Chapter 2

The next day she quit work early When I returned from an errand in the early afternoon I saw Monica's car in the driveway, heard noises upstairs, and went to investigate. There she was, just completing a fast shuffle through the guest-room closet where I kept my skirts, blouses, and dresses. I looked questioningly at her, but she merely looked up, appraised me at once in a single glance, and said, "No, you're no way ready. You have some nice things, dear. I'll bet I could wear some of your smaller dresses right now, and you can certainly borrow some of my loose-cut blouses and jumpers. But you do need to diet. And anyhow you can't quite pass safely yet. We'll have to do it in stages."

"What?" I asked her, again nearly incoherent. Her talk about sharing clothes, again like girlfriends or sisters, filled my heart with joy. But her reference to passing frightened me. Did she mean for me to go out on the street? To be seen?

"Darling, to do womanly things one should feel womanly, and move with a woman's self-assurance. So right now just put on a bra and panties and a short slip, and these slacks -- no one will notice there's no fly, and this over-shirt -- it's loose enough to hide your breast forms, I think. Are those sneakers unisex? Close enough for now. But no socks -- peds if you have any. Then let's go!"

"Monica, go where?" Again my voice rose with a rising hysteria, this time sounding almost flute-like.

"Why, to get your ears pierced, love. So we can share our jewelry and things. You'll love wearing some of my bangles and dangles. And you don't need to worry at all about offending me, not any more. I'm loving the idea already."

She went back to our bedroom, and I began to undress, in order to re-dress myself entirely in women's clothes, as Monica had ordered, though the outer garments were indistinguishable from men's. Nearly. In order to go out. Out into a world of men and women. In order to get my ears pierced. I felt excited and terribly apprehensive, both at the same time.

Almost at once she returned. Or so it seemed. She had changed from her businesswoman's tailored suit to a tight sweater and a mini skirt, for Monica rather sexy apparel. I could see her breasts push out and sag into the sweater's support in the most seductive curves -- could it be she wasn't wearing a brassiere? Then her nipples showed in profile, and I knew she wasn't.

"Are you going out like that, Monica?" I tried to ask casually.

But she knew what I meant. She shook her shoulders at me and her breasts bobbed up and down deliciously. "Just want you to be reminded that it takes more than a bra to make a woman, Andy love. Though that is a very pretty bra indeed, I must say. A lovely place to keep breasts when you've got 'em."

I blushed, embarrassed.

"Just remember, it's what's inside that counts the most, pet. For now, just put in your breast forms and hurry. Have you been admiring yourself in the mirror again? What's keeping you? I've changed completely and you're still only halfway there."

I hurried into my slacks, sockless shoes, and oversized T-shirt, and as she predicted, looked merely unisex. I felt a little uneasy about the pants, which were form fit along my calf and snug on my ankles, and made a tight V at my crotch, neatly dividing my balls as if they were labia. But the T-Shirt covered the crotch, with its smooth frontage, so I slipped into my sneakers and declared, "Ready."

"Well, not quite," said Monica. She hauled out a lipstick and began dabbing at my mouth.

I could feel a waxy substance slipping onto my lips and coating them, and was shocked. "Monica!" I cried aghast. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, stop worrying, baby," she said, "You know perfectly well what I'm doing. It's pale pink, nearly invisible. Did you think I want to appear in public with a man who wears lipstick? You know better than that! No, you won't get to wear proper lipstick until it becomes you as a woman. Sooner than you might think. But with this, you can feel you're wearing lipstick, and get used to how it feels. Never leave the house without it. I'm sure you already feel much more womanly because of it, don't you?"

I did.

"All right, we're going to be out for some time. Visit the bathroom, would you honey? And sit down when you do it, just for practice -- you'll need to pull down those pants and your panties anyhow. Then let's go! I'll wait for you in the kitchen."

In the kitchen she handed me a small whisky on rocks. She was just finishing hers. "Here, dear. You seem nervous -- this'll calm you down." She went away while I sipped and swallowed. The whisky tasted like cheap stuff, but she'd put away the bottle so I couldn't see the brand. I prefer vodka. She returned. "Ready?"

And she swept us both out the door and into her car. "Just sit there, now, dear. I'll drive."

She did, to a rather nondescript part of town where she parked in front of a beauty parlor.

"I'm not going in there," I said, now genuinely frightened. It was one thing to be an imitation woman in privacy, and enjoy the illusion. But this was authentic woman territory, and I was not one of them. To go in there, I thought superstitiously, might make me more of one of them than I wanted. It seemed terribly risky.

"Oh, Andrew, don't be silly. Do you want your ears pierced by some teenager at the earring bazaar in the middle of the mall, in full view of everyone passing by? Or here, privately, by a professional?"

"You're right," I replied morosely. "But Monica, I haven't yet worked out how I'm going to explain pierced ears to clients and people like that. Shouldn't we think these things through a little more?"

"Andrea," she replied. "That's what I'll call you from now on, because that's who you enjoy being, and have always enjoyed being. I suppose ever since you were a little girl raised up to be a boy. Isn't that so? You told me all about that a few years ago, and I've read a lot about it since. Now Andrea, stop being nervous. You've thought about this all your life, haven't you? Now it's time to live your fantasy, and become the woman of your dreams."

"Monica," I replied. "I never said I thought I was a little girl. I said I was a little boy who liked to imagine he was a little girl, and sneaked his mothers' panties now and then to help with the imagining. That's all. There's a difference."

"Andrea, please, let's not quibble. I saw you dressed up to look like a woman, and I've been through your wardrobe. You love being Andrea. Your need to be Andrea almost cost us our marriage a while ago. All I'm saying is, you should be the best Andrea you can be. The prettiest. That's what we're here for."

"What is it we're here for?" I asked, now genuinely apprehensive. To play by myself was one thing, and to play with my wife in the privacy of our own home was so much more. But Monica sounded serious. And this salon was serious woman space, not a mirror in my bedroom.

"Oh, pooh! Look here. If you want to be Andrew now and then, you can always brush your hair longer to cover your ears, or wear just one earring the way most men do, or if you must, remove them both temporarily. But if you want to be sincere, truly yourself, wear whatever earrings you enjoy and show them to the world. I've got some wonderful chandeliers and cascades you'll love, for going out formal. Now, we're going in!"