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Dalia's Story, Part 1 By Cindi Johnson of Dallas, Texas CAUTION!!! This story has explicit sexual content. If you are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE! Or if stories involving forced crossdressing offend you, do not continue. Two years ago I married Kimberly. She was younger than me by two years and she was beautiful. Slender, 5'4'' tall, curvy but not in the exaggerated sense. Most would say her breasts were small, almost childlike, but to me they perfectly matched her smooth sensuous body. Her complexion was flawless, again reminding one of a young girl. Kimberly was 24 years old, had recently graduated from a small college in the Northeast and had moved to Dallas to begin a career as a purchasing agent for J.C. Penny. I had never been very successful with women. Sure, I had had a few, but they never seemed to be the ones I really desired. They always left me wanting, feeling somehow shortchanged. But then I met Kimberly. I had moved to Dallas from the Midwest, so neither of us had family in the city. We were largely alone. For us, each weekend was a void, so we naturally drifted together. She probably was not so much attracted to me as she was just seeking companionship, but I was immediately infatuated with her. Within six months we were married. Happy and proud of my sudden sexual success, I felt myself more man than any other. I can even recall thinking how much better I must be than the other guys I worked with; after all, didn't I win a woman more beautiful than any they had ever had? The troubles began after a year of marriage. Ann, a young lady I worked with, invited me to go to lunch with her one day. I didn't thing anything of it and neither did Ann, as she was happily married and not attracted to me at all sexually. It was just that she didn't have anyone to eat lunch with that day. Well, we drove over to the mall to eat at a fast food place, but Kimberly just happened to be at the same mall that day. It was Friday and she had taken the day off. I didn't see her, but she saw us. "Who do you think you are?", she yelled at me when I arrived at home, "don't ever forget again that you belong to me totally!" "You're nothing more than a slut!" I had never seen her angry like this before and I was scared that our relationship might break. By this time, Kimberly had become a part of me, a part of my very identity, so much so that I could not imagine life without her. "I'm sorry, very, very sorry," I said to her, "I'll do anything for you if you'll forget this." Yes, in essence I just groveled before her, but I did it because I loved her, not because I'm weak. Finally she calmed down; we ate a small dinner, then she went upstairs while I stayed down and watched television and had a couple of beers to relax. I was still very worried over this sudden storm in paradise. At the time, I assumed she truly was angry that I was with another woman, but looking back, I'm not so sure; maybe this incident was used by her to set in motion a plan she had plotted for months. Just before six she came back down; she stood looking down at me, her face set with an uncompromising, unforgiving stare. "Honey," she said, "I've thought it over and decided I must punish you for what you did. If you love me, you must learn to think of my feelings at all times and to obey me. If you don't love me, then we should split now. So what will it be?" Faced with such alternatives, there was no doubt as to my choice. I would have done anything to keep her. "Hon, I love you, I'm sorry, but I didn't do anything wrong! Can't we just forget it?", I pleaded to no avail. "Yes or no?", she asked, still standing before me as I sat on the couch, making her appear large, strong and very dominant. "Yes, you can punish me if you want", I muttered, sealing my fate in a way I could not have imagined then. A faint, sarcastic grin flitted across her face. It was not a look of love. "Then follow me", she commanded. I rose and followed her up the stairs. As she was several steps ahead of me, I could gaze under her loose white skirt, at the white slip and pink panties that hid the treasure I so craved. We entered our bedroom. On the bed Kimberly had laid out an assembly of women's clothes: a pink slip with lace circling the skirt bottom, a pair of pink panties, also edged in lace, a white bra with a tiny pink bow between the two cups, panty hose, red open toed high heels and a very feminine red dress with a fluffy red sleeves and billowy skirt. I didn't get it. I turned towards her with a confused look. What did this have to do with me, or with punishment? "Dan," she said, still with a firm voice, "you acted like a slut, so this weekend you'll dress like one. Maybe if you're dressed like a girl, you won't be so inclined to flirt with them. This is your punishment." "No way," I replied, still confused, hurt and a little high from the beer I'd had. "This is crazy. I didn't do anything wrong." She quickly interrupted me. "Shut up! You'll do what I say, or you can leave now. First thing you will do is go into the bath and shave your legs, your arms, your chest, your face, everything! I want you as smooth as a baby. Now get in the bathroom. I've poured you a bubble bath and the razor is in there." Well, I couldn't say no, because I loved her. I didn't try to argue, since it would just rile her more. So I hung my head, walked to the bathroom and set to work denuding my male body. Kimberly had poured a bath all right, one with bubbles, a sweet scented fragrance and feminine oils meant to soften and moisturize skin. First I used the electric clippers to remove 90% of my body hair, then I used the razor, while soaking in the tub, to get the remainder. Luckily, I had not inherited a hairy body and even my facial hair was thinner and lighter than that of most men. Within a half hour I had finished, showered and dried myself with a towel. I felt more naked than ever before in my life. As I gazed at my legs, my arms and my chest, I felt I was looking at a strange body, one that already looked more female than male. I was still confused by all that had happened and was just standing there looking at the alien image in the mirror when the door opened a crack. Kimberly didn't look in, but just handed me a garment. "Close the door, get dressed and come out. I want to see what my new girl friend looks like." I looked at what she had handed me. It was pink. Looking closer, I saw it was a nightie, made of sheer nylon and lots of lace. As I slipped it over my head it tickled my newly smooth skin. It barely covered my ass and my male parts. I felt foolish as I opened the door and walked out, my eyes cast down and face red with embarrassment. "Oh my, aren't you cute!" Kimberly said laughingly. "And look at those smooth sexy legs! Won't they ever look good in high heels and a short skirt!" She was teasing me, aware of how vulnerable I felt now. For the first time, I realized how women feel when harassed by men. "Yes, you certainly do look pretty", she went on, as if talking to herself about an inanimate object, like a sculpture, "but more like a pretty boy then a pretty girl. I still have a lot of work to do, and remember you must do what I say. If you behave, your punishment may only last through the weekend. I think the first thing I'll have to do is give you a new name, something more fitting to a person with sexy smooth legs and wearing a pink nightie. What would you like your new name to be?" I was silent. I wanted to blurt out that I quit, that I wasn't playing this game of hers anymore. But I couldn't get it out of me. All I could do was groan almost inaudibly, which Kimberly took to be a green light. "OK then, it's Dan no more. Lets see... Cindy? No, not feminine enough. Mary? No, that won't do since it implies goodness and after all, you were acting like a slut. How about Dalia? Yes, that's it, from now on you're Dalia. It's very feminine and you'll get to keep your same initials." Finally I got my nerve up enough to resist. "Hell no," I nearly shouted, "you can't name me Dalia. My name is Dan. I've had enough of this game. Enough! I'm a man!" Kimberly quickly cut off my resistance. "Well, you don't look much like a man, standing there in a nightie, with less hair on your body then even I have. Now if you act up one more time, I'm leaving and you can stand in the doorway dressed in your pink gown and see me off. Now it's late and tomorrow will be a big day for us," she continued talking so fast and forcefully that I couldn't interrupt, "so I want you to sit down while I shape your nails and eyebrows." My resistance deflated, I sat down. She had me hold my head still and close my eyes while she plucked hair from my eyebrows; then she used superglue to attach long imitation nails to my fingers, which she then shaped with her nail file. After all this was done, she had me rub scented moisturizer into my face, arms and legs. Finally, she finished and I thought my ordeal would end for the night. I crawled into bed, still dressed in the pink nightie, the sheets feeling strange against my smooth skin. The bedroom lights were off, with only the bath's light casting a dim glow upon the bed. Kimberly walked to the bed, she now also in a nightie, a simple white one less frilly than mine. She looked down at me and spoke softly, "Dalia,I'd really love to make love with you now, but I can't because I've started my period. But while we're at this, we should do it right. Since I must wear a tampon, I think you should also." For the first time during the evening, a shudder of fear coursed through me. What could she mean? She held up a pink plastic tube which looked almost like a miniature dildo. "Now watch closely," she said with a slight grin on her face (clearly she enjoyed this), "this is a tampon. Inside one end is a ball of cotton. When it's in place, it expands to absorb your discharge. That way you won't get your panties dirty." She was talking down to me, acting like a mother explaining female facts of life to her young daughter experiencing her first period. I felt so helpless that I blushed, but luckily it was dim enough that I don't believe she noticed. "Now what a girl must do is insert that end into her, then push this small rod, which positions the cotton into place. Then you simply remove the plastic and you are done. And by the way, you are then left with a string hanging from your pussy. When it's time to change, you pull on the string to remove your soiled tampon." "Now I'll help you this time. Roll over onto your belly, Dalia." Again, I obeyed without resistance. Quietly, she lifted the skirt of my nightie and pulled my panties down. I was so tense that I shivered at her touch. She put her finger into a jar of Vaseline, then placed the greased finger into my hole. Soon I then felt something cold and hard enter me, then in a moment it was removed. I felt full back there, like I suddenly had to use the bathroom. But I knew it was just the cotton. "Now feel back there," she said. I did so; there was a string which came several inches out of my hole. "Now remember, only pull the string when it's time to change. You may share my Tampons if you like, or if you prefer you may buy your own. I know it's uncomfortable, but all us girls have to go through it. Just be glad it happens only once a month!" She was laughing now. Some tears formed in my eyes, but she didn't see them. I buried my face in my pillow as she turned the light off and climbed into bed. Kimberly cuddled next to me, rubbed her hand against the smooth nylon gown, then put her hand into my panties and pulled slightly on my tampon string, enough to increase my discomfort but not to budge the tampon. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she said, "it won't be so bad. And if you surrender yourself to me for the weekend, perhaps I'll forgive you and we can get back to normal. OK?" I didn't answer, as I was unsure of what I should do. Humiliated, I drifted into fitful sleep. Chapter 2 Next morning I woke up with a foggy head, unsure of what was dream and what was real. My legs felt strange, so smooth where they touched. As the memories of the preceding evening came back to me, I felt somewhat sick. I knew my life was changed. I knew that even if my punishment ceased this morning, I would never again assume my former stature in Kimberly's eyes. Kimberly entered the bedroom and gazed down at me, lying on the bed. "Good morning, Dalia, you look absolutely pretty this morning! She giggled some, then continued, "now get out of bed, cutie, because today will be a day you'll never forget." I gloomily rose from the bed. Here," she said as she handed me a pink robe, "wear this while you go down and make coffee." I slipped it on, then hurried downstairs to start the coffee, relieved to be away from Kimberly's gaze for awhile. I set out rolls for us and when the coffee was finished I called Kimberly. "Coffee's ready", I yelled, trying to keep my voice in a falsetto appropriate to my new role. "Oh, you'll make a great housewife, Dalia", she said as she sat at the table. "I bet you'll find the feminine lifestyle much more fun then the male one. You'll be able to pamper yourself. Now why don't you run upstairs and get any hairiness off your face. And do a good job." Again I didn't argue. I decided that if I'd accept this madness of hers for one weekend, then things might possibly return to normal. I went upstairs and shaved, taking care to go back and forth so as to assure a very smooth face. By the time I finished, Kimberly had come up also. "OK, little girl, start with moisturizer. Rub it into your skin... that's the way!" I rubbed in the pink lotion. It smelled feminine. "Now, listen carefully Dalia, because you must learn this well. Next we'll apply a foundation." She dabbed the liquid onto her fingers, then applied it to my face, rubbing it in. I remained silent, but watched her carefully. "Always remember, a girl must wear mascara. It's a girl's eyes that show her soul. A girl's eyes must be beautiful and portray an openness. After you do this a few times, you'll be as good at it as the next girl." "I wish you wouldn't refer to me as a girl, Kimberly." "Well forgive me, John Wayne", she laughed. "But right now, the only thing you have that looks like a man's possession is hidden beneath your pink gown and frilly panties. So I suggest you get used to being a girl, girl!" My face reddened and I became silent. Kimberly finished with the eyeliner and mascara, went on through the blusher and lipstick. Finally finished, she said, "Wow, girl! Aren't you a painted lady now. You could pass for a hooker, Dalia!" She got up and picked a box up from the bed. It was a wig, which the box identified as a "Melissa" model. It was light brown in color, slightly less than shoulder length, wavy but not overly curly. She placed it on my head, brushed it, then said, "OK, Dalia, now get up and walk over to the mirror." I went to the full length mirror attached to the closet door. I was astonished by what I saw. There stood a fairly attractive girl, with beautiful hair, dressed in a pink frock. I felt ashamed as Kimberly giggled; it was as if she had severed my manhood and thought it good fun. "What man would want a girl without breasts? I think my little slut definitely needs tits! So our next step is to fit Dalia with a bra." She went through her drawers until she found a simple white bra, one with lace around the cups and, as did the one I saw last night, a tiny bow in front, between the two cups. I slipped out of the frock and put the bra on; Kimberly helped me fasten it in the back. As she stuffed the cups with cotton, she said, "What we'll have to do is get something better than cotton, something heavier and yet soft. I'm sure a lingerie shop should have something to help you." Next she held up a pair of panties, white ones with plenty of delicate lace designs all over. "Before I let you use my good panties, maybe you better go and change your tampon, girl." At this, my face blushed red, so much that Kimberly could notice it through the makeup. "Come on, Dalia, like I said, girls have to get used to it. Now sashay up those stairs and do your female duties." Not wanting to argue I went up to the bathroom, pulled the string that hung from my hole, relieved myself, then found Kimberly's box of tampons. I felt strange as I opened the box and removed a pink cylinder. Strange, like a person in a land where he clearly doesn't belong. Foolishly I fumbled with the Vaseline, then carefully inserted the cylinder, pushed upon the applicator and removed the pink plastic. Sure enough, the cotton filled my hole, while a little string hung between my cheeks. I then pulled her white lacy panties on and went back to Kimberly. "Turn around, girl," Kimberly said as I stood before her, "let me check your tampon." I blushed as she pulled my panties down and tugged slightly on the string. "Beautiful job; maybe you really should have been a girl!" I could tell from the faked earnestness in her voice that she was making fun of me. "OK, now lets finish dressing." She handed me a slip; white, with plenty of lace about the bodice and around the hem. I put it on; it fit snugly over my "breasts" and I could feel it ruffle against my panties and legs as I moved. It was a very peculiar feeling. Next I donned a blouse, white with very thin, pale blue stripes, also with plenty of lace running the length of the buttons, covering the collar and edging the cuffs. Next came a dark red pleated skirt; as I pulled it up above my slip, Kimberly mentioned how skirts are ultimately very feminine. "Skirts, in the old days, allowed a man easy access to what he desired. No need for a girl to undress; she had just to raise her skirt to open herself to her man, to do her duty. And back then, a girl's principal duty was to please her man. Try it, Dalia; lift up your skirt as if you were opening yourself to your man!" By this time I had already fastened my skirt in its proper place, with blouse tucked neatly in and belt tightened such that my waist was no more than 27 inches. I felt helpless in this attire. "Please Kimberly, don't tease me", I pleaded. "Come on, lift it up, do it slowly, seductively." Again I blushed as my shaking hands reached down to my hem, which lay just below my knees and lifted the hem up, slowly and apprehensively to breast level. Kimberly grinned. "Look at you", she laughed, "any man would go wild watching you. Good thing your hose and panties hide your little problem!" "But, cute little girl, your slip is still down. Now try again. Use your thumb and index finger to catch both your skirt and slip hems. And extend your little pinkies." I did it again, this time following her directions carefully. I felt ridiculous. "Perfect", she gushed, "now just hold it there for a minute; try thinking how a girl would feel with a man approaching her, ready to take her." I blushed, but was too embarrassed to respond. After a minute she returned and before I knew what was happening, she snapped a photo of me in my girlish pose. "Please, Kimberly! Please don't take pictures of me like this!", I cried. "It's just a little insurance for me, so that you won't slut around anymore, girl." The tone of her response was such that I dared not protest further. "OK; now that we've got a great picture of your lace panties, you can lower your skirt." I immediately did so, glad to regain even a little modesty. Kimberly then took several more pictures with me in wig, skirt and shiny red shoes with medium height heels, forcing me to pose in feminine positions. The clothes felt unusually restricting, almost as if I were in a strait jacket. By the time we finished it was approaching 11 a.m. "Well, Dalia, all this training has really famished me. What do you say; should us girls go out for lunch?" "You know I can't go out like this", I replied apprehensively. "Well why not, Dalia?", she replied. "You make a rather cute girl. And girls dress up to be seen, not to sit surrounded by four walls. C'mon, sweetie, I'll do the driving. But before we go, do you have to work on your feminine hygiene?" She kept changing the subject so fast that I had no opportunity to protest. "What do you mean?", I asked. "Your tampon, young lady. Should you change it first?" "No, Kimberly, I don't need to change my tampon!" I spoke as brusquely as I dared, but the words "my tampon" felt funny coming from my mouth. Apparently Kimberly noticed, because she replied "OK, baby, leave YOUR TAMPON in for now, but take some extras just in case!" Again she was laughing as she spoke. "Now, before you go, you'll need a purse. All young ladies must carry a purse, including you! I'll loan you one of mine, but maybe you can get one of your own soon." With that, she handed me a fairly small, red leather purse with a long thin strap. We sat at the kitchen table; she had me open it. "You'll soon realize, Dalia, that purses are very useful. Sure, men don't carry them, but then, MOST men don't carry mascara and lipstick, DO THEY?" Kimberly was taking every opportunity to rub it in; perhaps this was part of the punishment and if I took it OK she would soon forgive me. "So here you go," she spoke while handing me the essentials of womanhood, "red lipstick to match your nails..., Cover Girl powder-and notice the mirror inside, you'll need it to touch up, mascara, blusher, nail polish, perfume, a brush, a change purse and of course, three more tampons for you, since after all it is your time of the month!" As she handed them each item to me, I nervously arranged them inside my purse. "There now, Dalia, you are as perfectly fitted out as any girl could be. In fact, all that's missing is what nature did not provide. I hope you don't enjoy this weekend too much, or who knows? You may choose a surgeon to give you what nature did not! ha, ha!" "Kimberly, you know better than that! Don't you think you've carried your punishment far enough? What if someone we know sees us? Just think what could happen!", I said, trying to sway her. "Dalia, that's enough. Remember, you are a girl now, meant to serve my needs. You WILL do as I say! Now grab your purse, girl and let's go before I really get bitchy." With an air of hopeless apprehension, I did as she said and followed her out the door. Luckily, no neighbors were around as I carefully walked to the car. The heels forced me to take short, dainty steps. Kimberly instructed me to smooth my skirt before sitting. "You wouldn't want to wrinkle your pretty red skirt, would you?", she teased. I noticed that she was casually dressed in a simple brown sweater and jeans and was wearing flats, while I, her husband, looked like a high-class secretary. Chapter 3 I was mostly silent as we drove into town. Luckily, she headed to a section of town about ten miles from our home, where perhaps I wouldn't meet anyone I knew. Along the way, Kimberly chatted to me as if I were a young girl in need of guidance in the ways of this world. She suggested I smile more, as a friendly smile would make a girl even prettier; and that I check my makeup every so often, just in case it gets smudged. And she warned me that men might now flirt with me; if this happened, I should just keep quiet and let her handle the situation. "A girl like you, Dalia, just doesn't know how to handle men; a man could easily take advantage of you!" Again, she laughed at her own joke. Kimberly pulled the car into the parking lot of a mall, the largest one in the city. Although I could see parking spaces close to the building, she parked quite far from the entrance, apparently preferring that I get some practice walking in heels. "There's a very nice French restaurant in this mall, which serves great salads", she said as we walked towards the building. She knew that my male self did not like salads. My heart was pounding with fear, while I practiced the smaller steps needed when in high heels. Once in the mall, I practiced the ostrich approach, keeping my gaze down so as not to see anyone that might be looking at me. In front of a Bali lingerie store, Kimberly stopped to study the display. "Oh look, Dalia, see the pretty pink panties and matching bra. With all the lace it is beautiful, but probably very delicate. If you want, I'll buy it for you, but you'll have to promise to hand wash it only. No putting your pretties into a washing machine!" "No, I don't want a bra and panties. Please, let's get moving." I spoke almost in a whisper, afraid that my voice would cause unwanted attention. I noticed that people would briefly stare at me as they passed us in front of the lingerie display, but I couldn't tell if the gazes were just the usual, or something worse. We walked on to the restaurant. As soon as we entered I knew I was in trouble. Being lunch hour, the restaurant was crowded and I quickly realized that almost all the customers were women. Apparently women preferred the classy ambience and light food that was served here. Very many of them appeared to be sales clerks, all young and nicely attired in dresses or skirts, with plenty of makeup. After a few minutes wait, a waitress led us to a small table in the center of the restaurant. Being a popular restaurant, the tables were more or less crammed together, so that I had to squeeze between a dozen tables in order to reach ours. Still not too surefooted in my high heels, I managed to bump against several young ladies, at which time all seated at that table would closely watch me. When we finally got seated, Kimberly said, "See, isn't this just the nicest restaurant. All girls like the food here. And now that you're a girl too, this might become your favorite restaurant." Kimberly was purposely talking just loud enough that those around the adjacent tables, which were only inches away, could clearly hear her. I felt frozen, but I knew if I didn't converse with her, the situation would surely worsen. "Yes, this is a nice restaurant," I said uncertainly. I noticed about five young ladies seated across from me were all staring at me while they talked. Once they heard my voice, which I could not disguise well, they all began to openly smile and cast knowing looks among themselves. One, a cute blond in a blue dress, started giggling and had to put her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. At that time, the waitress came to take our order. She asked Kimberly first, who ordered a salad. Then, looking at me, she asked, "Ma'am, what would you like to order?" Trying to limit my speaking, I responded quietly, "I'll have the same." "I'm sorry, Ma'am, could you repeat that?, she responded. This time I had to speak louder and by now three or four tables of women were watching me. The waitress, cued by the attention the surrounding tables were paying to me, as well as my voice, then realized the situation. She also grinned. After writing the order, she replied, "Very well, MISS, it will be about five minutes." I wanted to just get up and run away to safety, but I knew I couldn't, so I just sat very still and tried not to look around me, while Kimberly chatted about this and that, mostly about clothes and fashions. She tried to draw me into the conversation, but I was much to embarrassed now to discuss anything. After a couple of minutes, the young ladies surrounding us returned to their own discussions, although I couldn't help but notice many of them stealing glances at me. At one table the topic had apparently shifted to the topic of she- males. The same young blond in the blue dress spoke loudly enough that Kimberly and I couldn't help but overhear her. "Well, I surely wouldn't want a man who wears panties!, she said to her friends. "Just think of it, a man with legs as smooth as mine. No way! My boyfriend would never be caught dead in a dress; he's a real man!" Apparently her friends were less rude then she was, as one of them, her eyes glancing briefly towards me, shushed the loud blond. Soon, two waitresses came by to serve the food. Apparently our waitress wanted to involve her friend in this happening. Both were cute young Mexican lasses, wearing matching black dresses with white lace aprons, apparently the standard uniform at this restaurant. After setting our food down, one girl looked directly at me, smiling and said, "Well, MISS, is there anything else I can get you? Would you perhaps be interested in our desert? It is low in calories and guaranteed not to put on pounds!" Both Kimberly and the other waitress were clearly amused at my discomfort. "No", I replied, "this will be all, thank you." Very well, MISS", she said; then the two waitresses left, talking in Spanish about their apparent encounter with a transvestite. As Kimberly and I had both ordered small salads, it didn't take very long to finish the meal. I, in particular, was very anxious to exit this ordeal, so I tried to hurry Kimberly as much as possible, although she did continue to make small talk about fashions and clothes. When we finished Kimberly said that she would go to the register and pay. "Thanks," I said, thinking she was trying to spare me additional embarrassment. "No problem, Dalia", she replied, again in a voice loud enough for others to hear, "after all, I am the only one wearing pants at this table. I suppose it's my duty to pick up the bill for a cute young lady like you! While I'm paying, you better touch up your lipstick, as it's smudged." "No, I can't do that here in front of all these women," I softly pleaded. "Well, Dalia," she whispered, "if you can't apply your own makeup here, then I will do it for you!" With that she got up and walked across the room to the cash register. I knew she meant it; if I didn't do what she asked, she would set me down here in front of a hundred people and apply makeup on me, which would surely draw a great deal of attention. I had no alternative. Once again, I noticed, the young women at the surrounding tables were sneaking glances at me; the young blond was simply staring at me, not even trying to conceal her intrusion. I glanced towards Kimberly; she was in line at the register, with several others ahead of her. It would take her a few minutes to pay. She was watching me. I placed my purse on my lap, unzipped it and removed the Cover Girl compact and the tube of bright red lipstick. Nervously, I opened the compact and raised it close to my face so that I could use its mirror. Then, using my other hand I carefully applied the lipstick. The women at the three surrounding tables (all now aware of my secret) were watching me. After applying lipstick, I used the pad in the Cover Girl compact to dust a little powder on my cheeks and nose. I looked up and saw Kimberly watching me from across the room. I guess the sight of a man, dressed as a woman, applying lipstick in a busy restaurant in the middle of the day, was just too much, because I heard a chorus of giggles coming from the three tables near mine. All were laughing at me! Then the young blond girl rose from her seat and came over to me. "Oh, Miss," she gushed, "I couldn't help but notice your lovely shade of lipstick! What brand is it and where did you buy it? It is just so very feminine!" At a loss for words, I just sat there as she mocked me in front of her friends. "Well", she continued when I failed to respond, "maybe you can tell me where you bought your pretty red shoes?", she loudly asked while she gazed down at my shaved legs and panty hose. Then Kimberly arrived and responded for me. "SHE does have such pretty shoes, doesn't SHE?," said Kimberly to the blond girl. "As a matter of fact, my GIRLfriend was thinking of shopping for another pair of pretty high heels after we leave here. Would you like to join us?" Girlfriend, she called me, I was no longer her husband! Clearly, Kimberly was going to make this as hard on me as possible; I would have to pay dearly for my `crime'. Sensing that ridicule of me was acceptable to Kimberly, the blond girl decided to enjoy herself, at my expense. "Oh, I would love to, I'm sure that together we could find a pair of heels that would truly flatter her cute legs, such that all men would whistle when she passes in a short skirt! But, I have to be back at work shortly. Maybe your girlfriend could come by Macys' lingerie department, where I work and pick out a pair of cute panties?" At this, I decided enough was enough. "No thank you," I said, "but we'll have to be leaving now." Whereupon Kimberly, angered by my disobedience, responded, "Oh, Dalia, don't be such a pouter! Surely we can find time to pick up a few pretties for you." With that, the blond responded, "Fine. The lingerie department is on the second floor. Just ask for me, my name is Suzy." Looking directly at me, Suzy continued, "Dalia, I'll be looking forward to helping you select some lacy panties!" Then she left with the others at her table, all of whom were now smiling and giggling. At last I was able to leave the restaurant. Standing up and with all the dignity I could muster, I smoothed my skirt and followed Kimberly out into the mall area. The girls that were still sitting near us, their curiosity perked, stared at my shaved legs, hose and shoes as I walked out, still wobbling a bit on the high heels. Once in the mall, before I could even begin to protest my treatment, Kimberly began to lecture me. "Dalia, if you expect me to forgive you, you must behave! You were doing fine until you snapped at Suzy. Only with my permission can you talk back to anyone, do you understand, girl?" "But," I replied, too meekly, "she was making fun of me and so were you. How am I supposed to act?" "You look like a sweet young girl and you will act like one! That's that! Anyway, Dalia, those girls were probably just envious of you; after all, your makeup is as good as any of theirs and you are dressed prettier than most of them. I watched you touch up your lipstick; you did a fine job. Maybe you should have been born a girl. Just think of all the fun you missed out on, like wearing ribbons in your hair, playing with your own Barbi doll and flirting with guys." "Kimberly," I interjected faintly, "I am a guy." "I know, I know, Dalia. But just imagine... if you had been born a girl. Imagine your body, soft and curvy like mine. Imagine having real breasts. Imagine having a girl's hips. Surely, dressed as you are now, such thoughts are not difficult to imagine." Yes, I thought as we walked through the mall, she was partly right. While dressing this morning, my thoughts had briefly wandered in that direction. But I knew I could not admit any such ambiguity if I were to have any hope of returning to my previous stature in Kimberly's eyes. I prayed that still, even after what was happening, things could return to normal on Monday and all of this could be forgotten. So, partly to change the subject and also because of nature's call, I said, " "Kimberly, we must go home now. I must use the bathroom and I cannot do that here." "What do you mean, we have to go home?", she replied. Look, we happen to be near the restrooms right now; they are just down that aisle. You go ahead, I'll be waiting here for you." "Kimberly", I pleaded, "I can't!" "You can and you will, because I say so! Just go down that hallway and you'll find a women's rest room; the men's room is down this other hall. It's your choice; I guess this is your moment of truth," she laughed, "will you choose to be a boy, or a girl? Will you choose to be masculine or feminine? Pants or skirts? Stand or squat?" Again, she had me in a bind; surely I couldn't enter the men's room dressed like this! So, I walked towards the hall where the women's room was located, while she giggled. "Great decision! And hey, don't forget to change your tampon, girl!", she called after me, so loudly that I feared someone would overhear. Red faced and with heart pounding, I entered the forbidden territory of the ladies room. One young lady was in there, but she was busy applying mascara and took no notice as I quickly slipped into a stall. As Kimberly had said, it was time to squat. Here I was, in a woman's place, wearing women's clothes and even relieving myself in a woman's posture. What, I wondered, had happened to my familiar and comfortable world? Heeding Kimberly's warning, I carefully tugged on the string that fell from my hole. When I finished, I took the another tampon from my purse and carefully inserted it and then struggled to get all the layers of clothing back into place. When the room was quiet and apparently empty, I left the stall and stopped before the mirror just to check my appearance. To my eyes, the figure in the mirror looked very much a lady and not at all like me. My male identity, groomed over a lifetime, was fast slipping away. I quickly exited, grateful not to have had to deal with a crowded restroom, or worse, a security officer and returned to the mall area where Kimberly was waiting. "Dalia," she exclaimed, "you took forever in there! What were you up to, primping in front of the mirror like a teenage girl? Getting a little self conscious about your makeup? Well, you needn't worry, you still look gorgeous." She grabbed my hand and pulled me along, but in her jeans and flats she was much faster than I in my skirt and heels. "Slow down, Kimberly, I can't keep up with you," I pleaded. "Oh, sorry, girl, I forgot that you want to show off your legs with dainty steps. Have you noticed that the clicking of your high heels causes all the men to stare at your shoes; and then their gaze travels up your legs to your skirt. Wouldn't they be surprised to see what's under your skirt and wouldn't you be embarrassed?" "Quit teasing me, Kimberly. Now where are we going?", I asked. "Well, since you've received a personal invitation to visit Macy's lingerie shop, I suppose we'll have to go there next. Who knows, maybe Suzy likes you. After all, she probably has no idea that you're married, since not too many women would care to share their panties with their husbands. OK, Macy's is this way." I followed her into the department store; to reach the lingerie department we first passed through cosmetics. Hundreds of different brands of foundation, lipstick, mascara and perfumes were arrayed in brightly lit glass cases. As we walked, Kimberly continued, "maybe while we're here you can purchase your own makeup, just in case you care to dress up on your own from now on. And some perfume." Rather than argue, I just followed her as best I could in my heels. When we reached the lingerie department my heart began throbbing with apprehension. While I could pass from afar and thereby not merit much attention, here it would be different. Suzy knew I was a man and it was obvious she did not like men infringing upon female territory. I feared she would treat me badly and to avoid further wrath from Kimberly, I would have to take it. I hoped that she would be gone, but that wasn't the case. "Hello!" she greeted me in a mocking tone as we approached her. I'm sorry, but I forgot your name, Ma'am. What was it?" She was looking at me, as was Kimberly. "Dalia," I replied with a touch of bitterness. "Dalia! Such a sweet name!" She motioned to a co-worker to come over. She was a Mexican girl, maybe twenty five years old; at about five foot four she was quite a bit shorter than Suzy, who was as tall as me. Like Suzy, the Mexican girl was also very pretty; she had long black hair, large dark eyes and a mouth that curved slightly up at the sides. She wore a red dress about the same color and texture as my skirt and shiny black open-toed shoes with heels at least an inch higher than mine. "Maria," Suzy said when her friend reached us, "This is Dalia. We met at lunch today." I could tell from Maria's embarrassed but curious expression that Suzy had already told Maria of her lunch encounter with an apparent transvestite. "Dalia is here to purchase more pretty lingerie to add to her collection. Maybe you can help her choose some. I believe she prefers the really feminine stuff. No cotton briefs for this girl!" While Suzy was speaking, Kimberly had backed several steps away from us and was just watching with a big grin on her face. I was left alone to deal with Suzy and Maria and I knew that if I didn't go along with this, Kimberly would do something rash. "OK. Dalia, where would you like to start? Panties, bras, slips, camisoles? We have everything you could possibly desire." Maria spoke with a Spanish accent. Coming from a culture where males are macho, she seemed a little uncomfortable dealing with one wearing a blouse and skirt. Knowing Kimberly was watching closely, I stammered, "Well, I guess I would like some panties." I blushed. Maria led me across the aisle where there was a large assortment of panties in a myriad of different colors and styles. "Over here we have our best panties, our `Sara Jane' line. They come in regular or bikini cut. Which would you like? Go ahead and browse through them; you are sure to find something adorable." At this I looked around and did not see Kimberly, but I knew she was nearby. I picked up a pair of pink bikini panties and held them up, acting like I was inspecting them for quality. Meanwhile, Suzy had started talking with another clerk, who apparently was one of Suzy's friends. "Maria is helping Dalia pick out some nice girl's panties. Panties are really exciting to Dalia, particularly lacy pink ones, isn't that right, Dalia?" Suzy posed the question to me, although she was talking to the other clerk, a pretty brunette of about Suzy's age and height, whose name tag identified her as Ellen. Apparently Suzy was going to treat all her friends to this scene that I was creating. Maria's face appeared to express sympathy for me, whereas Suzy and Ellen were strictly looking for kicks at my expense. "I'm just shopping," I replied, trying to cut short this conversation. But Suzy continued, while Maria watched us uneasily. "That's OK, girl, there's nothing wrong with enjoying pretty panties. Most GIRLS do. That pair you are holding is very cute. What type of panties are you wearing now, Dalia? Are they pink, or white? Maybe you could raise your skirt and show us your panties! Or at least you might like to try on those you are holding; Maria could help you in the dressing room, couldn't you, Maria?" While Suzy talked, Ellen walked slowly around me, closely inspecting my clothes, shoes and makeup. I addressed myself to Maria and tried to ignore Suzy and Ellen. "May I have two pair of these," I said, still holding the pink panties, "and that will be all." "Fine," said Maria shyly, "and would you like to see our line of bras? Our `Olga' bras are on sale this week." "Thank you, Maria," I said and followed her across an aisle to where the bras were displayed. "Here is one in a shade of pink to match your new panties and the size should fit you. If you like, you may try it on," Maria added. "Go ahead, try on the bra!" Suzy was interjecting unwanted comments. Then she held up the pink bra in front of my chest and said to Ellen, "Look, Ellen, this bra will look great on her! Wait till her boyfriend sees her in this; he'll go wild." Ellen laughed at Suzy's comments. "I don't have a boyfriend," I said brusquely, even though Suzy hadn't been talking to me. "What! A cute girl like you without a boyfriend? What do you think, Ellen, can we line up a date for Dalia?" They both laughed. "Maria, I'll take this one," I said, holding the pink bra. "I'd like to pay now, please." It was time for me to leave before Suzy really got me in trouble. I followed Maria to the cash register; the two panties and one bra came to a total of $17.69. With Maria across the counter and Ellen and Suzy at my sides, I placed my purse on the counter and opened it. With the three young ladies watching, I was understandably nervous. I fumbled in my purse, looking for the money I needed. While I fumbled, a tampon fell from my purse and onto the counter. I froze. It lay on the glass counter, long and thin in its white and blue wrapping, with all eyes on it. Maria stared at it for some seconds, then glanced briefly up at my face, then as quickly her gaze went back to the bra, from which she was removing the anti-theft tag. A broad grin had formed on her cute face. Suzy was not so discreet with her thoughts. "Oh, miss!" she exclaimed loudly, as she quickly picked up the incriminating evidence and held it in front of me for all three women to see, "I'm afraid you've dropped your tampon! We wouldn't want Dalia to be caught without her feminine protection, would we Ellen?" Both Ellen and Suzy were laughing and even Maria, who had been my protector through this ordeal, was giggling now. "It sure is dreadful when your time of the month comes, isn't it Dalia? How we poor girls must suffer, having to stuff cotton into our bodies. Men are so lucky, they don't have to deal with such problems, that is, at least MOST men don't!" Apparently Suzy and Ellen really thought this was funny, because they began laughing uncontrollably. Too ashamed to accept the tampon from Kimberly, I quickly paid Maria for the lingerie and walked out towards the mall area, flushed and shaken. Feeling a sense of relief when I finally got out of Macy's, I stopped to sling my purse strap over my shoulder and look around for Kimberly. By now the mall was becoming more crowded and groups of men and women were passing me. I noticed that most of the women shoppers wore slacks, not skirts, yet here was I, a man, wearing perhaps the cutest skirt in the entire mall. After a few minutes she came out of Macy's. "Dalia", she said, "There you are. I thought you would be in the lingerie department for quite a while, so I stopped by the magazine department. How did it go?" By this time my spirit was completely crushed. "It was terrible. Can we go home now?" "What do you mean, terrible? Kimberly replied, feigning ignorance, "I see that you managed to find something you liked. Would you like to show me what's in the bag?" "It's underwear; I can't show it to you here in the middle of a busy mall," I replied with a tone of exasperation. "Underwear! No, no, Dalia, from now on you must refer to your pretties as lingerie. Underwear is not a very feminine term. Now, before we go home, let's stop and get you some shoes of your own, something to fit you better. Maybe then you won't be walk like a ten year old girl parading around in her mother's high heels." At this point my spirit was far too shattered to do anything but tag along after Kimberly. Her comments about my walking made me self-conscious, which had the effect of making my walking even worse as I strained, too much, to walk in what I thought was a normal feminine manner. After walking halfway across the mall, we entered a typical women's shoe store named Mandy's Shoes. I noted with a sense of relief that the store was not busy; other than the two clerks that were standing by the cash register, we were the only ones in the store. The clerks were too busy talking to each other to give us immediate attention. I accompanied Kimberly as she browsed around. "Well, Dalia," she said, "you could either purchase a pair of red shoes, which would go nicely with the outfit you're wearing now, or you could buy a pair of dark blue pumps, which would go good with most of your other outfits. What would you prefer, girl?" "I don't have any other "outfits". Remember, I'm a man. Come Monday, I'll never wear another dress!" "My, but aren't you a sensitive slut!", she countered. "You'll be a girl tomorrow, too, so you'll have to wear something different, won't you? Or maybe you plan to prance around all day wearing just your new lingerie - which just may be a good idea! And who knows, you might just decide you like being a girl and take to dressing up often. Don't worry, Dalia, I won't mind if you admit you like dressing up!" Again, Kimberly took my show of resistance and totally destroyed it. Each time a trace of my manhood emerged, she immediately cut it off with her sharp comments. And dressed as I was now, how could I do anything but retreat into passivity? "OK, you win," I replied, "let's look for something in dark blue." "Oh honey," she gushed, "you are so sweet! Look at this shoe. Isn't it pretty? Wouldn't you love to slip these on?" Kimberly had picked up a navy blue, open toed shoe with a tiny ribbon in back and a heel even higher than the shoes I now wore. "Kimberly, I don't think I could walk in those. They are too high," I responded. "Oh, sure you can. Girls love high heels, even when they hurt. You try them on and then we'll decide." At this time one of the sales ladies came over. "Hi, my name is Patty. May I help you ladies?" she queried. Patty was quite young, probably in her early twenties, with shoulder length blond hair and a cute girlish face. She was the first woman I had seen today wearing lipstick as red as mine. Her pastel green skirt ended about six or seven inches above her knee, white pantyhose adorned her shapely legs and she wore simple black shoes with about one inch heels. Although somewhat short, at about 5 foot two, she was fresh and sexy in a way that only young women can be. "Yes," Kimberly responded. "My girlfriend here would like to try on a pair of these shoes. She loves the look of them, but she's not too sure that they will be comfortable. Do you have a pair in her size?" "I'm sure we do. That is a very popular shoe; it's very feminine and is also well made", the clerk responded to Kimberly while she eyed me quizzically, apparently wondering why Kimberly was doing all the talking for me, as if I were a six year old girl. "Please sit down and I'll take a measurement." "Do you know about what size you take?" she asked me after I had seated. She had slipped off my right shoe; my shaved legs and bright red toenails showed through my sheer pantyhose. "No, I'm not sure," I mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to mask my masculine voice. She looked up at me, stared at my face for a long minute, apparently studying it closely; while I blushed, her gaze then slowly went down, peering at my blouse, breasts, waist, skirt, legs and finally ending back at the foot she was measuring. "Stand up and put your foot in here." I did as Patty said, while she took the measurement. "Looks like a size ten will do, Ma'am," she stated, then rose and went to the back room to get the shoes. I noticed she motioned her co-worker to follow her to the back; apparently she wanted to share her discovery. My spirit was too wounded to talk with Kimberly; I simply stared at my very feminine legs and feet. Were these really my legs? Were these my toes, with their nails painted so nicely? Why would I, a man, be wearing silky pantyhose? What, Oh God, was happening to me! "I'm sure you'll love those shoes, Dalia", Kimberly said, interrupting my thoughts. "In fact, maybe while we are here, you could get another pair also, something plain, like a pair of flats. Sometimes, even pretty girls don't wear heels. You need something you can wear around the house, while you do the cleaning and cooking, shoes you can wear to the Laundromat, things like that. Not tennis shoes; they would not be in keeping with your image. Just some flats. Still feminine, but practical." "Sure", I replied meekly, "anything you say." Kimberly smiled at my response; she could clearly see now that she was winning, that I had reached a state of surrender, of submission to her demands. Patty came, carrying the shoebox. "I'm sorry, miss," she said, smiling at me, "all I found was a size 9 and a half. It should still fit you well. Maybe a little bit tight, but after all, we girls are slaves to fashion, aren't we?" I could tell from her tone that she was enjoying this, her chance to be superior over a man. She knelt down and used a shoehorn to force my feet into the high heels; meanwhile, her co-worker watched from a few feet away, where she was pretending to rearrange a display. "You have such beautiful toenails. Did you have them done at a salon, or do you apply your own polish?", she asked with a mocking tone. "Oh, Dalia does her own nails and quite well, don't you think," said Kimberly, "I really like the bright red color she chose, it's nearly the same color that you are wearing." "Oh, it is, isn't it? Hold out your hand and let's compare," exclaimed Patty. I was forced to hold out my right hand, with fingers extended, while Patty put hers next to it. I was thinking my hands were fairly pretty, but next to her delicate and soft hand, mine looked large and coarse. A look of triumph crossed Patty's face; she had shown herself to be far more feminine than this man that dared to trespass into womanhood. Men might act superior to her, but she had shown herself to be above me. "Oh, you have cute hands," exclaimed Patti, "but rather large for a GIRL. But let's see how these shoes feel on you. Go ahead and walk around a bit." The new shoes felt tight on my feet, although less so than those I had been wearing all afternoon. They did look very nice; as a man, I would have admired these shoes, had I seen a comely young lady walk by wearing them. Now, on me, I did not admire them; instead, the shoes embarrassed me deeply. The shoes were symbols of my emasculation, witnessed by the three women that watched as I rose to my feet and wobbled about the store. "Dalia, you walk as if you've never worn high heels before!" Patty exclaimed in a joking voice. "Surely a pretty girl like you must have dozens of pairs of high heels at home and, I imagine, all well worn from use. Keep walking...maybe they just need to be broken in a bit." With Kimberly watching, I had no choice but to do as Patty said. I walked up and down the aisles, while the ladies watched in amusement. It was very difficult, as the heels were so high. To keep from stumbling, I was forced to take short steps. My ankles wobbled . "Notice how the high heels raise Dalia's fanny up and causes it to wiggle seductively as she walks. That really drives men wild. It also make her legs appear longer and more feminine." Although Patty was talking to her co- worker, she spoke loudly so that Kimberly and I could not help but hear; she then redirected her comments to me: "Tell me, Dalia, are you buying these for a special occasion? Maybe an important date with a special boyfriend? These would also be good at a formal occasion, like a wedding. Perhaps you are going to be a bridesmaid at your friend's wedding?" she asked, while nodding towards Kimberly. "Oh, no, I'm already married," Kimberly responded, while I continued walking up and down the aisle, as if a model at a floor show, "But if I ever divorce and remarry, Dalia will definitely be one of my bridesmaids! She would look so very nice wearing a blue or pink taffeta gown with plenty of lace!" I blushed at the thought of being a bridesmaid as Kimberly, my wife, walked down the aisle with another man. Yes, I realized, she had such a power over me that, if she so commanded, I would do even that. Meanwhile, all three girls were laughing at my expense. "I don't believe that Dalia has a special date lined up," Kimberly continued speaking to Patty, "at least she hasn't introduced me to any of her boyfriends yet. Maybe you know a nice man that Dalia could date?" "I don't know," responded Patty, clearly enjoying this discussion, "most of the guys I know need a girl able to physically satisfy them. Poor Dalia might be embarrassed if a real man's hand groped under her panties!" I did not like where this conversation was headed, so to change the topic, I said, "I think these shoes will be fine. I'll pay for them and go." "Fine," replied Patty, "but first, walk one more time up and down this aisle. I want to be sure the shoes fit properly. Now walk slow, one foot carefully in front of another." I did as she said, walking slowly but with greater skill now, down the aisle and up again, while the women watched my every move. "You know," said Patti to Kimberly, "I think she's getting it. She's walking very steadily now, taking small feminine steps. I bet Dalia's mother would be so proud of her daughter!" Patti was referring to me as if I was a young teenage girl getting her first pair of heels. "Before she leaves, Dalia would also like to purchase a pair of flats. Something she can do housework in. Would you help her with that, while I step out for awhile?" Kimberly asked Patty. "Sure," replied Patty, "I'll help your cute girlfriend." After Kimberly left, I was alone with Patty and her coworker. Together we decided on a pair of beige flats; these also had a little bow on them. "To maintain your image." Patty said. "Dalia," asked Patty as she was ringing up my purchases, "I see by the sack you're carrying that you've been to Macy's. What did you get there?" I knew that Kimberly would return soon, so I cooperated with my questioner. "Just some underwear," I replied. "Underwear!" Patti exclaimed, "somehow I can't picture you buying `just underwear'. Let's see what you have!" As I took my lacy pink bra and panties from the Macy's bag, both of the clerks started to laugh. "My, you really do have a thing for feminine clothing, don't you? I bet you used to wear your sister's panties when you were little, didn't you?" "No, no I didn't," I muttered. "Sure you did, Dalia. You can't fool us. Tell me, don't you often wish that had real breasts, like mine? Real breasts are much more soft and sensuous than cotton balls, you know." "I'm happy with the breasts I have," I replied, blushing. "Well, these days anything is possible. Maybe some day you can have your own breasts and at the same time, get rid of that nasty little thing that hangs between your legs. Just imagine how nicely your new bra and panties would fit you then", Patty cruelly joked. At this time Kimberly returned, carrying a package from Toys-R-Us. "I see Dalia has selected her new shoes," she said while looking over the flats. "Yes, she has," exclaimed Patty, "and very pretty shoes, at that! Dalia surely does have a girl's eye for fashion, doesn't she?" "Indeed she does," replied Kimberly, "what with her new high heels, maybe she'll give a floor show tonight, wearing just her new bra and panties! Wouldn't that be so exciting!" I blushed at the thought of appearing in front of an audience dressed, or rather undressed, in such a manner. "It sure would. But don't you think that Dalia should be wearing nylons and garter belts? That would really make her performance extra special. And we just happen to sell them here. What do you think, Dalia, would you like to look at our merchandise", asked Patty. "No, I don't think so. I've bought my shoes; that's enough for today," I responded. "Dalia!", Kimberly exclaimed, "I think Patty has a very good idea. Go ahead, Patty, show Dalia what you have." Patty then led us to the pantyhose counter and pointed out several pair of old fashioned nylons. At Kimberly's urging, I selected a pair of white nylons. Patti then pulled out a pair of garter belts; they were hot pink in color and had plenty of lace. "Just look at these garters!", Patty said to me, "The ultimate in femininity. I know most men love to possess these, as a symbol of their conquests. I guess to men, these are proof that they've had their hands in places forbidden. Of course, most REAL men don't actually wear the garters they collect!" At this joke of Patty's, all three women giggled. Once again, women were laughing at me while I just stood there, eyes downcast, blushing. How many times today had I been humiliated so? How many more episodes would follow before Kimberly's punishment would cease? If I were a man, wouldn't I strike out at my persecutors? But then, I realized, if I were a real man, I wouldn't be standing here wearing a blouse, skirt and pantyhose, while three young women joked about my feminization. Yes, Kimberly had chosen her punishment well; she had severed my manhood. "Dalia," Kimberly said loudly, rousing me from my self- pity, "look these over and tell us what you think. Do you like these garters, or should we look at others?" I could tell from her voice that her anger was returning, so I meekly took the garter she handed to me and held it in front of me. My smooth white hand, my bright red nails and the hot pink garters juxtaposed into an explosion of color. My eyes focused upon the feminine red nails (were these really mine!) rather than the frilly garter. "Isn't it so very, very pretty, Dalia," exclaimed Patty, grinning as she watched me carefully handle the woman's merchandise, "just imagine how pretty it will look around your smooth thigh! And if you dare raise your skirt while wearing these garters, the men will simply go wild! Maybe you would like to try them on here, so that we can see how they look on you?" "No thank you," I replied meekly, "I'll take them. I don't need to try them on." "Oh go ahead," urged Kimberly, "we want to see how they look, don't we?" "Sure we do," giggled Patty. "There's a small dressing area over there," she continued, pointing to a door behind the register. With an air of surrender, I took my newly purchased articles and went into the changing room. It was small and had a scent of perfume. A pair of old pantyhose lay discarded on the floor. I proceeded to remove my shoes and pantyhose, taking care not to run them. Then I carefully pulled on each nylon, positioned the garters in place, midway between my knees and my groin and slipped on my new blue heels. Such a feminine sight: slender and smooth legs, white nylons, pink garters and high heels with pretty blue bows. I was flushed by contradictory feelings; the sight was sexually exciting, but the realization that these were not the legs of a beautiful girl, but instead were my legs, was repulsive to me. After just a few minutes I was ready; I apprehensively opened the door and emerged into the gaze of three smiling young women. "Oh, isn't she seductive now!", gushed Patty, as she reached over and gently rubbed my leg, as if to smooth a wrinkle in the nylons. The sexual ambiguity of the situation and the touch of such a pretty girl, caused my remaining maleness to begin to stir. But now I lacked tight pantyhose to conceal the problem. "Lift your skirt some, Dalia, so that we can see your new garters," said Kimberly. Afraid now to disobey, I carefully reached both hands to the hem of my red skirt and slowly lifted my skirt until the garters became visible. At this point, I was actually holding the hem at above waist level. This astonished Patty's coworker, whose embarrassment at seeing a man in such a position caused her to turn crimson. Because I could not tell, from my position, just how high my skirt was raised, I