A Town Called Hope -- Part Two free porn video

A Town Called Hope - Part 2 by: Anne O'Nonymous Part Two: A New Start? Bright light filled the feminine appearing room, a new day dawning! Tom/Terri sat up, expecting to wake up in a motel room somewhere in the middle of a desert, all the events of the previous day having been just a dream. The fact that he was wearing a peach-colored nylon nightgown adorned with roses, with a Royal Blue bra and panty set, told him otherwise. Unless, of course, he had been drinking and the guys at work were playing a very unfunny joke on him! (As he lay there, fingering the fabric, Tom thought the clothes felt nice against his skin.) Still, there was this canopy above him, pastel-colored walls, gold- trimmed white-painted oak vanity with some adorable dolls on top, armoire and dresser, and cool air coming in, ruffling curtained windows -- well, this wasn't a motel or his apartment. For some strange reason, he enjoyed a good night's sleep -- not one of those nightmares he had been having for the last five days! He remembered one in particular, one that stuck in his craw. He had just finished work and was heading home, riding a bicycle of all things, when a car came out of nowhere, hit him, and sped off. His next recollection was waking up in a hospital with some doctor saying, "He's in really bad shape! He might not survive. We did all we could." A nurse answered, "We used as many parts as we could get, doctor -- father's kidney, cousin's spleen, an uncle's lung, and his mother's arms." The medic replied, "Yes, we did. But, we still need a brain. We can get one from his fellow employees." The nurse replied, "Is it really necessary? He's been living quite well without using the one he had. And they all need theirs." It was at that point he woke up. No nightmare last night. Was something deep inside sending some kind of coded message? Or was he reading into the dream something that really did not exist. Wishful thinking? His father drank heavily, one uncle smoked like an old factory chimney, and a cousin died two years ago of complications from a ruptured spleen. The odd thing was his mother's arms -- was that danger or something he was lacking. (A mother's arms to hold him?) What was the significance of the rest of the dream -- was he slowly killing himself? "Good morning, sleepyhead! Time to rise and greet the day, say good morning sun!" came from the doorway. He turned and saw Ms. Martin leaning against the doorframe, wearing pink chenille robe and matching ballet slippers, with a large smile on her face. "Slippers are on the floor, under your bed. A robe is hanging on back of the door, and breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. You have time enough for a quick hands-and-face wash." With that pronouncement, she turned and left for the kitchen. Terri soon found the slippers, donned them. Padding to the door, the robe was next. After a quick morning wake-me-up wash and a brushing of hair, Terri headed down stairs and the kitchen, with its warm, inviting aroma of sausage, eggs, and coffee. "A very good morning to you, Ms. Martin, how may I help you," Terri said cheerfully as she entered the kitchen. "Well, honey, set the table and put some English muffins in the toaster- oven for me. Next, pour some OJ while I watch these scrambled eggs cooking," replied Ms. Martin. Terri soon had a table set for two, OJ poured, and muffins in. She was rewarded with a plate of two eggs scrambled with diced onions and peppers, two sausages, home fries, some strawberry jam for the muffins, and her coffee cup filled. "Eat up, dear. The coffee is a fair trade decaf, those are soy sausages, and the fries are done in vegetable oil. The peppers and onions are locally grown, certified organic, and eggs are from free-range vegetarian chickens," Ms. Martin said as she sat down with an equally substantial breakfast. As they ate, Tom/Terri started thinking. He had a decision to make, one that would affect his entire future. He was promised he could leave today and return to a future of what . . . stacking aluminum storm window frames in various places. Question: Did he like stacking aluminum anything? No! Could he leave and possibly get a better job in a different state? That was too hard to tell - he could only guess. "Ms. Martin," Terri inquired, "you said that after I am trained to be a female, I would have a job. Is that true?" "Honey, once you can become feminine, I am assured you have a job waiting. And by feminine, I mean your mental, not physical, state. You said before you enjoyed sewing, am I correct? I just want to be sure." He thought back to what he said previously. How he enjoyed it until his father interceded with, "I will not have my son do such sissy crap, and if I find you doing this again, I will tan your hide. Is that understood?" He stopped, and tried sports to please his father. At baseball, he could hit well enough, but not run -- at least to his father's expectations. Football was the same, basketball too! He couldn't tell a socket wrench from a crescent, a ball peen from a tack hammer, a rip saw from a crosscut. (He even thought a miter box was where a Bishop kept his headgear.) A belief crept in: Was his ineptness really a means of rebelling against his father? Finally Terri/Tom replied, "Once I enjoyed sewing very much. My father wanted something more in a man's line of work. I failed at sports. I wasn't a very good mechanic, . . . or carpenter." "Here, in this town, there's equality. We have women carpenters and plumbers, and even auto repair people; for instance, your car was repaired by a woman - so I guess your father was wrong there. You do know that tailors do lot of sewing." Tom winced. "Pop had the idea that most of them were Gay!" "Ah, I see. So your father wanted you to 'be a man' and actually set you up to fail. I'm not sure, but would guess your father knew your limitations and tried pushing you too far, too fast. I would bet he criticized, and rarely praised. Oh, Tom, I think you can see the damage here. You expected to fail, not succeed at whatever you do -- you just sit and wait for it. If it doesn't come, you are surprised. Didn't you go to college? How?" "Yes, I was surprised that they would admit me. I attended one year on a scholarship, the rest I paid, mostly by working at jobs on and near the campus. I finished paying the college debts three months ago." "So you did well enough in school to win a scholarship. Do you drink or smoke? Ever do drugs? How about a girlfriend? The reason I'm asking all these questions is to get to know you better, because, like a magical wave of a wand, you will disappear from all those you left back there." "I thought doing drugs was stupid, besides I was reading too many books to bother with it. It was the same with smoking. In college to be sociable, I did start drinking at a few frat parties, got in a little over my head. I was arrested three times for D and D. Never drove when I had a few, though. Don't get me wrong, but I never had a girlfriend. I just couldn't bring myself to impose on them. Mom, I realize that I have nothing back east to go to, but it's something I can hold on to!" "You can also 'hold on to' hand grenades or lit sticks of dynamite, up to the point before they explode in your face. Okay, let's get down and dirty. My biased opinion is that you need to stay! You were set up to fail and did. The childhood problems carried over into manhood, and you have a need to succeed -- whether as a man or woman. I might add that 'here,' it will be both. You need to love and be loved. Tom, you need a fresh start. Let me put my cards on the table -- when I start, it won't be easy. Do well, I will praise. Do wrong, I will correct. If you don't try to give your best, I will push you, and, finally, fight me, and I WILL punish you, not sadistically but in a way you won't forget. Please, go in the front room, while I clear the dishes off the table and start the dishwasher. I will join you shortly, then you can ask questions, stay or walk out the door. If you do walk, figuratively, I'll call the repair shop to tell them to expect you." "You mean dressed as I am?" "NO silly. Chris has your suitcases. You'll go as you came - Tom." Terri/Tom walked slowly into the parlor and sat on a blue chintz slip covered couch. He was still uncertain -- it was, after all, his future. Pictures of him dressed in a white wedding gown and marrying a man swirled through his mind. The door to the outside beckoned to him, pulling him towards it. Tom walked over to the front door, and, pulling the robe tightly around him, opened it to the cool morning air. Out there was freedom - of a sort. He leaned against the doorframe, folded his arms, and thought about what he perceived was his future: a marriage to some man, in some foreign country, where the laws are so different from here! Closing the door, he came to a decision. Returning to where he had been sitting, Tom thought he at least owed Ms. Martin an explanation. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and relaxed. The face of the male became clearer -- it was his father! "Well, Tom, what's it going to be?" Ms. Martin asked as she sat and wrapped a comforting arm around his waist. Startled for a minute, Tom told her of the vision in his mind. "Tom, you loved and looked up to your father. Many females marry someone that is quite like their father, but in this case, I believe that your father is trying to exert some control, his homophobia. Tom, let's try again: lean your head back, close your eyes, relax all your muscles, get rid of all the tension and stress you feel. Let the images come to you, a free flow of ideas, words and paths." Tom did as requested. Relaxed, he again saw the image of himself in a beautiful white wedding gown. It was so pretty, with a white veil, thrown back, in anticipation of a kiss from the groom; a long, white satin train; white, lacy petticoats under the gown; white patterned stockings, and white 4" high heels. He turned and looked at the image beside him, hoping it wasn't what he saw previously. A female face started to appear, one that seemed to have a familiarity, as someone from a far distant past. A chiming "London Bridge is Falling Down" startled him out of his reverie. When Ms. Martin opened the door, Chris walked in. "Hi, Tom, Andrea. Well, Tom -- do I drive you over to get your car, or do you want to give a different life a shot!" Chris said. "Chris, I'm so afraid of making a mistake. I at least had a job, an income. It wasn't much, but it was mine. A place to call 'home.' I had something, and now to throw it all away," Tom said, torn between what he had to hang onto and an unknown future. "I can understand what you are going through. The offer still stands, try it. Look at it as a thirty-day free trial offer. If you are not satisfied, we will refund all your money, plus you get to keep your job, what is it now, oh yes, stacking aluminum pieces." "Chris, how did you know that? I never told you." "Yesterday, when I stopped by to get a suitcase for you, Bob said he's holding a wallet you left in your car. A few calls this morning gave me the information I needed," Chris said. "I know a bit about you, but you have to say yes or no soon, while you still have some vacation time left." So, there he sat in bra and panties between two attractive women, trying to plot a course through the stormy seas of life, and right now he felt like he was about to be swept overboard by a tsunami, caught without a life jacket or vest. Weighing the alternatives, it did sound like fun, wearing those clothes and underwear. Work was a pain, with the same old same old. He had a question, one that sounded odd to ask. "Chris, this job I'm supposed to have waiting. Will I be doing the same thing each day? I mean, will it be some dull, repetitive work!" Tom asked anxiously. Chris gave a laugh, was joined by Andrea. With the two laughing, Tom asked, "What's so funny? I'm serious!" "Tom," replied Chris in a serious tone, "that was one question I just didn't expect. I can tell you this much only: anything but repetitive. You will get to do something you will enjoy very much! Now do I warm up a car, or do we start making you over?" "Em, I don't know about wearing just underwear around the house. And, the curtseying - seems like it's so, so subservient!" "Terri, you are rather shy. In the future, when we go shopping ('Tom' groaned inwardly) for clothes, you'll need to be in undies many times around GG's, so this is a good way to get used to it. The curtsey? I consider it a mark of respect for me and other older females." "GG's. You mean Gorgeous Girl or Glamorous Girlfriend? I've seen plenty here." Andrea laughed. "Well, close enough. 'GG' stands for Genetic Girl, but I like your definitions better. Oh, they are negotiable, Terri." Oh, what the hell. The thought came unbidden, it lingered like the fragrance of lilacs in the summer air. "His" work was dull, boring. Maybe he should see the world through different eyes, gain a different perspective on things. But, really, would wearing a peasant blouse and skirt change him that much, would a woman's business suit? Is his mind so set in the ways of his past masculine living that he couldn't gain anything from a change in life styling? He could run, but "his" man's past would still be there. The words came tumbling out like a big group of corks bobbling their way over rapids: "I guess I could give it a try. I can't see how I have anything more to lose, even my manhood." The two women grabbed and smothered him in hugs and kisses. "Good!" came from Ms. Martin, followed by "Now we can get down to business," from Chris. "Okay, now that that's settled, maybe we can get something done. Tom, from now on, you will go by the name Terri Taylor. Chris will take you upstairs and start your training, so just follow her directions and you'll be okay." "This Terri Taylor - is she a, em, er, a legal person," Tom enquired. "As long as you have no criminal intent or background, the town's judge and lawyers will handle all legal matters pertaining to make her as legal as necessary, and you'll get your bank account transferred plus income tax forms. As the Aussies say, 'no worries mate'," Chris replied. Terri, the new girl, followed Chris upstairs to the room he slept in the night before. "Okay, Terri. Strip and get on the bed, face up. Just remember, we're all girls here." Terri reluctantly stripped down to the skin, and positioned his body on the bed as directed. Chris examined his body, carefully. There was almost an accidental rebellion of his manhood, as it tried to rise to the occasion in protest to a stranger's intrusion. "Well, looks like you are quite lively in the male department," Chris chuckled. "What I'm looking for is anything that could be called a birthmark, or identifying scar. Since we took care of your chest, pubic, arm and leg hair while you were under yesterday, I don't need to shave you. The adhesive on the breast forms is holding quite well. Now, if you will get up for a minute, I'll put a rubber sheet on the bed and we can continue." After Tom got up, he queried, "Why do you want to know about birthmarks?" "Any verifiable, visible marks will be noted on your town ID. Same with tattoos, piercing, etc.," Chris remarked as she produced a sheet and flipped it across the bed with a practiced hand. Next he was asked to lie down again, face down. After he had assumed the position, he could feel the weight of her sitting on the bed. There was the feel of something being poured on his back and gently rubbed in. "This is a body lotion. It has aloe vera, cocoa butter, vitamin E and glycerin among other things. You're to use this after you bathe in the morning. It's for the body, arms and legs to keep the skin soft and supple." He could feel her working her way down the arms, the back, across his butt, lastly the legs. "Okay," Chris said, "turn over." Terri turned to a face up position, and watched as Chris started at the neck and worked her way down. It sure felt good, having a pretty girl do what she was doing. "Each day, after a bath or shower ('Pat dry,' he was told.), use a body lotion and a fragrant dusting powder before you dress. Some nights you will use a masque to moisturize the facial area," Chris said as she worked. As she moved down to the crotch, she made it a point to avoid the now hairless genital area. Was she sending a subtle hint to him that she no longer considered him a man? That she lacked any interest in him? Was he just being stupid to think she could have any interest in him at all? Chris used an oversized powder puff to apply a lovely scented powder all over him, front and back. The aroma was of a field of flowers in full bloom. "Such a lovely fragrance," Terri remarked, "sooo nice." (Now where did THAT come from?) "Okay, stand up. Let's get you dressed," Chris said. When he was up, she brushed Terri's hair into a high ponytail, and put a scrunchie on it. "You look like you are enjoying this." Terri stood, blushing at the revelation, trying to hide feelings, "I, er, well, em, I do like the, ah, aroma of flowers!" (Yeah -- and a certain lower appendage was trying to sniff out the bouquet, too.) "Most men prefer the 'outdoor,' woodsy smell, and you can tell by their cologne," Chris returned, "on the other hand, females like the floral aroma. Now, here's your bra, it fastens in the front -- I didn't know if you're flexible enough to hook straps in the rear." Terri took the lacy white satin affair, pulled the chest strap around her body, just below the breasts, and hooked it. Working it up, he bent over and let the faux breasts fall naturally into the cups, then slipped the shoulder straps on, one side at a time. Next, he started to step into the panties. "Aren't you forgetting something, girlfriend?" Chris said. Terri stood with a puzzled look on her face asking, "Aren't panties next. What am I doing wrong?" "Garter belt next, around your waist. You put on a garter belt or girdle to support the stockings. The garter belt goes under the panties, because: a.) Ladies have smaller bladders than men; b.) Ladies go more often than men; c.) If you don't put them under the panties, they tend to slid over the fabric and your stockings get wrinkled, seams won't stay straight; and, d.) If you have to go, it's easier to just drop the panties than fool around unfastening and fastening six garter tabs. Honey, it also makes those secret liaisons a lot easier! "You can use a girdle or corset or all-in-one to support stockings, but those will come in time." "Guess that's Fashion - 201," mumbled Tom. Chris knelt, took the garter belt and fastened it around Terri's waist, her hand brushing the penis, lingering there a short time. She adjusted the belt until the garters fell in the position she wanted. She said to Terri, "Garter belts usually fasten on the right side, some in the middle and some just pull on. They have four or six elastic extensions, each ending in a metal fastener. There are some with more, but that's a little too kinky for now. Put your panties on next." Terri stepped into and pulled up the white satin panties over the garter belt, with the garters falling through the leg openings. Around the leg and waist openings were layers of lace, and an embroidered red American Beauty rose was in the center, right at her crotch. "Now, when it comes to panties," Chris started, "you have can-can, rumba, briefs, French cut, boy leg, long leg, flare leg, bikini, thong, open crotch, etc. in satin, rayon, silk, nylon, and plain old cotton. Now isn't that a better selection from cotton boxers and jockeys? Oh, by the by, the English call panties knickers." "Hello Chris! Andrea said to go right up. So, this is a new girl. Hi, my name's Nancy, Nancy Thomas." (Oh, great . . . somebody else to see him like this. Was this a planned humiliation, and she a kind of ego-reducing submission trainer? Man, she can train me any time!) Terri took a look at Nancy. She was 5'10", a well-built 135 or 145, with auburn hair in a 'Bettie Page' style, light blue eyes, and oh-so-very easy to look at. "Terri, Nancy wants to take your measurements. She is the co-owner of Le Maison Femme down town." (Okay, Tom, a little humor might help.) "Take my measurements? Doesn't she have any of her own? Or, should it be 'Take my measurements, please!'" Both Chris and Nancy giggled a bit, believing it was a good sign that he could joke about what was going on. It showed that she was more relaxed. As Terri stood there, Nancy started measuring all over the body and noting the figures in a book she was carrying. ("There's that man again, asking for attention.") "Terri, let me explain this to you," Nancy said, "In the store, on a computer, we keep a list of measurements of all our customers. It is linked to all the other stores in Hope. When you want to get anything, you can call, give an ID number, tell us what you want and we'll deliver it. Come into the store, and if we don't have what you want in stock, we'll order and have it delivered directly. Before I leave, I'll give you a list of all your female sizes. When you get your town ID card, you'll find them all imprinted in it." "Female sizes? I thought they were the same as males. I mean women wear shirts and pants too, you know." "I understand what you mean, but dress sizing can vary according to manufacturer. Size 14 to one might be a 16 to another, panty and bra sizes are numbers. Dresses can run from 6 up to 24, and some use 1X to 3XX in place of numbers. You have Petite, Junior Miss, Misses, Mature sizes. Shoes are one size larger than a man's, so an 8 in male is usually a 9 female shoe. Then there's width considerations," Nancy explained. "Oh," was all Terri could say. He never felt so dumb in all his life - he could just walk into a store, pick up a package of this, or that, and be done. "Don't worry, honey, soon you'll have them down, just like the rest of us girls!" Nancy came over and grabbed Terri, giving her a big kiss on the lips and a big hug. "Welcome to girlhood, Terri! I'll leave those figures with Andrea," and left the room. "Let's get you finished. Stockings next. Typically, they come in neutral, suntan, taupe, white, gray and black. Patterned, fish net, micro-net, knee-hi and thigh high. Seamed or seamless. You should also have stockings in other colors to match the outfits you wear. Although they're called 'nylons,' they come in cotton (lisle) or silk too. Or, if you wish, you can wear pantyhose. Isn't that a lot better than just plain old argyles!" "Wow! I just throw on pants, shoes and shirt and go," Terri said, "there seems to be a lot to learn in four weeks. It's like you need a Ph.D. in women's wear just to get decently dressed." "Just remember, most women like to color coordinate their outfits. From shoes and stockings to dresses and jewelry. Let's get your stockings on," Chris said. "Okay. Chris, do you like me? I mean, if I was a man!" "Do you mean, would I go out on a date with you," queried Chris, "Terri, you are a human being. A person I would like to get to know better. Right now, I know a few things you are not aware of. That makes it kind of hard on me. I would very much like to say yes, but I have to say 'wait and see.' Others are involved, and I don't want to hurt them. Now, let's do stockings, sit on the bed." Terri sat down and watched as Chris took a stocking in her hands and said, "Take the stocking in both hands, work it up using your thumbs and fingers all the way up to the toe. You'll notice how important it is to have a good manicure and pedicure, to prevent a run (short for 'runner'), or as the English say a 'ladder,' in the stocking. No 'real woman' wears stockings with a run, she'll take them off and go bare legged first! When you've that done, you slip it over your foot, adjusting till you have a proper fit in the toe and heel. Some stockings are reinforced in the toe and heel. Once that is accomplished, you just ease it up over the leg, keeping the seam at rear of the leg straight. Now when you are working your stocking up, keep your leg as straight as possible, toes pointed. This helps to keep them snug against the leg. Wrinkled stockings are a no-no! Once you have the stocking on, pull a garter down and fasten. The ball shaped object goes under the stocking, next to the skin, and the metal ring on top. Push the ball through the fabric, into the ring and push down into the smaller area. Do that on each garter." Following Chris's instructions Terri took the stocking, working it carefully up his leg and fastened it. Taking the other, he again worked it up perfectly and fastened it. Both stockings were snug against his skin. They didn't feel too bad. In fact, Terri rather enjoyed the feelings they elicited. "Okay, take them off and do it again," Chris requested. For the next thirty minutes plus, it was stockings on, off, on, off, and so on! "Chris, how many times do I have to do this?" Terri asked, somewhat tiredly. "I think that's enough for today. Since you have your stockings on, put on some slippers and we'll go downstairs and work there for awhile." Downstairs, Andrea and Chris put him into a pair of white pumps with 1" high heels and had him walk up and down with a book ("Mr. Webster, I presume") on his head. "Say, what's this job about -- Am I going to be a model?" Terri said in mock complaint. "You might be - in lingerie, sweetie. That's enough of that," Ms. Martin said, "Next is the stairs." For the next thirty minutes or more, Terri walked up stairs, down stairs, foot entirely on the tread. Each time she came down, there was a session of what she did wrong and right. Finally, Ms. Martin said, "You did very good today! Let's sit and have a cuppa, and you can work on your next assignment." As Terri sat down, Chris came from the kitchen with a pot of tea. Ms. Martin placed a pile of paper in front of Terri and said, "Now, you are going to write, in as feminine a hand as you can, 100 times, 'My name is Terri Taylor. I am a very pretty young lady.' I want you to stop after each group of ten so I can correct your manner of writing." There she sat, in bra, panties, stockings and heels writing about who she was. Each time she stopped, Ms. Martin would take the paper, examine it carefully and say, "A little more fancy curlicue on the capital 'T' " or "Try putting little 'v's' instead of plain dots on the lower case 'i's.' " And Terri would sip tea, try ten with the suggested changes, then "that seems to be better" would come from Chris or Ms. Martin. In a while, a sheet would fill up, then another and another. Lunch came, a salad consisting of sliced tomatoes, shredded carrots, onions, steamed shrimp, celery and torn leaves of lettuce, with lo-fat Mayonnaise as a dressing. A glass of iced tea was also available. After the repast was finished, Ms. Martin put a frilly apron on Terri, and tied it in the back in a big bow. "Mom, this doesn't look too utilitarian," Terri said thoughtfully. Andrea answered, "Terri darling, all you are going to do is clear off the table, put dishes in dishwasher and start it going, then wipe around the sink and table with a paper towel, disposing it in the trash. I think that particular item will suffice!" As Terri set about her assigned chores, Chris and Andrea went to the front sitting room. "Looks like things are going well. Terri seems to be transforming nicely," Andrea said. "I wish we could tell her more. She should know," Chris stated, "and it might speed things up." "Chris, until she accepts her position here, we can't tell her too much. She has to want to stay, not feel forced," Andrea said. "It has to be on her terms!" As Terri entered the room, both ladies stopped talking. (Hmmm, secrets. I wonder what they are hiding.) For the rest of the day, it was high-heels again, up stairs, down stairs. Then a wash was put in. Writing "My name is Terri Taylor. I am a very pretty young lady." This time, it was two hundred times. More criticism, v's on lower case i's; curlicues on the "y and g" descenders. Wash into dryer, watch out for those delicate undies. Then ironing. A dinner with Chris and Andrea followed by another visitor. "Terri, this is Janice from the beauty salon. She's here to do your nails and add extensions!" "Hi Terri, they keeping you busy?" Janice said with a big smile. "How's it going, so far?" "I'm a little tired," Terri said, "You're going to do my nails, and what?" "I'll give you a manicure, glue on longer fingernails, next I'll put polish on. Hey, take off your stockings and I'll do the toes, too. No extra charge!" Janice replied. While Terri managed to relax, Janice worked on the finger- and toenails. Janice was a nice looker, about his height, with strawberry blonde hair, turquoise eyes, and fire engine red lips. He watched as she clipped, sanded, buffed his nails, then roughened them for the adhesive for the extensions. There were at least three coats of polish on finger- and toenails, and a clear sealant over each. If he thought the extensions would look like a pair of claws on him, he was mistaken. After looking at them ("Hold out your hand, dear," Chris admonished, "and look, like a lady."), he was surprised at how nice they looked. "Looking good, Terri," Janice inquired. "I'm surprised! I thought they would be a lot longer. Janice, may I ask a personal question?" "Go ahead, sweetie.' "Are you, eh, er, . . . married?" Janice smiled at his acceptance of the nails. "It's Dani's -- my husband -- turn to do pedicures and manicures at the shop. If you'd like, later I can put longer ones on," Janice said as she packed up to leave. She kissed and hugged him, and Chris followed with a kiss and hug of her own just before she left. "Andrea, it seems to me that every one I meet wants to hug or kiss me." "Here, in this town, everyone does it. Even boys hug boys! Terri, we believe that a handshake is kinda standoffish. A hug and kiss is a person-to-person communication. It says 'you're welcome into my personal space'." Soon after, it was a quiet house. The television had a cooking program on, so Terri settled in to watch, tucking her feet up -- it just seemed so natural. He looked up and smiled as Andrea entered the room and sat beside him. "How are you feeling, honey?" asked Andrea. "A little tired. Legs hurt a bit. I didn't know shoes could hurt that much." "It will take time re-programming your calves. Even young girls have to learn how to walk in heels, they're not born knowing, you know. I think you are progressing nicely. Tomorrow we try higher ones, 3" maybe. More writing, we'll try makeup on you and see how it goes." "Makeup. That's something I didn't consider," Terri said with a slight quaver in her voice. "Oh, it's just a start. Using lipstick, blusher, foundation, powder, among other things." That night, Terri tried to think about what was happening. Three attractive females, all close to him and none of them were making fun or laughing at him. The clothes were something else; why did he feel so good wearing them? The heels hurt at first, but not so much as to be extremely painful. In time, would he wear them like he was born to them? Wearing nightgowns, instead of boxers and T-shirt, seemed odd, but delightful. And his language! It was also changing. Words like "cuddly," "delightful," "cute" and "adorable" seemed to be rolling off his lips. Soon a very deep sleep came on him. Over the next few days, he changed greatly! Shoes went from 1" to 4" heel. He took bubble baths, used body lotion, skin cremes, and perfume. Eyebrows plucked and arched to a more feminine shape. Full, lacy slips were worn under dresses, whether it was necessary or not. Andrea supplied several full maid's uniforms for him to wear when working around the house, and he reveled in it -- the touch of petticoats against nylon-covered legs sent warm feelings through his body. He learned to curtsey, and that it was a mark of Terri's respect, not Tom's subservience, to Andrea. Aromas of Charlie, Shalimar, Chanel, and others wafted through the house, and Andrea would remark, "Are you experimenting with another perfume (or lipstick or blusher or eye shadow), dear? That's the nth today!" A little more than a week and a half went by, and Terri was starting to question whether there was any "manhood" left in him (moreover, why didn't he feel sorry about the loss ["Hello, Lost and Found? Has anyone turned in a Manhood, about so high and so wide, with a blue ribbon attached? No! Okay, sorry to bother you."]). Standing there before a mirror dressed in a cream blouse with a peter pan collar, old-fashioned poodle skirt with "oodles" of petticoats, 3" black pumps and stockings, a well made-up face, with clip-on heart earrings and heart pendant, brunette hair falling in curly waves to his shoulders (a wig for now), his hands clasped together down in front of him like a young girl -- is it all gone, he wondered? Where did "what he had" disappear to? Did he actually have it in the first place? The doubts started to return. Was this all for a man? Was his future to be the wife of some man in the city? Was all this to prepare him for what they wanted to do? Was the whole purpose to brainwash the masculinity out of him? (If that were the case, this was a delightful way to do it.) End of Part Two.