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Hot Water By Lana B. This story may not be re-posted without the permission of the author. *** Stan lifted the fork and placed two saut?ed string beans into his mouth. He chewed and grimaced. He spit the food into a napkin and glared at his wife, who sat across from him at the dining room table. "This is awful, Harriet. It's too salty. What the hell's wrong with you? How much practice do you need before you learn how to cook a decent meal, for God's sake?" he indignantly asked. Tears took shape in Harriet's eyes. She thought, 'I'm not going to let him make me cry. Not again.' She looked at her husband, and said, "I didn't add any salt to it, Stan. Just a splash of soy sauce." "A splash? It tastes like you used the whole fucking bottle. And the meat loaf's bland. I can't eat this shit." He stood up. "Where are you going?" "To the pizzeria. I'm getting a pie." Harriet watched her husband exit the dining room and heard the front door slam shut as he left the house. She dabbed at her moist eyes with a tissue and wondered just how much more abuse she could take. She slowly exhaled and whimpered. She'd worked so hard on dinner. She'd done her best to please her husband time and time again, all to no avail. Harriet collected herself and reflected on the events that'd led to her current station in life as Stan Grissom's wife of one year. She'd grown up in an orphanage in Albany, New York. Her unknown mother had abandoned her as a newborn on the orphanage's proverbial front doorstep. Harriet had never wondered why or sought to find her. If that's the way she'd felt about her own daughter, then Harriet had no desire to know her. She'd spent the first 18 years of her life in the orphanage, attending neighborhood schools. She'd taken her share of ribbing from classmates about being an orphan, but learned to ignore it. Harriet had put on a bold face, but she hated life at the orphanage. Every night she secretly prayed for adoption. Unfortunately it never came to pass. She suspected that her appearance might have had something to do with it. Harriet was rather large for a young girl, and by the time she reached the twelfth grade, she was six-one and 182 pounds. Thankfully no further growth ensued. After graduation from high school, Harriet got a job as a matron at the Marriott Hotel in downtown Albany. Shortly thereafter she moved into a nearby rooming house. She also attended secretarial school at night for a year and gained her certificate. A few months later she secured a position as a legal secretary at a small law firm in Schenectady, about 25 miles northwest of Albany. With the new job Harriet was able to improve her living arrangements to the extent of upgrading to a studio apartment. Beyond that she owned a 6-year-old Saturn sedan, the furniture and television set in her apartment, and the clothes on her back. She had no savings to speak of and lived from paycheck-to-paycheck. Harriet had wanted more from life. She desired her own house. She also wanted a husband to give her companionship and possibly even love. However it'd become increasingly apparent to Harriet that that was a pipe dream. She had no prospects. She'd never even been on a date. Harriet didn't have to strain her imagination to figure out why she couldn't snare a man. The reason was clear-cut. It was her appearance. She was large and husky for a girl, and she was rather plain-looking. Even in a dress and makeup, the best that could be said of her was that she made a 'handsome woman.' And that might be stretching it a bit. Harriet had worked at the law firm for 12 years and carved out a livable existence for herself. She enjoyed shopping for clothes, going to the movies, and dining out. By herself, of course. She became resigned to the fact that she was destined to live out her remaining years as a single woman. 'It could be worse,' she'd often thought. She was firmly entrenched in the proposition that everything was relative. And then Stan Grissom walked into the law office on a warm day during the first week of summer in June 2002. He'd come to see Ted Denton, one of the partners, about acquiring some local real estate to expand his music business into the Schenectady area. Grissom already owned five music stores in upstate New York, and he was ready to open a sixth one. His chain of stores, known as the 'S & G Music Outlet,' sold musical instruments, amplifiers, receivers, speakers, compact discs and music- related DVDs. Business had treated Grissom well and he'd amassed a small fortune from the venture. Stan had taken an immediate liking to Harriet, and she'd been flattered by the attention. Appearance-wise, he wasn't her idea of the ideal man, but she'd rationalized, 'Let's face it, honey, it's not like there's anyone else knocking down my door.' So she'd happily returned the attention whenever Stan came to the office during that fateful summer. Harriet's enthusiasm for Stan was, to a degree, tempered by his size. He couldn't have been more than five-three and 130 pounds. And it was readily apparent to Harriet that Stan was self-conscious about it. He'd made several references to being above average in the area where size mattered. And he'd boasted about his strength and stamina. He liked to recount that he jogged three miles every morning and worked out with weights at his local health club several times a week. Harriet had been on three dates with Stan and learned that he'd been an only child whose parents had tragically died in a small plane crash six years earlier. He'd inherited the lucrative family jewelry business, but had no real interest in it. So he'd sold off the jewelry store and rolled over the profit into the first 'S & G Music Outlet' in downtown Albany. And every year since, he'd opened a new store. Stan loved music and was making a lot of money from it. On their fourth date Stan took Harriet out to dinner and then brought her back to his 12-room Victorian in Rensselaer, a lovely suburban village directly across from Albany on the Hudson River. He gave her the grand tour of the house and she immediately fell in love with it. It was during that auspicious fourth date that Harriet had, at long last, relinquished her virginity. After she and Stan had watched a video and polished off two bottles of chilled Chardonnay, the next thing she knew she was buck naked on the bed in the master bedroom with Stan on top of her. At the ripened age of 31, Harriet had finally discovered what it was like to have a man inside of her. She'd decided she liked it. It was also during that fourth date that Harriet had probed Stan about his attraction to her. She truly wanted to know why a man like Stan desired a woman like herself. Physically-speaking they were, obviously, polar opposites. Stan's explanation to Harriet's inquiry was rather simplistic but basically credible. He'd claimed, "For as long as I can remember, Harriet, I've liked large women. There's more to hold on to and more to love. I don't know, I guess it's just a preference, like any other preference. Some men like blondes and some men like big tits. I prefer a hefty, red-blooded girl." They'd gone on three more dates, and Stan proposed marriage. Harriet asked him for a few days to think about it. Stan was taken aback by her response, but said that he understood. That night Harriet weighed the pros and cons of marriage to Stan. On the negative side, he was small in stature. He was also a little bossy, arrogant and chauvinistic, character flaws that stemmed from an obvious Napoleonic complex. On the positive side, he had lots of money and a beautiful house. He represented security and companionship, two valuable commodities to Harriet. 'I like him. Maybe I can even learn to love him,' Harriet optimistically thought. When Harriet awoke the very next morning, she called Stan on the phone and accepted his proposal. He was ecstatic. They married in a civil ceremony at City Hall in Albany three weeks later. The front door slammed shut, startling Harriet from her ruminations. Stan had returned. She heard his footsteps and watched him enter the kitchen. He held a large white box in his hands. Stan placed the box on the dining room table and opened it. The smell of pizza filled the room. He said, "I got a mushroom and sausage pie. Grab a slice." "No thanks. I ate the meat loaf." "How the hell did you eat that crap?" Harriet ignored the question and went upstairs to the bedroom, where she had a good cry. Later that night... Harriet lay on her side of the bed with her back to Stan. She felt a tap on her shoulder. She asked, "What do you want, Stan?" "You know what I want. Sex." "Not tonight, Stan. I don't feel up to it." "Well, I do." He then grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her onto her back. Before Harriet could object any further, Stan was on top of her. She pushed at him, but he kept at it. He knocked her arms away with his hands and attempted penetration. As small as Stan was in comparison to Harriet, he was wiry, well-built and stronger than she was. Harriet attempted one final push, and Stan smacked her hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. She blurted, "You hit me, you son of a bitch!" Just at that moment Stan pinned her arms to the bed and entered her. A half-minute later, his mission completed, he rolled back onto his side of the bed. Harriet wiped the tears off of her face, and said, "I can't believe you slapped me." Stan smirked. "Well, don't refuse me and I won't do it again. It's as simple as that. Understand?" Harriet didn't respond. A minute or two later she heard Stan's buzz-saw snore. Two hours passed before she was finally able to fall asleep. Three days later... It was noon, and Harriet had just finished cleaning the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms. She'd left her secretarial job after marrying Stan and became a housewife. Following their two-week honeymoon in Bermuda, he'd told her, "I want you to quit your job. No wife of mine needs to work. Besides, you already have a job. You'll be taking care of me and the house from now on." Harriet sat on the living room sofa and browsed the local Pennysaver. She stumbled across a miniscule advertisement on the penultimate page. Straining her eyes, she read, "Having men problems, ladies? Contact the Manley Sisters for assistance. No job is too large or too small. We can help you solve your problems. Call us at 654-2101 for a free consultation." Harriet was intrigued. She reached for her cell phone on the coffee table and dialed the number. After three rings, she heard, "Hello. This is Monica Manley. How may I help you?" Her voice had a distinctly English accent. "Uh... hello. I saw your advertisement." "Having problems with your man, are you?" "I guess you could say that." "Would you like a consultation? We offer a wide range of solutions. I'm sure we could find one that suits your needs." "Where are you located?" "We'll come to your place. Let me see... we have an opening for the day after tomorrow at two o'clock. Is that good for you?" "Uh... yes, it is." "Excellent. May I have your name and address?" Harriet gave her the information. Two days later... At exactly 2:00 p.m., the doorbell rang, and Harriet opened the door to see two gorgeous blondes standing on the stoop. They were obviously identical twins. She asked, "I assume you're the Manley Sisters?" The blonde on the left said, "That's right. I'm Monica. We talked two days ago. This is my sister, Eva." "Nice to meet you. Please come in." Harriet ushered the twins into the living room, where they sat on the sofa. Harriet settled into the recliner and wondered what would come out of the meeting. Monica complimented Harriet on her nice house, and then got straight down to business. She asked, "So what type of problem is your man giving you, Harriet?" "Well, it's my husband, Stan, actually." She stopped there. Eva asked, "What, then? Don't be shy, Harriet. We can't help you unless you tell us what the nature of your problem is, love." Harriet found their accents charming and, at the same time, disarming. She was ready to spill the beans. "Well, my husband's rather abusive. He's rude to me. He's critical of my cooking and housecleaning. He orders me around like I'm one of his subordinates at work. And he's quite chauvinistic, too. He believes I exist solely for the purpose of serving his needs." Monica said, "I see. Has he ever hit you?" Harriet wondered if Monica had read her mind. "Well, now that you mention it, yes, he has. The other night he wanted sex. I didn't feel like it, and he slapped me. And then he forced me to do it." She paused for a few seconds, and then added, "Oh, and he threatened to do it again, too." Monica said, "That's not good, Harriet. Do you think you'd be better off without him?" "What do you mean?" "Do you think your life would be better if Stan were out of the picture, sweetie?" "Out of the picture? You mean like if he was dead or something?" Eva slyly raised an eyebrow. "We have many contacts throughout the country. And in England and a few other countries, too. For the right price, we could do anything, love." Eva's last remark reminded Harriet of another cause of her distress, and she said, "I guess I should have mentioned something right up front. I don't have any money. My husband controls all of our finances." "How much does he have, dear?" Monica asked. "I'm not sure, but it's at least six million." Harriet recalled peeking at the accountant's statement that Stan had inadvertently left on the dining room table last month. Eva asked, "With Stan out of the way, would you inherit his estate, Harriet?" "Well, I am his wife. He has no other family. I guess I would." "Then you could pay our fee from your inheritance," Monica suggested. Harriet considered the matter for a moment, and said, "Well, I don't think I'd want him killed. I couldn't live with that." "There are other ways to remove him from the picture," Eva pointed out. "How?" "We could stage his death," Monica advised. "Stage his death? How would that remove him from the picture?" "Simply put, Harriet, we'd stage his death and give him a new identity. Stan would no longer exist. He'd become someone else," Monica explained. Harriet was bewildered. "I don't understand any of this. He'd become someone else? Who?" Eva leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. She clasped her hands. "Like we said before, Harriet, we have contacts that help us in many countries. Have you ever heard of Montevideo?" "No. What's that?" "It's a city in South America. The capital of Uruguay, actually. There's a surgical clinic there that we've used a few times. They give people new identities through surgery. Whether they want it or not." "I'm not sure I'm following you. Surgery? What type of surgery?" "Gender reassignment surgery, Harriet." Harriet thought for a moment. "You mean like sex change surgery?" "Exactly. We could stage Stan's death and then take him to this clinic where he'd be given a new identity. And you'd inherit his estate without actually having him killed." The scheme appeared to be too harsh to Harriet, but it nonetheless appealed to her on a primal level. It sounded exactly like something that her poor excuse for a husband justly deserved. She asked, "What would happen to Stan after the surgery?" Eva wryly smiled, and said, "That would be up to you, love. You could leave him behind and let him fend for himself. Perhaps he'd make a good maid or mistress to someone down there. Or you could take him back with you. The decision's yours." Harriet considered the proposition for a moment. She asked, "How much would this cost?" "We'd take a quarter of that six million you mentioned, love," Monica replied. Harriet stroked her chin and did the math. That'd leave her with more than four million. Then there were all of the music stores and the equity in the house. She figured she could live quite comfortably on Stan's estate. Harriet reminisced back to the days of her youth growing up in the orphanage. She'd been so lonesome. She looked at a twin, and then at the other. She cunningly smiled, and said, "You know, I've always wanted a kid sister, love." *** Harriet approached the sofa. She saw that Stan was engrossed in the sports section of the newspaper. She cleared her throat. Stan looked up at her. She handed him the double martini he'd asked for. Stan took a gulp of the drink and looked at her disapprovingly. "You used too much vermouth. What's for dinner tonight? I'm almost afraid to ask." "I made linguini with white clam sauce." "I hope it's better than the last time you made that dish. It had more starch in it than my shirt collar." Harriet ignored the insult and returned to the kitchen. She stirred the linguini in the pot and then the sauce in the saucepan. When she returned to the living room ten minutes later, Stan was out like a light. Harriet retrieved her cell phone and called the Manley Sisters. Then she enjoyed the delicious single serving of linguini she'd prepared. Four months later... "Have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Grissom." "Thank you, Dr. Menendez." Harriet sat in the green leather armchair in front of Dr. Menendez's large mahogany desk. "I am pleased to report that we've done everything you've requested, Mrs. Grissom. There were no complications. He is fully healed and ready for discharge." "That's very good news. Thank you, doctor." "Are you sure that you don't want us to complete the job?" "Yes, I'm sure." "May I inquire why?" "Certainly. I want him to ask for that. I intend to convince him that this was a good thing. I want him to learn that he can live a more satisfying life in this condition. If he decides to take the final step on his own initiative, then there'll be less of a chance he'll resent me. And there'll be a greater chance he'll accept, perhaps even embrace, his new life. Does that make any sense to you?" "Perhaps, in a way. But I must tell you that from a medical standpoint, it complicates matters. There's not much penile tissue left at this point. With continued hormonal therapy, atrophy will continue. To construct a vagina under those conditions, an isolated loop of intestine must be used. That can be a rather difficult surgical procedure. And the recovery may be painful." "I understand, doctor, but I've made my decision." Harriet stood up, and Dr. Menendez followed suit. "We're leaving on Saturday. I want to thank you and your associates for the fine work you've done. I'm very satisfied with the result." She offered her hand, and Dr. Menendez shook it. He said, "I am glad you are pleased, Mrs. Grissom. Your husband will be weaned from sedatives tonight. He should regain consciousness by noon tomorrow." Harriet nodded. "That suits me well, Dr. Menendez." She walked to the door and opened it. Before leaving she turned around and said, "I hope to see you in the near future, doctor, to finish the job." The next morning... Harriet entered the recovery room and walked to the bed. She looked down at Stan. She thought he looked so peaceful. And quite lovely, too. Harriet's mouth stretched into a rewarding smile. She heard someone at the door and looked up to see Stan's assigned nurse, Maria, enter the room. "Good morning, Maria." "Good morning, Senora. I come to give him hormone shot." "By all means, Maria." She watched the nurse insert the large hypodermic needle into Stan's hip. She thought she detected a slight tremble in Stan's arms and legs as the nurse injected him. Her task completed, Maria pulled the needle out and turned to Harriet. "He so pretty, Senora. He your husband, no?" "That's correct." "What you do with him now?" "I think I'll take him back to New York with me, Maria. I'll teach him to be a new person. A much better person than the one he used to be." Maria nodded as she contemplated the idea. Then she scanned the patient's chart. "I see he not on sedative anymore, Senora." "That's right. Dr. Menendez ceased all sedation last night. The job is done, Maria, at least for now." Maria studied the patient's face. "He so pretty, Senora, just like doll." She turned to Harriet and smiled. Then she left the room. Harriet scrutinized her husband's new face and agreed with Maria's assessment. He was, indeed, pretty in a cutesy-doll sort of way. And he looked so young, too, just as Harriet had specified. Stan truly had the sweet face of a teenage girl, who was, at most, 18 years old. Harriet tipped her mental hat to the brilliant cosmetic surgeon who'd reconstructed her husband's face. He'd done a remarkable job. Harriet glanced at her digital wristwatch and saw that it was 11:00 a.m. 'An hour to go,' she excitedly thought. She decided to kill the hour by giving Stan a manicure. Harriet walked to the dresser and reached for her purse. She removed an emery board and a bottle of bright red nail polish. She returned to the bed and sat on its side. She grasped Stan's right hand and immediately noticed how soft it felt. She saw that his nails had gotten too long. She wondered why someone on the facility's staff hadn't attended to them. She shrugged. Harriet trimmed Stan's nails to about a half-inch beyond his fingertips. Then she shaped them and applied several coats of polish. She admired her handiwork as the polish dried. She became envious, and whispered, "He has such lovely hands. I wish mine looked that nice." Harriet attended to her bathroom needs, and when she returned to Stan's bed, he was in the process of awakening. He slowly wiggled his arms and legs for a few minutes, and then he opened his eyes. He saw his wife and silently mouthed her name. He wondered why he couldn't speak. He tried to lift himself up, but couldn't. Harriet approached the bed. She raised Stan until his back rested against the headboard. She then grabbed the aluminum pitcher on the night stand and poured water into a glass. She brought the glass to his mouth and tilted it. Stan drank all of the water. He turned to his wife. With a bit of effort, he asked, "Where am I, Harriet?" "You're in a hospital recovery room, Stan." "Hospital? Was I in an accident or something?" "No. You're here because you've had some elective surgery." "Elective surgery? I don't recall deciding on any surgery." "That's correct, Stan. I made the decision for you." "You decided?" Harriet saw that he was becoming angry. "That's right. I decided without consulting you." Stan raised his hand and pointed his forefinger at her. "You had no right to..." He stopped as soon as he saw his hand. "What's the matter, darling? Did you lose your train of thought?" "My... my hand. What's happened to my hand?" He curiously gazed at his right hand. A thought occurred to him, and he immediately looked at his left hand. He saw that it matched his right hand. "I don't... understand." "Aren't your hands pretty, now, darling?" "What's going on, Harriet? I demand to know what's going on." He couldn't unglue his gaze from his hands. "Tell me what's happened." "Of course, Stan. Your hands are a simple cosmetic spin-off to the surgical process you've undergone." "Surgical process? What surgical process?" "One that's put you in touch with your feminine side, Stan." "What the hell are you talking about, Harriet? This is ridiculous. I'm leaving." He tried to get out of the bed, but fell right back into it. He wondered why he was so tired and weak. "I think your fatigue might have something to do with being under sedation for four months," Harriet told him. "I was under sedation? For four months? I don't believe you." "It doesn't matter what you believe, Stan. It was done because it was necessary. It made everything so much easier to keep you under sedation. The full-body electrolysis alone took nearly three months." "Electrolysis?" He looked at his hairless arms. Then he raised his hand and felt his silky-smooth face. Harriet saw his panicked expression, and said, "Doesn't it feel so soft, Stan? So feminine? But it was more than just the electrolysis. The hormone therapy and the lotions were a big part of it, too. And the facial surgeries brought out the best in your looks." Stan shook his head in denial, and noticed that his hair swirled about. He raised his hand and swept it through his surprisingly long hair. He looked up at Harriet, and asked, "What else have you done to me?" "You've had a touch of liposuction at the waist and thighs to help shape your figure. Hmm, let's see... I think I've covered it all. Oh, maybe not. Have I mentioned the castration?" "Castration? You've got to be kidding me!" "I'm afraid not, sweetie." Stan mustered all of his will and sat up on the edge of the bed. He slowly stood up, but collapsed to the floor as soon he attempted a first step. "Shit!" he snapped. Harriet heard his voice crack as he uttered the profanity. She walked to him, bent down, and scooped him up in her arms. She gently deposited him back on the bed, and advised, "You really shouldn't try that again until you regain your strength, dear." Stan glowered at his wife. "And exactly how long will that take, Harriet?" "It shouldn't be long. In the meantime, you need to rest. I'm going to grab a bite to eat." Stan watched his wife leave the room and then he heard her engage the door's outer lock. He tried to gather his thoughts, but none of it made any sense. He muttered, "I don't understand. What's going on?" He shook his head to wake himself up from the bad dream, but it didn't work. He held out his hands before him and looked at the long red nails that graced his fingertips. "Impossible," he whispered. Then he recalled some of the other things that Harriet had mentioned, and a chill ran down his spine. He lowered his head and saw that he was dressed in a pair of turquoise silk pajamas littered with small red hearts. He unbuttoned the top and slipped out of it. He gazed downward, and his heart shifted into the next gear when he set his eyes on the distinctive breasts that sprouted from his chest. "This can't be happening," he said. Stan looked back up, but when he gazed downward again, they were still there. They were dainty, but they were breasts nonetheless. They were certainly large enough to fill out an A-cup. And all of the hair on his chest and abdomen was gone. He had the torso of a young girl. "It's unbelievable," he said. He suddenly thought of his wife's reference to the part of his body below the belt. "She must have been joking," he announced, with more than a trifle of anxiety in his tone. He quickly squirmed out of the pajama bottoms and examined his groin. He immediately saw that Harriet had been serious. He exclaimed, "Holy shit! They're gone!" He examined his groin closely. He was relieved to find that his penis was still there, although not in its customary grandeur. It was only a fraction of its former size and girth, like the penis of a 6-year-old boy. But his testicles were nowhere to be found. What's more, the sac had been somehow restructured to resemble a woman's vulva. He felt for a hole, but thankfully found none. Stan gathered his will and slowly stood up at the side of the bed. He felt strong enough to walk, and took a few baby steps. The sway of his breasts unsettled him, but he resumed walking. He reached the wall mirror near the closet and gazed at his face. Only it wasn't his face at all. It'd been replaced by the face of a teenage girl. He saw that he had a petite nose, a pointed chin, raised cheekbones and puffy lips. His Adam's apple was gone, too. It all blended together to make him look quite pretty. And his new countenance was crowned by curly locks that fell to his shoulder tops. "How did they do it? It can't be real," he incredulously said. He moved back a few steps and studied his full-body reflection. He saw that in addition to the breasts, he had a tapered waist and rounded hips. His skin was completely hairless and smooth-looking. If it weren't for the remnants of his penis, he'd have appeared completely female. "Oh my God. This has to be some sort of trick or something," he proclaimed. But in the beleaguered trenches of his mind, he knew it was no trick. It was real. He couldn't pull his stare from the mirror. He wanted to, but he couldn't. The whole thing was surreal. He'd have gazed at himself longer, but he heard someone at the door. Realizing his state of undress, he scurried to the closet and grabbed the only garment in there, a pink silk kimono. He slipped it on and secured the belt just as the door swung open to reveal Harriet's return. He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want his wife to see him naked the way he was now. Harriet looked across the room and saw her husband standing near the mirror. She said, "I'm glad to see that you're up and around, Stan. How do you feel?" He scowled at her, and said, "Better. I can walk, now." "Good. That was to be expected as the sedative wore off. I assume you've sneaked a peek at yourself in the mirror. How do you like your new look? Personally, I think you're quite adorable." Rage mounted in Stan, and he charged Harriet with as much speed as he could muster. He raised his clenched fists to strike her as hard as he could. Harriet grabbed Stan by his shoulders just as he reached striking range. She pinned his arms against his body and hoisted him off of the floor until their eyes were at the same level. She said, "Don't try any of that tough guy stuff with me, Stan, or you'll be sorry. You can't pull it off, anymore. You've lost all of your muscle tone and a lot of your body mass. You can't be much more than a hundred pounds, now. You're not even half as strong as I am. If anyone does any pushing around, these days, it's going to be me. Do I make myself clear?" Stan helplessly swung his legs in the air, and screamed, "Put me down, you bitch, put me down!" Harriet walked to the bed and tossed Stan onto it. He harmlessly bounced on his back a few times. The sight of it made Harriet snicker. Stan looked up at her, and yelled, "Wait until I get home! You'll pay for this, Harriet! You'll be sorry that you ever met me!" His voice cracked again, which removed a good deal of authority from the threat. Harriet chuckled, and said, "You're not going home, darling. You see, Stan Grissom's dead. You don't exist anymore." "What the hell are you talking about?" "You died in a car accident four months ago, Stan. You drowned. Your body was never recovered, but I gave you a lovely funeral." Stan looked at her with a curious expression. He asked, "How the hell can I be dead when I'm right here talking to you? Would you like to explain that to me, Harriet?" "It'll be my pleasure. The person who was Stan Grissom died. You're still here, but you have a new identity. Didn't you notice that you're no longer Stan when you looked at yourself in the mirror, sweetheart? For the most part, you're a young girl, now. And a very pretty one at that. I assure you that I spared no expense in bringing about your transition. It was the best use that's ever been made of your money, Stan. Or to be more precise, my money. You see, I inherited your estate when you died. And it turned out to be quite a substantial estate. I want to thank you for that, darling." She saw the puzzled look on his face, and added, "Maybe you need to see for yourself, Stan." She reached into her purse and came away with two newspaper clippings. She handed them to him. "Here, read these articles. Take all the time you need. I want you to fully understand." Harriet then walked to the armchair across the room and sat in it. She watched Stan read the news items. Stan saw that the first clipping was the account of an automobile accident that occurred four months earlier. It was captioned, "Local Music Store Entrepreneur Involved in Tragic Car Accident." Stan read on: "Late last night the car of Stanley Grissom, the owner of six music stores in the upstate New York area, crashed through a guard rail on the Lackawanna Bridge and plunged into the rolling waters of the Hudson River. The car was recovered, but the police are still searching for Mr. Grissom. His wife, Harriet Grissom, confirmed that her husband had left their Rensselaer residence the previous night in his car to buy a pizza at Umberto's Pizzeria across the bridge. Mrs. Grissom tearfully expressed her belief that her husband would turn up alive." Stan glared at his wife. A triumphant smile unfolded on Harriet's mouth. She said, "Read the other one, Stan. I want you to have the complete picture." Stan turned to the second clipping. He saw that it was dated two weeks after the first one. It was captioned, "Music Businessman Presumed Dead by Police." Stan read on: "Two weeks ago, the car of multi-music store owner Stanley Grissom plunged into the Hudson River. The car was recovered without Mr. Grissom in it. Rescue efforts were immediately launched, but they were suspended after a week, at which time recovery efforts were undertaken. Recovery efforts have now been terminated, and the authorities have proclaimed that Stanley Grissom is presumed dead as the result of a fatal motor vehicle accident. His tearful wife, Harriet Grissom, thanked the local police for their valiant efforts in attempting to recover the body of her deceased husband." Stan coldly stared at his wife, and said, "You'll never get away with this, Harriet. I'll go to the police and tell them what you did." "That would be such a bad move, Stan. Then I'd have to disclose the letter that you sent me last week." "What are you talking about? I didn't send you any letter." "Of course you did, dear. You must have forgotten." Harriet then reached into her purse and came away with a folded piece of paper. She stood up and walked to the bed. She handed it to Stan and casually walked back to the chair. She sat down in it, and said, "Read your letter, Stan. I found it quite shocking, myself." Stan unfolded the paper. He saw that it was a printed letter undoubtedly written on a word processor. He read, "My Dearest Harriet: I suppose it will come as quite a shock to you when you open this letter and discover that I am still alive. I apologize for the deception, but I did what I had to do in order to preserve my sanity. "You see, I am a transsexual, Harriet, and always have been. I faked my death four months ago to put an end to the fraud that marked my life as a man. I then went to a surgical clinic in South America, where I enrolled in a program to initiate gender reassignment. I am confident that with the help of the fine doctors at this clinic, I will soon become the woman that I was always meant to be. "I know that I've put you through a great deal of anguish, Harriet, but I hope that you will understand and forgive me. My desire to be female has always consumed me, and I could no longer fight the compulsion. As I stated earlier, I did what I needed to do to maintain my sanity. "I know that this must be difficult for you, my darling, but please try to understand. I hope to see you soon. With love, Stan." Stan saw that the letter was signed. The signature looked exactly like his. He raised his head and absently stared at his wife. Harriet smirked at her husband's stunned expression. "How do you like the signature, dear?" she asked. "Isn't it an excellent forgery? Oh, that reminds me, I have copies of all the surgical consent forms that you've signed, too." Harriet retrieved a handful of papers from her purse and flourished them. "If you go to the police, Stan, I'll have to show them all of these documents." Stan wanted to speak, but he could think of nothing to say. He felt helpless, and that, in turn, made him despondent. Harriet saw her husband's disheartened expression, and for a brief moment, she almost felt sorry for him. She asked, "Why the glum look, Stan? It could have been much worse. You could have actually died in that accident. You're fortunate I wasn't willing to go that far." It was at that precise moment that Stan realized his wife truly hated him. He asked, "Why do you hate me so much, Harriet? Wasn't I a good husband?" Harriet found his lack of perception astounding. She said, "Hate is such a strong word, Stan. I would say that I despise you. And to answer your question, you were a terrible husband. You were arrogant, manipulative, rude and spiteful. You struck me and you threatened me with further violence. You were a real bastard, Stan. Now can you understand why I've done this to you?" She noted his empty stare as well as his failure to respond. She continued, "I had to free myself from your mean-spirited control while maintaining a comfortable lifestyle. I'd say that my plan achieved its goals, dear, wouldn't you agree?" She paused for his response, but received none. She added, "And secondly, I felt the need to mold you into a better person. Perhaps with your new identity, you can develop a few redeeming qualities. With my help, of course. That is, if I decide to take you back to New York with me." That comment prompted him to speak: "What do you mean by that? And now that you mention it, where the hell are we?" "We're at the San Guererro Surgical Clinic in Montevideo, Stan. Assuming that your geographical knowledge is as poor as your perceptive capacity, Montevideo's the capital of Uruguay." "We're in Uruguay?" "That's right. I'm flying back to New York this Saturday. That's the day after tomorrow, Stan." Harriet saw an anxious look develop on his face. "You're going back to New York on Saturday?" "That's correct." "What... about me?" "I haven't decided that issue yet. You know, one of the attendants thinks you'd make a fine mistress for someone down here. Perhaps a banana plantation owner? Or maybe a drug lord? Can you see yourself in that mode, Stan?" "You can't be serious, Harriet. You have to take me back with you. Please." Harriet easily detected his quavering voice and fearful expression. "I don't know, Stan. A few minutes ago, you attacked me. Not too successfully, I must say. But it's the idea that counts." "I'm sorry, Harriet. I... didn't mean it. Really." "Now that sounds a lot better. I like your new attitude. But are you willing to do as I say, Stan? Can I trust you to cooperate with me?" Yes. Just tell me what you want me to do, Harriet. I'll cooperate. I promise." "Alright. Here's my proposition. You can't be my husband anymore. My husband died in that terrible car accident. And just one quick look between your legs rules out that role as well. Right?" Stan swallowed hard. His humiliation and shame were exceeded only by his fear of being left behind. He managed, "Yeah. Right." "Then you and I must develop a new relationship. Wouldn't you agree?" He wondered where she was going. "A new relationship?" "Yes. And can you guess what I propose?" "Uh... not really. No." "Well, I propose that we become sisters. What do you think of that, Stan?" "Sisters?" "Exactly. You can be my kid sister. Do you think you can do that?" Stan looked at his wife with a stunned expression. He saw that she awaited his answer. He knew that he was in no position to refuse her. "I... suppose I could give it a try." "I was really hoping for a more enthusiastic response, Stan. Are you sure that you want to come back to New York with me?" Stan's heart jumped at the implied threat. "Yes! I do!" "Alright. Calm down, sweetheart. All that I ask for is your full cooperation. Do you understand what I'm saying?" "Yes. I'll do whatever you want, Harriet. I'll... be your sister. I can do that." "Good. Why don't we start right now?" "What do you mean?" "Come to me, sweetheart." Harriet smiled and held out her arms in invitation. Stan hesitantly stood up and slowly walked toward her. He wondered what was in store for him. He stopped a few feet from her. "Come closer, dear." Stan took a few more steps, and then watched in surprise as Harriet grasped him around his waist, hoisted him in the air, and deposited him on her lap. He felt her arms envelop his upper body. Harriet perceived stiffness and tension in Stan. She whispered in his ear, "Relax, honey. Put yourself at ease. I'll watch over you. I'll protect you from now on, just like a big sister should do. Okay, sweetheart?" Stan exhaled. He said, "Alright. Whatever you want." "I want you to want it, dear. Relax. It'll make you feel better. I promise." She stroked his cheek with one hand and his back with the other. "Doesn't that feel nice?" Stan had to admit that the rubbing felt good. It had a calming influence on him. He leaned into Harriet and nestled his head in her bosom. "There, there. Isn't this cozy? We're just like two loving sisters. Wouldn't you agree?" Stan told her what she wanted to hear, "Yes, Harriet." Harriet whispered in his ear, "That's my girl." That singular remark made Stan feel like an utter fool. But he knew that he had no real choice but to do what she wanted, as crazy as it was. The alternative was no alternative at all. He was helpless at the moment and had no intention of being left behind in some South American jerkwater town. 'Just play along with it,' he told himself. Harriet rocked back and forth, and in playing along with it, Stan fell asleep in a matter of minutes. Harriet noticed and smiled. She stood up and carried him to the bed. She set him down in it and tucked him in. Harriet looked down at her new kid sister and smiled in satisfaction. She said, "She's so pretty." She reached into her purse and found her tube of red lipstick. Harriet applied a coat to her sister's lips and admired her beauty. She thought that unlike herself, her sister would have to beat the boys off with a stick. Harriet yawned. She'd had difficulty sleeping last night, excitedly anticipating her encounter with Stan. "Time to go back to the hotel," she announced. She walked to the door, turned off the light and left the room, locking the door behind her. The next day... Stan stood before the toilet bowl. He grasped his diminished penis with the finger pads of his right thumb and forefinger. He exercised care to avoid poking himself with his nails. He aimed downward and pushed. He watched the urine stream shoot out in fits and spurts. He thought, 'I can't even take a normal piss, anymore.' He finished his business and flushed the toilet. He hoisted the pajama bottoms onto his waist, and then he walked to the bed and sat on its edge. Stan held out his hands and gazed at them. It was hard to believe that they belonged to him. The long red nails looked so strange. And his hands were so smooth and delicate-like in appearance. They felt so soft, too. His thoughts turned dark, and he stood up and slipped out of the pajama bottoms. He sat back down and studied his groin. 'Look what she did to me,' he dolefully thought. He floundered in the notion that it was, in all probability, irreversible. He nonetheless made a promise to himself to consult the best physicians in New York once he escaped from Harriet's clutches. "And I will!" he emphatically stated. Curiosity got the best of him, and he ran the back of his right hand across his soft groin. He shuddered at the unexpected delightful sensation that it caused. His breasts suddenly tingled, and he shuddered again. Then he felt the pleasant touch of the pajama top on his chest. He unbuttoned it and saw that his nipples had become erect. All at once, it occurred to Stan that he'd just experienced a variety of female sexual responses. Blood charged into his face. He quickly put the pajama bottoms back on and buttoned the top. He awaited a visit from Harriet for the rest of the day, but she never showed up. He became hungry and ate the salad that the orderly had delivered two hours earlier. By nightfall, he obsessed on the thought that Harriet would leave for New York without him. He had a very restless sleep that night. The following morning... Stan stirred into consciousness and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Harriet sitting on the edge of the bed staring down at him. He blurted, "Harriet! Thank God you're here!" He felt foolish as soon as the words were out. "You didn't think I'd leave you behind, did you, Stan?" It was obvious to her that that was precisely what he'd thought. "We made a deal, remember? I'll take you back to New York with me in exchange for your total cooperation. You intend to cooperate, don't you?" "Yes. I'll cooperate." He couldn't wait to get back home so he could put an end to this nonsense. "Good." She stood up, and said, "I'll be right back." Stan watched her leave the room and wondered where she'd gone. A minute later, she returned with Maria. Harriet approached the bed. "Maria will give you your last hormone shot, dear." Stan swallowed, and asked, "Is that really necessary?" "Of course it is. It'll help you maintain your soft new appearance. And when we get back home, you'll take a hormone pill once a week, darling. Now roll your pajama bottoms down." Stan did as he was told. He knew that he was in no position to defy her. 'Tomorrow is another day,' he thought. Stan winced as Maria placed the needle tip on his hip and administered the shot. Then she handed him two pills and a small cup of water. He looked up at Harriet, and asked, "What are these? More hormones?" "No, dear. Just a mild sedative. We're taking a charter flight to Albany Airport in an hour, and I want you to relax. Take the pills." He didn't like the way she was bossing him around, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He tossed the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the water. Harriet turned to the nurse. "Thank you for your help, Maria. You may go, now." "You welcome, Senora. Have nice trip to New York." Maria then left. Harriet stood up and walked to the dresser, where she retrieved the large paper bag she'd left there. She approached the bed. "I bought you some clothes, Stan. It's time to put them on. Get undressed." "Undressed?" "Yes. Remove your pajamas." She saw that he was reluctant to comply. "We don't have time for dilly-dallying. We have a plane to catch. Take off your pajamas. Now." She'd used a stern tone. Stan stood up and slowly removed his pajamas. Conscious of his nudity, he crossed his arms over his chest. However, there was nothing he could do to hide his groin. He crossed his ankles and blushed. Harriet artfully smiled. "Your shyness is quite endearing, Stan." She handed him a small article of clothing. "These are panties. Put them on." Stan quickly slipped into the white cotton panties. It occurred to him that his breasts were exposed again, and he immediately crossed his arms over them. He was awash in a new-found sense of modesty. Harriet approvingly smiled. She found Stan's humility and meekness a refreshing contrast to the boorish and irascible behavior that'd previously defined his personality. She light-heartedly said, "Now it's time to get your tits under wraps, honey." She watched him gaze down at the floor in a futile attempt to hide his red face. "Don't be ashamed, dear. You're boobs are lovely. You ought to be proud of your new puppies." Harriett thereupon helped him put on a matching bra. Stan timidly looked down at himself. He was humiliated standing there in a bra and panties, but the boundless relief that came from veiling his nudity quickly overshadowed his humiliation. Harriet handed him a pair of blue jeans, a white cotton blouse and a pair of sneakers. She watched him put the clothes on. Everything seemed to fit him well. She said, "Alright, sweetie. It's time to catch that flight." Stan took a few steps toward Harriet and wavered. He wondered what was wrong, and then he thought of the pills he'd taken. Harriet stepped forward and grasped his arm. She said, "Here, let me help you." Stan was grateful for the assistance. He wanted to leave this place badly. With Harriet's help, he walked out of the room to embark on the long journey home. *** Stan stood before the mirror and studied his reflection. He couldn't pull his stare from his face. 'It can't be mine,' he thought. It was the face of a cute young girl and it had no business on his male body. Then he dropped his gaze and curiously scrutinized the petite breasts and curvy figure. And finally, he lowered his head and examined the mysteriously plush vulva lying beneath the emaciated penis. He suddenly realized that he didn't have much of a male body, anymore. Stan's eyes popped open. His heart raced madly in his chest. He recalled the dream. 'That was sure strange. Thank God it was only a dream,' he comfortingly thought. He then sat up on the bed's edge. He rubbed his eyes to clear his mind and poked an eyelid with a fingernail. "Ouch!" he exclaimed Stan looked at his hands and saw the long red nails. He thought, 'What the fuck?' Then he looked down and saw the shapely breasts and curves. And the satiny vulva crowned by the withered penis. He raised his head and focused, and it all slowly tumbled back into his mind. This was no dream. It was real. Harriet had done it to him. He concentrated and recalled that he'd been in Uruguay, where his wife had perpetrated this atrocity. He remembered the long flight home and the half-hour taxi-cab ride from the airport to his present location. He recalled that he'd left the cab and walked into the unfamiliar house. He remembered that he'd been shown to a bedroom, where he'd undressed and slipped into bed. "This bed," he whispered. The last thing he could recall was Harriet tucking him in and kissing him on the forehead. Stan frowned and shook his head. It was no dream. It had all happened. He stood up and viewed the bedroom. It was rather large, and it was appointed in a feminine motif. Pink wallpaper peppered with images of multi-colored flowers adorned the walls. The floor was covered by a pale pink shag carpet. Even the window curtains were pink. Large and small stuffed animals were sprinkled throughout the room. Stan realized he was naked, and he scanned the room for the jeans and blouse he'd worn on the flight home. They were nowhere in sight. He walked to the closet and slid open its door. He saw that it was stuffed with dresses. He looked down at the closet's floor and viewed about a dozen pair of ladies' shoes, all of which had high heels. Stan heard footsteps and he ran to the bed. He grabbed the bed sheet and wrapped it around himself just as the door opened. He set his eyes on Harriet. Harriet looked at him and chortled. The sight of Stan wrapped in the bed sheet with a frightened expression was comical. She said, "Good morning, sleepyhead. It's about time you've awoken. You've been asleep for nearly a day, you know." "A day?" "That's right. The long trip home must have tired you out. Why are you wearing that bed sheet? There are plenty of clothes in the closet, or haven't you noticed?" "There's nothing but... dresses." "And? Don't you remember our deal?" "Deal?" "Yes, our deal," Harriet replied matter-of-factly. "The one where I promised to bring you back to New York with me in exchange for your total cooperation." "Cooperation? What are you talking about?" Harriet wondered if he'd honestly forgotten. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She jogged his memory: "You agreed that we can no longer be husband and wife. You also agreed that we'd become sisters." Stan immediately recalled their arrangement upon hearing the reminder. He thought, 'Shit, I did agree to that. What was I thinking?' Then he reminded himself that he'd had no choice. Stan's somber expression told Harriet that he'd recalled their deal. She nonetheless asked, "Well, do you remember our agreement?" She wanted to hear him say it. "Uh... yeah. I remember, now." "Good." She smiled at him. Stan looked up at her. She loomed like a giant. He looked down at her feet and saw that she wore high heels. He looked back up at her. The grin was still there. Harriet said, "I don't see why we can't start now. Go to the closet and pick out a nice dress. I'll go get your pills." "Pills?" he asked. "Yes. Your female hormones." Stan thought, 'She expects me to put on a dress? And take hormones?' A sense of rage took root in his bowels and quickly branched out. "This is ridiculous. I'll do no such thing. I'm taking this matter to the authorities, Harriet," he defiantly stated. Harriet was livid. "You're breaking our deal, you little snot? I won't have it! You made a deal and I'm holding you to it!" she angrily told him. Harriet then calmed herself down, and said, "As for going to the authorities, that'll do you no good. They won't believe you. If you told the police your far-fetched story, I'll show them your letter and the surgical consent forms. Then they'll send you to the loony bin." By this time Stan had worked himself into an enraged state. He screamed, "I don't care if they believe me or not! I'm already in a loony bin, and it's time to check out! I'm leaving, Harriet!" He marched toward the door, but just as he passed her, he felt her hand on his wrist. Harriet grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bed. He put up resistance, but she easily overcame it. Stan fought to free himself, but Harriet's grip on his wrist was vice- like. He slid on his heels as she yanked him toward the bed. To his complete dismay, it came to him that his wife was much stronger than he was. Harriet reached the bed and sat on it. She stripped Stan of the bed sheet with her free hand. Then she pulled him onto her lap and forced him onto his belly. Stan looked down and saw his breasts freely swinging beneath him. His rage mounted, and he screamed, "Let me go, Harriet! Let me go, Goddammit!" He tried to squirm free, but got nowhere fast. Harriet held him firmly in place, and said, "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you. You need to be taught a lesson." She raised her right hand and brought it down on his soft buttock: Smack! Stan yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" And then it came to him in a flash. She was spanking him. "I think that's rather obvious." She raised her hand again and brought it down a lot harder: Smack!! "Ouch! That hurt!" "Good. That's the whole idea, Stan." She struck him again, only this time twice: Smack!! Smack!! "Ouch! Stop hitting me!" "I'll stop when I decide you've had enough, young lady." She hit him twice more: Smack!! Smack!! "Oh my God! That hurts! Please stop!" "I'm not done yet." She then brought her hand down three times: Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! "Please don't hit me anymore! It really hurts!" Stan felt tears sliding down his cheeks. "I'll stop if you admit what you are." "What are you talking about? What do you mean?" Stan desperately asked, as a stream of tears dropped from his eyes. "I'm not sure I care for that answer, dear." She brought down her hand with even more force: Smack!!! Smack!!! "Wah! Wah! I'm begging you to stop! Tell me what you want me to say! I'll say whatever you want!" "I want you to admit that you're a girl, Stan. Tell me that you're a girl." "Alright! I'm... I'm a..." He couldn't say it. He immediately felt three more hard blows: Smack!!! Smack!!! Smack!!! Tears freely skidding down his face, he screamed, "Wah! That hurts so much! Alright! Alright, already! I'm a girl! I'm a girl!" "Good. We're making progress. Now I want you to say that you're a girl and you're my sister." She let him have it again for good measure: Smack!!! Smack!!! Smack!!! "Oh my God! I can't take it anymore! Please stop!" "Then say it, Stan. Say it now." Her hand swiftly came down on him to emphasize her demand: Smack!!! He shouted, "Okay! I'm a girl! I'm your sister!" He feared she'd strike him again, and between sobs, he softly repeated, "I'm a girl... I'm your sister." "Good. Now that wasn't so hard to admit, was it, dear?" Upon receiving no reply, she said, "I asked you a question, young lady." Stan whimpered, and replied, "No, it... wasn't hard." Harriet loosened her grip and lifted him into a seated position on her lap. She wrapped her arms around him. She felt his body convulse as he continued to cry in her arms. She said, "I didn't want to hit you, Stan, but you left me no choice. If you do as I say, I won't hit you anymore. Will you do as I say from now on?" Stan sniveled, and said, "Yes... I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hit me." "I won't, as long as you're a good girl. Do you promise to be a good girl?" "Yes... I'll be a good girl... just please don't hit me." Stan's ass stung badly. And he was overcome by a sense of humiliation that nearly devoured him. He wept uncontrollably in Harriet's arms. "There, there, sweetheart. Everything's fine. All you have to do is listen to me and I won't hit you. It's as simple as that." She rocked him back and forth and rubbed his back with her hands. No matter how hard he tried, Stan couldn't stop crying. He'd never been so humiliated in his life. And he'd never acted so cowardly. Harriet continued to rock him and noticed that his crying had waned to a soft sobbing. She slipped him off of her and maneuvered him into a prone position on the bed. She retrieved the bed sheet from the floor and covered him with it. Tucking him in, she said, "You rest now, dear, and I'll be back in a little while." She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Between whimpers, Stan watched her leave the bedroom and close the door behind her. *** Stan lay on his side half-asleep. He opened his eyes and looked at the clock radio on the night table. He calculated that about two hours had passed since Harriet had left. His ass still hurt from the spanking. 'I can't believe she did that to me,' he thought. But now that he knew what she was capable of, he had no doubt she'd do it again if he resisted her. The mere thought of it made him shake. He wanted no part of a repeat performance. He considered his plight, and reached the inescapable conclusion that he had no choice but to play along with the charade for the time being. He'd have to cooperate with her delusional scheme until he could come up with an escape plan. 'I'll just roll with the punches, for now,' he thought. He had no intention of giving her any further reason to hit him. Once more, he trembled at the thought of the spanking he'd been given. A vast sense of shame swarmed him, but he rationalized, 'What can I do? She's so much stronger than I am, now.' And he'd painfully learned that she wouldn't hesitate to use her superior strength against him. He heard footsteps, and rolled around to his other side to see the bedroom door swing open. Harriet stepped into the room and approached him. He saw an article of clothing folded over her arm. He also saw that she held a cup in her hand. Harriet sat on the bed's edge and placed the bathrobe on the bedpost. She looked down at Stan, and asked, "How do you feel, dear?" "My ass hurts." "It'll wear off, in due time." She uncurled her left hand to reveal a white pill. She said, "Sit up and take this." She offered the pill to him. Stan didn't have to ask her what it was. He reminded himself to play along with her, and he sat up, took the pill and popped it into his mouth. She offered him the cup, and he took it and drank some water. Harriet stood up, and said, "Good. Now it's time for you to take a shower. Get out of the bed." Stan complied, and she offered him the bathrobe. He quickly put it on. "Off to the showers, now, Stan," Harriet directed. She watched him obediently walk to the bathroom in the far corner of the room. Fifteen minutes later, Stan emerged from the bathroom wearing the bathrobe. He saw Harriet seated in the armchair near the bed. For lack of anything better to say, he announced, "I'm done." "Good. Now it's time to get dressed." She stood up and walked to him. Stan looked up at her. She towered over him. He was intimidated. "Get dressed?" he asked. The tremor in his voice hadn't escaped Harriet's notice. "Of course, dear. It's time to bring out the best in your looks." 'Just play along with it, for now,' Stan reminded himself. Two hours later... At Harriet's urging, Stan stood before the wall mirror and gazed at his full-body reflection. A plethora of mixed feelings made his head spin. He sensed shame, shock, embarrassment, awe, humiliation and wonder as he took in his image. He couldn't believe what he saw. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be true. But the proof was captured in the mirror. He looked into the pretty girl's eyes, and thought, 'That's me. It's unbelievable.' He shook his head. Harriet gleefully observed Stan's staggered expression in the mirror's reflection as he gazed at his image. She'd spent the last two hours making him up, styling his hair, giving him a manicure, and dressing him. Harriet thought that he looked absolutely lovely in the pink floral print silk dress that ended at the middle of his knees. She was pleasantly surprised that his legs appeared so shapely in the nylons. Of course, the matching three-inch leather pumps had obviously helped the cause. Harriet had spent a half-hour trimming and styling Stan's curly brown locks, which fell onto and past his shoulders. She'd attached a small pink ribbon to his hair as a finishing touch. She was proud of the job she'd done. Stan couldn't pull his stare from his face. He thought, 'Incredible. Simply incredible.' The foundation, eye makeup, pink lipstick and long hair all blended together to give him the facial appearance of a pretty girl. And the dress, nylons and heels brought the rest of him into complete accord with his countenance. Stan raised his hand to brush a stray strand of hair from his eyes, and he glimpsed his fingernails. He held out his hands before him. The long pink nails glistened in the light. He shook his head once more. Harriet glanced at her wristwatch and saw that it was past noon. She stood up and walked to the mirror. Stan turned around and looked up at her. Without thinking, he said, "It's unbelievable. I look so different, now. It's like I'm someone else." He immediately felt foolish for having made the admission. Harriet said, "You are someone else, my dear. You died in that terrible car accident and were reborn as a young girl. That's quite obvious simply by looking at you." She saw that Stan had a sheepish look on his face. Harriet grasped his soft hand in hers, and said, "Come now, sweetheart. It's time for lunch. And remember what I told you about walking in heels: one small step at a time and place the heel and toe on the floor together." Holding onto Harriet's hand, Stan trailed her out of the bedroom in a near trance-like state. A month later... Stan slipped his panties down to his ankles and sat on the toilet. He looked downward at the remains of his penis and estimated that there was less than an inch of it left. The shrinkage had continued, leaving in its wake the sorry vestige of what once had been a matter of pride to Stan. Now, his penis amounted to no more than a tiny distention on his groin. His thoughts turned to the weekly pill that Harriet made him take, and he frowned. Stan placed his forefinger on the top of his penis, pushed it down, and peed. He'd sadly learned a week earlier that he couldn't urinate while standing anymore without making a mess of himself, so he'd made the required adjustment. He flushed the toilet, stood up, and hoisted the panties onto his waist. He walked into the bedroom and sat on the small wooden chair before the vanity. He stared at his face in the mirror. Despite the passage of a month's time, it still awed him. Stan spent the next twenty minutes fixing his hair and putting on makeup. In no uncertain terms, Harriet had made it crystal clear that she expected him to perform these va