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Curse Monkeys. By Tanya H. The day started off in a most ordinary fashion and then all started to go wrong about 1135 when I followed Gail's example and nipped out from the office to use the facilities. Gail's my boss, we're both in the payroll department for the local council and our office is too big for us - there should be four in it, but after the last lot of spending cuts just us two were left. As you can imagine, we were fairly busy, but today wasn't too bad. Payday for the council's many employees had come and gone, we had dealt with all the questions and complaints that usually followed and were making the most of the lull before the build up to next month's pay day. Not an exciting job, but it was a job, I was reasonably well paid and was mostly content. Anyway, there I was walking along the corridor to the gents" toilets on our floor, humming absently to myself and probably wondering what I might have for lunch. The gents" smelt better than usual, I said hello to Glynn from HR as he was drying his hands and then had the place to myself. You know the drill I'm sure - flies down, hand inside, push pants aside fumble cock into firing position... No cock! I must have frowned a little at this point. Up until now the whole urinating job had required little concentration, but now all my attention was focussed inside the front of my pants. I had another fumble. No cock. Pubic hair, no cock. Reach a little lower. No cock, no balls. Panic bubbled. I couldn't find my cock. This was unprecedented and a situation my 27 years of malehood had not prepared me for. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door out to the corridor creaked a little. I heard voices outside, men's voices. Somebody was coming in and I did not want to get caught at the urinal groping deeper and deeper into my trousers with some other toilet user watching. I beat a hasty retreat into one of the stalls and locked myself in. I took a deep breath, stood perfectly still and heard footsteps across the tiled floor. They stopped where I had been a moment before. A zip buzzed and I listened hard until there was a satisfied sigh and stream of liquid gurgling into the urinal. I was a little disappointed. Clearly this intruder had been able to find his cock. Why not me! Another deep breath. I unfastened my trousers fully this time, let them fall and then pushed my boxers down baring the tops of my stringy, rather hairy thighs. No cock - still. Pubic hair - check, balls - gone. I spread my legs slightly and peeped between them. Then I had to sit down, quickly. I might have been between girlfriends at the time, but I knew what a lady's vulva looked like and I was looking at one now. For a moment, it may have been a minute, I just stared trying to work how I had been so grievously mutilated. How could that be? How could my genitals have been changed? I was dreaming, I had to be. Tentatively I reached down, as though those soft pink lips might bite. I felt their resilience, I felt my fingers through them, they were very sensitive and I started to part them, as though my missing parts could be inside. Then I snatched my hand away with a groan. I needed to wake up. If it was a dream, I still needed to piss, urgently now, but wasn't sure of what to do with nothing to hold or aim; I didn't want to just spray piss everywhere. When I leant forward as far as I could go, relaxed down there and squeezed a little I was surprised by a neat result and a welcome feeling of relief that only lasted a moment before tears filled my eyes. Whatever I was going to do about this problem would not be done from a toilet stall. Remembering some basic housekeeping from all my ex- girlfriends, I dabbed myself dry, rearranged my clothes and walked back to my office horribly aware of what was missing between my legs. Surely everyone I passed would notice and point or stare. The people I knew said hi, like they always did. Thankfully Gail had not yet returned, her toilet breaks were substantial depending on the number of people she stopped to chat with on the way, so I closed the door and slumped at my seat thinking hard, but unable to come up with any idea of what to do. I had a big sigh and, in wiping at some more tears, the back of my hand caught my nipple through my shirt and I gasped. More groaning. I didn't have large nipples, even when aroused, and certainly didn't wear clinging shirts to work, but whatever was happening to me was getting worse; my nipples had swollen to the point where they were showing clear through my shirt. With trembling hands I struggled with a couple of buttons and looked inside. My nipples were unrecognisable with darker and wider aureoles around a swollen nub as big as the last joint of my little finger. Worse still was the swollen flesh beneath and around them, like my sister's chest had been many years back. I was growing breasts! I clapped my hands to them as though I could squeeze them back into place, to make my chest as flat and hairy as it should be. Instead I felt I felt them growing warmer and fuller, I felt the weight increasing as my hands were pushed away from me. My shirt grew tighter and tighter and the buttons began to look strained. Before this development I could have made it to the doctor's without attracting attention before, to have had my altered genitals looked at and nobody except the bewildered doc would have been the wiser. I was going to attract a lot of attention like this. By the time the pressure against my hands had stopped, replaced with moody weights on my chest, and I summoned up the courage to look down I saw the kind of bosom that would be eye catching in a woman, never mind a man! Not massive, but respectable and I hated them. But that wasn't the end of it. My body hadn't finished with me. The hands still cupping my impossible breasts were smaller now, the fingers were fine and hairless and slender with slim wrists that vanished into my too-big looking sleeves. For a few moments I felt like I was drunk, the room swayed around me, my trousers grew tight around my hips, my shoes became enormous around my feet. By the time my eyes had regained their focus something heavy and silky was tumbled around my face. Tears ran down my cheeks. I didn't need to look. I knew; I was a woman. "Well, Nicholas Smith," said a little, reedy voice from the direction of Gail's desk. "How do you like that? "It doesn't look like he likes it," said a deeper, gruffer voice. "She'd better get used to it," said the first and giggled. I made myself look and then I looked again. There were two grey monkeys sitting on Gail's desk, dangling their feet carelessly over the edge. The one on the left wore blue dungarees, his companion wore a red pinafore dress. They were staring at me, grinning and looked very pleased with themselves. "What?" I muttered. My voice didn't fit, it was soft and smooth as chocolate. I didn't want to say anything else with it. "Not what," said the one in the dress. It had the gruff voice. "But who." "We're curse monkeys," said the other. "And you've been cursed." "Big time!" I could only shake my head in disbelief. Impossible hair trembled around my face. "This is a de-lux curse, specifically worded too. Mr Nicholas Smith to be transformed into a beautiful woman at his place of work so he can finally learn some respect for the fairer sex." "But," I gasped. "Yes?" "Do go on." "You've got the wrong Nicholas Smith." The monkeys looked at each other. "We don't think so," they said in unison. "The one you want works upstairs in planning." The words tumbled from me. Never mind that all this was impossible, it was all down to a common admin error. "Upstairs." I pointed. "He's always making passes at the women, even Gail. I get his emails and memos and all sorts so everyone calls me Nicky and him Nick. Honest. You've got to believe me! I don't want to be a woman." They looked at me a moment, I nodded encouragingly. Hair fell in front of my eyes. Then they nodded at each other. "We'll have to check this out," said one. "There are all kind of mix ups," I went on hurriedly. "People do it all the time. The phone calls I get from really annoyed people who want to bend his ear about planning stuff, they just get even more wound up when..." My new voice tailed off. I don't know how I knew, but they weren't listening. They were just staring at each other, not even moving a little bit. I pushed the hair back from my face, it was a deep, shining auburn colour. They'd made me a red-head! It should have been strutting Nick Smith upstairs going through this; the one who was always touching his hair to make sure it was perfect, whose eyes always followed the women as they walked past, without any pretence of not staring at their boobs, bums or legs. Gail said he was creepy, and she had plenty of bum to stare at, but there were enough women who fell for his charms. The latest had been one of the execs from the top floor. There had been a very public shouting event in the exec car park when she'd found out Nick was seeing a receptionist from the hotel next door at the same time. I twitched a little when the monkeys faced me. The one in the dungarees put its head on one side. "We're very sorry," it said. "There has been a mistake," said the other. I sighed. "So you can change me back." "Ah." "It's not as easy as that." "We could, we could change you right back to how you were, better that you were even." "Only it wouldn't be better." "It would be worse." "Much worse." "You'd be dead." I'd have stood indignantly at that revelation, but I was worried about my baggy trousers sliding down. "So I'm stuck like this!" "No, no, no, no." "No." "We just have to wait for your body to recover." "Then we can change you back." "How long?" I asked. "No more than two weeks." "I wouldn't have thought so. Certainly by the end of the third week it should be okay." "Gosh, yes. I'd say by the end of next month you'll be a proper bloke again." "Easily by the end of next month. Six weeks, tops." "Six weeks!" I shouted. That would put me into autumn. I had my sister's wedding in three weeks. I had work, social commitments. I played cricket! What was Gail going to say when she came in and found a woman sitting here in my clothes. "How am I going to manage like this for six weeks?" "Easy," said the dress wearing monkey. "We'll help." "You'll like being a woman." "It's fun." "You'll enjoy it." "Especially the sex." "Definitely the sex." "It will make you a better man." "Much more rounded and understanding." I shook my head again. "I don't know how to be a woman! Look at me." I waved my too long shirt sleeves at them. "You will." "See you in six weeks." "No later than seven." And with that they vanished. I closed my mouth. I ran my fingers through my hair, it really was very long, but what I wanted to do was wrench it from my scalp and throw it across the office. "Come back!" I said. "Come back and sort this out!" They didn't. Something gently closed about my feet, which had been slopping about in my shoes. I spun in my chair and looked down, wondering what new mischief this was. It was my shoes getting smaller. I watched them shrink. That was a positive development, wasn't it? I'd been wearing smart black brogues, to match my dark grey suit, but as I looked hopefully at my feet, in case were growing back to a more manly size, I saw the brogue patterns across the toe fade. When I hitched up the slack material from my trousers I was very surprised to see that my shoes were no longer lace ups, they were slip ons. In fact, very little of the arch of my foot was covered anymore, you could see my black socks, and the leather was receding towards my toes in a style that made me think of those ballerina flat shoes lots of women were. I wasn't changing to fit my shoes, my shoes were changing to fit me. Then I saw that the opaque cotton weave of my socks was thinning out, there was a creepy sensation of something shuffling up my legs from my ankles and when I snatched at my trousers again I saw that my socks were now covering me to mid calf. I could see them spreading up my leg, like a dark stain. By now my shoes were fully female flat heeled, black leather courts and I could see toe cleavage through the ever thinning material of my socks. Pulling my trousers a little higher I saw the socks had reached my knees. They had gone beyond men's cotton rich socks and moved into something much more sheer and sensual. I let the trousers drop, but they only fell three quarters of the way down my calves now and even as I stared at my feet in their feminine shoes and sheer hosiery I remember clearly thinking what slender ankles I now had. Through the sheer nylon covering my left ankle I could see a fine, silver chain glinting where no chain had even been worn before. Something was pushing my heels away from the floor. I couldn't bring myself to look. As my trousers got shorter still and appeared to be turning into culottes, I was distracted about activity by my hands. My nails were now an attractive oval shape, as I stared a wash of pearlescent pink spread from my cuticles until they were perfectly manicured and painted. My watch slimmed down into a feminine version. By the time the door swung open and Gail stepped in, I was staring fixedly at the fine, black nylon weave across my knees which had been bared by the straight, black skirt my trousers had been transformed into. A skirt! Gail started to say something, stopped herself with mouth open, frowned and shook her head. "You've changed your hair," she said, with a smug air as though everything was sorted. "It looks really pretty let down like that, such a lovely colour." She primped her own blondish bob. "Maybe I'll try it, do you think it would suit me?" Her belly growled as she settled behind her desk and she rubbed it apologetically. "I fancy a toastie from The Sparrow for lunch, are you up for that?" She logged back on to her computer then turned and frowned at me, "Nicky? You okay?" Gail was a talker, sometimes it was hard to get a word in, especially when I needed to run something work related past her. Now, aside from a slight double take, she'd written off the whole different look for Nicky Smith as me having my hair down. Brilliant. Still, it could have been worse - imagine if she'd walked in and found me with my hair down in my oversized male clothes looking sorry for myself. "Sorry," I muttered. "Just feeling a little odd." "You look a little pale, chick. It's been a long time since breakfast, hey. Blood sugar's probably low you'll feel better for a nice toastie and a latte. Maybe we could stretch to a bit of cake, what do you think?" She looked at her watch. "Know what, it's practically lunch time. How about we sneak off now and beat the rush." By the time she had levered herself out of her chair and was slipping on her jacket I was still considering the way my feet were arched by my new shoes and wondering how I was going to stand up, never mind walk the couple of hundred metres to the Sparrow coffee house Gail liked. "Nicky, what's the matter?" Tears pricked my eyes and for a heatbeat the whole sorry tale was poised on the end of my tongue ready to leap out and explain to Gail exactly why I was feeling a little out of sorts. Half and hour ago I had been a man, now I was a woman and had about seven or eight weeks of it to look forward to. But I didn't. I stopped myself and blinked the tears away. Gail would react the same way I would have done half an hour ago if she told me that she had just been turned into a woman by a pair of mischievous simians. I almost told her I wasn't hungry, which would have been a lie as my belly grumbled at that moment, but instead I gave in, stood up, wobbled on my heels for a moment and stepped out from behind my desk. For a moment I steadied myself with fingertips against the desk's corner, feeling as wobbly and unsure as a newborn colt - better make that filly. It was a little encouraging though, managing a step without snapping an ankle. A quick peep towards the floor told me I was balancing on at least 3 inches of slender stiletto. Gail was halfway out of the door. "Nicola! What is the matter?" Now she sounded like my mum! "Do I look different to you?" I asked. "What a funny thing to ask!" said Gail and held the door open in a pointed manner. I shrugged and focussing on the hat stand by the door, like a novice swimmer fixated on the opposite side of the pool. Discounting a wild idea to wander down to the coffee shop in my nearly bare feet I set off on my first high heeled expedition. And made it! And breathed again; I hadn't actually realised I'd been holding my breath. As much as I wanted to high-five somebody, I flashed a weak smile Gail's way and picked up my jacket. I might be wider across the chest and hips, I might have masses of auburn curls crowding my peripheral vision, but I was still mobile. "Have I missed something?" Gail wondered with raised eyebrows. I shook my head. She tutted and headed down the corridor. Buoyed by my new found confidence in heels I hurried to catch up and nearly ripped my skirt. Having a newly stretched pelvis I should have been striding like a farmer, but the skirt was narrow, straight and while it might have had a split up the back it wasn't going to allow the long-legged style I'd become used to. At the same time I was trying to remain vertical - back straight, shoulders back - my senses were badly overwhelmed. There was the rhythmic swaying of my bosom, and newly magicked straps around my chest and shoulders taking the strain with every step, along with the satin lined swish of the skirt around my thighs. My legs were slippery with nylon, which felt surprisingly good, and my ears were filled with the rapid click click click of my heels on the tiled floor outside the office. Even so, I practically glided along - as though I had been wearing heels since I was... a girl? Following Gail's wide bottomed path I thought the corridors busier than usual, as though people had left their offices to see me so transformed. I kept my eyes down and wouldn't look at them, in case one should see through me, stop and point out that Nicky Smith was a man. None of them did. Nobody knew me for what I should be and that was scary. What kind of thing had I got mixed up in because of a silly mistake over a name? "We don't often see you in a skirt and heels," Gail commented as we paused, waiting for a lift - we were three floors up. "Fancied a change," I shrugged. "Suits you," she said looking me up and down. "Women don't seem to want to look like women any more." "Sometimes they don't get any choice," I muttered. She threw me a sharp look. "Some bloke made you wear them?" I shook my head quickly. "Just thinking of something else." Lunch passed in a cloudy, dazed fashion. Don't ask what I ate, I can't remember that or much else. I presume we must have had a conversation about something. Mostly I recall sheer, dumb shock at each reminder I got of my transformation; the eye catching colour of my fingernails, brushing my arm against my breast when leaning forward for the salt, wisps of auburn hair intruding into the corner of my eyes. Most unnerving was a faint, twanging sensation against my left thigh while crossing my legs. That black nylon covering my leg suddenly felt a little loose under the skirt. Gail wondered what was wrong, she was frowning. I wasn't the company she was used to, but at that moment I could have cried. "I think my suspender's just popped off," I muttered. "You're wearing stockings and suspenders! I haven't worn those since, since I don't know when." "Me neither!" "There's a man isn't there." There was, but not in the way she imagined. That womanising bastard and his inability to keep his cock in his trousers meant I was struggling with the etiquette for re-fastening suspenders. Gail suggested I just did it there and then, nobody would notice or even mind, but I excused myself into the toilet. It was another first for me - having to fasten a woman's suspender belt to a stocking top. Lucky me. There was a police car and police van outside the main entrance when we got back - that stuck in my memory. Especially when three coppers dragged out a writhing, wild-haired brunette between them. She was flapping around in an oversized man's suit, without any shoes and her arms cuffed behind her back. Her language was over-earthy for the council offices on a midweek lunchtime, but in between abuse she was screaming about monkeys and being Nick Smith. Sight of her made me shiver. I found myself staring rudely at her distress, but couldn't take my eyes away. Without the camouflage of skirt and heels, that could have been me. My lunch, whatever it had been, stirred uneasily and for a moment I was certain I was going to see it again. With more swearing the woman, Nick Smith, was thrown into a cell at the back of the police van and a door clanged shut against her. The van started rocking. More screams and harsh, metallic banging came from inside. I'm not sure I'd have reacted like that, but what would I have done if I'd been left as a woman in male clothing when Gail got back. Gail, having a nose for gossip and scandal, saw Tracy, the Head Receptionist, and waved her over. "You wouldn't believe it!" Tracy said, leaning close and speaking in a scandalised half-whisper. "They found her in Nick the Prick's office, wearing his clothes and demanding she was him! Can you imagine it? Nige from Security asked her to leave and she punched him, right on the nose!" She pointed at her own long nose as if we needed reminding where such things were kept. "I had to call the police," she finished, with a smug air as though she, Tracy Collins, had saved the day. "What'll happen to her?" I asked. Tracy didn't know, but I hadn't really been asking her. I was staring at the thumping van and I knew what Nick Smith was going through. Finding the ability to move my feet again, I hurried over towards the three cops. At the sound of my heels all three turned, very quickly, and almost in unison checked out my boobs, hips and legs. "What'll happen to her?" "Do you know her, miss?" said the biggest and oldest of them. He wore sergeant stripes and a huge moustache.There was a fresh scratch on his cheek. I shook my head quickly. "Weird one this," he said, looking over his shoulder at the van. "Proper wildcat." "But what'll happen with her?" Now he frowned. "What's it to you?" I thought that was a little brusque and didn't really know how to answer. She was nothing to me, other than the cause of my peculiar problem. I ought to be angry really. "I feel sorry for her," I muttered. He sneered at that. "Don't waste your sympathy on people like that." He showed me his back - rude - which I assumed finished the conversation. One of his mates stared openly at my chest and gave me a hopeful, superior smile, so I turned my back on him. For the rest of the day I existed in one those dreams you have where you're naked and nobody seems to notice, or care. Everybody I met, spoke with, interacted with for the rest of the day was so casually indifferent to my changed sex that by our afternoon tea break I was starting to wonder if I had always been female and was having some kind of a male delusion or penis envy episode. I worried for Nick Smith though. Where was he? In a cell at the central nick, still screaming about being the man nobody else could see? The thought of it still sent goosebumps over my skin. Still, all this was his fault! Aside from laddering one of my stockings on the edge of a waste paper bin, the afternoon passed uneventfully, faster than usual. Maybe I immersed myself in my work more than usual, to take my mind off womanly things. Before I knew it I was on a crowded train for home looking for a seat. Some middle-aged bloke with an unsightly pot belly offered me his, which was sweet, but I wasn't enough into female role to accept. He took my polite refusal badly , like I'd offended his manhood or something, so I went and stood somewhere else, swaying with the train's motion and wondering what I was going to find at home. Walking without heels felt oddly graceless once I'd kicked off my stilettos in the hallway. My tendons felt a little stretched as I wasn't on tiptoes and my toenails showed a hot-pink shade through the stockings" reinforced toes. While I had been comprehensively feminised, my flat looked pretty much the same - thoughtlessly decorated (I rented and didn't see that as my problem) with a collection of cheap, mismatched furniture and an untidyness of books, music, DVDs and belongings cluttering almost every flat surface. Only in my bedroom doorway did I stop and think I had walked into the wrong house. The decor hadn't changed, it wasn't all pink or girly, but it was clearly a woman's room now - even the bed was made. I saw cluttered varieties of make up, hair accessories and jewellery strewn haphazardly across the top of my chest of drawers. Those drawers held bright combinations of knickers, bras, tights, tops and the things a woman would choose to wear. Everything was brand new. The underwear still had tags, all from well- known high street brands, the tights were in packets, all the clothing was neatly folded with tags and labels. It wasn't just really feminine stuff either, there were jeans and shorts and in the wardrobe amongst all the skirts, dresses and heels were trousers and flat shoes familiar enough for a lifelong male like me. Even so, those monkey things had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure I'd be as comfortable as I could be during my enforced womanhood. I even found a stock of tampons in the bathroom. There was something to look forward to! Curiosity got the better of me and I went back to the bedroom and stood before the full length mirror. There I was; Nicky the woman in my blouse, skirt and laddered stockings. I didn't really look like me, even when I pulled my hair back from my face - it was smoother, a little more angular and my eyes were blue now, but I was pretty. There was no point in denying it or pretending false modesty to myself. Fumbling a little, with longer nails and buttons on the wrong side, I unfastened my blouse and stared at the cream, lace trimmed bra supported my magic breasts that looked so perfectly natural they might always have been there. I reached behind my back and unclipped the bra to feel the full weight of my bosom. The bra's label said I was a 34D - that was quite big, but they didn't look disproportionate - just round and full and ordinary. My nipples were dark pink and so sensitive I gasped when I ran my thumbs over them. Almost immediately their aureoles started to crinkle and I watched, spellbound, as my nipples stiffened and grew. This time yesterday I'd have been stunned to have had the opportunity to stare at breasts like these, never mind take their weight in my hands. What would it feel like to feel another's lips brush kisses over them? Goosebumps swept over me again. The skirt's back fastening was a little unusual too, but I was soon pushing it down over my wide hips and stepping free. In a few moments I was free of the suspender belt and ruined stockings then easing my panties down to finally see my new self naked but for the silver chain about my ankle, gold stud earrings and a nicely jewelled hoop in my tummy button. Very feminine. To go with my red hair I was liberally dotted with freckles, across my arms face and even some of my breasts. Beyond them I was tall and curved, smooth and soft - gloriously woman. I liked what I saw. It was still bizarre to be looking to see this very sexy vision and connect it to me and the man I was supposed to be. What could I do? Just make the best of it until those curse monkeys could come and make it right. My thighs felt like satin under my fingers, the curves of my ass firm and resilient, the way it felt to run my hands from my waist and over my hips gave me a lovely, alien warm feeling between my legs. I turned slightly, to see my profile, the look over my shoulder at the tumble of hair down my back and the lovely shape of my behind. Was that really me? I'd never been one to spend time before a mirror admiring myself, to be honest the longest time I usually spent with my reflection was while shaving, but I'd never been much to look at before. Sitting on the edge of the bed, still watching my reflection, I kept my knees primly together a moment before slowly spreading my legs and baring my new pussy. I'd seen it before of course, having been for a pee a few times during the day, but this was me, the woman. I closed my eyes as I ran the tip of one finger over those lips. They were fuller than they had been all day, glistening and slick. If I didn't stop now I probably wouldn't be able to, but why should I? Everything was so sensitive, the inside of my thighs, my hips, my calves, my arms. I lay back heavily, let the bed take my weight as my pulse started to speed, lips parted and breathing through my mouth. Yesterday if I had considered masturbating, it would have been the usual grasping of cock, making it hard and then going for it until I spurted. This time, with this amazing magical body, was probably the first time I'd ever made love to myself. I did it again in the shower, where the hot water running over my smooth skin was too beautiful to resist, and then again as I turned out the lights, snug under the covers and eventually drifting to sleep with the taste of my pussy on my lips where I had licked my fingers clean. Wednesday morning came with bit of a shock when I rolled out of bed to be reminded by a curtain of hair and jostling of breasts that I was a different sex to the same time yesterday. For all the highs and glories of my lovemaking it was still a shock to find I was a girl. Maybe it would be like that every morning until I got turned back. As much as I had loved the slim feel of a finger, as gorgeous as it had been to feel that pleasure, the ecstasy that powered inside my body I felt heavy and gloomy as I looked down over my transformation. I had another shower and felt strangely reluctant to put hands to skin, as though I had been asked to wash a beautiful stranger. Which I suppose, in a way, I was. Not being hungry, I forced down some tea and toast while wondering about work. The gloomy part of me just wanted to stay at home with the curtains drawn. I brushed my hair with quick brutal strokes at first, but that was uncomfortable, so I steadied down a bit and then drew it into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck. Then I made a point of digging out the plainest bra and panties, rooting through the wardrobe until I found a very plain, white blouse and some black slacks before finishing my outfit for the day with some flat, black lace up shoes and black cotton socks. Frumpy was how I looked when I was dressed. Plain. Like a girl embarrassed about being pretty. I put my head on one side and frowned. It wasn't a good look, I could do better. Would dressing like a woman, when I actually was one, make me any less of a man when the time came for me to change back? My legs had looked good yesterday, if I put on a skirt right now would that make me some kind of pervert? For dressing in clothes that suited me? I could hardly be called a transvestite could I? It could be fun, like going to a fancy dress party; like playing some genial trick on all the people who only saw the woman. When I was a man again I could look back with a smile at the way people had reacted to me as a woman. So I stripped away those masculine clothes, stepped into a semi-sheer pair of black, lace trimmed panties that made a gorgeous contrast with my pale skin and drew the eye to the slight curve of my sex. There was a matching bra that cupped my full breasts sensually and just allowed the dark circles of my nipples to show through. What to wear over them? I found a dress in a conservative grey pinstripe that suggested office; short sleeves, a high neckline and a hem, when I held it to me, that was two or three inches above the knee. The work dress code encouraged a knee length rather than short hemline, but that would be fine, I was sure - as long as I remembered to keep my knees together. I needed something for my legs and having always enjoyed the sight of a lady's leg turned out in sheer, natural shaded nylon, that's what I hunted for in what had been my sock drawer. The only stockings I could find, were very dressy black ones, flimsier looking than the ones I'd worn yesterday. Instead I took out a brand new pair of 10 denier, matt finish tights in natural. Tights were probably a better choice to go with my shortish dress - I didn't want to show all my secrets, did I? The dress was satin lined and felt amazing next to my skin. With some contortions I managed to edge the zip all the way up my back and smoothed the dress down over my body. It was close fitting, but not tight, with a small split up the back so I could move my legs. I wondered again if the hem would be a little high for the office, there was just a bit more than a couple of inches of thigh on show, but there wasn't any time for another outfit change. Shoes! I almost put those flat lace ups back on, but they would have looked awful with the dress. I'd wear heels again. After all, I'd worn a pair for most of yesterday without any ill-effects, I hadn't even had sore feet when I got home. I went into the wardrobe for those black courts I'd been wearing yesterday, but what caught my eye was a pair of elegant, stiletto heeled Mary-Jane shoes in a subtle nude or pale beige colour that would go well with my tights. I slipped them on, fastened the straps, and went to admire myself in the mirror again. I seemed to be doing a lot of that! "Looking good, Nicola," I said to myself and smiled. There was no time to do anything more interesting with my hair, and I would probably have needed some time on Youtube to learn anything more advanced than a ponytail so that's how I left it. Nor did I have chance to change the studs in my ears, I just grabbed a cardigan and my handbag and hurried down to the railway station for my commute. By the time I settled myself at my desk and logged into the IT I was feeling curiously pleased with myself. High heels and short dress had been managed commendably, knickers had not been flashed and while thighs might have been daringly bared while crossing legs on the train, my dignity had been maintained. I'd pretended to ignore the looks heading my way from several male commuters, but I'd been smiling inside - enjoy the legs, mate; I'm a man! Ha ha ha. The fact that I'd been the least convincing man on the train was irrelevant, I was enjoying myself. Gail texted me to say she wasn't coming in, her back again, so I wished her well and my first job of the day was to find our manager and do the paperwork for her sick day. After that it was business as usual. I suppose the good thing about the modern, largely emancipated society we live in is that professionally, in my job at least, there's no difference for a man or a woman. Were it not for the slightly longer nails, and their eye catching colour, I might not really have thought about my sex-change that much. Breasts sometimes get in the way and I was conscious not to ladder my nylons again, but the whole girl thing faded away as I got into my work, and the things Gail should have been doing. I probably got more done without her chattering to distract me. By lunchtime I'd noticed I was getting more visitors than usual - most of them male. Most of the enquiries were of the kind that would probably have been dealt with via telephone or email 48 hours previously. Once their enquiry was dealt with, there was a greater eagerness for small talk than either Gail or I would have enjoyed before. As before, I smiled inside and wondered what these men, with their wandering eyes, would remember of Nicola once those curse monkeys had made me Nick again. A couple of them, one from IT, Darren, and one from planning, Jon, realised that if they sat on the edge of the work surface in the corner while they made their spurious request, politeness would have me turn my chair to face them so my legs would be on show and they could pretend not to be trying to look up my dress. It was then I discovered the hypnotic effect I could weald by absently running my fingertips slowly up and down the calf of whichever of my legs happened to be crossed over the other. Before you think I was being too much of a tease; they started it at, and I kept my hem pulled down as much as I could. When Jon came back for a second time, with some transparent comment about his mileage allowance that didn't even qualify as an enquiry I realised, with something of a shock, he was coming on to me. Nobody, man nor woman, had ever come on to me before. I was used to being politely ignored by the the prettier members of the opposite sex and was slow to catch up with being seen as one of that group. Were they fantasising sexually about me? Probably. Did some of those men want to undress me and have sex with me? Highly likely. Wow! What would they have thought if they knew what I had done with myself last night? When I had a moment to myself that idea of sex came back to me. Having enjoyed the feeling of my slender, longest finger so much I wondered what would it feel like to have something longer and thicker inside my pussy? To be honest, the thought of some bloke grunting and sweating on top of me had no appeal at all, but the question of something for my pussy had me pausing outside the Anne Summers shop in town during my lunch break. With a quick shoulder check to be sure nobody I knew could see, I took a deep breath and went in. I'd never been in one before. The idea that being Nicola made me somewhat anonymous helped overcome my nerves at crossing the threshold. Beyond the lingerie was the adult section and I crept in there like a teenager going into haunted shack in the woods. I jumped guiltily when the sales assistant in there said hello. She probably never get tired of that. According to her badge her name was Millie; she was petite with glossy brunette hair twisted into a knot atop her head. She wore a short, flared skirt, company t-shirt, thick black tights and flat, red pumps. She wanted to know if she could help me. Light on my feet I was ready to dash from the store with her giggling following me out, but I held my nerve and even found smile for her. "I was looking for a vibrator," I said - quietly. Despite everything I couldn't hold her eye and looked at the floor, away from some of the outlandish objects around me. "For yourself, or a gift?" said Millie - brightly. "For me," I whispered. My leg was trembling. Her lips twitched as though she were about to burst out laughing. The sight stilled my leg, I gripped my handbag's straps a little tighter. I was not shy Nicolas Smith at the moment - I was fiery, red haired Nicola! "I think you could probably stop enjoying yourself quite so much," I said quietly, making myself hold her eyes. They were almond shaped, hazel brown and very pretty. Millie nodded slightly. "I am a model of discretion," she said and followed it with a more genuine smile. "Thank you." "Here," she pointed to a display, "are the top of the range models. Your fully rechargeable Rampant Rabbits." I shook my head slightly, my cheeks were very warm and I had a sudden need to pee. "Something a little more modest," I murmured, concerned for my elasticity down below. "We also do modest," said Donna softly. She touched the back of my hand. "It's okay you know." "What?" "You know, enjoying yourself." "Thank you!" "How about this one?" she said cheerfully, pulling a box from a display. "First Time Vibrator, just the thing for the novice - you'll love it. We do an offer on the batteries and wipes if you buy them altogether." The picture on the box showed a slim, almost penis shaped vibrator, it couldn't have been more than six inches long and quite slim. Surely it would fit. "You look lovely when you blush," Millie said softly. "You have a sadistic love for your job, don't you!" I muttered. "Not many sales assistants are as keen as me." She smiled and put her head on one side. She was very pretty. "The company strives for excellence in customer support." "If there's a customer survey form to fill out, I'll be sure to mention you positively." I wasn't so rude that I snatched the vibrator from her hand, but it wasn't far off. With a quick thanks over my shoulder I went to the cash desk and politely declined the offer of wipes, batteries and lube for my new accessory made by the plump women serving there. However, Millie was right. I did love it. Laying heavily on the bed after the first orgasm it gave me, my skin practically glowing and certainly glistening while my breathing steadied, I tried to put what I had just experienced into some kind of context against my previous sexual experience. Up until that point I think the blowjob Amanda Byfleet had expertly delivered in a dark, woodland car park had been the pinnacle of sexual intensity. Thought of the moment when she had finally stopped teasing me with her lips, mouth, fingers and tongue to let me fill her mouth with my eager cum had always filled me with excited tingles and accompanied many a satisfying wank. She might have been my girlfriend still had I known blown the moment with a heartfelt, and in my mind appreciative and respectful question "where did you learn to do that?" right after she'd so beautifully sucked my cock. But even Amanda's legendary oral skills didn't come close to what the vibrator gave me. Though gently playing with my super-sensitive breasts while clenching my surprisingly muscular pussy around the vibrator's motion had to have helped too. The Curse-Monkeys had certainly been right about the sex. Thursday, day three of my female adventure, passed in an ordinary fashion. Gail was back, wincing every time she moved and I suspected she would have another day off before the weekend. By way of an experiment I wore a calf length, full skirt in dark red with a cream blouse, black cardigan, tights and heels. I had a momentary flash of dislocation when I stopped to check on my appearance in the bedroom mirror, but it passed quickly. Whatever the curse monkeys had done to my head to help me get along in heels and skirts and nylons, they must have done something to smooth the the shock of having a gender change nobody else could see. I put my hair into a pony tail again, off the back of my head rather than the nape of my neck and even experimented with a smear of red/brown lipstick I thought would compliment my fiery hair. The sensual way my lips felt afterwards was pleasant. Maybe being a man again would be strange after this, hopefully they would smooth it for me again. On the train my thoughts turned to Nick Smith. Accepting the bloke was a complete knob, it still seemed very harsh to have done that to him. I asked Tracy, on Reception, if she knew what had happened. All she could tell me was that the cops had been yesterday reviewing the CCTV, but as much as the footage showed Nick Smith entering the building there was no sign of him leaving or the wild woman coming in. "Imagine if that woman was Nick Smith," I said to Gail over coffee later on. She looked over her glasses at me. "What a strange thing to say," she said. "It would be kind of poetic though, dirty bastard." I shrugged. "Didn't Sherlock Holmes say that once you have exhausted all the possibilities..." "That would be Arthur Conan Doyle saying that, love. Sherlock Holmes isn't real." So I phoned the police station later on and was eventually put through to a Detective Sergeant who clearly had more important things to do than talk to me. Until she started asking why I was so curious. In a tenacious sort of way she didn't seem satisfied with my explanation that I felt sorry for the woman, but that was all I was ever going to tell her. In the end, to fob me off no doubt, she revealed that Nick Smith had been sectioned and was currently detained at the Mental Health Wing of the city hospital while they tried to decide what to do with her. As usual at six-thirty pm on Thursday Karl picked me up for cricket training. With my cheeks still flushed from exploring the vibrator's capabilities I sat nervously in his hatchback and wondered how he would react. Karl and I had been playing together since I'd got the job with the council and joined his club. He had a fearsome fast-bowling arm that kept wickets falling and his place on the team when he couldn't really bat much. Having unwillingly become the only woman on the team, I'd been thinking that maybe I'd give cricket a miss until i got my cock back, but when I'd been sat on the train earlier on, on the verge of sending a text about some fabricated injury, that same reckless courage that had seen me in dress, nylons and heels then buying a vibrator, helped me pull on some happily woman sized cricket whites and hump my kit bag into the back of his car. "Good week?" he wondered, pulling onto the main road. "Not bad," I said, conversationally. "Are you free for the away game on Sunday?" "Do I look different to you?" "I'm shit at stuff like that, Nicky," he said glancing at me. "Becka is always moaning when I don't notice a new dress or hair or something. Don't you start, for fuck's sake." I allowed myself a little smile. "What is it then, give us a clue? Come on, might make Becka easier to manage." "Don't worry about it, just curious." "You got yourself a bloke at last?" "Still single." "Don't know why. You could have anybody you wanted," he said. Then looked at me hurriedly. "Except me." He grinned. We both knew Becka would kill both of us - eventually. Despite the threat of jealous Becka hanging over me, I watched Karl while he was driving. What would it feel like to be on my back, legs spread widely while his weight pinned me to the bed and his cock made the sensations I was loving from my vibrator? How about for me to be kneeling between his legs, looking up at him from under my long lashes while my painted lips were stretched around his cock. I would be giving the kind of blow-job Amanda Byfleet had given me, using my experience as an eager recipient of oral love to bring him to a shattering orgasm. How would I react to the eager pulsing of his cum into my mouth? Would I be the kind of girl that swallowed? To be honest, I suppose I was a little curious, to play the woman at sex with a man, but the notion didn't really tantalise the way it might have done. Especially not with Karl; we were mates! It would be awkward afterwards. God, it would be awkward when I got made a man again! Better to find myself a one night stand. None of the team remarked that their wicket keeper was a woman, except for Rich, the Captain, who was rubbing his hands together at the propaganda value a mixed team would have with the County Cricket Board. He didn't seem to consider that he'd had a team of blokes the week before. I just hoped I wasn't going to catch any fast balls on my boobs - even in a sports bra I was very conscious of their sensitivity and movement as I went through my drills during the session before taking my turn with the bat later on. I'm pleased to report that absence of cock and addition of D-cup breasts did not change my performance - my position as a middle order batsman seemed assured until I was changed back. Not even my Mum seemed concerned at her only child becoming an only daughter. She phoned later that evening, when I was still damp from the shower, and another play with the vibrator - which I had christened Millie. She had her usual one sided chatter about work and the neighbours, both of which were troublesome, and even got in her usual slightly veiled comment about marriage and grandchildren. I answered with my usual encouraging monosyllables until she put Dad on and he asked me about the cricket - the only thing we had in common; now I didn't have any balls. I took myself to bed, secure in the knowledge for the next six and a bit weeks the world would be satisfied I was female. Millie went on the bedside table, in case I needed her in the night. As predicted, Gail was off with her back again on Friday. One of these days one of the bosses was going to start asking questions, but I wasn't going to be the one to point them in her direction. Still experimenting with my wardrobe I was in the kind of blouse the dress policy wouldn't have approved of. Coupling it with a surprisingly comfortable push-up bra I'd found meant I had an interesting amount of cleavage for my many, predominantly male, callers to peep at. To balance my outfit I did wear a longer, straight skirt, though it had an asymmetric split up the front which happily showed glimpses of my left leg, looking sleek in sheer, matt, natural tights. With plain black, stiletto heeled court shoes I felt elegant, smart and comfortably feminine. I took lunch on my own, in a bookshop in the shopping centre and was just about to start on my tuna melt when a woman asked if she could join me. There was Millie, the real one - not the plastic version my pussy had been enjoying so much. "Did you love it?" she asked, leaning forward and adopting a conspiratorial whisper after I waved her into the seat opposite, put my book down and exchanged small talk with her. "Is the after sales service?" She nodded. "It's more personal than emailing a questionnaire." "I named it after you." That made her sit back, I was quietly pleased with the open surprise on her face." "Is that the kind of write up I could put on a questionnaire?" I followed. "I never got customer feedback like that before." More small talk followed. She liked my blouse and heels, not the skirt; loved my auburn pony tail. She showed me her feet in those flat ballet pumps and told me that as much as she liked heels herself, having to stand most of the working day ruled them out. Then she started edging her questions gently around a supposed boyfriend; did he like me in heels? He was very lucky to have such a beautiful girlfriend. "That's very flattering, but I'm single," I said. "Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to pry." "It's okay. Look, Millie. Do you mind if I'm quite forward for a moment?" She gave a quick smile. "I wish you would be." "Are you coming on to me? Poor choice of words, sorry, but I'm not sure about the etiquette." "God, you are forward, aren't you." Millie thought for a moment. "I suppose, no that's not right, in view of your honesty. Yes I am. Sorry. What I should be saying is something like, would you like a drink or something with me one evening?" Looking at her, so eager, at her shiny, loose hair, her sprays of freckles (almost as many as me) and bright eyes I had a sudden, lush curiosity about how her glossy, lipsticked lips would feel against mine. Or teasing my suddenly tingling nipples. "When?" I asked. She was so happy she clapped her hands. Several happy weeks passed. Millie was as adept with the rampant rabbit as she was with her fingers and tongue. I won't say any more, it's between me and her. They were good days spent anticipating the evenings and weekends I would spend with her. Lurking at the back of my mind was the thought that every happy moment was a moment closer to having to say goodbye to her. I'd primed her for it, guiltily fabricating a tale of my short term contract with the council that might end leaving me to move back down south any time in next few weeks. Nick Smith worried me too. I couldn't bear the thought of him alone in a strange body in the mental hospital, so one Saturday when Millie was working I took the bus to the hospital and found myself talking to a plump nurse. "I'm pleased somebody's come," he said, surprising me. "Apparently somebody from your end had said they couldn't spare anybody and anyway, they felt it wasn't the council's problem." "I didn't realise you'd asked for somebody from work to visit her," I said. "Oh. So why have you come?" I'd rehearsed this, but faced with the direct question my story dried up. I shrugged. "I saw her on the day, when the police took her. I felt so sorry for her, looking so lost, and alone." "You don't know her?" he asked slyly. I shook my head. "What about the Nick Smith he claims to be?" "Everybody knew him!" "And he's still missing," he said. "And she doesn't show up anywhere - fingerprints, DNA, missing people. Very weird. I've never seen a patient like this," he sighed. "I don't suppose you can do any harm by visiting, nobody else has." He, she looked terrible. The blonde hair that had tumbled around his face during the arrest had been cut away into a very boyish crew cut. There were dark circles around his blue eyes, but even them and the lines in his face couldn't hide the fact that Nick Smith, the serial womaniser, was clothed in a very beautiful woman's body. "Do I know you?" he asked, his voice low, like he was trying to make it sound deeper. "I don't think so," I said softly. Tears were pricking my eyes at how he looked. I wanted to give him a hug, but he was restrained. He'd tried to self harm a number of times, apparently his breasts would be scarred for life. They were heavily bandaged now, under a bland tracksuit. Another nurse had gleefully told me, in a devious whisper, that he'd stabbed his vulva with a plastic fork. "I work at the the council." He snorted. "I'd have remembered you." "Our paths never crossed." He put his head on one side and frowned. "What's your name?" I hesitated, but what harm could it do. he was never coming back there. "Nicola Smith." "Payroll? No, I don't remember anybody as pretty as you. Not a decent redhead in the place. Why are you here?" I was trying to see the man inside, but couldn't get beyond that lovely face, though his mannerisms were very masculine. "I want to help." "Fuck off." "I believe you, Nick." Another crude dismissal died on his lips. "This is a fucking trick. You're a doctor, a shrink, aren't you?" I shook my head. "You need to be who you are, Nick. You can't change it, not like this." He scowled at me. "Fuck that. I bled from this cunt last week, I don't want that or any of this shit." I had a little sympathy with that, wearing a tampon at that moment myself and I not enjoying my first period. "Nick-" "I think you'd better go, Nicola." He sneered my name, probably hating the femininity of it; hating my femininity. "I managed you know," I said as I stood to leave. "Managed what?" "I even quite enjoy it." Why was I telling him this? "Being a woman. It's okay, it really is." "Boring. Fuck off." He folded his arms as best his could, turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes to me. "Will you come again?" the plump nurse wondered. He didn't sound very hopeful, with good cause. I never went back. By the time week six of my Nicola trip came along I had all but forgotten curse monkeys, but they hadn't forgotten me. I was in black bra and tights and panties putting on my make up having already braided my hair ready for work when I saw the pair of them, reflected in my dressing table mirror, sitting on the edge of my bed watching me. The bed was rumpled, slept in on both sides - Millie had already gone. Her perfume lingered, actually I was using the same scent as her now. "Hello, Nicky," they said in unison. My heart sank. I stood poised with the mascara brush and watched a tear run over my freckles. I hadn't had the chance to say god bye to Millie. Would she forget me when I was a man again? She was planning a weekend camping trip, in Derbyshire, for both of us. "You'll love it," she'd said. "I've never been camping!" "You will love it and I'll let you take some lipstick, but no heels - you'll go through the tent's groundsheet with them." "I thought you'd forgotten me," I said to the monkeys" reflections, steadying my hand and resolutely continuing with the mascara. "We never forget anything." "And we promised we'd be back. We might e be Curse Monkeys, but we're okay." "We have principles." "And everything!" "Are you gong to change me back then?" Suddenly conscious of my near- nakedness I put down the mascara wand and pulled a dressing gown around my shoulders. "Not for a couple of days." "We thought you might want to say goodbye." "To her." "Your lovely girlfriend." Squeezing my eyes shut against more tears I forced a question. "Will you make her forget me?" As much as the thought of that would be easier for her, the emptiness in it was horrible. "She'll believe you've gone away." "Thank you." "We'll do it on Friday, when you get home from work." Three more days, two more nights with Millie. Maybe she and I could take those days off, to get in the camping she was so excited about. "I've been thinking about that," I said slowly. "I'm sure you have, Nicola." "You must be excited." "Bittersweet." "Turn Nick Smith back," I said firmly. "Can't." "Won't." "Yes you can. You're going to turn me back, aren't you? Give that to him, make him a man again." Another deep breath, I could feel Millie's kisses on my breasts. "Leave me Nicola." They were both staring hard now. I stared right back at them. "You want to stay a woman?" "Forever?" "Give him his cock back. The damage to him is done, he's been cursed, that exec has had her revenge. He'll never work in our place again, god knows what'll happen to him, they can let him out of hospital, he can sell his story to the papers, nobody will know what to make of it and it's done." The Curse Monkeys turned to face each other. "Interesting idea," they said together. "You're an interesting person, Nicky." When I opened my eyes again they'd gone. I never saw them again. Five years have passed. I'm out as a lesbian - Mum was okay about it, Dad nearly fainted, the cricket team still talk about boobs and sex with me, but Gail has only recently started going for lunch with me again. I think she's now relatively confident I'm not going to ravish her. I still haven't sampled heterosexual sex. Millie and I will be married next week - we'll both be wearing flowery dresses. For a honeymoon we're going to walk the Pennine Way - I did love camping. And Nick Smith? He tried and failed to sue the council after they didn't want him back and none of the newspapers would buy his story. I suppose it was too incredible to print. I have no idea where is now and don't much care. There are more important thinks to decide; Millie and I are just about to do rock-paper-scissors to see which one of us is eventually going to have our first baby. Don't tell her, she's very competitive, but I'm hoping to lose.