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WINTER HOLIDAY By Annie James Pamela's phone call came at four-fifteen on a Friday afternoon. George had already begun to tidy his desk in preparation for leaving the office. "How would you like to have a paid vacation for the coming week?" she asked. "Sounds wonderful, but I don't think my boss would approve. I have a report due next week." "Would you agree if I fixed it with your boss?" "I might. What is this all about, anyway?" "Have you ever ridden on a snowmachine?" "Once or twice. What's that got to do with it?" "I'm booked on a weeklong excursion in Northern Wisconsin, and my partner has dropped out. She's been taken sick." "But I don't have any proper clothes for the outdoors." "That wouldn't matter. There's a snowsuit here which would fit you, and everything else you could possibly need. You needn't bring anything more than a safety razor." "I'll have to think about it. How do I reach you by phone?" "There's no time to think about it. If you're going to come you'll have to make up your mind right now. There would just be time to get to the airport." . . . . . . Three hours later, seated on a jet at thirty-thousand feet in the sky, George wondered to himself why he had accepted such a bizarre invitation. Was it because he thought his career might be affected if he refused? After all Pamela held a rather high rank in the executive suite. They had only dated once, and that was before he had come to work for this corporation. When he had discovered her high position, he had felt too intimidated to approach her again, even though he had been very attracted to her. Now he suddenly began to wonder if the acceptance of his job application had ultimately been her decision. If so she had profited little from it. They had had virtually no contact with each other since he came to work for the company. . . . . . . It was seven in the morning when a tired George, carrying his briefcase containing the disposable razors and shaving cream he had purchased at the airport, stepped from a second plane onto a snow covered tarmac. Inside the terminal building, Pamela, dressed in her snowsuit, greeted him warmly with the words, "You're a real darling to come out like this for me," before rushing him into a taxi for a quick trip to her motel. Once inside the motel room she suggested that he freshen up and shave while she went back out for a breakfast tray. "Well! Just exactly what is on the agenda?" he asked finally as they dawdled over a second cup of coffee. Pamela, sitting there in her quilted nylon undersuit answered, "We're supposed to pick up our snowmobiles and join the group to set out this morning. The route is set as a big circle and we do somewhere between fifty and a hundred miles each day. We have lunch each day on the trail, but we stop each night at a hotel or motel where we can eat and relax. Our baggage will be delivered by truck, so we don't have anything to carry with us. Next Sunday we end up back here." "Sounds like it's well planned. Where's my gear so I can get changed and ready?" Pamela eyed him warily and answered slowly, "I have a confession to make. Maybe when you hear it you will want to back out." "After coming all this way?" "Promise me you won't be angry even if you do back out!" "You sound very mysterious. You'd better tell me what the problem is." "The snowsuit I have for you is a woman's model." "That doesn't seem like too much of a problem as long as it fits. Aren't all snowmobile suits pretty much alike?" "You mean you will wear it. You are a dear! I'm so relieved, I could kiss you." "Let's not waste the impulse," he replied, standing up and holding out his arms. She rose and stepped over to place her lips on his. Before the embrace could become too intimate however, she stepped back again, saying, "Well, if that's settled, you can help me back on with my suit and I will go for a machine while you are getting dressed." CHAPTER 2 It was not until after her departure, when he opened the hockey bag which she indicated held his gear, that he understood why she had been so concerned about the suit. Everything that he found in the bag was in shades of pink. He had expected the usual navy blue or black. He certainly would have refused if he had not already given his word. "Oh, well," he mused to himself as he stared at the gear, "At least no one around here knows me." Slowly he stripped to his shorts in preparation for donning the cold weather outfit. "Oh, hell, I might as well go all the way!" he added to himself and stripped off his BVDs before pulling on the quilted nylon underwear pants. "God, they even button at the side and have no fly," he mumbled. He sat down to pull on a pair of pink nylon anklets and a pair of heavy pink woollen socks. Then he stood up to slip on the quilted pink nylon underwear jacket. He enjoyed the sensation it gave as the smooth nylon moved against his bare skin. He slipped his legs and arms into the one- piece snowsuit and zipped up the legs, but not the upper body, before pushing his feet into the felt-lined pink snowmobile boots. The noise of a snowmobile racing up to the motel room door interrupted him as he tied the pink bootlaces. Pamela stepped into the room when he opened the door to her knock. "You didn't tell me everything was pink," he began. "Oh, George! You are such a good sport. I don't know how to thank you enough. Just a moment till I get my helmet off so I can kiss you." Seconds later she stepped into his arms, put her lips to his, and initiated a deep kiss. As her tongue probed in his mouth George felt a stirring in his groin in spite of the thick layers of material separating their bodies. Just as suddenly as she had begun however, she brought the embrace to an end by stepping back and announcing, "We'll have to hurry now. Everyone else is already lined up waiting for us. Have you packed all your clothes into the hockey bag? Here, I'll take it down to the lobby to be picked up by the truck, while you try on your helmet and mitts." Before he could reply she dumped the remaining articles from the bag and began to fold his discarded clothes and insert them into the canvas container. He was still standing in the same position without having made any effort to finish dressing when she zipped up the hockey bag. "I don't think I can bring myself to go out like this," he started to say as she was picking up the bag to carry it to the door. "You've come this far. It's too late to turn back now," she replied, setting the bag down again. "I know what we'll do. Just in case you want to blush when people see you we'll cover your face." She reached over, unsnapped one of the pockets of his suit, pulled out a small bundle, unfolded it, and began at once to pull it over his head. It was a pink angora wool balaclava with only small holes for eyes, nostrils, and mouth. It was similar to the yellow one which she was wearing herself, but in her case the face was open. Then she zipped up the front of his suit, popped his helmet on his head and immediately fastened the chin strap. "Now! Hold out your hands," she commanded as she reached into another pocket to pull out pink angora wool gloves which she drew up on his hands before he had thought of what to say. He was opening his mouth to speak as she placed the large leather palmed pink nylon mitts over the gloves, but she cut him off before he could utter a word. "Out the door with you now. You can familiarize yourself with the machine while I attend to the baggage." At the same time she led him to the outside door, opened it, and almost pushed him through into the freezing weather. He had turned back to face her and was about to say something when the door slammed in his face. He stood still for a moment, a brightly coloured attractive figure, completely unrecognizable in his bulky suit and with his face concealed under helmet and balaclava. Slowly he turned toward the waiting snowmobile and began to examine its controls. He had progressed to opening the hood by the time Pamela returned. She made an equally striking figure in her bright yellow snowclothes, but her movements displayed an air of confidence and assuredness that were totally lacking in George. He lifted his head as he heard her words of greeting. "Well, Georgie, I think we're finally all ready." "Georgie!" he repeated. "You never called me that before." "You never looked so cute before. I think I'll call you Georgie for the duration of the trip. I like the sound of it." "I'm not so sure I like it," he responded. "But you'll go along with it just to please me, eh?" She cut off the conversation by adding in a businesslike tone, "O.K., Let's go! You snap the hood down on your side while I get this one." She followed this action by turning the key and giving a tug on the starter rope. The motor roared into life. "Hop on behind while I drive to the assembly point," she added, swinging her leg over the seat. He had scarcely seated himself behind her when she pressed the throttle and they roared off down the street. A few moments later she drew up in a yard where a large number of snowmobiles were parked in a double row. She drew up in an empty space near the middle of the line and shut off the motor. "That's your machine right there, Georgie," she pointed as they climbed off. "Let's join the group now and get our instructions." She led the way to where the snowmobilers were gathered around a tall man. Most, though not all members of the group had taken off their helmets, but all were dressed in the warmly padded nylon suits favoured by snowmobilers everywhere. The men's suits were almost universally black or navy blue, though a few of the women wore more colourful garb. None however, was as striking as that worn by the two latecomers. As they neared the group, one of the men let out a piercing whistle such as might be directed at a mini-skirted high school girl at a gathering of teenagers. George felt the warmth in his cheeks, but his blush was well concealed by his balaclava and helmet. Inevitably his discomfort with the situation in which he found himself was considerably increased. "Oh, I see you're back, Miss Stewart," called the leader. "The group was just getting acquainted, I was about to start on the instructions for the day. Before I do, perhaps you two would introduce yourselves to the others. Just your names will do for now. We'll have plenty of time to get better acquainted along the trail." Pamela turned, took the suddenly very shy George by the hand and announced loudly, "Hi, folks. This is Georgie, and I'm Pamela Stewart. Sorry we're so late." "We're pleased to have you with us, Georgie," answered the leader. "Now, if everyone will look this way, I'll explain the details of our route." As the instructions were given, George stood rigidly at Pamela's side, acutely conscious of the awkwardness of his situation. Instead of listening, he allowed his mind to picture the scene when his balaclava was removed. How these people would laugh to discover a man all dressed in pink! He was hardly even aware when the questions ended, and followed dumbly as Pamela led the way back to their machines. He had enough presence of mind to imitate Pamela's actions in starting the machine. Just as she had done, he turned the key and pulled on the starter rope. The motor only burped and did not start. "Pull out the choke! It's still cold," shouted Pamela. He did as instructed, but still had no success. By now the roar of other motors was creating such a din that he could no longer hear her suggestions. She climbed off her machine and walked toward him, but before she could arrive George was startled by a man's voice behind his ear. "You must have pushed the kill button. Let me give it a try." An arm reached forward and gave a tug on the starter handle. The motor started belatedly. The voice continued as George turned to face its owner. "I'm Joe Carlson. Welcome to the expedition, Georgie." George removed his right mitt to shake hands, realizing as his hand was firmly gripped by Joe that it was still encased in its angora glove. "And I'm Jim Baker," said a second man who had also been rushing up to help. George allowed his gloved hand to be shaken by this man in turn, but said nothing. "Thanks for the help fellows," put in Pamela. "Georgie has laryngitis today and can't speak very well." "Don't mention it. Glad to be of help. Sorry about your voice, Georgie," responded Joe. The two men turned to return to their own machines as George put his thumb on the throttle and headed off after the departing line of snowmobilers. Pamela fell in behind him and the two friendly men were several places further back. Mentally George thanked Pamela for coming up with the excuse of laryngitis to explain his strange silence, but his mind continued in turmoil as he contemplated the inevitable denouement when his true sex would be revealed. It would certainly be impossible to continue concealing his face and his voice for a whole week on the trail. Oh, if he had only had the good sense to refuse the invitation in the first place! Or at least to back out when he learned that a man's outfit was not available! Even if he had not allowed his face to be covered up, it would have been less embarrassing than to be discovered later. As he speeded his machine to follow the trail of the rider ahead he felt the wind on his eyes and right through the angora face protector. Pulling down the visor of his helmet eased that problem, and proved a good protection against tree branches when the trail entered the woods. In spite of the below zero temperature his clothing kept him cosily warm so that except for his mental turmoil he enjoyed the experience of darting over the snow. At times it proved hard work as he struggled to steer through sharp turns or around obstacles in the trail. When the drivers ahead turned to look back, or when he turned his head to see where Pamela was, he noted that he was no longer the only one with his face covered. Most of the other riders had donned masks of one kind or another to protect their skin from the biting cold. It was about an hour before the first halt was called in a field behind a grove of trees. Drivers stepped from their machines and most stood around in small groups, talking, or drinking from small canteens. Others fiddled with their machines. Most took their helmets off. George did not. Pamela pulled up beside him and climbed down. He was about to express his concerns to her, but kept silent when Joe and Jim walked up. They made friendly conversation which Pamela fielded expertly on behalf of herself and the silent George. When the leader's whistle sounded to signal the end of the break, she paused to say, "Cheer up, Georgie. We'll go off together at the next break. They won't follow us if we say we are answering the call of nature." At their next stop she led the way as they trudged on foot through the snow to find a secluded spot among the trees. He turned his back as she zipped open her clothes and squatted to relieve herself, but she refused to discuss his concerns until he agreed to copy her action. "I know you're used to a fly," she admonished, "but you will have to make do with what you are wearing. Here's a kleenex to wipe yourself with." When finally he zipped himself up after baring his bottom to the elements, she allowed him to express his worries. "What does it matter if Joe and Jim think you are a woman?" was her response. "They'll just try to be gentlemen and help you if you have any trouble." "But they'll find out and try to get even with me for fooling them, even though it's not my fault." "You could have told them right off the bat what you were." "But you told them I had laryngitis." "Only after you stood there saying nothing -- not even a thank you." "Well I meant to say something." "Anyway, if you don't want them to know you are a man, just continue to have laryngitis for the balance of the day, and remember not to take your balaclava off, even for lunch. We'd better get back to the group now before they come looking for us." At the following stop they found the service truck waiting for them, and several small bonfires started. They were instructed to spread out and find pieces of wood to build up the fires. He was struggling back with a large piece when Joe stepped up and took it out of his arms saying, "I'll carry that for you, Georgie." George started to react but thought better of it and trudged meekly along beside the larger man as they returned to the fire. Joe kept up a line of conversation, commenting on the weather, the trail, and their companions, without expecting any response. George was relieved that he did not have to reply to the remark, "I can't wait to see your face when you take off your balaclava, Georgie. I bet you're a real knockout." Pamela had just come up behind them and she spoke out. "You'll have to restrain your impatience. The doctor only agreed that Georgie could come out if her skin was totally protected from the cold air at all times. She was told not even to take her gloves off." This information made Joe even more solicitous and he volunteered to bring a hotdog and coffee for the supposed invalid. George answered his questions about mustard and relish as well as cream and sugar for coffee by nodding his head appropriately. Pamela smiled to herself about George's forced dependency, though she accepted similar services for herself provided by Jim. To George's relief the lunch break lasted no more than half an hour before they lined up to refill their machines with gas and oil from cans carried on the supply truck. Joe insisted on pouring the fuel for George's machine. At both of the afternoon stops Joe's large as life presence along with his pal Jim effectively prevented any conversation between George and Pamela. It was already dark and they had been guided by their headlights for the past half hour when they finally drew up at their stopping place for the night. The leader told them where to park and suggested that the machines should be gassed up before being left for the night. "You get the gas, Georgie, while I get the room key," ordered Pamela as she strode off toward the motel lobby. By the time she returned, Joe and Jim had refilled both their machines while George stood alongside, feeling foolish that he was not being allowed to do anything for himself. "See you in the dining room," called out Joe as he and Jim headed toward the lobby while George, surprised and pleased to learn that he was sharing a room with Pamela, followed her around the building to the outside door of their room. "Oh, Georgie, you were too precious for words," exclaimed Pamela as the door closed behind them. "Here, let me unbuckle your helmet." "I can't wait to put on my own clothes and get some supper," responded George as he unzipped his snowsuit and sat down to untie his boots. "But Georgie, that would spoil everything. I thought you didn't want Joe and Jim to find out about you." "This is not mine," exploded George a moment later, as he opened one of the two hockey bags which had been delivered to the room and rummaged inside looking for his clothes. "These are all women's clothes." "I guess they got the bags mixed up," answered Pamela. "Why don't you lie down for a while and rest while I go to check. After all you must be tired from flying all night and being out in the fresh air all day." "I don't feel sleepy yet," was his prompt response. She stepped into the bathroom with the other bag, and five minutes later emerged wearing skirt, blouse, pantiehose, and pumps. She stopped in front of the mirror to fluff out her hair and add fresh lipstick. When she returned to the room half an hour later, bearing a supper tray and the news that his bag could not be located, he was fast asleep on the bed. She put down the tray silently and left to get her own dinner in the dining room, where she was quickly joined by Joe and Jim. It was not until nearly ten that she was able to break away from their company and return to the room. George was still sleeping soundly and when he resisted her efforts at rousing him, she gave up for the moment while she showered before changing into her blue satin pyjamas. Then she came back to the bed, stripped him of his quilted underwear, and rolled him under the covers. She smiled to herself as she noted his lack of jockey shorts. After setting the alarm for five-thirty, she switched off the light and crawled into the other side of the bed. CHAPTER 3 George's long sleep was ended in the early morning by the erotic stimulation of a soft caress. He lay silently on his back as a hand gently stroked over his skin from his knee to his chest. Gradually the sheet rose in the form of a tent over his groin. "That feels so very nice," he finally whispered. Lips closed over his mouth and the hand moved up to gently feel his earlobe. When the probing tongue was withdrawn from his mouth he started to turn onto his side, but lay back again when her voice whispered in his ear. "Just relax. I'll set the pace. Leave your hands down beside you." The gentle caresses continued until he began to sigh from the intense pleasure they brought him. Finally he burst out, "I can't stand it any longer. I'm going to explode." The caress ceased for a moment as the hand was withdrawn to help lower the bottoms of her satin pyjamas. "Just keep still for a moment," she whispered. Then she raised herself onto her knees, placed one knee over him, and lowered herself onto his raging erection. They fitted together instantly and he lifted his hips as she began to rhythmically undulate her lower body. "Now," she finally cried out between clenched teeth, and suddenly they were both experiencing the ecstasy of climax. Then he felt her breasts press against his chest while her head nestled on his shoulder as they lay together savouring the afterglow. "I wanted to do that all day yesterday, ever since I first saw you in your pink snowsuit," she murmured at last. "I was so terribly embarrassed all day long," he answered, "but that reward made it all worth while." "Then you'll carry on pretending to be a girl today?" "Not on your life. I'll wear my own clothes down to breakfast, and I'll see that everyone sees my face before I put on my helmet today." She lifted herself from him, sat on the side of the bed, and pulled on the pyjama bottoms which she retrieved from under the covers. After a short pause she spoke again. "We have a problem then. The bag with your clothes did not come. Instead they brought both of my bags." "Then what am I going to do? I don't even have my wallet. I was so flustered when I saw the pink snowsuit that I forgot to put it in the pocket. I have no money and no credit cards." "And no identification," added Pamela. "That kind of puts you in my power, doesn't it?" "It sort of looks that way," he admitted, "but I'll pay you back for anything you spend on me." "I'm not worried about your credit, but under the circumstances I think we'll follow my plan rather than yours." "What's your plan?" "I'll tell you about it after you've finished your shower and shave." "How can I shave? I have no razor." "You can borrow mine. Girls do shave their legs and underarms you know. Hurry up now and we'll shower together. I need you to wash my back." By the time he returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around him after shaving, Pamela was fully dressed and waiting. "Well, what is your plan?" he asked. "It's very simple. You just continue to be Georgie." "I can't do that. It's impossible." "It won't be easy, but it's not impossible." She stepped up, put her arms around him, and kissed him again. He started to bring his arms up to return the embrace, but was forced to drop them quickly to retrieve the towel which started to slip from his waist. She stepped back laughing. "Here's what we will do. You will still be too sick to go out for breakfast." "But I haven't even had my supper." "Are you going to let me finish what I have to say?" "But ----" "No more buts! Just listen for a moment. Your supper tray is still sitting there. You slept right through last night. Since it bothers you so much, I'll go get your breakfast tray right off." So saying, she picked up the cold supper tray and started for the door. On her return twenty minutes later, pushing a cart with two large trays, she found him pacing back and forth across the room, still holding the bath towel around his waist. Clumsily he tried to help her into the room with one hand while the other clung to the towel. He ate greedily as they sat beside the cart with the trays on their laps. Finally, when they were finishing off with a second cup of coffee, she started again to explain her plan for the day. "You will continue to have laryngitis today, but it is not quite so bad so you will be able to speak in a whisper when it's absolutely necessary. The weather report is for milder weather with heavy snow today, so I'll fix your face and you won't need to wear a mask. We'll decide what to do about supper when the time comes." She made him whisper when he said he would rather keep his face covered and ended the debate with the words, "Either we do things my way, or I leave you here in the room without money or identification, to say nothing about clothes." By eight o'clock when it was time to join the group, George looked much the same as the day before except that the angora wool headpiece which Pamela handed him covered his head and throat as before, but allowed his face to show from eyebrows to powdered chin. His eyebrows had suffered considerable plucking to clear the bridge of his nose, his face was protected with a thick layer of foundation makeup, and his pink lip-gloss coordinated well with the colour of his outfit. His hands also had been manicured, so that his nails now shone in a pink to match his lips. The result pleased Pamela. "You do make a very sweet looking girl," she commented as they prepared to leave the room. "Come and see what you look like in the mirror. You'll have to admit that I did a good job." "Yes, I guess you did a good job," he answered in the whisper he had been practising. "Since it's so warm today, you won't have to wear your gloves under your mitts. Unless you want to, that is," she said as she offered to help him with his mitts. "Do I really have to?" whispered George when told he would have to carry the hockey bags to the lobby while Pamela wheeled the breakfast cart back to the kitchen. In spite of his extreme nervousness the trip to the lobby was without problems, though two members of the group stopped to inquire about his health. Pamela answered for him just before she turned down a separate hall leading to the kitchen. "Georgie is much better, but her voice hasn't come back yet." "Thanks for asking," whispered George. When he pulled off one mitt and laid the key on the counter with his enamelled nails glinting in the light, the clerk responded, "I hope you've had a pleasant stay, Miss. We look forward to seeing you again next year." "Over my dead body!" thought George, but his pink lips again produced a whispered, "Thank you." CHAPTER 4 Outside the motel, everything including the snowmobiles was covered with two inches of fluffy snow. Members of the group were engaged in brushing off their machines. George arrived to find his machine already wiped clean, and he was greeted by Joe. "Good morning, Georgie. I'm glad you didn't wear your balaclava today. You're just as pretty as I thought." George could feel his cheeks burning as he struggled to whisper a question. "Did you clean off my machine?" "No trouble at all Ma'am. Glad to be of service, and glad to see your voice is starting to come back. Give me your key and I'll start it up for you." George wanted to refuse but decided it was easier to go along rather than try to whisper enough words to assert his independence. "You're very kind," he managed to murmur huskily as his freshly manicured hand reached into a pocket and passed over the key before being plunged back into its mitt. He stood silently watching as Joe lifted the back of the machine and raced the motor to clear its track of ice and snow. Joe shut the key off once more and suggested that they walk together to where the group was assembling to receive the instructions for the day. George acquiesced with a nod, wondering all the while why Pamela had not joined them. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she appeared at his side just before the leader began to explain their route. Afterwards, with the motor running, he waited by his machine while Jim helped Pamela get started. To his chagrin the delay permitted Joe to take the position between him and Pamela as they fell into line. For the balance of the day's travel Joe stayed close at all times. As on the previous day, he and Pamela had no chance for private conversation except for the two occasions when she led them away from the group to 'answer the call of nature'. She responded to his complaints about Joe by advising him to accept the unwanted courtesies with a smile. Later, when George missed a sharp turn in the trail and wound up stuck in the deep snow, he was happy to accept Joe's suggestion that he stand on the trail with Pamela while Joe and Jim struggled to release the trapped machine. "See!" Pamela whispered in his ear, "There are some advantages to being treated as a lady." Aside from the unwanted closeness of Joe, he enjoyed himself much more than on the previous day. He was recognized by all as a part of the group, and everyone accepted that laryngitis prevented him from taking an active part in the conversations. Several people complimented him for being brave enough to join the expedition before being completely recovered from his supposed severe cold. On the trail he found that in the warmer weather the makeup on his cheeks protected his face quite well from the cold with some assistance from the plastic face visor on his helmet. Being better rested he was able to control his machine with less effort and he thoroughly enjoyed racing through the falling snow. From time to time he shifted his body for the sheer pleasure of feeling the smooth nylon of his quilted underwear sliding over his skin. At noon Joe walked at his side as they collected wood for the fire and he did not resist when the heavier pieces were taken from his arms. During lunch he relaxed enough to remove his helmet while he sat waiting for Joe to bring him a plate of pork and beans. The day's travel ended once more with Joe and Jim taking over responsibility for refuelling the machines. This time George and Pamela left the two men at it while they proceeded to the lobby to obtain room keys. It was at the hotel desk where George suddenly realized that he had been listed on the expedition roll as G.Stewart paired with P.Stewart and that the hotel booking was in these two names. Since it was a large hotel he was forced to restrain himself while they followed a bellman onto the elevator and up to their room, but as soon as Pamela had provided the tip and they were alone in the room he demanded an explanation. "Why it's for my reputation, of course," she answered. "I could get fired from my job if I were known to share hotel rooms with strange men. And I like my job. Surely you wouldn't want me to risk it, would you?" "I guess not. Really I had expected we would be sleeping in separate rooms." "Come over here!" she suddenly ordered in an authoritative voice. He stepped closer. "Put your arms around me!" She placed her lips on his and they clasped each other in a tight embrace. By the time she broke lip contact and started to push him away, she could feel a lump from his groin pressing against her pelvis. She reached down and touched the protrusion through the thick layers of padded nylon. "I think there's evidence that you prefer shared accommodations," she smiled before turning quickly to walk across the room. "Off with your snowclothes now," she ordered. "It will take us some time to get ready for supper." "Aren't you going to bring it to me?" he asked. "I want you to make your debut in the dining room tonight, before you have fully recovered your voice. So you won't be expected to say anything." "And what if I refuse?" "Then you don't get any supper. Besides that I already told you that I would abandon you without money or identification if you don't cooperate." He sighed resignedly, "What do I have to do?" "Get out of your snow clothes. Clean the makeup off your face with cold cream. Shower and shave. Then I'll show you what happens next." He moved slowly to comply, but twenty minutes later emerged from the bathroom with a towel again around his waist. She had collected a small pile of garments on the bed. "Lift your leg and put one foot into this! -- Now the other leg. -- Now drop the towel and pull it up!" A moment later he had wriggled into a smooth fitting one-piece pink lycra corselette. She adjusted the straps and slid a pad into each lace-trimmed cup. "Is your crotch comfortable?" At his nod she slid her hand down his front to check the contour. "I guess that will keep you under control if you start to get ideas." "How do I go to the toilet?" "There are hooks underneath. Give me your hand and I'll show you. If need be they can be undone to let you sit on the lavatory. Now come and sit down while I make up your face again." More eyebrows were plucked before she began once more to apply cosmetics. Eyeshadow and mascara were added to what had been used in the morning. "Now let's try the wig. Your own hair is long enough, but there is not enough time to properly curl it." He said nothing as she fitted the hairpiece. "There, do you want to see what you look like now?" "I'm afraid to look." "Very well, then. Pull on these anklets. --- Now here are your shoes." Black pumps with small heels were slipped onto each nylon clad foot. "Now stand up and walk around so I can see how you manage." He stood up and took a few tentative steps. "Hold your chest out. Don't slouch." "Now come back here and put this on." His shoes were removed so that a pink nylon satin teddy with lace trim could be drawn up over his corselette. "Put on your slacks." The black velvet pants fitted closely around his hips. Their zipper and button were at the centre back. The shoes were returned to his feet. The final item of dress was a long- sleeved semi-opaque pink crepe blouse with a high neckline and a patterned front. When Pamela had fastened the buttons up the back, the lace of his teddy was just barely visible through the thin material. As she finished he continued to stand in one place until he was told, "Well, You can't put it off any longer. Walk over and look in the mirror." What he saw was a total transformation of his normal self. He stood staring for several moments, then began to turn his head and body to see the effect from different angles. "I can't believe it's really me," he said at last. "It isn't you. It's Georgina Stewart, and don't you forget that. And don't forget that you still have laryngitis. Now pick up that purse from the table and we'll be off to the dining room. Don't worry. I already put your room key in it. Here, hold it under your arm. Like this." It was a very nervous George who followed Pamela into the dining room and sat at the place she selected at a table with two other women from the party, thus frustrating the efforts of Joe and Jim who were trying to attract their attention from the other side of the room. George answered in monosyllabic whispers when the conversation turned to him and placed his order by pointing to the items on the menu, but as his nervousness subsided he began to enjoy the experience. It was particularly interesting to hear the women's comments about the various men in the party. When Joe and Jim stopped by on their way out of the dining room to invite them into the bar, Pamela refused, pleading 'Georgie's need for rest'. "I'm sure that Grace and Jean will be glad to join you though," she added as an afterthought. On his meal check George signed the name 'G.Stewart' along with his room number before they left to walk back to their room. CHAPTER 5 If George thought he was due for an early dip under the covers with Pamela, he was bound for a disappointment. "Work before play," she announced, "and Georgina has to learn to talk. Laryngitis always clears up within a couple of days. Tell me what your name is." "George ---- I mean Georgina." "Your full name?" Georgina Stewart." "You make it sound like George. Raise the pitch a little. "Georgina Stewart." "That's a little better." "What's my name?" "Tell me where you're from." "Describe your snowmobile." "Name the clothes you are wearing, from the skin out." The questions went on and on, interspersed by critical comments from Pamela about the sound of the answers, with George required to repeat any reply she did not like until she was satisfied. "That's enough for now," she finally said. "We've got to get some curl in your hair so we won't always need the wig. Take off your blouse and the wig so I can wash your hair." "I don't think I can get the blouse off. It buttons down the back." "Say that again with Georgina's voice." He repeated himself and she helped by undoing the buttons. He was made to bend over the bathroom sink with a towel pinned around his neck while his hair was thoroughly washed, rinsed, and damp dried with a towel. Next he sat while she combed it out and put it up in rollers. In the meantime she continued to insist that he repeat any remark that was not given in 'Georgina's voice'. When the last roller was in place she announced that they would get ready for bed before sitting down to watch the television news. Following her directions he removed his clothing piece by piece, folding each neatly as he laid it aside. When he reached the corselette she handed him a padded bra. "What do I need that for?" he asked. "We're all alone." "Put it on. Your nightgown won't look right without it." "Nightgown? Don't I get pyjamas?" "It seems I'm the one with the money and the credit cards. That makes me the head of this outfit, so for the present at least I'll wear the pants in this family. And I want easy access to what you have between your legs." She stepped up to help him fasten the bra behind his back before the corselette was pulled down over his hips. As his privates were released the stirring of an erection began immediately. "Oh! oh! That needs control until we get into bed. Put on this bikini for the present." He had some difficulty fitting himself into the stretchy panty, but with a mental effort he succeeded in cupping himself into place semi-securely. This silken prison was tested severely as he experienced the thrill of having a satin nightdress slither down over his body until he was covered from bust to ankles. His costume was completed with a wraparound negligee of the same pink material and a pair of satin slippers with tiny heels. "You would look better if it wasn't necessary to have the curlers in your hair, but we'll take them out in the morning and I'll take a picture of you then." commented Pamela. "You find the news on the television while I change." He found the proper channel quickly and sat on a small settee, ostensibly to watch the TV, but his eyes followed her closely as she slipped out of her clothes and donned her blue satin pyjamas. When she finished in the bathroom she joined him on the settee. He sat with his hands clasped in his lap while she placed one arm over his shoulder and her other hand rested on his knee. From time to time she would lean close and nibble on his earlobe. After the end of the weather report, predicting severely cold weather for the next day, she sent him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and remove his makeup with cold cream. On his return he found her folding back the bedcovers. She helped him off with the negligee, laid it over a chair, had him lie on the bed, drew the covers over him, and walked around to crawl in the other side and snap off the light. "Don't worry. I'll take care of that," she answered when he complained that he was still tightly compressed by the bikini panties. She began then slowly to seduce him. The touch of her hand scratching lightly at his satin clad kneecap, her hand sliding up over his thigh, her fingers pausing to check that the bikini was still in place, those same fingers moving slowly up his stomach, exploring his armpit, then caressing his almost bare shoulder roused in him indescribable feelings of excitement. As directed by Pamela his own arms were kept at his sides while she continued to stimulate him. When her fingers touched his ear she brought her lips over to meet his. While her tongue probed into his mouth she brought her knee over to rub up and down against his inner thigh. Her hand dropped back down to stroke his waist through the thin satin as she transferred her kiss to his bare neck. Her tongue licked at his skin just above the lace bodice covering his artificial breasts. "Pull my pyjama bottoms down," she ordered. He hastened to comply and she kicked them off her ankles. Her hand explored his crotch again then down along his leg to reach the hem of his gown. Now his skirt was drawn up until she could reach the confining panty. She hesitated another moment, then drew the bikini down. He bent his knees so she could pull it past his feet. At the same time his erection sprang into being. "Please come to me, Pamela. I want you so much." "The voice! Make it Georgina who's asking." He repeated himself in a higher pitch, his voice taking on a breathless lilt. "That sounds so much better, Georgie. I'll be happy to oblige. Put your hands up under my pyjama top to caress my breasts." He moved to comply, stroking the round melons and their stiff nipples with gentle caresses as she positioned herself over his rigid shaft. Then she lowered herself with tantalizing slowness until finally she had completely engulfed his turgid organ. Her hips began to undulate up and down, up and down as he struggled to keep himself under control. "Put your hands on my derriere," she whispered as she brought her upper body down to press against his false breasts, while her arms went around his neck to draw them tightly together. Then they both exploded in a frenzy of writhing passion until finally they lay totally exhausted in each other's arms. Later, when their bodies started to cramp, they turned on their sides. She pulled his skirt down, then snuggled up behind him and placed one hand possessively over his crotch. "Georgie," she whispered in his ear as his heavy breathing resumed, "You're the best girlfriend I've ever had for a roommate." George was awakened several times during the night by discomfort caused by the rollers in his hair. Nevertheless, he was sleeping soundly when Pamela's renewed caresses roused him just before dawn for another session of passionate lovemaking; followed by a half hour of deep sleep before the alarm signalled to her that it was time to rise. He rose reluctantly to obey her order to have a quick shower (wearing a shower cap) and a shave. Again, following her orders, he donned his bra, bikini panties, nightgown and negligee before sitting down before the mirror for a lesson in making up his own face. When he had finished to her satisfaction she took the rollers out of his hair and combed it into a soft feminine style (albeit rather short). When the results satisfied her she posed him for several photos before announcing that they had better get ready for breakfast. George obeyed without complaint when told to again don his corselette and the other clothes worn the previous evening, even though he regretted having to remove his sensuous feeling nightgown. In place of the rear buttoning blouse he was given a finely knit long sleeved turtleneck sweater again in the inevitable pink. After a short practice of his newfound voice, they set out for the cafeteria. CHAPTER 6 George licked his coated lips nervously in anticipation of the moment when he would be called upon to try out his voice in public. That moment came just as they finished filling their breakfast trays and turned to find a table. "Over here, Georgie. I saved a place for my pink lady," called out Joe. They wended their way across the room and when they reached the table George was able to wish Joe and Jim a good morning in a well modulated contralto voice. "I'm glad you're getting your voice back," responded Joe as he held a chair for George to sit down. "My throat is not completely cured yet but it is getting better." George did not initiate any further conversation, but did respond slowly when spoken to without failing to maintain the carefully cultivated new sound of his voice. Twice he pointed to his throat and shook his head when he did not wish to respond to a particular remark. The two men looked quite disappointed when Pamela insisted on their return to the room rather than lingering over a third cup of coffee. When told to strip to his teddy and to shave his legs and underarms, George complained, "I won't be able to go swimming at the YMCA pool back home if I do that." "And you won't be able to wear a skirt to supper tonight unless you do," she responded. "Need I remind you again that until you have your own money and credit cards, you can't afford to be independent. Now get with it!" When it was time to dress again in their snow clothes he removed his teddy and corselette. He was about to pull on his quilted underwear pants when Pamela returned to the room from brushing her teeth. "Hold it!" she called out. "No lady would go out without wearing underwear under her snowsuit." "But the corselette is tight. I don't think I could stand to wear it all day." "I'm sure you could but I'll make it easy for you. Just put on your bra and bikini panties along with your teddy. That will not only make you look feminine, but feel feminine, because you will know what you have on, even if no one else does." Indeed George found as he dressed and later as he walked out of the hotel toward the parking area that the combination of the satin teddy rustling between his skin and his quilted undersuit and the swish of the quilted nylon underwear against hairless legs kept him in a state of half arousal whenever he thought about it. Now that he was expected to be able to talk, George found the day an even greater strain than before. As they readied for the trail and at every stop he reminded himself mentally to guard his speech carefully, and he was completely successful in speaking only with 'Georgina's voice'. Nevertheless he worried constantly that he might make a slip. Joe continued to watch over him possessively, so that the other members of the group were coming to perceive him as Joe's girl. Feeling that it was futile to resist, he resigned himself to accepting Joe's constant attendance during breaks, the help with his snowmachine and with wood gathering, and the courtesy of having his lunch carried to him. It being a particularly cold day, his carefully manicured hands again wore angora gloves beneath his heavy mitts, but instead of the balaclava he wore a nylon mask which buttoned to his helmet. As they sped along over the snow and sliced through the frigid air he felt a respite from the constant wariness needed to guard his secret. It was then that thoughts of how he was dressed, reinforced by the caress of nylon and silk against his skin, reminded him of the exquisite thrills he had experienced in Pamela's bed, and his imagination reached forward to the coming night when he might once more don a satin gown. Then worry would overtake him again as he contemplated the prospect of wearing a skirt in public at today's supper. Once more he started to worry about the prospect of being exposed, as it crossed his mind that this was only the third day and that there were five more days and six nights to come before he could escape the trap in which he found himself. Nevertheless when he confessed his fears to Pamela while they squatted with their bare bottoms exposed to the frigid air as they 'answered the call of nature', she was pleased to note that the voice expressing his concerns was that of 'Georgina'. He would have been even more worried, had he realized what lay in store for him after supper. "In the late afternoon, after they had parked their snowmachines and were entering the hotel room, George sighed, "Today has been a real strain. I'm worn out. Perhaps I should stay in the room instead of going out for supper." "Are you running a temperature?" demanded Pamela. "I can't be sure. We've just come in from the cold." Pamela closed the door and stepped over to feel his brow. "You don't seem very sick to me," she said, "I'll give you a choice. You can come out to supper or I will send Joe to bring you a supper tray. I'm sure he would be pleased with the opportunity to see you in your negligee. He says you are the prettiest girl he has ever met." George resigned himself to going out to supper as the lesser ordeal. With his snow regalia removed, he obeyed the instruction to don the negligee over his satin teddy while redoing his nail polish and adding the pink shade to toenails as well. When the polish had dried satisfactorily he was ordered to remove the morning makeup from his face with cold cream and to shower and shave. He emerged from the bathroom clad only in negligee and satin slippers to accept without question the pink panties which were handed to him, pulled them up into place, and sat for his first lesson on donning pantyhose. "Your thumbs go into one leg right to the very toe. Put it on your foot and pull it smoothly up to your knee. Put your thumbs into the other leg -- right to the toe. Smooth it up your calf. Stand and work one leg up to your thigh. Now the other leg. Pull it up to your waist. There, doesn't that feel nice?" She continued, "That light pink shade will really go nicely with the rest of your outfit. How elegant of you to choose hose with such fancy clocks up the sides of your calves. You certainly do have attractive legs. I'm so glad you'll be showing them off with a short skirt." As he turned she exclaimed, "Oh! oh! I see a bulge in your crotch. Better hurry and get into your corselette." When he had complied he was told, "That looks better. Now your slip," and a moment later, "Put on your sandals and walk over to look at yourself in the mirror." George could hardly believe the sight that met his eyes. He examined the image carefully, working up from the toes. Coloured toenails, scarcely dimmed by the fine mesh of the stockings, peeked from open- toed shoes. Only a thin strap around each ankle held the high heeled sandals in place. His eyes followed the long slender legs, tinted a delicate pink, to the mid thigh where they disappeared under the lace hem of a satin slip, which itself emphasized the curve of the hips, a narrow waist, and jutting breasts. Narrow straps reached from lace bodice cups over the otherwise bare shoulders and neck. Even the freshly washed face, bereft of makeup, did not destroy the illusion of femininity. As his eyes completed their inspection at his softly curled hairstyle, one hand rose instinctively to his mouth in a totally feminine gesture. "Oh, Pamela," he whispered through his coloured nails, "I can't believe that's me in the mirror. That girl is really sexy." "It's no wonder Joe is smitten with you," she smiled in return. George felt the pressure in his crotch as his excitement was held in check by the tight corselette. It was a relief to sit at the desk while she made up his face. He held up a hand mirror to watch and learn as the cosmetics were applied. Then he sat facing the full length mirror, admiring himself, while Pamela dressed herself. Finally, wearing a thigh length, deep pink crepe dress with long transparent sleeves buttoned at the wrists, a gold chain around his neck, and gold earrings clipped in place beneath his freshly fluffed hair, he walked beside Pamela as they proceeded along the corridor toward the dining room. It would be difficult to imagine a more comely pair of young women. George almost forgot to be nervous in the pleasure of flaunting his attractiveness before those they passed in the hall. His worries returned full force when Joe's voice boomed out loudly as they reached the entrance to the dining room. "I trust you beautiful ladies will be joining us for dinner. I've already reserved a table for us. May I?" he added, holding out an arm to conduct George to his seat. George carefully copied the manner in which Pamela accepted Jim's arm, and the four entered together. He managed to appear perfectly poised as he gracefully seated himself on the chair which was held for him, and rewarded Joe with a smile and a softly spoken, "Thank you." The necessity of concentration in maintaining 'Georgina's' voice kept George from fully appreciating the surreptitious glances of the other diners. He was alert enough however, to realize that he must be giving a creditable performance as a lovely young woman, or else there must be something wrong with him which no one quite wanted to mention. The signals coming from Joe were completely positive. As a matter of self- protection he practised Pamela's suggestion of keeping the men talking by asking appropriate questions. He found that they loved to respond to his apparent interest. This tactic was so successful that he began to forget his worries and did not urge Pamela to leave as soon as the meal was over. He was beginning to enjoy the challenge of keeping the men talking and became so absorbed in the project that he failed to notice that an orchestra was taking its place at one end of the room. He was startled when the music started and even more so when Joe jumped from his seat, took him by the hand, and said, "Let's dance." Before he could effectively organize a defence he found himself being walked across the floor toward the open space. "Oh, but Joe," he protested, remembering to speak with 'Georgina's' voice but not realizing what he was saying, "I never danced before with a ----." He paused just in time. "I think my skirt is too tight for dancing." "Well, try it anyway. If you can't manage we can always go back to the table." George had no answer for this, and as Joe held his right hand while putting an arm around his waist, he was forced to place his own left hand on Joe's shoulder. Somehow his feet scurried to find the rhythm as he was twirled out onto the floor. He succeeded so well that before they had completed one circuit of the dance area, Joe was saying to him, "You're a terrific dancer, Georgie." George said nothing in reply as they finished the number. He led the way as they started back toward their table, and sat down with a silent sigh of relief. His respite was short-lived because Jim and Pamela were just leaving for the dance floor and he was forced to maintain a conversation with Joe while sitting at the table without the others present. At the end of that number the men decided to exchange partners and he again found himself on the dance floor, this time with Jim, who was equally complimentary about his dancing skills. Joe reclaimed him before they could leave the floor and they danced two consecutive numbers. The second was quite slow and Joe drew him close so that their bodies touched and he was forced to turn his head to the left to avoid facial contact. As his eyes gazed over Joe's right shoulder he could feel his false breasts pressing against the other's chest while their waists were drawn together by an enfolding arm. Neither said a word as they moved in time to the music. George was dumbfounded when he realized that the pressure he gradually began to feel against his pelvis was caused by a lump which originated in Joe's groin. When the music paused he immediately insisted on going back to the table where he awaited Pamela's return impatiently. Then he pleaded an oncoming headache as an excuse for departure and Pamela accompanied him to the room. It was difficult to persuade Joe and Jim that they did not wish an escort through the halls. Once inside the room door Pamela asked, "Why did you want to leave in such a hurry? We were having fun." "I wasn't having fun," replied George. "You sure looked like you were enjoying it when you were dancing cheek- to-cheek with Joe. Your eyes looked positively glassy. And he looked like the cat that swallowed a canary." "Oh, Pam! It was awful. He held me so close, I couldn't get free. And I could feel him pressing against my pelvis, right through his pants. I didn't know what to do. I kept thinking how I'd like to be holding you like that." Pamela walked over to the television set, turned it on, then twisted the dial until she found the local advertising channel which had soft background music. "Come over here," she said as she turned her back on the set. George was taken into her arms to be held just as Joe had held him, and they began to dance. He relaxed completely as he followed her lead. Her right hand dropped down and he felt her hand cupping his buttock as she pressed him against her. She placed his right hand on her left shoulder and dropped her left hand to cup his other buttock as they continued to dance cheek to cheek. During a break in the music he stood still as she initiated a probing kiss, then he brought his hands to the back of her head to prolong the encounter. As the music started up again he felt the zipper at the back of his dress being pulled down, and they had to part for a moment while the dress was removed and laid on the bed. Then they came together again and she manoeuvred him so that he could watch himself in the mirror dancing in his lace trimmed slip. After that she ended the dancing while she supervised as he stripped to the buff once more, donned padded bra, bikini panties, silk nightie, negligee, and satin slippers. She yielded to his desire for one more dance before he was sent to the bathroom to remove his makeup with cold cream. They sat together to watch the television news and the weather report before she led him to the bed. His body tingled at her touch as she smoothed his silk gown before pulling the covers over him. Then his eyes followed her avidly as she prepared herself for bed and finally slipped in beside him in her satin pyjamas. Once more when she had extinguished the light she roused George to a level of passion which he had not dreamed possible as he submitted himself absolutely to her ministrations. When their passions finally subsided, they remained closely entwined for a long time afterwards. To George's disappointment, they slept too late for a repeat performance before breakfast. They did shower together and he cooperated fully, even eagerly, in preparing himself for breakfast and afterward for another day on the snowmachine. At the breakfast table both of the apparent young women wearing tailored slacks and silk blouses had that expression of happy contentment that is often seen on the face of a bride on the first morning of her honeymoon. CHAPTER 7 On the trail that morning George hummed to himself as the motor of his machine roared. With the realization that he was singing to himself came the sudden thought that he was having a very good time, and that in spite of his constant fears, the past three days had been tremendously exciting. As the day progressed he discovered that his whole attitude was changing. Previously he had been grudgingly polite to Joe as a matter of self-preservation, and had been reluctant to accept courtesies such as having his machine refuelled or his lunch brought to him. He began that day to exploit the attraction which the men in the group, and especially Joe, felt for his feminine persona. He welcomed having Joe bring his lunch, and instead of standing up and walking over to the fire for a second cup of coffee or waiting for someone to offer, he began to speak out using feminine circumlocutions such as, "Would you be a dear and bring me another cup of coffee, please?" His newfound power over men so delighted him that he practised it on others besides Joe. His relationship with Pamela also changed. From reluctant acceptance of coercion, his attitude shifted to cooperative participation in her decisions about his dress and deportment. He would even willingly participate in the evening activities planned for the whole group. Tuesday evening the hotel bowling alley was reserved for them and he was disappointed to be ordered to wear slacks instead of a skirt to supper. His spike-heeled and open-toed pumps however, did emphasize his shapely figure as he stepped into the dining room. Wearing rented bowling shoes in place of his heels, he took his place on the assigned team with an older woman and three other men. Joe failed in his attempt to be assigned to the same team, much to George's private amusement. Neither his nor Pamela's team made it to the final round, but that did not matter to him as he was mostly conscious of his effect on the male members of his own and the opposing teams. He refused the offer of an after-game drink, but did allow himself to be escorted back to his bedroom by two of the male members of his own team. When Pamela entered the room five minutes later, he had already begun to change for bed, but left the bathroom to receive a warm embrace. Once more resplendent in silk nightie, negligee, and slippers, he curbed his impatience as they sat to watch the late evening news. Later as he lay on his back in bed waiting for Pamela to join him, she asked, "Well, how did my little pet enjoy herself today?" "I'd rather have worn a dress to bowl like Mrs. Hurley did, but it was fun. The best part though was thinking about coming back to the room for bed," was the reply. "Please hurry!" "All in good time, Georgie. You'll appreciate me more if you have to wait a bit." She deliberately slowed the pace of her seductive striptease. Finally she slid into bed beside him and once more she directed the pace and manner of their caresses until at last they fell asleep in each other's arms in the afterglow of a passionate climax. The pattern set thus far continued to be followed for the balance of the week. Each morning would begin with dressing for breakfast, before an attractively turned out 'Georgie' accompanied Pamela to the designated dining area. Back in the room they would dress once more in snowclothes over sensually frilly 'unmentionables' of which 'Georgie' remained conscious all day on the trail and in the presence of other members of the group. At the end of each day's travel they found themselves in a different hotel or motel where they again changed for supper and the evening's entertainment. On Wednesday, George was delighted that he could again wear his miniskirt because the planned activity was a Bridge game. All evening he remained more conscious of his appearance than concerned about the competition at cards, while his mind kept leaping ahead to his bedtime rendezvous with Pamela. Thursday evening, Pamela produced a full skirt for him to wear, as the group was to be entertained at a square-dance. How he enjoyed the feeling as the skirt flared out when he spun to the music! And how he enjoyed swinging with his partner in the square! It was a thoroughly exhilarated 'Georgie' who accepted Joe as an escort back to the room afterwards, while Jim accompanied Pamela. They stood talking at the door for a few moments before George suddenly announced, "Well, I really must go to bed now. Sorry I can't invite you in, but that wouldn't be good for my reputation." He took the key from his purse, inserted it into the lock before help could be offered, turned back to Joe, leaned forward to plant a light kiss on his cheek, then turned again and slipped into th