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The Church Ladies By Katherine Day (Copyright 2007 by Katherine Day) Ever since his wife died last year, Michael dressed almost daily in her clothes. They had had both been about the same size, and often when she was at work before cancer took her down, Michael would find opportunities to put on her clothes, pull out some makeup he had stashed in a basement workshop and parade before mirrors. "My, I'm a pretty woman," he would mutter to himself, almost without fail. And, he had to admit, he was pretty, his soft, smooth features always giving him a feminine look. In fact, his wife, Doris, had been the physically stronger of the two, and as their marriage matured, she had taken over the lawn-mowing, gardening, leaf-raking and snow-shoveling chores at their city home, a small three-bedroom ranch house, so typical of those built after World War II. Michael, in the meantime, had assumed many of the inside chores, becoming quite a cook and homemaker. He enjoyed putting on a set of lace-trimmed aprons that Doris had in the kitchen as he regularly prepared supper since his job got him home several hours before his wife did. They had grown used to this life of gender-switching household roles, almost without comment. "My darling," Doris would say as Michael was struggling to open a jar cap, "let me do that for you." And Michael would surrender the jar, silently cursing his weakness, knowing his wife would easily open the cap. She was a strong, big-bodied girl, having been raised on an active family farm, eventually becoming a high school Social Studies teacher who coached girls' basketball teams. Michael had been skinny, unmuscular child and had tried to disguise his unremarkable male body with the scraggly beard and long hair of the rebellious sixties; it was in that mode that he met Doris, then a college girl whose quest into the bohemian life style of radical youth caused her to cover her large formless body with ugly flowing frocks. In their own ways, they were both rebelling against the expected norms of their middle class families. Michael was hardly the "All-American" boy his father had hoped he'd be; rather, he had become quiet as a boy, often retiring to their cluttered attic where he had fashioned his own space, staying away from his two sisters and a brother. There, he usually read, curled up almost like a girl on an aging sofa. The truth (and only he knew it) was that he wished he was a girl, and often looked at the piles of Cosmopolitan magazines his mother was saving, imagining himself as a slender debutante, wearing a topless gown that exposed his lovely, sweet, smooth shoulders. By the time he was 15, he had joined other teen boys of the era in letting his hair grow, refusing the pleas of his parents and older brother to "get a haircut." His hair was a strawberry blonde, and flowed well below his shoulders, and he flicked it about in a loose-wrist girly manner. "You look just like a girl," his brother taunted. To which Michael merely exaggerated his girliness, to the growing disgust of his brother. Michael loved washing his hair, and he used women's shampoo for his long tresses. He enjoyed fussing with his hair, tying it in a bob in the back or into a pigtail. Unlike other boys of his age, Michael was always clean and neat; his side of the room he shared with his brother was always orderly. More often than not when he and Danny Olmstead, his best and really only other boy friend then, were out at the root beer stand on Main Street, the young waitress would ask, "And what does the young lady want?" And, Danny, a large, clumsy teenager, with a sense of humor, would play along and say, "What do you want, Michelle?" When the waitress was gone, the two would laugh, and Danny would take Michael in a mock hug, enjoying their little joke. Michael always treated it as a joke, but in reality, he found he liked the idea of being Danny's girl friend. He arrived at the State University, still a slender, long-haired youth, but looking so much like the others. Nonetheless, he insisted on wearing unisex blouses with sequins and lace designs, and girl's jeans as many boys did at the time. In Michael's case, with his girlish mannerisms, he still was mistaken for a girl about half the time, a situation he had become used to. Now, away from his hometown, where his propensity to strike out in baseball and to fail in every male endeavor had branded him as a sissy, he was glad to be in the more forgiving environment of a university town. Doris had always been a large girl, but very strong and athletic. Her dad always said she could outwork any two men on the farm; it was obviously an overstatement, but Doris enjoyed it. Her dad was a large man, himself, having been a local football star who went on to play offensive line positions in college; he married the Homecoming queen at college, a tall, striking pretty women, who dressed in the highest of fashion, even when attending events in their rural farm community. While her dad may have told of his pride for the strength of his only daughter, her mother kept trying to interest Doris in "dressing up," losing some weight and looking more girlish. Doris was never going to be "spitting image" of her lovely mom; rather she would take after her father. Her father argued constantly with her mother about Doris, telling his wife, "Doris isn't fat. She's a big-boned, strong young girl." And, he was right; even with her ample breasts, beefy arms, heavy thighs and wide hips, Doris truly had very little "fat" on her body. This unlikely couple met during the anti-war protesting of the 1960s while with a group planning to do a sit-in at the University president's office; they enjoyed each other's commitment to peace; they shared similar types of movies and both loved to read and talk about current affairs. "You think you'll change the world?" Michael's father often taunted. "Well, your generation made such a mess of it," he'd reply, to his father's disgust. Perhaps it was their rebellious spirit that led her to find love from a girly, slender man from the city and him to find it in a muscular young woman from the farm. Neither was turning out to be the kind of young people either of their parents wanted. Doris and Michael grew to love each other unequivocally, each accepting the other's weirdness or difference as something to cherish. Even their families grew to understand and enjoy the other's spouse, with Doris spending more time with the men at family gatherings watching football and Michael usually helping out the women in preparing the meals and gossiping. "That's always been Michael's nature," his mother would explain. Thus it was that once their three children had married and left the house Michael became the "woman of the house" and Doris "the man". In private, Michael wore women's clothes and Doris often dressed male. Thus, Michael grieved uncontrollably as he watched Doris suffer into her painful death. What was he to do? Only to Doris had he revealed his true self that was felt he should have been a woman. Only she seemed to understand how much he needed to be female; as the years went on, she helped him in choosing his women's clothes, even going shopping with him dressed as a woman in out-of-town stores where they wouldn't be known. He had kept his hair moderately long, so that it could easily be fashioned in either female or male modes. He had gained some weight to flesh out his skinny frame, but it merely softened his body, rounding his hips, creating chubby thighs and even breasts that could hold a 36B bra. If anything, he was beginning to look more and more female, and he could wear tank tops and short skirts that exposed his smooth body and be mistaken for a woman. In reality, Doris and he had become girl friends, playing that role together whenever they could. She loved him for his gentleness and his warm soothing voice that he had learned to use so that he sounded totally female. Perhaps because of this, their sexual adventures had always been exciting, often teasing each other as being lesbians. She called him Michelle during these times. Now she was gone, and he cried fully and unashamedly as he felt a woman would cry. He knew he could retire now; they had saved well during their marriage. He sobbed so much, and dressed for days in the pink, sheer nightie she had purchased for him. It had been her favorite and she so often told him how lovely and feminine he looked in it. His tears continued, as he knew Doris would not be there to share his femininity. He soon came to realize one truth. He would have to live now as a woman; his manhood, if it ever existed, was dead in him. He knew his only solace was to now live as Michelle. Within a week of Doris' death, he returned to his job as an accountant for the local school district; he worked in an office with four others, all women, and had enjoyed their constant gossip and giggling. They had all enjoyed his company as well, and several had kidded him that he had become "one of the girls," since they noticed he so eagerly share in their conversations about fashions and hairstyles. "Michael," a co-worker, Maxine, once said, "how come you know so much about women's clothes?" He hadn't answered, just let the remark fade away and hope Maxine never thought any more about it. He wanted so badly to tell her and the others that he felt he was a woman like they were and would have cherished the idea of coming to work in a women's business suit. Once home from work, Michael became Michelle; he even drove to Chandlersville, 20 miles away at least once a week, fully dressed as Michelle to shop, stop at a restaurant and maybe take in a movie. No one, as far as he could tell, ever felt he was anything but a lovely woman growing past middle age. He was charmed during one of these trips as he was drinking a sweet latt? in the Kaffee Stoppe with the attentions of a tall, gray-haired man, who seemed to be eyeing him from a nearby table. Michael returned the glance with a feminine coyness. "I hope I'm not being rude," the man said after getting up and coming tentatively to Michael's table, "but would you like some company?" Michael hesitated a minute and the man looked as if he was about to leave, prompting Michael to say in his soft, feminine level voice, "Oh that would be nice," beckoning with a slender pretty hand for the man to sit. "I'm George," he said, offering his hand, engulfing Michael's own slender hand into his large, well-manicured hand. "I'm Michelle, and thank you for joining me. I always like conversation." "You're very sweet," George said. "And, I might say very pretty." Michael blushed, accepting the compliment with a coy turn of his head. He felt he was pretty, wearing a yellow summer sun dress, with its teal and pink floral design. The dress had a square bodice, thick straps over the shoulders, exposing Michael's pretty shoulders and arms. The dress was knee length and he wore white sandals, with 2-in heels. He had painted his toe and finger nails with the same rose shade of polish. Unlike many men who dressed as women, they had male body characteristics that marked them; in Michael's case, he could dress to expose his soft, fleshy body and look convincingly female. It turned out that George, like Michael, was also a recent widower; Michael, of course, told George that "my husband" died. "This has been one of the nicest visits I've had with anyone since my wife died," George said as they both realized they had been in the coffee shop for nearly an hour. "Yes, for me too," Michael said. "Time sure flies when you meet someone nice." "That's a nice thing to say. Would you care to share your phone number with me?" "Oh George," Michael said, realizing the man was wanting date him, thinking he was a lovely woman. "Not yet. It's too soon." George wrinkled his brow. "Oh, I was just looking to find a nice friend. Nothing more serious now." "You're sweet," Michael said, placing his hand on top of George's hand. "Maybe we'll meet again. I come here once a week about this time." As they parted, Michael gave George a dainty wave and smile, as if to so, "See you again." George waved back, broadening his smile. It was an exciting visit, Michael realized. As Michelle, he was indeed an attractive woman and he knew men would find him most desirous. He wondered what would happen if he ended up in the arms of a man like George, who saw him as a soft, tender woman, only to find his penis while caressing him. Michael felt the nipples of his breasts harden, along with his penis, as he walked to his car. He knew the cheeks of his bottom were framed in his dress in a most provocative fashion, pleased with how completely feminine he was. He wondered if George was watching, but was afraid to turn around. Michael had never really considered the idea of being "the woman" for a man, but now the thought was feeling so real. He knew he'd return to this coffee shop in the future at the same time, and he felt so wonderful to be accepted as a woman. Several nights later, as the sun was setting in a dramatic and colorful fashion on a particularly gorgeous mild June night, the phone rang. Michael had been sitting on the back deck enjoying an evening coffee and reading a Danielle Steele novel and had been so engrossed in the female character that he didn't pick up until the 4th ring, just before the annoying answering machine would go off. "Hello Michael," said a soft, female voice. "Yes, this is Michael." "This is an old friend. I wanted to call you and say how sorry I was to hear about Doris." "Oh, thank you. Who is this?" "Oh honey, this is Samantha Lewis. You'll remember me as Sam." "Sam?" Michael was confused. He didn't know a Samantha Lewis. "Yes, Sam, from college days. You and I and Doris spent so much time together in the protests at the 'U.'" "Sam? My god. Did you say you're 'Samantha?'" "Oh honey, my dear Michael. Let me explain. You must be so confused, my dear." It was said in a gushy, feminine manner, accentuating "my dear" and "honey." "Yes, you're Samantha now? My, we were so close then." "Yes, Michael. Some five years ago, I completed my transition to a woman. I've thought of you and Doris so often; we sure were dedicated to the peace cause then." Michael was dumbfounded. Sam was now a woman; it didn't make sense. He had always been athletic, a slender, strong high school track star; he seemed so tough in the demonstrations. How could he be a woman now? "You there, Michael?" the voice asked. "Yes, I just can't believe it." "Does that bother you? Me being a woman?" Michael smiled to himself, sensing the irony of Sam's questions, given his own secret life as a woman. "Oh Sam ? er, er, Samantha, shall I say? It's wonderful, if that's making you happy." "Yes, immensely happy now. My life was a disaster until I transitioned," she replied. Michael hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Samantha about his own "feminine life style." He finally said, "I'd love to hear about it sometime." "You shall," Samantha said, "I'd love to hear about your life now, and how you're doing now, without our dear Doris." "Samantha," Michael liked the way it sounded. "I miss her terribly. You know she understood me so well. We made a great couple." They talked for over an hour, but Michael, even though he was wearing a new pair of women's shorts he'd bought that day, plus a loose blouse and sandals, never told Samantha about Michelle. He had his hair, now a blondish gray, tied in a pony tail in the back and reflected that he must look cute, as George had said. The slight pudginess of his body added to his girliness, he knew. Sam, or Samantha, it developed, had left their home state after college, getting a job in social work for a nonprofit agency in Pennsylvania. He never married, and secretly dressed as a woman whenever he could, he said. He'd had many girl friends, but nothing ever lasted, as he found himself more often longing to be a "girl," rather than to be another girl's boy friend. "I'm now a hairdresser," he said. "I own my own salon, have five full and parttime girls working for me, and doing well." "My, I'd never have thought it of you! You were such a fighter for peace." "I still am," Samantha said. "Have organized a peace group here in the mountains of Pennsylvania. It's lovely out here. You should come visit sometime." "I'm so impressed. And, you've done that while transitioning? That must have caused some problems with the people there?" "Some, but not too bad. I'm known here as the best hairdresser in town, and except for a few lost customers, I'm treated as just one of the girls now." "Oh Samantha, I love calling you that. You must be so happy?" "Thank you. I am. I'm even active in my church here. One of the church ladies." She let out a high, girly giggle. As it happened, Michael said he'd try to plan to spend a few days with Samantha when his vacation period came up in mid-July. Samantha said that would be fine. They hung up and Michael gave himself a big hug, holding his soft upper arms, forming cleavage for his breasts, and wondering how he'd tell Samantha about Michelle. Michael was so aroused after the call; his penis had grown hard during the phone talk, and he pictured Samantha in his mind as a lovely woman. He recalled Sam's own full lips and warm eyes in his mind, a slender college student then with long hair and goatee, which somehow never seemed to fit his rather sweet looking face. The next day, after a largely sleepless night due to the revelation that Sam was now Samantha, Michael decided to call Samantha in the evening, and tell him about Michelle. It only made sense, he realized, since he now was so often in a feminine mode. Michael had always had a naturally high voice, and had mastered using feminine inflections he had picked up through the years. It had become ingrained, and as years went on he was often mistaken for a woman over the phone, and at work he was being identified as being effeminate due to the growing sissiness in his voice. "Samantha," he said in his girlish voice as he opened the call. "This is Michelle." There was a pause on the other end, and finally a questioning voice, "Michelle? Do I know you? "Oh yes, you do, honey." "Oh?" was the only reply from Samantha. "Yes, this is so strange, Sam. This is Michael," reverting to a more manly voice. "What? You teasing me?" "No, no, Sam, I'm living sometimes as a woman, too." "You?" "Yes, that's what made your call so surprising yesterday. I wanted to tell you then, but it was so weird. Both of us being women. Well, at least I think I want to be one." "Oh Michael. Or, should I call you Michelle, is it?" Michael soon was speaking in his more feminine voice. "I like 'Michelle' just fine." "Oh honey, this is so marvelous," Samantha giggled. "We're like girl friends now." "I bet you're lovely, Sam." "Oh, I try, hon, but I must admit to putting on a little weight." "You, Sam? That's hard to believe. You were always so thin." "Well, not anymore," she laughed. "Me either, I'm a little fattie," Michael said. "But I must admit when I'm out as Michelle, I'm finding some wandering male eyes looking at me. I think they like what they see. Even had a really handsome widower ask me for my phone number the other day, but I told it was too soon after my 'hubby's death.'" Michael and Sam both giggled together. "You must look cute. You always were pretty, Michael. Remember how often you were called a girl in college with your long hair and all." "And the cops put me in the paddy wagon with the girls during that one demonstration, and wanted to book me as a girl." "And Doris could have beaten either one of us up. We were such pansies," Samantha said, again laughing. Michael began crying, saying between sobs: "Oh, I miss Doris so much. I'm not sure I can do anything without her. And she would enjoy knowing you as Samantha." It was clear that Michael just had to visit Samantha during the summer vacation and to spend some "girl time" together. "I have a spare room, which you can use, Michael," Samantha volunteered. "OK, I'll plan on it, plan on driving out in July. It'll take two days." "And, I hope you'll come as Michelle, OK? Leave Michael home. I have plenty of clothes. What size are you?" "Women's size 12 to 14. Well, 12 is a little tight." "Same as me. We are the same height, I know. About 5' 7"?" "Yes, but only wear size 36B bras, Sam." "Oh, I'm a 36C now. Hormones and a breast implant help here." Michael hung up the phone, so happy now that he found another girl to enjoy his life with. In mid-July, Michael drove to the Pennsylvania mountain community where Samantha awaited his arrival. He packed only female clothes for the two- day trip, assured by Samantha who had seen pictures he had sent of "Michelle" that he indeed would pass as a woman. For the trip, Michael chose to wear skirts; he favored flowered prints, flowing skirts that went below the knee. He loved them for driving, since they offered freedom for his legs, and they were easier to lower for trips to the women's rooms. He wore sleeveless blouses, with a v-necks, that opened up to the cleavage he was able to create easily through uplift bras. He wore white ankle socks with white and pink tennis shoes for driving. Rather than wear a full wig, he chose to wear a pink baseball cap, with a hair extension flowing out from the rear of the cap. Never once, at the rest stops, restaurants or hotels during the trip was he taken for a man. One trucker at an Ohio rest stop had queried as they waited in line, "How are you today, cute lady?" He tilted his head and with a flirty look, agreed it was a fine day, particularly since this tall, graying, muscular man had called him "cute lady." He almost cooed as he thanked the man for his compliment, "That's nice compliment, particular for an older girl." "You're cute as a teen girl," he said. They both laughed, as Michael responded, "I wished that was true." The meeting was brief; they were both only meeting in the food line at the rest stop. It excited Michael, though, and he realized he must indeed look "cute." His slight pudginess, exposed through his soft arms and cleavage, plus wide hips and slender ankles, coupled with the feminine features of his face made him totally female to outward appearance. Michael favored cheerful colors in his outfits, and this helped to show an openness of spirit that was a welcoming sign to others. Michael, now in his 60s, and to be approached by a handsome man and called "cute as a teenager" was so exciting. He tilted his head coyly, and gave out with a little giggle that was so fetching to the man. "May I join you?" he asked after they had both gotten their food. "Yes, please," Michael said, heading for a booth near the window. "Call me Michelle, honey." His name was Tom, and he was 56 years old, divorced and father of three. At least that's what he told Michael. He's been trucking for over 30 years, and the absence from home, he said, caused his wife to play around. "I couldn't blame her," he said. "I was gone for long months at a time. And she was lonely." Michael explained he was a widow; it was the truth, of course, except when he said his "husband" died four months ago. "I'm going to see my girl friend in Pennsylvania, to spend some vacation time. She's an old friend." "Well, if she's as pretty as you, the two of you will have a good time," he smiled. Michael blushed, "She's prettier. She runs the best beauty salon in her town, and she dresses very nice." Michael explained he lived in Wisconsin, and Tom asked for his phone number, should his trucking ever carry him that way. "Oh honey, you're sweet," Michael said, gently patting Tom's hand. "I think not. This is just a chance meeting." "That's fair," Tom replied. "At least take my name and number down and if you're ever lonely, give me a call. We can talk, anyway." He pulled out a ballpoint, found a napkin, wrote the information and handed it to Michael. It read, "I'd like to get to know you better, if you wish. Tom cell ph 618-555-1265." After that he had drawn a smiley face. "Oh that's sweet," Michael said. "Where you headed? What town?" Tom asked. "Strawberry Hill in Eastern Pennsylvania." "Oh, that's where the big jam-making company is! I've pulled loads out of there. It's pretty town." Michael suddenly realized he had told Tom far too much about his destination. So far, however, Tom sounded sweet and friendly, and, Michael hoped, harmless. He told how he loved his children, and something of his ex-wife, with whom he still had a friendly relationship. Yet, for all the innocence of the meeting, Michael felt wary. Tom continually looked at Michael, stating many times how lovely he was, even admiring his hands which were smooth and slender, made so feminine by the light pink polish on the nails. Tom walked Michael to his car, and then Tom held Michael's hands as they said goodbye. "You be careful," Tom said. "A pretty woman like yourself, all alone. Don't talk to strangers." "I just did," Michael said, and they both laughed. As he continued east into Pennsylvania along I-80, Michael was so excited. It was obvious he was accepted as a woman by all, and a most lovely and fetching woman at that. He imagined as the miles rolled by how sweet it would be to be in the arms of a man like Tom, his feminine softness being caressed by manly hands and his lips being kissed. His mind also drifted back to George, his friend from the coffee shop. Could it be that he already in his short life as a woman he now had two potential lovers? If he followed through with both men he guessed he could be called a slut. Michael arrived in Strawberry Hill at just about 5 p.m. As planned, he drove to Samantha's Beauty Parlor, where it would be closing time. "It's right on Main Street, just west of downtown," Samantha explained. "You can't miss it. It's called 'Samantha's' in big letters on a sign on the left side as you come into town from the Interstate." Samantha's was located in a century-old Victorian home, with a wrap- around porch, full of sculpted porticos and exquisite woodwork. It had obviously been updated, but tastefully, so that it still had authentic early 1900 charm. Other businesses occupied several of the other old homes along the street, and since it was late afternoon, Michael had no trouble parking. He was slow to leave his auto; a fear suddenly tempered his long anticipation, how would Samantha, who was now a female, view him, Michael, who was still an imposter, he felt, dressed as he was in women's clothes. He busied himself, reapplying lipstick and looking into the rear view mirror to see whether his wig looked authentic. Finally, he left the car, smoothing his flowing, floral skirt as he walked up to the building. The sign in the window said, "Closed," but lights inside were on and he saw movement; Samantha had said she'd wait for him, regardless of the time. He was about to rap on the door, when it opened before him to show a tall woman, with graying auburn hair, tightly curled and tastefully formed to the top of the head, with ringlets dropping neatly down to her neckline. She was a little heavier than Michael expected, but it was definitely Samantha. "Darling Michelle, how sweet of you to come visit," she said, sweeping Michael into her arms, drawing him to her ample buxom. "Sam," was all Michael could say, as he released himself from the woman's hug. "My you're an absolute darling," Samantha said. "And you look so cute." Michael blushed quickly, remembering Tom the truckdriver. "And you're a smashing woman," Michael replied. She introduced Michael as Michelle to Stephanie, a twenty-something lady hairdresser who exuded total class, and to Maxine, an older, chubbier woman, gray-haired, but also showing an exquisite manner. It was easy to see why "Samantha's" was the classiest place in town to get your hair done. "Michelle and I were in college together in Wisconsin centuries ago," Samantha explained. "And don't any of you dare ask what year?" "Nice meeting you Michelle," said Stephanie. "Same here," said Maxine. "You're as lovely as Samantha described you." "She's visiting us for a couple of weeks," she continued. "Tomorrow, Michelle will be coming in to get her hair done," Samantha said. "I want both of you to look at her now, and by tomorrow come up with an idea as to how to fix her hair; as you know, she wears a wig. So we must pick out a nice fit for her." Michael watched as the three women closed up the shop, and left with Samantha. "My darling," Samantha said as they walked to the car, "You are definitely a lovely woman. I can't see anything of our old friend, Michael." "Oh Michael's here, with his same old plumbing," he smiled. "But he's a bit heavier, softer and feeling so female." "You always did look like a girl, remember?" "Oh yes, the cops always sent me with the girls for booking." "Those were the days. The fight for peace. I bet you miss Doris so much. She was a great person." Michael began to tear up, "Oh Samantha, she understood me so well. I miss her so much. But I'm so happy you found me. I'm looking forward to these two weeks and hope I won't be a bother to you." "Not at all, there's lots going on. We have the church festival the Sunday after next, and I'm on the committee. You'll help and I'm sure you'll like it." "Sounds nice," Michael said, "but it's hard seeing you active in a church. You were such a free-thinker in college." "I still am, but in this town to be accepted, I need to be active in the community. Besides, you'll adore Pastor Brian; he's a sweetie." Thus it was that Michael (now as Michelle) was to join Samantha as an active church lady for the Strawberry Hill First Congregational Church. Michael couldn't believe how feminine Sam had become; once a slender, wiry man, Sam was now more fleshy, with soft, lovely skin. She had developed wide hips, full buttocks, ample breasts and chubby arms. Michael reflected that Sam and himself had developed almost identical body shapes, except that Michael's breasts were still only filling B-cups and Sam's obviously at least a C-cup. "Oh this is so lovely, Sam," Michael said later that night when both were sitting in their nighties, with Sam's hair already in curlers. "From now on, dear, you'll be known here as Michelle, my girl friend from Wisconsin," she replied. "Oh that's what I want." "I see you only as a woman, Michelle. There's not much of a man left, is there?" "I doubt if I ever was much of a man," Michael giggled. "Remember when Doris challenged us to arm wrestle?" "Oh god yes. In front of all her girl friends. She beat us in about ten seconds." "Yeh, and her friends said, 'Put them in dresses'." Samantha put Micheal in a guest bedroom, which was decorated in pinks and light blues, with a vanity and bed covering with matching frilly skirting. An adjoining closet contained many dresses, and, Samantha said, all should fit Michael, or rather, Michelle. In an early phone call, Samantha had announced she had a boy friend and it was necessary for Michelle (or Michael) to sleep in separate rooms. There were to be no sexual encounters between Michelle and Samantha, in order not to jeopardize Samantha's love affair. Samantha told her boy friend that Michelle was a genetic woman, mainly to take away any jealousy that he would feel if she were hosting a man. Samantha had faith that he wouldn't notice any maleness in the visitor. "I'm so pleased, Michelle. You're 100% feminine; no one would ever mistake you for a man. Your arms, shoulders and your whole body is totally female." Michael blushed. "That's the nicest thing you could have said, Sam." They both hugged and kissed before heading for their respective rooms. The hugs were warm and sweet, Michelle thought: Two somewhat chubby middle-aged women in a lovely embrace. Michael, however, recognized that his visit with Samantha would not include any sexual activities between the two. "I'm sure, knowing how pretty you are, Michelle, that some man in Strawberry Hill will fall in love with you," Samantha smiled. Michael put on the nightie that Sam had laid out; it was so pretty; sheer light blue affair with lace trim, thin straps over the shoulder and running to just above the knees. Michael loved it, so frilly and dainty, and with floral flourishes decorating the sheer cloth, through which you could see his panties, his tummy and thighs, so fleshy and inviting. For ten days -- the length of his visit ? Michael would be a woman, fulltime. Never had he felt more comfortable with himself as right now. "Why can't I be a woman forever?" he asked himself aloud, giggling a bit and flirting with himself in a girly manner in the mirror. Getting dressed for church on Sunday became an elaborate and precise process. Both women wanted to be their loveliest, since Samantha's new boy friend was taking them to church. They giggled continually as they tried on dress after dress, trying to find the best one. "I love this one," Michael said, holding up a light blue, gauzy affair that was light and dainty. "That's lovely," Samantha said. "But you'll have to wear a slip. There's a blue slip that came with the dress in the drawer." Michael held it up to himself, and he loved it immediately. He was standing there in a matching white lace bra and panties, his soft tummy and fleshy thighs showing. Samantha had teased Michael by saying she was jealous, that Michael, as Michelle, was now going to turn the eyes of every man in church. "Don't you think this slip is a little long," Michael said after he had stepped into it. He loved the action of stepping into a slip, as he had seen his mother and his wife do it. Michael moved daintily. "Oh honey, it's perfect. You're absolutely adorable." Samantha had chosen a light pink two-piece knit outfit, with a white camisole, covered by the top, a vest. It exposed her smooth, chubby arms, which, to Michael's eyes, were lovely. Around her wrists she wore darker pink and violet beaded costume bracelets, with a matching necklace. Both Michael and Samantha had fixed their hair in a loose, curly fashion that exuded a welcoming feeling of friendliness. "My, you two look like sisters," commented Frank, Samantha's boy friend when he arrived to pick them up for church. "I hope you like what you see, Frank," Samantha chided. "Oh my yes. You both look good enough to eat," he said with a sly grin. The church was nearly full when they arrived, and they had to walk to the front to find an open pew. Michael could sense many eyes looking at the trio as they walked to the front, and he knew he exaggerated the sway of his hips in a most provocative manner. Never in his life did he feel more like a woman than that moment in church. "Is that Pastor Brian?" Michael whispered to Samantha as the minister moved to the altar. "Yes. Isn't he handsome?" "Oh, my yes." "And he's a widower," Samantha said with a conspiratorial giggle. Pastor Brian was a tall, stately man, with salt and pepper hair, neatly cropped and tight to his head. By all accounts, the pastor could have been a severe man, but his manner was warm and opening. He was about 60, Michael estimated. "He has the nicest smile," Michael whispered to Samantha. Pastor Brian spoke in a gentle manner, foreswearing the "damnation and hell-fire" rhetoric of so many ministers these days. Yet, his speaking manner was riveting, at least for Michael. He used anecdotes and colorful phraseology to make the points of his speech. The sermon's title, "Is Our Lord Open-Minded?" was intriguing in itself. "What do you think of homosexuals?" Pastor Brian began. "Yes, that's what I said. I'm speaking about homosexuals, and I want you to each examine your own thoughts. "Now that you have done that, do you think Jesus would agree with your thoughts?" At that point, Pastor Brian had the congregation's attention. He never outlined what Jesus thought about homosexuals, or any other persons so often derided in society, but ended with the point pleading that the Lord and his son, Jesus, called upon each of us to love all of our brothers and sisters on earth. In short, this man captivated Michael. He began to notice that Pastor Brian seemed to be looking directly at him as he went through his sermon. Did Pastor know I was a transgendered person, Michael wondered. Was that why he was looking at me so often? Michael at several points returned a shy smile that he hoped the Pastor noticed, usually tilting his head in a flirty way. One time, it appeared, the pastor seemed to acknowledge Michael's smile with a faint smile of his own. Amanda must have noticed the subtle exchange between the two, for she patted Michael's hand lightly after shared smiles between the two. As the congregation broke into hymns, Michael's own voice seemed to soar over the chapel; his voice always ranged into the soprano notes, and he had cultivated it carefully through the years so that it sounded feminine. As a child in singing classes and in school concerts he found himself among the few boys with lovely soprano voices, until their voices changed. Michael's hardly changed at all, as he grew into his teens. At age 14 he was the only boy among girls in the soprano section. By then, it had embarrassed him so that he pleaded with Mr. Lorenz, the choir director, to move him into the altos. "Your voice is so lovely and so strong, Michael, it's a shame to move you," the director had replied. As a consolation, he arranged it so Michael would stand in the middle row, right next to the alto section and other boys. Secretly, during those years, Michael had been excited by how many of his characteristics were female. He even longed to wear the black gown all the girls in the choir wore, instead of black trousers, white shirt and tie. Now, known only as Michelle in Amanda's church, he was free to sing out, and his voice easily dominated the congregation. As they stood in line to greet Pastor Brian after the service, Michael heard Amanda say to Frank, "I think the pastor likes our guest." "He did seem to be eyeing her up lots during the sermon," Frank said. "Well it's thanks to how Amanda fixed my hair and made me up," Michael interjected with a smile. "No honey," Amanda said. "It's you who has won him over." Standing in front of the three friends as they stood in line was an overweight man in a light tan summer suit, with sweat oozing from his fleshy face. He was mad, it was obvious. "How could a man of the cloth talk about homosexuals? They're an abomination." The pastor smiled and said gently, "Now George, you should have listened to what I said. We must be open minded to all people. We're all children of God." "Well Pastor, I know you're one these liberal preachers, but you better be careful. You'll lose some of us families who have supported this church and paid your salary for years." "George I appreciate your feelings," Pastor Brian said. "Maybe someday you'd like to come by and we'll talk about some of these matters." "Talk isn't necessary where the word of God is involved," the man said and turned on his heel and walked away. "We appreciated your sermon, pastor," Amanda said as they approached. Pastor Brian took Amanda's hand in both of his and smiled. "Oh Amanda, how lovely you are this morning. And, hello, Frank. Now who is this lovely lady with you." Michael blushed, and held out his hand, still gloved in the white. "This is my friend, Michelle, from Wisconsin. We're college mates from years ago and she's visiting for two weeks." "Oh," the pastor said. "Was she also one of those peaceniks?" Amanda reddened, replying, "Yes she and I were among the peace demonstrators on campus in 1968." "I presume, Amanda, that you and your friend are still so inclined." Michael responded, "Oh yes. I've done peace work back in Wisconsin this year." Pastor Brian now took Michael's hands in his, and looked at him, "I noticed you in the church today. You have a lovely voice, and it's so strong. I think the congregation sang even better today than ever, just because of you." "Thank you, pastor." "It's too bad you're not staying here permanently. We'd love to have you in our choir." Samantha broke into the conversation, "I'd like to get her to stay. She recently lost her spouse, so she's alone." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. It's great meeting you, Michelle," the pastor said. They started to move away so that he could complete greeting the remaining churchgoers, but the pastor said, "Can you stay around until I'm done here, Amanda, Frank and Michelle? When I'm done here I'd like to talk with you about something." They agreed to stay, and in some ten minutes Pastor Brian had completed his greetings to the departing parishioners. He led the three friends into his office in the rectory, inviting them to sit on a sofa and easy chair, while he brought in a straight-backed chair from an adjoining room. Michael and Samantha shared the sofa, trying to pull their skirts down to cover their thighs, but they were unsuccessful, as the skirts rose up, exposing the lace hems of their slips and a small view of the soft flesh of their thighs. The tight dress was hard to pull down, regardless how Michael worked at it. He could tell Pastor Brian noticed Michael's feminine squirming; the pastor kept averting his eyes, but Michael reddened involuntarily. "Are you ladies comfortable there?" Pastor Brian asked. "Oh yes, this is fine pastor," Samantha replied. She too was having problems pulling her skirt down. Michael turned his knees slightly to the side, but realized that action may have been even more sexually attractive to the pastor. It was obvious, Michael felt, that Pastor Brian was finding Michelle to be a most sexually stimulating person, and Michael was enjoying the naughty thought of flirting with this man of the cloth. As he turned his knees, he realized a bit more of the softness of his inner thigh was exposed to the pastor's view. "I think you handled the difficult part of the sermon beautifully," Samantha began. "I know you asked here for a different reason, but I just wanted you to know that." "Thank you, Sam," the pastor replied. "I knew including homosexuals in there would make some feel uneasy, but I felt I needed to say that to prove that we're all children of God, and that we all have souls and are deserving of being treated with dignity." "I couldn't help hearing what George Stanfield said to you. Will he cause trouble?" "No, I don't think so. His wife supports us, really strongly. He'll be fine." Michael interjected, tilting his head in a flirty manner, "Oh, pastor, you're so courageous. Not many ministers would be so upfront." "That's sweet of you to say, Michelle, but if a minister can't carry the word of God to its fullest, what good is he, or her," the pastor smiled, leaning over to give a friendly pat to Michael's thigh. Before heading for church, Samantha had explained to Michael that Pastor Brian was most liberal in his views and was well aware of her sex change. The truth, however, was that Samantha's transition occurred five years ago, and most people in the community now thought of her only as a woman. She was also widely respected within the church, due to her participation in women's activities and also in the community of Strawberry Hill. "Let me tell you why I wanted you to stop by," the pastor began. "Samantha, you know Byron Jenkins, the festival treasurer?" "Yes, pastor. He's been handling the money for the festival for years." "Well, Saturday night, he had a heart attack." "Oh my God," Samantha said. "He always seemed so healthy. How bad was it?" "He'll recover, but he's out of commission for a month, and you know the festival's next weekend." "Oh my yes. What can you do?" "That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Samantha. I know you're a good business woman and you maybe know someone who could help us out." Samantha was quiet for a moment, and then answered. "I use the M&M service out of Wilkes-Barre for this work. But, they'll charge you." "Oh," said Pastor Brian. There was silence in the room, and Michael wondered whether he should volunteer to help out. After all, he was a CPA by trade and was chief accountant for the school system. But, he reasoned, he was just a stranger in this community. "Do we have any other people in the church who would do it?" Frank interjected. "I searched my brain, and I can't think of anyone," the pastor said. Michael was still sitting primly, looking at his pretty hands with their lavender nail polish, and wondering whether he should say anything. Samantha must have known what he was thinking; she put her hand on Michael's with a commanding grasp. "How about it, Michelle? You're a whiz with numbers." Michael looked up, directly at the pastor, the pastor showing a growing expectancy. "You are?" he asked. "Yes, she is. She's a CPA and chief accountant at her large school system," Samantha volunteered. Michael smiled, giving a coy tilt of his head. "Would you be willing to help out, Michelle?" the pastor said. "You're here into next week, aren't you?" "Yes," Michael said. "And I guess I'd have time." "Oh Samantha, I didn't know you had such a lovely friend. Not only is she pretty, but she's smart." Michael gave out a girlish giggle. "I hope you won't be sorry and I hope I can work out ok for you, Pastor," he said. "I'm sure you'll be great. Good. It's settled then," the pastor said. "I'll have to help you get started on this, Michelle, and we'll work together so it shouldn't be too difficult for you." The pastor suggested that Michael come to the rectory in mid-afternoon Monday to begin to work on the accounts. Michael smiled as they completed the arrangements, accepting the pastor's hand to help up, off of the low sofa; as he did so, his dress rode uup his thighs a bit, exposing a slice of the lace hem and more of his thighs. The pastor squeezed Michael's arm as he led them out of the rectory. "I think he's hot for you," Frank said as they left the rectory. "And you're such a flirt, Michelle, showing a bit of thigh and slip," Samantha giggled. "I was just trying to get comfortable," Michael said, adding quickly, "I have to admit I like him." Michael's life as a woman was taking on exciting dimensions, as so many men were finding him sexually alluring. As a male, he had never been viewed as an attraction to the opposite sex, except of course for Doris, who saw his special hidden qualities. As he strode to the car, Michael shortened his steps, swung his arms and swayed provocatively. He knew his slip was showing, and he smiled. That night, after Frank had gone to his own apartment, Samantha and Michael sat next to each other, both in silky, see-through nighties. Their thighs were largely exposed from beneath their shorty nighties, their flesh soft and smooth. They were watching an emotional movie on the Lifetime channel, and both had been crying. "We're both such softies," Michael volunteered. "And I love you for it," Samantha said, reaching over for a light kiss on his lips. Michael realized they had been holding hands, resting them in the valley between each other's thighs, in the valley where they met. Michael tingled when the two lips met. "How sweet we are together," he volunteered. Samantha's kiss now became more passionate, her arms suddenly engulfing Michael in their embrace. Michael responded with unexpected passion, finding the connection of the two soft bodies so sweet. His tiny male cock was now erect and hard, so aroused by his friend's advances. Soon they were laying together on the sofa, struggling to cuddle and kiss without falling to the floor. "Oh Michelle, you're so soft to hold. I love you so much." Michael suddenly froze, wondering about Samantha's promise to Frank that the two would not become lovers. "Maybe we better stop this," he said. "Why? I love you Michelle. You're all woman to me." "What about Frank? We promised him we'd not make love." "Oh Michelle, he's nice, but he's boring. Besides I love you. I want you as a girl friend, as my lesbian lover." Michael was suddenly overwhelmed with passion. His femininity had taken over his pathetic male body and he was now a girl friend with a strong, exciting, lovely woman. The two were now kissing; their fleshy bodies were covered in sweat and Michael felt Samantha's hands fondling his womanly breasts. His hand had made its way between his partner's thighs, and found Samantha's pussy, already moist. "Oh a real vagina" Michael said. "It's so real." "Yes, my darling, and it's for your lips and tongue, dear. It's not for your cock." "The way I like it," Michael said. "I never had much of a cock anyway. I'm so happy as a woman." "I know you are hon." The two continued their loving in bed that night as women. Michael, now as Michelle, nestled his head upon Samantha's sweet breasts, his hand gently caressing her smooth inner thighs, and then moving to her pussy; he felt so good in her arms, being petted and fondled. "Oh honey," Samantha whispered, "Your arms and shoulders are so soft, so tender." "Hug me, tightly, Sam. I feel so content in your arms, so safe." "You are my sweet Michelle. You are mine." Michael had never felt so warm and comfortable, even with his beloved Doris. Now, he was being treated as a woman, as a submissive, sweet woman. He was almost asleep when Samantha cooed into his ear, "You're a woman at heart, Michelle. You can't fake how feminine you are." Michael felt so good to hear that, and kissed Samantha gently on her lips. "You know what really makes you so sexy, Michelle? It's when your skirt rises on your thighs, showing a bit of slip and your absolutely gorgeous legs." "Samantha, I love you. My beautiful girl friend." The two were soon asleep in each other's arms. Michael was anxious about his Monday afternoon meeting with Pastor Brian, knowing the minister had been taken with his feminine voluptuous body, particularly his legs, and apparently with the exposed slip. Samantha had suggested that Michael, as Michelle, should wear something simple, befitting a church volunteer. They found a blue summer dress, with pink trim. "This will highlight your lovely blue eyes," Samantha had said. The dress had a square bodice, with thick straps over the shoulder, and Samantha helped Michael fit his bra so that there was a hint of cleavage. "This dress will display your femininity, darling, and yet not be slutty," Samantha said. He wore a half-slip that Samantha assured him would show at strategic moments with Pastor Brian. Samantha had Maxine, her older stylist, fashion a lovely wig of graying, blond hair. The wig had relatively short hair, straight and bobbed in the back. It would require Michael to play with the hair occasionally, forcing him to use delicate feminine gestures to brush it from his eyes. Maxine also assisted Michael in applying his eyeliner, eye shadow and lip gloss, all very subtle on understated. The perfume was also quiet and subtle, just giving a hint of femininity. "There you are," Maxine said. "Look at yourself and let me know what you think." Michael looked in the mirror, seeing a modestly dressed woman, whose softness and fragile femininity were so obvious. He was breathless at the sight. "Oh Maxine, you're a magician. You've made me so lovely." "Michelle, honey, I didn't do much. You're so lovely naturally. Now let's have Stephanie do your nails." Stephanie was a tall and slender, dark-haired beauty who still had the body of a teenage model, although she was the mother of three young children. "You have pretty hands," she said, as she worked on Michael's nails. She finished both his finger and toe nails in the same natural pink color. Michael was to wear blue sandals with 3" heels. As Michael was about to leave, Samantha was handling a phone call, with a quizzical expression. She looked at Michael, and finally interrupted the call, saying to Michael, "Do you know someone called Tom, a truckdriver?" Michael reddened at the question. "Ah . . . yes. I guess I met him at a rest stop." "Do you want to talk with him? My god, Michelle, are you picking up truckers now?" "I guess I better." Tom announced that his travels soon would take him to Strawberry Hill for a load from the jam factory, and that he remembered Michelle saying her girl friend ran the best salon in town; a quick call to the local chamber of commerce easily informed him it was Samantha's. And, he said, he hoped he wasn't being too forward in calling her there. "Tom, that's sweet of you, but I'll be gone when you come here. Need to get back to my job in Wisconsin." Tom wondered how he could reach her, but Michael replied that he already had Tom's phone number and if she was interested she'd call him sometime. He agreed, and before hanging up, said, "Michelle, honey. I'd really like to meet you again. Please call me." "Tom, I already have a boy friend," Michael explained further, to Samantha's astonishment. After she hung up, Samantha asked, "What was all that about?" Michael explained the chance meeting with Tom, and said she was sorry about having him find Samantha's phone number. "All I told him I was going to Strawberry Hill to visit a girl friend who ran the classiest salon in town. He found out the rest." "You better be careful what you tell people, honey. You're a luscious woman." There was no one besides the pastor in the rectory when Michael arrived Monday afternoon. Pastor Brian was all business and led Michael to the rectory's library where he had laid out the financial information from the festival. "Your treasurer has done a good job with these books, even though he used hand accounting methods. The books are so clean and I can easily convert them to a Quicken file," Michael said. "I have the only up-to-date computer here, in my office," he said. As they walked to the office, Michael noticed his slip was showing slightly, and he caught the pastor eying the dress. "Here sit, in my office chair," Pastor Brian said, guiding Michael by his arm, his fingers gently caressing the soft flesh. Michael lingered a bit, enjoying the caresses by this handsome man. As he sat in the black faux leather executive chair, his dress rose above the knees, exposing more of the slip and a bit of thigh. "Let me get you into the system here," Pastor Brian said. "No stay there, I can reach over you to put in the password." He engulfed Michael with his manliness and his arms brushed Michael's arms as he did so. The pastor had strong, well-manicured hands and sculptured, muscular forearms, contrasting to the white softness of Michael's arms. Michael could smell a slight scent of aftershave lotion, which added to the Pastor's allure. Michael had to press his own arms to his body to give the pastor room to get to the computer keys; as he did that, he pushed his breasts together, creating a soft, cleavage, which he was certain the pastor had to notice. "There you are now," the pastor said. "You can enter the programs now, and I have work I'll do on this side table, Michelle. If you have any questions, just ask." "I think this'll go quick, pastor." "Oh, Michelle, call me Brian." Michael nodded, knowing that the pastor must have noticed how he reddened at that suggestion. He also noticed the pastor had positioned himself so that he could see Michael's profile. As a result, Michael couldn't help but do some discreet flirting, such as letting the dress rise a bit more on his thighs, flicking his hair in a sensuous manner and turning occasionally to smile at the pastor. Michael had been able to enter the material in about 30 minutes, and suggested the pastor come to look. This time, Michael got up to let the pastor get into his chair. In the tightness of the space, they brushed briefly against each other, the pastor gently grabbing both Michael's arms so they neither would fall. "I'm sorry about that," Pastor Brian said. "Nothing to be sorry about, Brian." Instead of going to the computer, the pastor asked Michael to sit in the chair next to the desk. "May I ask you something personal, Michelle?" "Of course." "You're a widow, right?" "Yes, my Donald died four months ago. I loved him dearly." The pastor paused for a minute and smiled shyly, which Michael found so endearing. "I'm awkward at these things," he said. "I'm a widower, you know." "Yes, Sam told me, and I'm sorry for you." "Well, it's been three years for me. My Mary Alice was a pillar of strength for me. I loved her deeply." "Yes, Brian." "Well . . . ah . . . I was wondering. . ." "Yes, Brian." "Michelle, I find you very attractive. You're a lovely woman. Would you consider going to dinner with me sometime while you're visiting." Michael smiled, tilted his head and flicked his hair with a pretty hand, and smiled. "That would be so nice, Brian. I'd like that." "It's not too soon for you, is it? Your Donald is only gone four months." "It's only dinner you're asking about, Brian." They agreed that Brian would pick Michael (as lovely Michelle) up on Wednesday night and they'd drive the 20 miles to a scenic restaurant along the river for supper. Samantha was astounded at how fast the date had been established. "Half the older single women in town have been after Brian for a year, and he's said 'no, it was too soon after Mary Alice's death.'" "He's so gentle and sweet, Samantha. And, so manly." "I know, but I think he could fall in love with Michelle? What happens when he finds out there's still a bit of Michael left?" In truth, Michael had not focused on that point. He was so much into his feminine mode he forgot he still was male biologically. Michael's mindset was as a woman now, a lovely widowed lady. "Oh Samantha, I don't know what I should do. He's accepted me as a woman." "At some time, I think you'll have to tell him eventually. And I don't know how he'll accept that." "Well, he's accepted you as a woman." "I know, but I was already transitioned when he came to town, and was active in the church when he got here. I think he ever thought of me as a man." "Oh Samantha, he's so sweet, I want to be honest with him." "Honey, you're here for only 10 more days; maybe you can be female that long for him, and then go back home. Maybe he'll find another woman." Michael paused. "I think I'm in love with him." "Well, just be cool for these ten days." Samantha said. "Then, see what happens. You're really a woman, honey. Just a few changes and you'll be all woman." "Samantha, I love you." The two kissed and soon were in bed together. The end