gel-filled, they were a visual and tactile delight. Better still, the company that manufactured them could, for the proverbial “extra charge”, custom-make them to the customer’s exact specifications. Extra charge, indeed. I could have bought a used car for what I spent, but they were worth it. Mama had demanded input in my purchase, and it showed, both in price and results.

Pre-positioning the breasts and making the alignment marks on my skin with a felt-tipped pen was the work of a couple of minutes. It took a bit longer to spray the bases with the super-strong medical-grade adhesive, and about five minutes beyond that to allow the sticky stuff to cure to the proper consistency. Then I carefully pressed each breast form into place, smoothed out the thin flange around the base and held it until the adhesive really set. The result was a set of high-profile twin peaks, jutting straight out from my chest, custom-matched to my skin tone. Each had a dark, erect nipple and matching areole three inches in diameter. After an application of Derma-Blend and powder, there was not a trace of seam between prosthetic and flesh. They looked real; that is, they looked like a real boob job – and a huge one, at that.

The powerful synthetic opioid gave me a rush of physical and mental well-being, similar to what I had felt the previous night. Mama had been right; it did calm my nerves. I felt relaxed, serene, ready for what came next.

The next step was the companion ‘pussy panties’. They resembled a flesh-toned long-line panty girdle, but were heavily padded with silicone gel in the hips, thighs and buttocks. I put each foot through its respective opening, then began working the garment up my legs, pausing just below my crotch. Manipulating my scrotal sac, I isolated each testicle in turn and pressed it up the inguinal canal into my abdomen. Thanks to the Depro-Gen, my cock was small and soft and would remain that way. I guided the tip into the pocket designed for it in the seam of the panties, then pulled the garment snugly into place.

I now had that whole lush Brazilian bottom going on; wide hips, thighs that touched, and a prominent round bubble butt. Where before I had the usual (for a boy) male appendage, I now displayed hyper–realistic, clamshell-shaped inner and outer labia. The tip of my penis was perfectly positioned to become my very-sensitive clitoris. The Depro-Gen was an absolute must while wearing this prosthetic. A penile erection inside this tight garment would be excruciatingly painful for the wearer and could not be relieved without stripping everything off. I could now carry on my illusion of femininity in perfect comfort for the next three days.

I had always regarded corseting as an exercise in pure perverse pleasure. The new one Mama had for me was delicious-looking; black satin with black lace insets and trim. I wrapped the sensuous, steel-boned confection around my torso, fastened the five-point front busk, then inserted the shield down my back, inside the laces, to protect my flesh from abrasion. Then came the exquisite torture of tightening the laces. Looking over my shoulder into the full-length mirror for guidance, I alternated cinching the top, then bottom laces, working slowly, inexorably towards the middle. The familiar constriction felt like my body was caught in a giant vise, being gradually crushed. At last I was laced all the way down to the stops. I tied off the laces, arranged my huge new titties in the underwired shelf cups and took stock in the mirror.

Breathtaking – and that assessment was more than just the function of the corset. I fetched a cloth tape measure from the drawer to confirm the results. 48-24-42. Mama had been very insistent - and mischievous. She wanted anyone who beheld ‘Brandi’ to never have to ask: “Who’s your mama?”

The black lace thong was the perfect complement to the corset’s lace panels. Normally, I would don my stockings first, but if I was getting a pedicure, the stockings would have to wait. The wrap was a mid-thigh-length black silk kimono with brightly-colored flowers. I slipped into it, wrapped it around my wasp-waisted torso and cinched the belt tightly.

Most over-the-counter lip plumpers are junk. Mama had found a high-end product, available only through a distributor, which really worked. The active ingredient was a tincture of bee venom. The downside was, if you weren’t used to the sting, it would bring tears to your eyes. Worse, if you were at all allergic to insect venom, this was not the product for you. The upside was, it really worked and the effects lasted a day or more. I wasn’t allergic and I was used to the sting, but applied the plumper before anything else – and had tissues handy, just in case. In the end, I had Mama’s full-beyond-full Barbie lips. I moved to the room’s single salon chair and sat down to wait.

College was supposed to be a liberating experience for ‘Brandi’. It hadn’t worked out that way. I hadn’t intended to pledge a fraternity, but I was out-voted by my grandfather and uncles. They insisted the brotherhood and fellowship was a vital part of the college experience – and invaluable after graduation as a network of contacts that would help me achieve and advance my career. They lobbied hard and succeeded in getting me into the house they had all pledged – as a ‘legacy’. In the end, they had been right. Because of my affiliation with the house, Brock Maitland had given me a career and Jerry Krykowski had secured my future. That yet-unknown good fortune had been no comfort at the time.

There was no way ‘Brandi’ could come out to play in such an environment. Mama kept ‘her’ in her bedroom closet in the family home. Thank goodness that was only across town, rather than across state – or worse. I was able to get home fairly regularly; at least on weekends and during the week as well, depending my class schedule. By that time, Mama and my grandparents had transformed the recreation room at the back of the house into Mama’s private apartment with its own entrance. My uncles were long gone, pursuing their own lives. Even if Grampa were home, it was easy to slip into Mama’s apartment, dress and paint, then slip out again. ‘Brandi’ was able to work at the salon to earn a little extra money whenever she could get away.