Pink For A Girl - Part 1 free porn video

PINK FOR A GIRL - Part 1 George McIntyre was furious. He had only taken delivery of his long awaited Mazda RX-8 three days before and now his splendid new, slate- grey car was a wreck. He cursed the drunken idiot who had jumped the lights and driven straight into the side of the car. The fact that the other driver was now in police custody charged with drunken driving was of little recompense. George stood forlornly by the side of the road waiting for the tow-truck from his Mazda dealer to come and pick him up. Some time later George was sitting in the office of his Mazda agent sipping tea. "I'm sorry George" said Philip, the agent, but whilst it looks a wreck, your car is repairable and your insurance company aren't going to authorise a write off. I can organise the repair for you but it is going to be a few weeks before you get it back." "Marvellous" grunted George "I supposed to setting off on a two week holiday touring the Scottish Highlands tomorrow and there is no way I can do that without a car. Do you have one you can loan me whilst mine is in dock?" "Sorry George" replied Philip, "all my courtesy cars are out. I do have a second-hand car I have just taken in part-exchange, but you wouldn't want that." "Why not" demanded George, eager to find a solution to his problem. "Well" responded Philip, "it is an MX-5." "That would be perfect" interrupted George. "I know it isn't as spectacular as the RX-8 but it is an open-top sports car and that is just what I need for my holiday." "Let me finish" continued Philip. "It is a very good car; low mileage; excellent condition; and only one owner, but......that owner was a young woman who clearly is overly fond of the colour pink! You had better come and see for yourself." The two men walked outside and round to the back of the showroom to where the MX-5 was parked. George immediate saw why Philip had such strong reservations about the car's suitability for him. It wasn't just pink; it was bubble-gum pink! Everything about it screamed "girly". There was even a Barbie-doll hanging from the rear-view mirror. "I see what you mean" muttered George. "Are you sure this is the only car you could loan me?" Philip nodded sadly. "I wish I could help you out George" he said, "you have long been a valued customer of mine, but I'm afraid it is this or nothing." "Then it will have to be this" announced a reluctant George, "I have really been looking forward to this holiday and, if the only way I can continue with my plans is to go in this outlandish car; well so be it. I guess I can cope with being an object of ridicule for a couple of weeks and, after all, it's not as if I'm likely to bump into anyone I know!" So, after signing the necessary paperwork, George drove away in his temporary new car. It was a very good drive and, had it not been for the colour, George thought he could have enjoyed whizzing round Scotland in it. The next morning he put his suitcase and fishing tackle in the boot of the little car and set off, grateful that none of his neighbours had realised that the shocking pink machine parked outside his flat belonged to him. The car really was great to drive and before long George was speeding up the A1 en-route for Edinburgh, where he intended to make his overnight stop. After an hour or so driving, George fancied some music. It was only then that he realised he had left his iPod back at the flat. Cursing his stupidity, he suddenly noticed a case of CDs lying in the side-pocket of the driver's door. He pulled it out and, flipping it open, scanned the contents. "Typical" he grumbled "just what I should have expected from a girl who owns a pink car", for the case of CDs was full of fluffy romantic titles, none of which he recognised. "Well beggars can't be choosers" he mussed "and I really fancy some music." So, picking a disc at random, he slid it into the player. He grimaced as the syrupy music from a girl band started to play but, to his surprise, in a few minutes found he was settling back and nodding along to the rhythm of the tune. He did not know any of the tracks but continued to listen as, mile after mile, he sped north. The music was strangely soporific and he was surprised when he suddenly realised he was approaching Darlington and the A58 where he needed to turn across country towards Edinburgh. "Gosh, I must have been in a trance" he thought. "Lucky I didn't have an accident. It is unlike me to drift away like that." It was only then that he realised the disc was still playing. "I wonder how many times this has played through" he thought. He ejected the disc and looked around him, yawning as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. His complaining bladder reminded him that he was long overdue for a comfort stop, so he pulled off the road at the next filling station and refilled the car's tank with petrol. He walked across to the small shop attached to the filling station and found the toilets. After relieving himself he crossed to the cashiers to pay for the petrol. The young woman behind the till gave him a rather odd look as he handed over his credit card and, as he walked out of the shop, he heard her sniggering to her companion at the other till. George frowned. "What was that all about" he wondered. He climbed back into the car and started the engine. As he grasped the steering wheel to drive away he suddenly realised what the two girls had been laughing at. Holding the wheel with both hands he saw that his fingernails, usually so masculine and ordinary, now sported shapely extensions and were painted a light pink! "How did that happen?" George gasped. "I know I have been dopey all the way up here, but I can't have been so far gone as to have stopped; purchased nail varnish; and put it on - all without noticing anything amiss! And why would I have varnished my nails anyway; it's not something I have ever done before?" George quickly exited the service station and set off once more. He found himself staring at his nails and thinking; "that's a very pretty colour. I wonder what the shade is called." He shook his head. "Stop it; this is ridiculous. I'll just pull over at a chemist in the next town; buy some varnish remover and get rid of all this stuff." Accordingly as he entered Jedburgh he kept his eye open for a Boots chemist shop. Spotting one he parked and went inside. Fully intending to buy nail varnish remover, he approached a sales assistant and said, "Do you have a lipstick in this shade?" holding his hands out to demonstrate the colour he wanted. The assistant, like the girls in the service station, gave him a very strange look but, shrugging her shoulders, took him over to a cosmetics stand and pulled out a number of tubes of lipstick until she found a shade that matched George's nails. "And perhaps a palette of eye shadow in pink tones, and some mascara and eye liner" he found himself continuing; "and foundation, of course; some blusher, and the necessary brushes to apply everything. Oh, and I had better have bottles of whatever products are needed to take make-up off at night." The assistant was clearly shocked, but a sale is a sale and she piled up everything George asked for. Back at the till she rang up his purchases. Just before she totalled everything George, to his internal horror, found himself taking three packets of pantyhose from a nearby display stand and adding them to the pile. Shocked by what he was doing, George hurriedly paid for his purchases and rushed out of the store. He threw his bags onto the passenger seat of the car and drove away as quickly as he could. Once outside town he drew up in a lay-by and took deep breaths to calm himself down. "What is coming over me?" he said to himself. "Am I going mad? I don't seem to have any control over my actions." He picked up the packages, fully intending to throw them in a nearby litterbin, but, instead, opened the boot of the car and put them in his bag. Setting off once again towards Edinburgh, George thought "I need something to distract me and take my mind off my bizarre behaviour." He selected another CD and slipped it into the player. The music soon calmed him down and, once again, he found himself relaxing into the hypnotic flow of the sound. It was only as he was pulling up outside his hotel in Edinburgh that he snapped out of the trance. This time, before he checked into his room, George did manage to use his newly purchased nail varnish remover to remove the pink colour from his fingers. However he could do nothing about the shapely, feminine cut of his nails. Fortunately the girl at the desk didn't seem to notice anything amiss and George reached his room safely. Breathing a sigh of relief he put down his bag. "What has been happening to me today" he mussed. "I've never experienced anything like this before; my nails being varnished without my remembering anything about it; and that ridiculous time in Boots!" Having driven nearly 400 miles that day, George was quite tired and decided to order a room-service supper, rather than go out to one of the many excellent restaurants he knew in Edinburgh. His meal was delivered by a waitress on a small mobile table. He had ordered steak and salad and a half bottle of white wine. For some reason he seemed to have lost his appetite. Normally he would have ordered a starter; fries or a jacket potato with his steak; followed by a stodgy pudding and a cheese board; all of this washed down by a full bottle of a good red burgundy. For goodness sake, he didn't really like white wine - particularly the slightly sweet variety that he had ordered! The waitress smiled sweetly at him as she set up the table. "I really like your hair" she said, "It is a lovely colour." George had no idea what she was talking about; his hair was a mousey brown and cut quite short, but, heh, he had experienced so many strange events that day, what was one odd waitress more or less!. The waitress left and George sat down to his meal. Even though it was quite meagre by his standards, he still found he felt full up long before he had finished his steak. Pushing the remains to the side of the plate, George relaxed back in his chair and poured himself a second glass of wine. This Riesling wasn't half bad he decided. Maybe in the past he had misjudged the delights of white wine too swiftly. Feeling sleepy, George decided to watch a quick half-hour of television to get him in the mood for sleep. He knew the Snooker Championships were being broadcast from Sheffield and went to select the appropriate channel on the TV set. For some reason he punched the wrong button because he found himself watching an episode of Sex and the City - an American "girly" rom-com. George decided he couldn't be bothered to switch cannels and, to his surprise, found he really enjoyed the show and was quite disappointed when the programme came to an end. Still he was now very sleepy, so, stripping off his clothes, he wandered into the bathroom to clean his teeth. That was when the next series of shocks hit him! The first thing he noticed, as he saw his reflection in the mirror, was that his hair, usually cut so short, now fell to his shoulders and curled gently over his ears. This wasn't the most surprising thing however; whilst he knew his hair should be a mousey-brown colour the reflection he saw in the mirror showed him as a blonde with pink high- lights. No wonder the waitress had made a comment; his hair style was gorgeous - but for a girl, not a man! George cleaned his teeth in a daze and staggered back to the bedroom. "What is happening to me?" he thought. He rummaged in his bag to find his pyjamas, but they were nowhere to be seen. In their place he drew forth a slinky, pink nightdress, lavishly trimmed with lace at the hem and bodice and held up by two thin, spaghetti straps. "This isn't mine" snapped George. "Has my case been mixed up with someone else's?" But no, the rest of the contents were clearly his. Faced with the prospect of sleeping raw or wearing the nightdress, he chose the latter option; even donning the matching panties that fell to the floor as he unfolded the nightdress. Shamefacedly he climbed into bed and fell asleep, only to experience the most lurid dreams that featured his new pink car being driven by a beautiful blonde girl at high speed through the countryside. In spite of his dreams, George felt quite refreshed when he awoke the next morning. Nature called and he stumbled into the bathroom. Only then did he remember what he was wearing. Pulling the hem of his nightdress around his waist and slipping his panties down to his ankles, George sat down on the toilet. Although he would, of course, have normally stood to carry out his business, for some reason he felt compelled to squat. Crossing to the hand-basin, George washed his hands and cleaned his teeth. As he did so he studied his reflection in the mirror. "Thank goodness my hair hasn't changed anymore" he thought. Then he noticed that whilst he normally had a very strong beard growth, this morning his face was totally smooth. He ran his hand across his face in amazement; there wasn't a hint of stubble and, if anything, his skin felt much softer and less coarse than usual. "I really am going mad" he thought. "I have got to snap out of this. I think I had better get dressed; drive back to London; and go and see a doctor. So resolved, he opened his bag to get out clean underwear. Once again a surprise awaited him; his underpants had, over night, been replaced by colourful nylon panties and his tee-shirts by pretty little chemises. There was no sign of any of his socks! Resigned by now to having to put up with these shocks until he could find out who was playing tricks on him, he chose a pair pale pink panties and a matching vest. As he put them on he had to admit to himself that the softer fabrics felt much nice against his skin that the clothes he normally wore. In the absence of any socks George had no alternative but to open one of the packets of pantyhose he had bought the previous day. From experience of watching girlfriends getting dressed, George knew he would have to be careful not to snag them. So he rolled the legs into doughnuts and slid his feet in. He then, gingerly, pulled the hose up his - now hairless - legs. They felt good and the sensation of sheer nylon sliding over smooth flesh was incredible. Fortunately nothing peculiar seemed to have happened to his other cloths, so George pulled on a blue check shirt, denim jeans, and a navy jumper. Sliding his feet into a pair of leather trainers, George was pleased to note that nothing of his strange underwear was visible to the casual glance. He hurriedly packed his bag and, without waiting for breakfast, paid his bill and rushed out to his little pink car. "All these strange events started when first set off driving you" he mussed. "But that is ridiculous; a mechanical object such as a car couldn't produce the changes I have been experiencing. It must be someone playing tricks on me; just wait until I find out who it is!" George turned out of the car-park fully intending to take the London road but this was blocked by a diversion sign. Before he quite knew where he was, George found himself once more heading north for the Forth Road Bridge and Perth. It had been his original intention to make for Aviemore and spend a couple of days walking in the Cairngorms. His car seemed bent on sticking to that plan and, to his surprise; George found he was quite happy to go with the flow. The car's music system started playing of its own accord and, once again, George found himself slipping into a dreamy trance and letting the car go where it willed. He was north of Perth on the A9 approaching Pitlochry when he next became aware of his surroundings. He pulled up in front of a small caf? intending to have a burger, fries and coke for lunch. Once again, however, he found himself eating a small Caesar salad, accompanied by a glass of plain water. "I'll waste away if I don't get some proper food soon" he thought, but, similar to the previous evening, he found himself pushing his plate aside with food still on it. Climbing back into the car, George reached to fasten his seat-belt. As he pulled it across his chest he felt a soreness and irritation in his nipples. "Oh no, not a rash developing" he groaned. "That is the last thing I need on top of everything else!" He eventually managed to settle the belt into a reasonably comfortable position and set off once more - still heading north. Arriving in Aviemore late afternoon, George checked into his room and went of a stroll around town to stretch his legs; stiff from a long day's driving. He found himself outside a shoe shop admiring a display of ladies shoes. On impulse he went inside and asked to see a particularly pretty pair of pink strappy sandals. "Of course Madam" said the assistant "and what size would that be?" Ignoring for the moment that he was being addressed as "Madam", George was about to reply "10" but instead heard his voice announce "size 5, narrow fitting please". George sat down in shock as the assistant scurried off to the stock room. When she came back with the shoes George found they fitted his nylon clad feet perfectly. "Oh aren't they darling" he heard himself exclaim. "I'll take them. Can you please wrap up my trainers and I'll wear these out." The assistant took his old shoes away, which George noticed, without too much surprise, were now pink and white, rather than brown, leather. (There are only so many shocks a person can experience before some sense of numbness sets in!) Once he had paid for his new shoes, George walking back to his hotel, acutely conscious of the click-clack of his heels on the pavement. On entering his bathroom, George saw at once why the sales assistant in the shoe shop had mistaken him for a woman. In addition to his pinkish blonde hair, his face was once again fully made up and his nails sported their pink varnish. The fact that his Levis had somehow metamorphosed into a pair of tight-filling ladies jeans and his check shirt into a frilly blouse may also have had something to do with the misunderstanding! "Something really weird is happening to me" George thought. "It is almost as if I am turning into a woman. Thank goodness my male parts seem unaffected!" He reached down to reassure himself only to realise how crushed his male parts were inside the flat crotch of the womens jeans he was now wearing. Deciding to see just how far his transformation had progressed, George undressed and stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. His hair was definitely feminine - no man, other than a rock star, would dare have hair that colour and the cut was very fetching but definitely not a style a man would wear. His face, under the make up, was smooth and without any trace of stubble. It was however definitely his features he saw looking back at himself but perhaps a little more refined and softer. Continuing downwards; George's shoulders were slimmer than he remembered and there was a definite puffiness around his nipples. Sighing gently, George resigned himself to the imminent growth of breasts. His waist was higher and slimmer - maybe due to the reduction in his food intake? At least so George hoped! His hips swelled out from his newly slim waist and, turning, George saw that his bottom was developing a definite swell. Fortunately his "wedding tackle" seemed intact and unaltered, but his legs were how bereft of muscle mass, sleekly curving, hairless, past dimpled knees to tiny feet. "Well there is no doubt about it" mussed George, "I am definitely showing distinct female characteristics. I wonder where it will end." Now it happened that George had picked this particular hotel to stay in because it had a renowned chef and George, being a bit of a gourmet, wanted to see just how good the chef was. "I can't miss out on my dining experience" thought George, "even if my appearance is a bit androgynous! How am I going to cope with this dilemma?" He rang down to the restaurant and booked a table for one at 8:30pm, giving his room number but not his name. He then went and had a long leisurely bath - (there was definitely no need for him to shave!) - before returning to the bedroom to sort out clothing that would disguise his predicament. For some inexplicable reason, he chose to wrap his bath towel round his chest - as a woman would - rather than round his waist in masculine fashion. As George entered the bedroom, he was surprised to see that, in addition to his overnight bag, a separate suit bag now lay across the coverlet of the bed. He recognised as his; it was the bag he used to transport his smarter clothes when working away from the office. But what was it doing here? He hadn't brought it with him; - who takes smart suits on a fishing and walking holiday in the Highlands?! He cautiously opened the bag; it may have been his case but the contents were definitely not ones he recognised. There were three smart, but not overly fussy dresses, a couple of floral-print skirts, and three pairs of definitely feminine trousers. The over-riding theme, not entirely to his surprise, was PINK!!!! He was starting to get seriously bored by the over-emphasis on this colour; at every stage of his transformation the one constant had been the colour pink. He did NOT want to go down the route indicated by this, suddenly materialising, suit bag, so picked his original case off the floor and rummaged around for a pair of his old trousers; they weren't there! His entire bag contained nothing but a pile of feminine lingerie, tops, shoes, and accessories; not a masculine item to be seen! The expletive used by George to express his frustration is not something that should be repeated in polite company! He was faced with a difficult dilemma. Either he settled once again for room service, or he accepted his, seemingly predetermined, feminine role and went down to dinner looking as much like a woman as he was able to achieve. He debated with himself for a while and then decided that the latter option was the one he should follow. If this transformation was going to continue, he could not lock himself away from the rest of the world for ever. George returned to his original case and tipped its contents onto the bed. With a sigh he picked out a pair of (pink!) panties and, totally against his own volition, a matching bra. He pulled the panties up his legs and settled them into place, making sure his masculine parts were carefully tucked back under his groin. The bra presented him with a few problems as he just couldn't seem to manage to fasten the hooks and eyes behind his back. Eventually he gave in; spun the fastenings round to the front; did them up; and them slid it back round again, wriggling his arms into the straps as he did so. Although his pectoral muscles were showing signs of puffiness, there was no way he was going to fill out the cups of the bra, so he went back into the bathroom; gathered several handfuls of toilet paper and stuffed his bra until he had created the semblance of a bust and managed to pull his flabby chest flesh into a reasonable cleavage. Next he opened a pair of new, mink-coloured, thigh-high, stay-up stockings and slid them up his hairless legs. Inevitably his hands reached out for a pink dress, but this time, rather than being a bright pink, it was a deep raspberry colour. It was a simple little halter dress with spaghetti ties fastening behind his neck. Made of a stretchy material, it fitted snugly over his bosom - (HIS bosom!!) - before falling to a swirly hem some two inches above the knee. He slid his arms into a little, sheer, black nylon shrug that tied at the neck - he was not ready to be seen with so much of his shoulders and back exposed to view! George then slid his feet into the new sandals he had purchased earlier in the day and fastened a rose-quartz necklace round his throat. A matching bracelet and earrings and slim ladies watch completed his jewellery. He stood in front of the mirror and viewed his reflection. He saw a not unattractive woman looking back at him. Maybe the features were a bit masculine and the figure less than perfect. However, at first glace no one would have thought him to be a man in drag. In some inexplicable way his make-up had been restored following his bath and his hair, even longer now, was artfully arranged to frame his face. With a sigh of resignation (s)he gave herself a quick squirt of perfume from the bottle that had somehow materialised on the dressing table; picked up her purse; checked its contents; exited the room and took the lift down to the restaurant floor. The restaurant was nicely busy as Georg(ina) approached the entrance and (s)he was glad (s)he had taken the precaution of reserving a table. The Head Waiter gave no sign that he took her for anything other than a woman and showed her to a table set for one in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Georgina ordered a glass of chardonnay whilst she studied the menu. She realised, from her previous experience of eating during this trip, that there was no way her reduced frame would be able to accommodate the six course banquet George had been looking forward to. So she turned her gaze to parts of the menu he would normally have skipped over. Many of the dishes listed made her taste buds sparkle, but, in the end, she settled for slices of raw, smoked, thinly cut venison served with beetroot chutney, followed, for the main course, by locally caught wild salmon accompanied by tiny jersey royal potatoes and a side salad of leaves and herbs. For desert she selected raspberries - ("to match my dress" she mussed resignedly) - served layered with a mixture of yogurt and cr?me fraiche. The meal was delicious and well worth her taking the risk of dining en femme. As she sat over coffee - an excellent double espresso - Georgina reflected on her situation. To his/her surprise, George was less shocked by what was happening to him/her than he was intrigued to see how far it would go. He found he was starting to enjoy the sensation of wearing female clothes; they were so much lighter and softer than what he usually wore. He also liked the way the waiters and waitress attended to him; smiling and being friendly and a little less fawning that was the norm when he was in male mode. (S)he declined the offer of a liqueur, realising, sensibly, that Georgina probably had a lower alcohol capacity than George. She decided to take a turn in the garden before retiring in order not to go to bed on a bloated stomach. It was a lovely night and, being out in the countryside, a lot more stars were visible than she saw at home. This far north, even in the summer, evenings could have a nip in the air and she was grateful for her little jacket protecting her shoulders. As Georgina strolled through the quiet garden she turned a corner and nearly bumped into a man who had clearly come outside for a smoke. Startled, she jumped backwards and would have fallen had the man not caught her by the elbow. He apologised for having surprised her and asked if she was alright. "I'm fine thank you" she said in a low voice, hoping that her speech did not give away the fact she was, underneath all her finery, actually a man. Obviously her voice did not betray her because the continued to hold her by the arm until Georgina, with a cough and a gaze, indicated she could stand quite well on her own. The gentleman offered her a cigarette, which Georgina declined, somewhat embarrassed by her near escape from detection, mumbled "good night" and fled back to the safety of the hotel. Once back in her room Georgina started to calm down and prepare for bed. She found that whilst she had been out the make-up remover products purchased in Jedburgh had mysteriously been transported from the case where she had left them to a shelf in the bathroom. "Something magical seems determined to turn me into a close facsimile of a woman" she thought "and I can't help feeling it must be something to do with that little pink car! I've never had blackouts whilst driving before and all these changes have occurred since I took it over. When I get back home I must look into previous owners of the car. A joke is a joke but I don't want to become a woman permanently and if a magician is involved I want him, or her, to reverse the spell. Thank goodness I'm still intact "down there"!" Taking off her jacket and dress, Georgina stood in front of the bathroom mirror and carefully removed her make-up. She applied a coat of night- cream to her face and cleaned her teeth. Pulling a satin nightdress over her head, she slid between the sheets and was soon fast asleep. The next morning pressure on the bladder required a swift visit to the bathroom. Once again it seemed natural to Georgina to hoist up her nightdress and squat on the toilet. Fortunately nothing seemed to have happened to her male genitalia overnight! The same could not be said however of her chest! As she looked in the mirror it immediately became apparent that she would not need to pad out her bra today. A pair of soft, rounded breasts hung from her chest. She was amazed at how heavy they felt. From now on she would need her to wear a bra simply in order to provide the necessary support. Georgina stripped off her nightdress and stepped into the shower. Once again she marvelled at the increased sensitivity of her skin. Once clean and towelled dry she crossed to her bags to select clothing for the day. Starting with a white bra and panty set - (decorated with pink rosebuds) - she settled on a white skirt - (pink flower pattern) - and a white cashmere sweater. She decided to go bare legged and slipped her feet into a pair of (pink) low-heeled shoes. No magic make-up appeared today so Georgina was forced to apply her own; something which she did with surprising ease. A simple silver pendant on a chain and silver stud earrings - (overnight her ears had become pierced) - sufficed for jewellery and, before too long, Georgina had packed her cases and was ready to leave. She rang down for a porter to collect her bags. (One advantage of becoming a woman, she decided, was that she no longer felt compelled to do everything for herself and was quite happy for others to help her by carrying her heavy bags.) Check-out proved less of an ordeal than Georgina had anticipated. The clerk on the desk made no reference to the fact that the booking had been made in the name of "George McIntyre" but it was now "Georgina McIntyre" who was paying the bill. Having settled up, Georgina strolled out to her car, which had been brought round from the car-park, and tipped the porter who was putting her bags in the trunk. She climbed into the driver's seat and pulled away. She hadn't gone very many yards, however, before she realised that her handbag was lying exposed on the seat next to her. Even in the wilds of Scotland this is not a very good idea, so she pulled over and opened the glove compartment, intending to put her bag inside. This was the first time George (or Georgina) had had occasion to open the glove box and she was surprised to se an envelope inside very clearly addressed to "The New Owner". She ripped the envelope open, took out the enclosed letter and started to read. The letter read: "To whichever poor soul is the new owner of this car; GET RID OF IT AT ONCE! Don't worry if you lose money on the deal; I can assure you that this is a far better option than the one you will have if you keep the car. It was only after I purchased the pink Mazda that I realise it was bewitched. Yes "bewitched"; I am not mad; the car really does have magic powers over you. It only took a few days to turn me from a man into a woman. So my warning to you is; dispose of the car before it is too late and the same thing happens to you! Yours, Stephanie - (nee Stephen!)" George read the note carefully. So it was as he had surmised; the car possessed magical powers and was in the process of transforming him into a woman. Surprisingly this knowledge did not upset him as much as he might have anticipated only a few short days ago. In some odd way, the process of transformation was a calming one. Whilst he would never willingly have considered a sex change; now that it was happening involuntarily, it all seemed perfectly natural and reasonable. He sat there turning the contents of Stephanie's note over in his mind. At that moment, by one of those coincidences that make you wonder whether they are truly "coincidental", his mobile phone bleeped to indicate that he had a new message. On opening it he discovered it was from Philip, his Mazda agent. "Good news" started the message. "I have managed to source spare parts for your RX-8 quicker than I anticipated and I can have the car repaired and back on the road by the end of the week. Let me know what you want me to do." George sat there considering Philip's message and an image of the man slipped into his mind. Philip had been his car agent for a number of years and the two men had become casual friends - for example; they met up every few weeks for a few beers and a curry. Never before, however, had George considered whether Philip was attractive or not. Now he/she found him/herself considering Philip in a totally different way. "Mumm" he mussed; "Philip is quite a looker; I love his tight bum and strong chest. I bet he is a devil in bed!" He shook his head; why was he having such thoughts? He had never fancied any man before. George could not, however, get the image of a naked Philip out of his mind. He felt his panties become damp with desire and realised that he was having a sexual fantasy about being with a "man"! As he sat gasping for breath, he felt a wrenching sensation in his lower abdomen and instantly realised that his last hold on his manhood had disappeared; he was now 100% female! This should have been an appalling shock to his system; but it wasn't. The fact that he had, over the last few days, completely changed sex seemed perfectly natural. He texted Philip: "Have decided I want to keep MX-5; repair RX-8 on insurance and then sell it for me. Will call in on my return from Scotland to sort out any cash adjustment; maybe we can sort things out over a drink?" (S)he squirmed with suppressed desire as (s)he typed the final sentence. If she was really and truly a woman; she would have Philip in bed before any such night was out!" In the meantime, there was a holiday to be completed and enjoyed. "OK car" Georgina said aloud, "I'm OK with this if you are. Let's go and catch some fish. Oh, but there is just one thing; if you don't quit this obsession with pink and allow me to buy clothes of a different colour whenever I want; then, I promise you, as soon as we get home I am going to get you re-sprayed!" She was certain she could feel the car shudder at this threat! "OK" she said; "so long as we understand each other, I guess we are going to get along fine. Now let's explore Scotland!"