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Part I: Julian I had spent the morning trying to put together our new cupboard, with little success. DYI really wasn't my forte, a fact that I'd learnt very soon after marrying Fran. In fact, I was certain that Fran was going to be annoyed that I had even attempted to assemble our newest piece of furniture, given that she normally did the manual work around the house. So why I had I tried? Boredom I suppose. It was a miserable day outside and I'd spent my "allowance" for the week, so I'd been pottering around the house aimlessly until I saw the IKEA box propped up against the bedroom wall. Now pieces of wood were strewn around my feet and I'd grown tired of trying to make sense of the instruction booklet. Who writes those things anyway? Realising that I only had fifteen minutes before Fran got back from the hairdresser's I decided to stuff as much of the pieces back into the box as I could, and then placed it back where it had been. She would notice of course, but hopefully not straight away. I really didn't want to fight at the weekend, given that it was the only time we really spent together given her demanding job. I had moved on to hoovering the hallway when Fran came through the front door. She sighed as she hung up her coat, "haven't you finished the housework yet? What have you been doing all morning?" "This is the last thing," I replied, a little sheepishly, "your hair looks nice." Fran gave me a kiss on the cheek as she walked past. I could never really see the difference when she got back from the hairdresser's, but I always made a point of complementing her anyway. "Mmm, well Rachel was off sick so Annie had to do it. ?100, but she is the head hairdresser so it's worth the money." ?100! I was only allowed to spend ?50 a week! But then Fran was the one earning the money since I'd been made redundant. "Don't forget we're going to Sara's tonight for drinks," she called out, as she inspected her new cut in the front room mirror. "Again!" I complained, "Do we have to go there every week?" "For crying out loud Julian, the woman has just broken up with her husband - she needs friends around her." Sara was Fran's friend, not mine. They had met at the women's only gym that Fran had joined a few months back, and I had found myself bored on the many occasions recently when I been dragged around to her house or she had come to ours. Plus, she had a bratty daughter who had obviously been spoilt rotten and it annoyed me that neither of the women saw fit to chastise the girl when she spoke rudely to me. While I was thinking of the injustice of it all, Fran had sneaked up behind me and she put her arm around my shoulder. "You'll be nice to Sara and Bethany, wont you? They've been through a lot recently. I know you don't like Sara much, but you know I don't find it easy to make friends." I nodded and turned to face her, "of course I'll be nice. I always am, aren't I?" Fran leaned down the few inches that she needed to and kissed me on the lips, "you nice most of the time," she said with a naughty grin on her face, before heading upstairs. I had met Fran in my first year of university. I was shy and studious, she was part of the popular scene, but we had bonded over a mutual love of Keats in an English class that we were both taking. I'm not ugly, in- fact with my blond hair, blue eyes and slight build I'd been called attractive many times, but she was in a different league. When we met at 19 she had long brown hair and even longer shapely legs which turned the heads of most red blooded males - students and teachers - and she had a laugh which melted me every time I heard it. So I made her laugh a lot, and I'd fill with pride and lust every time I did. We got married at 22 in a big church of her choosing. It was the best day of my life, but tinged with sadness that my late parents weren't there. Fran was stunning of course, and I remember thinking as I watched her walk up the aisle that I had done pretty well for myself. I had managed to get a job at a local newspaper and was happy there for a couple of years, before they had laid me off. In the meantime Fran had used her degree to begin carving out a great career in television, working as a script writer on a popular soap. She was earning good money, which softened the blow of my redundancy, but didn't much help my feelings of inadequacy. I had wanted to find another job of course, but Fran seemed strangely happy for me to stay at home . "It doesn't hurt for one of us not to work." she had said when I had told her the news, "my wages more than cover the mortgage and you're better around the house than I am." I had fought it a little at first - I'm not a lazy person and I missed my job - but after a while I actually started to enjoy the compliments that she'd give me about how clean the house was and how nice dinner had been. To all extent and purposes I had become the traditional "housewife', but I was surprised that it didn't bother me. In fact, I had grown to enjoy it most of the time. We were due at Sara's at 7pm. By 6.30 I had washed and dressed, put on my smartest jeans and a striped shirt and was ready to go. Fran always cut it finer though, and it was five to seven before she came downstairs. She looked great, wearing a pair of skinny jeans with the smart black boots that I had bought her for her birthday. I noticed she was wearing a little more make-up than she usually did, but I didn't question it. As we headed out the door I realised that I was glad she had worn the boots because they didn't have a heel. I'd bought them for that exact reason - while I tried my best not to be embarrassed at having a wife taller than me, it always felt worse when we went out in the evening. I wasn't sure why exactly, perhaps it was a night time thing. I always felt jealous when I'd see a girl snuggling into her much taller boyfriend or husband while walking home at night because it felt silly when I did that with Fran. In fact, it had been made worse recently because on a couple of occasions she had pulled me into her and put her arm around my waist as we walked home from the pub! I didn't tell her that it annoyed me, because I thought it would sound a bit petty. We were husband and wife after all. Wasn't it just nice that she cared for me enough to do it? It took us about fifteen minutes to get there, and Sara opened the door as she saw us walking up the driveway. The women embraced on the doorstep, and then Sara gave me a cursory nod to acknowledge my presence. Sara was older than Fran and I, I guessed her to be 32 or so, but she retained a youthful look which made her look around the same age as us. She was a little smaller than Fran (although still taller than me!) and she was definitely a bit more feminine than her, shown tonight by the fact that she was wearing a shortish black dress and heels. Her black hair fell softly to her shoulders, and as always her nails were perfectly manicured. Fran had told me that her ex-husband was quite wealthy, and there was evidence of this in the house that they lived in which was far nicer than ours. "Thanks for coming round," Sara said in her well-spoken tone, "I've been so bored the last few days." "I've been waiting for tonight all week," Fran responded, as we moved into the front room, "hope you've got some good wine waiting." "You bet," Sara laughed, "and what about you Julian? Coke as always?" "Please, if it's not too much trouble" As I finished, I was sure that I saw Fran roll her eyes. I knew it was a bit pathetic drinking soft drinks while the women drank wine, but I'd never been able to handle alcohol or even really enjoy the taste of it. "You know, it's a shame that you can't drive," Sara called out as she headed into the kitchen, "you'd be a great designated driver." Fran followed Sara to get the wine and I sat down. A large mirror hung above the fireplace and I studied my reflection, surprised slightly by how long my hair was starting to get. I had wanted to get it cut for a while, but Fran hold told me she liked it longer and that money was tight so I had gone along with it. It looked ok, but I realised now that it was making me look younger and younger as my hair grew. I should have realised that after I'd been asked for ID while buying wine for Fran a few days earlier. As I was looking at myself, the living room door opened and Bethany, Sara's daughter, walked in. "Oh, you're here," she said, barely hiding her disdain, "where's my Mum??" "Err, in the kitchen I think," I replied. It was strange, but I found myself nervous around the girl. Could I really be intimidated by a 13 year old girl? Someone half my age, no less! "Mum, where are my black pumps? I can't find them anywhere!" Bethany was stomping around the room as she called out, "did you move them again?" "You're not going out," Sara yelled from the kitchen, "I told you already." Bethany sighed, and shook her head. She was a very pretty girl, of that there was no doubt. She reminded me of the bitchy girls in my year at school who knew they were the best looking and treated everyone else like dirt. I hated girls like that, not that they had ever noticed me of course. There was definitely a mean streak in her, which contrasted her almost angelic blonde hair, blue eye look. "I know I'm not going out," she cried back to her mother, "I just want to know where they are!" I heard her mouth "bitch" under her breath. "Your Mum giving you a hard time?" I asked, and immediately wished I hadn't, as she turned her gaze onto me. "None of your business," she spat, but then continued anyway, "I have to miss the concert, but everyone else is allowed to go." I was going to ask who was playing, but thought better of it. Eventually, Bethany gave up her hunt and flopped into the reclining leather chair on the other side of the room. I guessed that was probably her Dad's chair, before he took off. The women came back eventually, Sara handing me my Coke and then handing Bethany what looked like a glass of wine. "Even though you've been rude to me today, I'm going to let you have a glass of wine and lemonade," she said as she gave the glass to her daughter. "Wow," Bethany replied sarcastically, but I noticed she took her first sip greedily and actually looked pleased. And so the evening went. The women chatted about this and that, about Sara's divorce and Fran's work and everything in between. Bethany came and went, mainly coming back to see if she was allowed another glass of wine and lemonade. I sat quietly, running my finger around the rim of my glass and thinking about getting home. As it got later the women got louder and more giggly, and by the third bottle of wine they were both pretty drunk. The conversation always got more girlie at this point, but I had gotten to be good at blocking it out. I was pretty much invisible to them as I got up to go to the bathroom. I was always amazed by the sheer size of the house, and I decided to have a little sneak around. There was the main bedroom of course, with a king sized double bed and massive fitted wardrobe - Sara's room I assumed. Further down the hall there was another bedroom which had a feminine d?cor, with peach sheets and a make up table against the wall. Perhaps Bethany's room, although it didn't seemed to be very lived in, more like a spare room actually. I counted another two bedrooms and a study, before noticing what was actually Bethany's bedroom at the far end of the hall. I knew it was her bedroom because the door was ajar and I could see her sitting at her desk. I scurried past and into the bathroom. "Julian, we're playing a game," Fran said excitedly as I re-entered the front room. Her speech was a little slurred, but she didn't seem terribly drunk. "Really," I replied, sitting down again, "what's the game?" "Sara thinks she's stronger than me, but I think she's gone stupid!" The women laughed between themselves, "so we've decided to arm wrestle." "Wow, ok," I laughed, "are you taking bets?" Then, Sara did something surprising. She stroked her hand down my arm and locked me in a fiery gaze and said, "Who would you money be on sweetheart?" I wasn't sure what to say, or how to react. Sara's seemed to be flirting with me, with my wife inches away! "Umm, I think I'd have to say Fran," I managed to say eventually. "Good boy," Fran laughed and Sara groaned. "He would say that, you're his master!" I found myself going red as the women burst out in giggles. I always wondered if Fran's dominance in our relationship was apparent to everyone else. I sort of knew that it must be, but people very rarely mentioned it. "Ok, ok," my wife said, after they stopped giggling, "let's do this then." As she said this, she cleared the coffee table and sat on one side of it, motioning Sara to sit on the other. "I think we should make this more interesting," Sara said as she sat, "the winner gets to make the loser do a forfeit." A grin appeared on Fran's face, "Good idea," she agreed, "I've got plenty of things in mind!" I won't lie - I was a little turned on by all of this, and was even more aroused when the women began to arm wrestle. It wasn't much of a competition though, as Fran slapped her opponent's arm onto the wooden table in only a few seconds. "No fair," Sara complained. "I wasn't ready!" "I win, I win," Fran proclaimed triumphantly, throwing her arms up in celebration before leaning across the table, "now you're my bitch," she said to Sara in mock tones. "So what's my forfeit???" Sara asked, still smiling. Fran seemed to think for ages. I found myself still aroused my the whole scene, but trying to conceal my excitement, if you know what I mean. "Well," Fran began, finally, "I think we should put on a little show for my hubby here, who's been a good boy all night." I could see Sara's eyes widen, "like what?" And before I knew it, my wife had pulled her friend into her and was kissing her passionately! I watched as their hair entwined and Fran cupped Sara's face with her hands, their glossed lips firmly together. I didn't know what to think or do! On one hand it was obviously pretty hot, but as the seconds ticked by I started to feel very aware that there was something going on here, past the point where it was a simply a bit of fun. The kiss was only ended because Bethany walked into the room. "Mum!" She cried, "What the hell are you doing!" Sara jumped up, and tried to compose herself. "Just a bit of fun Beth, I'm a bit drunk." "You guys are gross," she sneered, "what made you do that?" Sara told her about the arm wrestling, and to my surprise Bethany actually laughed. I think it was the first time I had ever seen the girl smiling. "Oooh, I've got an idea," Fran said excitedly, "why don't Beth and Julian arm wrestle!" I was shocked at my wife. "Don't be silly," I said slightly angrily, "I think you've had too much to drink." "Oh come on, it's just a bit of fun," Sara said, "afraid you'll lose to a teenage girl?" I looked at Bethany. The girl had a strange look on her face, almost like she actually wanted to do it. Of course I would beat her, wouldn't I? God, what if I didn't? It would certainly be the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me. "Ok, I'll do it," Bethany said, and she actually sat down by the table and put her soft looking arm on the table, ready to wrestle. It was then I remembered that she had had a little bit of wine, which I assumed was why she would even consider doing this. "This is silly," I said, "of course I'd win. I'd be scared of hurting her." Sara laughed at my comment.'Why wouldn't you definitely win? She's taller than you and probably weighs a bit more than you as well." "Mum!" "Well, it's true - look at him, he's tiny." I looked at Fran. She looked excited. What was going on! Suddenly, I felt very annoyed at the whole situation. "This is ridiculous. I'm going home." I got up angrily and moved toward the door, only for my wife to step into my path, "Julian, you're not going home. I'm ordering you to do this." I looked into Fran's eyes and I was a little scared by what I saw. It was unlike any look she'd ever given me, and the tone of her voice was more domineering than I had ever heard it. "Fran, come on. Don't be silly. You've all had too much to drink and it's time to go home." "No!" Suddenly my wife grabbed me and threw my back onto the chair. I was stunned to say the least, not only that Fran would do such a thing but also the ease of which she did. Nobody said anything for quite some time, as we all took in what we'd just seen. A husband being man-handled by his wife. I was angry of course, but I was also just confused. I didn't really understand why she was suddenly so intent on seeing me arm-wrestle a teenage girl. Finally Fran broke the silence, "I'm sorry Julian, I shouldn't have thrown you across the room. But you will arm-wrestle Bethany." I looked at the girl across the table. She was smiling again now, obviously enjoying my humiliation. Suddenly, I wanted to beat her. Ridiculous I know, but I was livid at everyone. "Fine," I said, the humour now totally gone from the room. It wasn't a bit of fun any more, it had turned into a test of my manhood. I sat on the floor and faced my opponent. I looked at her face again, but no longer saw a pretty teenage girl. That had been replaced by the face of a tyrant, someone who wanted to humiliate me for no good reason. The women positioned themselves to watch, I noticed that both had started drinking again. "After this we're going home," I said, as I put my arm on the table, "and I'm not coming back." "Suit yourself," Sara shrugged, "you're not exactly lively company!" The three of them laughed, which made me even angrier. I locked hands with Bethany, her pink painted nails intertwined with my fingers. "Ok," Fran said, "on the count of three." "One." I found myself staring straight into the girl's eyes. She stared straight back at me. "Two." I realised how nervous I was. Surely I would beat a teenage girl with ease. I was small, but I wasn't a weakling. There was a total hush in the room now. "THREE." I pushed as hard as I could straight away, and started to feel her hand moving backwards. I was going to win! This was easy! Then, I looked at Bethany's face, but she looked the same as before she started. My God, was she even trying? I kept pushing, and Bethany's hand moved ever closer to the table. Was she trying or not? Either way, I was about to win. The effort was starting to make me sweat, and I could feel my heart pounding. My shirt was sticking to my back. But I couldn't put her hand down those last couple of inches. And then it started. Bethany began pushing my hand back and I couldn't stop it. I tried harder and harder. I could feel the veins on my forehead bulge, the sharp taste of adrenaline in my mouth, and eventually the terror of realising that I was now losing. I'd never put more effort into anything in my entire life, but it was no use. She was stronger than me, so much so that she was taunting me. I looked into her eyes once more. They were filled with pleasure, not effort. My hand slammed onto the table, and the women cheered. I slumped backwards, tired and humiliated. "Good try," Bethany said, mockingly, "you nearly had me!" I was too tired to respond. My arm ached, and my head was pounding. Oh God, what had I done? What had I become? "So," Sara said, "what should his forfeit be?" "What," I panted, "what do you mean forfeit?" "We were playing forfeits remember? And you lost, so Bethany gets to choose a forfeit for you." "It's not fair," I whined, "why are you humiliating me like this?" It was then that I made my biggest mistake. I could feel the tears welling up, but I couldn't do anything to stop them. "Oh my God," Fran laughed, "are you crying?" "I'm sorry," I sobbed, "I can't help it." "You're pathetic," Bethany said, shaking her head, "you're supposed to be a man!" "A 26 year old man," Sara added, "and you're crying like a baby." "He's not a real man," Bethany mocked, "a real man wouldn't be beaten in an arm-wrestling match by a little girl like me." Through my tears I looked up at Fran. She was standing there motionless, with a strange look on her face. I couldn't tell if it was excitement or disgust. Bethany stood suddenly, "I've thought of my forfeit for him. He should dress as a little girl for the rest of the evening. He'll probably feel more at home in some of my old clothes anyway." "What?" I cried, "please don't make me do that." "That sounds like a great idea Bethany," Sara said, "perhaps an old school uniform would do the job'. "Mmm," her daughter replied, "I don't think any of my secondary school uniforms would fit him. Perhaps my uniform from juniors?" At this point Fran laughed. The laugh sent a chill down my spine, because I realised she was enjoying this. "Perfect," Fran said, "I think that would be a most appropriate outfit for this cry-baby." "Fran please, let's go home. I'm sorry." "Sorry for what," Fran said softly, as she came and sat next to me, "you did your best. You can't help who you are. But you did lose, so you should do the forfeit." I stared at my wife, my tears now subsiding. A feeling of anger rose in me once more, "I've had enough of this," I shouted, "I'm going home." But when I tried to stand up, Fran pulled me back down. "No you're not," she said quietly, "you're going to do your forfeit. Or do I have to make you do it by force?" I looked around the room, this time avoiding my wife. Sara and Bethany were standing there with a look of anticipation, a look of is he really about to do this? Again, it was my wife who broke the silence, "Bethany, go and get the clothes you want him to wear and he'll put them on. Wont you Julian?" I said nothing, there was really nothing else to say. Part II : Julia The women dressed me up in around half an hour. My clothes were taken and put in a bag and I now found myself dressed up like a school girl. At first I hadn't realised the extremes they were going to go to, but it quickly became apparent when I had to take off my boxers and put on a pair of pink knickers. I didn't have much body hair, so little in fact that the women decided it wasn't important, so they quickly dressed me in a white blouse, grey pleated skirt, red jumper with "St. Margarets Girl's School" emblazoned on the breast and black tights. My hair wasn't long enough to pig-tail, which is what Bethany wanted to do, but they did put some colourful clips in it and create some bangs which sat near my eyes. I'm a size 6 foot, so they used a pair of Sara's flat black shoes with a buckle on the toe, and I was spared make-up because the women thought it would silly on a "school girl" like me. They did however paint my nails pink, the same colour in fact that Bethany was wearing. During this whole process I didn't say a word, and the women didn't ask me a question. They talked about me, wondering what would fit and then saying how cute I looked at various intervals, and also laughing because all had gone to St. Margarets School and worn the same uniform, but no- one said a word directly to me until I was fully dressed. When they presented me in the mirror I was a little taken aback at how my appearance had changed. I wouldn't say I passed as a junior's school girl, I was a little too tall for one and my face was certainly older looking than one, but I didn't really look like a man at all any more. More like an older girl dressing like a young girl. My fight had gone totally at this point, and I did what I was told, just willing everything to be over soon. Fran told me that I shouldn't speak unless spoken to, and I was made to sit quietly on the sofa while the women continued to drink. "He looks so cute," Sara said a little later, as the attention turned back to me, "we did a really good job." "It suits him actually," Fran replied, "I love how dainty he looks. His legs are tiny, aren't they?" "Mmm," Sara agreed, "he has great legs actually." "Why are you still calling him a he," Bethany, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, asked, "he's hardly a man any more is he." She was right of course. In the space of a few hours, I had gone from the only man in the house to the little girl. And as I looked down at my hands with painted nails which sat properly on my skirt, I felt myself welling up again. Luckily, this time I stopped it. "You're right Beth," my wife replied, "we have to think of a girl's name for him." "Well Julia is most obvious," Sara said, "and it's a pretty name as well." "I like Julia," Bethany said, "my little sister Julia." As she said this, she actually moved next to me and pulled me into her. "Well, Julian should decide," Fran added, "is Julia ok? I nodded. Who cared any more anyway? "Well, say it then," Fran replied, "I'll ask you your name and you can tell me." She moved closer to me, and placed her hands on my tights covered legs. "Hello young lady, what's your name?" I didn't say anything for a moment, and wasn't going to, but Fran just kept on staring. "Julia," I mumbled eventually, without looking my wife in the eye. "Very pretty name for a pretty girl," my wife cooed, "you must be getting tired now though Julia, it's past your bed time." My heart leapt with joy. It was time to go home. "Yes, I'm pretty tired." Fran turned to her friend, "can we stay here tonight, I don't fancy walking home now." "Of course," Sara said, "I'll make up one of rooms." Fran got up and whispered something to Sara, and they both smiled. "Julia, you're going to sleep in the spare room I keep for Beth's friends when they come over," Sara added. The room with the peach sheets. That's what it was for then. "I want to go home," I pleaded to my wife, who had started to collect empty bottles and was bring them into the kitchen. "Don't be silly," she called back, "it's too late now. We'll go home in the morning." "Unless she wants to walk home in her uniform of course," Beth laughed, "that would be a sight." "No, but if you give me my clothes back I'll go home in them," I stood up, the feeling of the skirt bouncing of my legs was strange, "You can do what you want." The women all laughed together at that. "We put your clothes in the wash silly," Sara smiled, "they won't be ready until the morning anyway." I flopped back onto the sofa. What was the point? I should just let them have their fun tonight. "Where are you going to sleep then?" I asked my wife, when she walked back into the room. "I'm going to share with Sara, she doesn't have any other beds ready." I shook at the obvious lie, but didn't push it any further. "You're a bossy little madam aren't you," Fran said, "Bethany, have you got an old nightie than Julia can wear tonight." "Sure," she replied. "No thanks, I've done my forfeit. I'll sleep naked, thanks very much." "Err no, you're not sleeping naked in one of my beds," Sara ordered, "you'll leave your knickers on as well." Bethany grabbed my hand, "come on Julia, let's get you ready for bed." I lay wide awake for hours after going to bed. At first I had been kept awake by the laughter coming from Sara and Fran's room, but even they must have got to sleep before me. Bethany had undressed me like a mother undressing her little girl, and I had let her do it. What did it say about me that I would let her do that? Was I even starting to enjoy the humiliation? I didn't think so, but I couldn't understand why I wasn't just getting up and going, dressed in a pink nightie or not. Perhaps I was scared. I hadn't been apart from Fran in 7 years, and I didn't even know where I would go if I left her. I had no money, no friends, no job and now no male clothes. I had been regressed into the status of a little girl and I didn't even have the fight in me to stop it. Eventually the day began to break and light started to seep through the peach coloured curtains that covered the large window on the other side of the room. As it got brighter, I started to stare at my now pink nails, which had become a focal point for my humiliation. The same words kept swirling around my head, like an awful nursery rhyme. I'm wearing pink knickers, a pink nightie which belonged to a girl half my age and I have pink glittery nails. I'm no different to Bethany in the room next door, or any other girl. Sure, I had a penis, but what good was it doing me? They had turned me into a girl, plain and simple. I got out of bed, and regarded myself in the mirror. I looked like a pathetic cross breed of small man and little girl, and I was becoming more and more angry with myself for letting it happen. It was then that I decided that I had to leave, no matter what. I opened the closet. Finding only a big white bathrobe, I wrapped that around me and walked to the bedroom door. I grabbed the doorknob and turned it, but the door didn't open. I tried again with more force but it still wouldn't budge. It was only then that I saw the lock on the door. The women had locked me in! Defeated for now, I discarded the robe and got back into bed. I thought about Fran for a long time, and about what she had done to me, and about whether she loved me at all any more. Then I started wondering if I loved her any more after tonight. Could 7 years' love be undone by one night? Eventually my eyes grew heavy, and the thoughts mercifully subsided. Suddenly I was on the top of a tower, perched precariously on rickity looking scaffolding. I looked down and could feel myself getting nauseous, but I also felt like I had unfinished business. Was I building this tower myself? It was a sunny day, and it felt good on my back and neck. I grabbed a brick, and placed it next to another one. I turned away from it, thinking it was job done, but I suddenly heard the brick wobble and fall. I tried to catch it, but it was gone. The brick was falling to the ground. I moved quickly over to the other side of the scaffolding to watch the brick fall. My fear of heights had gone! For a moment I was ecstatic, until I saw that the brick was heading for a group of children far below. I called out to them, but it was too late.