Chapter 2

I would love to say I had The Grand Plan: How To Transform Your Husband Into A Ravishing Fem-Toy, A To Z. The fact was, I didn't have a clue. It wasn't a topic normally covered by the Multiple Listing Service. I really didn't think the community library was going to be much help, either. I couldn't even find a copy of Feminization For Dummies in any of the local bookstores — not that I expected to. I did have the following assets: 1) a husband I flat-out adored who, apparently, had harbored intense feminine inclinations for a long time; 2) a newly-discovered penchant of my own to explore said inclinations for our mutual pleasure (oh yeah, was it ever!); 3) the financial wherewithal to do so; 4) friends I could trust; 5) the Internet; 6) instinct; 7) Danny's surreal natural beauty and physiology ideally suited for feminization.

Asset Numbers One and Two were givens. I would incorporate Numbers Three and Four as needed. Number Five was a Godsend; the best 'library' and public forum I could ever want. In the days following our initial 'revelation', I became a Web Junkie (away from Danny's presence, of course; I needed the privacy), beginning with the sites Danny had bookmarked and expanding my knowledge base from there. In the course of my cyber-surfing, I met and curried the friendship of a number of knowledgeable, experienced people — male, female, and in-between — who knew a lot more about the subject than I did. Through them, I outlined a general strategy to make 'Danielle' a fem-toy we could both enjoy.

That she would be a fem-toy was a given as well. Why would I want to create another serious, level-headed, success-driven career woman like myself? How boring was that? We didn't really need Danny's income, although I would never dream of denying him the opportunity to do something he found fulfilling. What I wanted was a sexy, saucy playmate to help me enjoy my free time, someone who would be fun for both of us. If, later on, I also convinced him being a fem-toy was more rewarding than writing the occasional magazine article or essay, there was nothing wrong with that, was there? At the moment, that was not a pressing issue. I did not yet know how often we would want to enjoy 'Danielle'. A couple times a month? Evenings and weekends? Full-time? I would trust my instincts to say "enough". Of course, all plans are subject to change...

Some of it would be easy. Danny and I had had a mutual taste for kink from the beginning of our relationship. We enjoyed new porn releases together, frequently attended "Gentleman's Clubs" together, and had even made occasional forays to BDSM clubs. As a result, we had identified some well-defined common traits we liked in 'bad girls'. For the most part, they represented the complete antithesis of our conservative, white-collar working lives. I relished the thought of incorporating some of those traits into my new 'girlfriend'.

Even that might prove to be easy. First, Danny had the 'right stuff' (Asset Number Seven). If he was too small, slender, and pretty to fit the image of a "man's man", he was perfect for Womanhood. Our visits to the bondage clubs had revealed Danny had a nascent submissive streak. I had occasionally played with it in the past, though not in a serious way. That was about to change. I was convinced that, with a little effort, I could transform him into a ravishing sexpot — to our mutual delight.

I realized I was talking as though I had already committed him to permanent feminization and sissification. Could we just continue to play 'dress-up' and let it go at that? Yes, but I knew my husband and myself well enough to know we would quickly tire of the contrived, make-believe atmosphere. We both adored fantasy fulfillment but craved it in a real, physical sense. Neither of us would be satisfied until this fantasy 'girl' could be manifested in the flesh in a truly believable way.

I would have to tread a very fine line. This was something Danny wanted; every instinct I had screamed it. I was in a position to give it to him, a realization that made my heart soar. I wanted it just as much for me, although I never would have believed it until that night. My instincts also cautioned me my beloved would feel he had to resist a real transformation out of fear of people's reaction to it, if not his own. His insecurities were baseless. I knew in my heart he would make a breathtaking woman, but Danny would not believe that until I proved it to him.

I had read FemDom stories on the Internet and despised the women's arrogance and total disregard for the feelings of their spouse/lover/boyfriend. This was the man — person — I loved. The thought of adopting those abhorrent tactics to overcome Danny's resistance made me ill, yet I might have to do exactly that to achieve what his heart, and mine, desired. I would not take pleasure in it, but I would not back down, either.

While Danny/Danielle — if, in fact, the two co-existed - would continue to share our marital bed with me, it was a must that 'she' have her own space, separate and distinct from ours. This was a matter of practicality and convenience, if no other. Two women, dressing and preparing for their day or night out, required their own space, to an extent a man and a woman did not. In a romantic context, that was especially true if they were dressing for each other, a scenario I had wholly embraced.

I redecorated one of our guest bedrooms for that purpose. In addition to her queen-sized bed (no pun intended), dressers, vanity, and jewelry armoire, she would have a roomy walk-in closet and her own bathroom. I chose the décor and furnishings, opting for a soft pastel lilac with white accents. I enjoyed making that 'lifestyle choice' for her and looked forward to making more in the future. Let the games begin!

The single exception I made to the 'separate space' edict was underwear or, to be exact, lingerie. I learned from my Domme friends on the Internet nothing is more effective in keeping a sissy-in-training's mind on her new status than keeping her in the frilliest, femmiest lingerie at all times. That was the appropriate place to start his transformation, they all agreed, and it seemed like a scrumptious idea. To insure compliance at first, the sissy's intimate grooming had to be scrupulously monitored and enforced by her mistress, meaning me. This would be a new experience for both of us, but I was determined to be equal to the task.

I adored taking Danny lingerie shopping. We patronized several different stores, including Victoria's Secret and Frederick's. I allowed him input on colors and styles, but not the decision he would be wearing feminine underthings from that point on, regardless of his outerwear. This was our first test of trust - and wills. I expected heel-dragging, whining, even an argument. Although I really loathed the idea, I was fully prepared to do whatever necessary in order to get my way, even if it meant publicly humiliating him and/or privately spanking him, as my FemDom cohorts had urged...

Bless his heart, after some initial embarrassment, he assented readily. He spent around three hours in various fitting rooms, trying on the articles that the sales associates and I brought him from the racks. In each store, I confided to the associates that I was panty-training my 'girlfriend'. Several replied it wasn't their first experience with a 'sissy'. Each observed 'Danielle' was spectacular raw material to work with. We left with a fabulous wardrobe of bras, panties, garter belts, camisoles, slips, and negligees — and an obligation that 'Danielle' return to shop with them again soon. Danny had been a bit taken aback that his bras were all a DD-cup, pointing out he did not exactly have the assets to fill them. I admonished him not to worry; that I would see to it the capacity did not go to waste.

Another of my edicts — and a personal preference of mine — was, in addition to her lingerie, Danielle's legs be properly clad in stockings, not pantyhose. I just feel stockings are sexier and more feminine. Danny had always expressed the same preference. It was a natural that Danielle be required to wear them, and she was just as enthusiastic about it as I. We did go a bit overboard on hosiery, acquiring some three-dozen pair in assorted styles and colors. It seemed almost an afterthought to get Danny's ears pierced before we left the mall. We started with two in each ear, with starter studs in each. I would expand her collection of earrings after the piercings healed — and probably the number of piercings as well.

Heel training would be an essential element of Danielle's 'education'. With her long, slim, sexy legs, stilettos would be as natural as the stockings that would hug her flesh. We went to some specialty stores on the Boulevard for those. I began with a half-dozen pair, just to get her used to walking in heels. OK, I kinda threw her into the deep end right away. Two pair of pumps had flat soles and five-inch heels. Two pair of ankle-strap sandals had platform soles and six-inch heels. The remaining two pair were a fetishist's delight; flat soles and rapier-like six-inch stiletto spikes. Danny and I both liked the look, so 'Danielle' was outvoted — as if she would really have a problem with it.

It wasn't like she would have to learn to walk in them all by herself; I would be right there to teach her the delicate, confident heel-toe strut, undulating her hips in that provocative way men adore. Of course, I required her to try the shoes on in the store to make sure they fit properly. After our experience in the lingerie shops, the aura of authority was easier for me to adopt. It took a bit of coaxing, but I got Danny to walk around a bit to get used to them. I'm certain it caused him some embarrassment, but that was only a temporary thing. I was equally certain the next time he went out in heels, no one would have reason to think unkindly of him.

That left one final stop for our first afternoon outing. With all of Danielle's feminine finery, the idea of body hair was repugnant. I had already had mine removed via ultra-light treatments and had made the first of several appointments for Danny. I could have settled for shaving, waxing, or using a depilatory cream, particularly at this early stage of his transformation. After all, the ultra-light method of hair removal was permanent. That was exactly the point. This was another test, to see how committed Danny was to the idea of 'Danielle' — and acceding to my wishes.

I presented it to him in a loving, caring way. It was his choice, I intoned. If he wasn't comfortable with this so soon, he was free to shave his body twice a week and his face twice a day to keep his skin smooth and stubble-free — and endure the nicks, cuts, and razor burn that were part of the process. Either way, I would require 'Danielle' to be hairless but for her scalp and eyebrows or there would be no 'Danielle' at all. I knew what I wanted when it came to my girlfriend's appearance. I was going to play hardball and made certain Danny knew it. Once again, he readily acquiesced to my directive. We left the clinic with Danny appearing to be slightly sunburned — and hairless from his cheeks to his toes.

I couldn't wait to get home to begin putting it all together. Of course, all the lingerie and stockings first had to be folded and put in drawers — after I made Danny take all of his male underwear to the trash. The new shoes were stacked in a shoetree in the closet. The negligees were hung on hangers. After a shower, I treated Danny to a full-body massage with aloe to lessen the sting from his hair-removal session. Then it was time to dress 'Danielle' for our evening's pleasure.