An Iteresting Profession free porn video

An Interesting Profession By Virginia Kane Standard caveat applies. Please do not post onto any other website without express written permission of the authoress. If reading explicit adult fiction is illegal where you live, or if you are not yet eighteen years of age, read no further and go do something innocent and constructive. Prologue I had worked at an advertising firm as a novice gopher for more than a few months during the two summers prior to my going away to attend my home state's land grant college. I had enough money invested in my education fund to attend all four years, to acquire an Accounting degree. I wasn't well suited to do anything that would require any sustained physical exertion. I was a runt, and I knew it. I was always the last guy to get selected for any team sports in high school, and got a medical dispensation from P.E. in my senior year after a serious ankle sprain I incurred playing softball. I wasn't cut out for playing sports. Luckily, I didn't get kidded much by my fellow classmates it because they observed that I tried my best to compete. I simply didn't have the skill, coordination or the stamina required for most sports. My attending family physician subsequently wrote a detailed letter to my college counselor explaining the nature and cause of my severe ankle injury, and potential for sustaining permanent damage to the ankle if it's reinjured. It enabled me to avoid limping to and from daily gym classes in college. I still had to attend an alternative elective, so I chose drama classes, Art and Home Economics, so I'd be able to cook for myself someday. I wasn't doing very well in the courtship department. Most girls like bigger, rugged, manly guys, not short, wimps like me. I only had a few dates in my freshman year. Funny thing, normal food recipes are designed for a family of four. Without a daily exercise routine, it didn't take me too long to put on quite a few extra pounds around my waistline, which didn't improve my chances for getting any dates. Needless to say, I didn't have any dates in my sophomore year. By the beginning of summer following my sophomore year in college, my broker got caught napping. I ended up losing a ton of money in my college fund that year due to a downturn in the market. He blamed the loss on the bear market; however. I suspected he was transferring his personal losses to my investment account, as all of the changes in the investments he had made for me were drastic losers, not a single winner in the lot. I promptly changed brokers, but it was too late. The fund was depleted substantially, by then. I needed that money for tuition and room and board! What was I to do? My folks weren't in any position to fund my education any more than they had. They spent a lifetime of thrift to amass a college nest egg for me in the first place. I didn't want to tell them the broker they had hired lost most of what was left to my college fund; it would have broken their hearts. Eventually I realized I would have to suspend furthering my education and go to work for a year or two to recoup the losses in the education fund, or get a good part-time job and attend college part- time, and hope for the best. When I arrived home for the summer break, my older brother was waiting for me at the house. He looked glum when he let me in. "I think you're going to have to rethink your plans for the future, Mel. Mom has cancer." BAM! That was blunt! He didn't waste time cutting to the quip. My mouth and suitcase dropped down suddenly, and my heart sank, all at the same time. Before I got a chance to ask him how or what happened, he added: "She's already in the hospital. Dad's with her, and so is my wife. I know it's a bit of a shock, so I'll drive you over, as soon as you compose yourself. I'd have gone over myself with my wife, but I waited for you to get here. I had promised dad I'd wait for you. The both of us should arrive there together." I nodded in agreement, too shocked to disagree. The hospital staff was being very considerate toward us. Normally, only two visitors are allowed at one time, but the let the four of us visit my mom all at the same time, as no one was occupying the other bed in her semi-private room. Even then, my mom looked so haggard we all fell silent so that we'd be less of a burden to her strength. She looked so weak. My dad urged me to step out of the room with him, so he could fill me in. "It came so suddenly. We weren't expecting anything like this to happen," he whispered in a frail, forlorn voice. "One day she was fine, the next day she woke up with a slight pain in her abdomen. Two days later, I insisted we go see our doctor. He ran some initial tests at his office and then sent her for a cat scan. He said its advanced endocrinal cancer, and it isn't uncommon in people of our age. It isn't good, son." I merely nodded in reply and put my arm around him. I felt so helpless. He looked frail. I had to somehow encourage him to lean on me for a change, instead of the other way around. "Well, school's out for the summer, so I'll be under foot for a while, at least. At least you won't go hungry. I may not be as skillful around the kitchen as mom is, but I've developed some skill in the Domestic Engineering classes I've been taking as electives for the last two years instead of attending prerequisite gym classes." "I hope you're joking, Mel! I would have much preferred to see you put on some bulk to your body from attending gym. Instead, you look like you've put on some weight in all the wrong places. You'd better see a doctor about your diet, or you'll become obese like my brother, your uncle: Martin. You might wake up one day and die of a massive heart attack at an early age, just like he did. I have enough to worry about with your mom being so sick!" I wanted to change the subject, so I asked, "Are George and his wife staying over with us while mom is ill?" "Yeah, I presume so. Why?" "Well, in culinary arts, I've been following recipes intended for a family of four. With the mooches I lived with in my dorm the first year, I never had to toss out much food I cooked during my freshman year, but I only had one room mate during the past school year, so we both picked up a bit of extra weight by eating what I cooked. Now that I'm home for the summer, at least, I should be able to get back into shape." "Looks to me like you picked up more than a bit of extra weight, and what do you mean by: 'at least'?" "Oh, don't worry." "Every time someone tells me to not worry, I find that I've got something new to worry about. What is it, now, Mel?" "Well, that investment broker we used to have churned the hell out of my education fund to the point that it adds up to less than half of what it should have been after I paid my Sophomore years tuition, room and board. I don't have enough left to finish college, dad." "Where's what's left?" "I switched brokers to one I trust, based on what I learned in Economics in the past two years. I didn't give the new guy discretionary power to invest in anything new unless he reviews it with me, first. That way, he can't change any of the rock solid investments I chose when I transferred the account." "What is this 'churn' and 'discretionary power' you're talking about?" "I'll explain later, dad. Let's attend to seeing that mom get's well, for now." "She isn't going to get well, son. According to the doctor, it's terminal." Hearing that, I almost collapsed on the spot, and needed to sit down. We went to the visitor's lounge where I could sit and ponder what my dad had told me. My brother George joined us then and asked dad if he "told me". I responded that he did, and added that I'd be home for the next few months, at least, so I'd be happy to cook for the family while mom was recuperating, not realizing that I assumed she would recover." George replied. "As you can imagine, I can't stick around and be away from my job for the entire summer. My wife: Katie will, gladly but I have to do my job, or my boss will seek someone else to do it, and I'll lose my seniority and a damned good job, to boot. I have to accept my responsibilities, bro. I'll be around on weekends, but you'll have to manage without me. I'm using up my accumulated vacation time to be here now. If you know anything about PERT, you know I have to approve the blueprints by a certain time slot in a construction project. I make a good living at what I do, and I don't want to put a black mark on my record if I can help it." "How soon do you have to get back to work?" "Next Monday. I'll work ten-hour days for the duration and be back every Thursday night. It's too bad that I don't work nearby. It's too far for me to commute, back and forth, or I would, so I'd be here at night to spell you, kid. I'm depending on you to help Dad out as much as you can." "No sweat. I was planning to find meaningful employment for this summer, but I guess I'll just put that on hold for now." He directed his attention to our father. "One of us should go back into the room to keep Mom occupied and Katie from crying. We don't want them to think we're playing cards out here, like we usually do during the holidays." Dad said he'd go and left us. After a minute, George continued. "The doctor had advised me that the cancer that Mom has is a very aggressive strain. She doesn't have much time left. Dad hasn't been told, yet. The doctor doesn't want him to slip and alert Mom of her tenuous condition. He says she'll figure it out on her own as things progress. "He feels it's bad enough as it is without compounding the issue with adding fear of death to her challenge." He almost choked on his words as he said it. "I expect you to comply with the doctor's opinion and keep this to yourself for the time being. No sense in making matters any more difficult than they already are for the two of them. Can you handle it?" I merely nodded in reply. I was too choked up to speak. It was a bitter pill to swallow. He put his left hand up on top of my shoulder, like he usually did and put his right hand in mine, and added, "I'm depending on you, kid. You're a grown man, now. You can do it. I know." I kept nodding, trying to force my heart to leave my throat; back down into my chest where it belongs. It was happening too fast for me to get a grip on it. I wouldn't have mentioned anything here about my mom's serious illness, but something else happened while she was in the hospital because of our preoccupation with her condition. One day when all three of us were with her, my parent's home was looted, totally cleaned out and the oven's valve was turned on with the pilot light off, so the gas from the oven didn't ignite until the thermostat on the gas hot water heater caused the house to explode. The house had been so ransacked; the strewn papers about the house had immediately ignited, spreading the fire throughout. An investigation took place afterwards because the fire was set intentionally according to the fire department. The fire department had indicated the house was uninhabitable, but it did not indicate that anything of value had already been removed prior to the fire being set. Nonetheless, because of the fire department's omission in their report the insurance carrier would not honor my dad's claim for total loss of his house and the theft of its contents, until their assigned investigator completed its own thoroughly independent inspection. In view of everything that happened, my overwrought dad said he wouldn't want the house to be rebuilt, even if it was salvageable. Too many treasured memories went up in flames along with the building. My brother offered to take dad in, and dad accepted. I expected my brother to extend the offer to me as well, but he said he that didn't have the room to accommodate both me and my dad. I was shocked, but didn't argue the point with him. We'd always been so close. I didn't want to endanger a history of amiable relationships with my big brother, and chance inciting hard feelings with my dad. George claimed that I'd be "hard pressed" to find a job in his home town. He suggested I'd fare much better in the big city. As usual, his opinion was likely to be correct, but it still seemed he was using that ploy as an excuse. Maybe he just didn't want to be burdened with two un- productive house guests, or maybe his wife didn't want me around on a full-time basis. 1. After we managed to salvage a few meager possessions we could out of my folk's burnt out home, and got my dad re-settled in at my brother's house, I directed my attention to finding meaningful employment. My first stop was to visit my previous employer, at an advertising firm where I worked as a gopher for the last two summers during high school. Unfortunately, they had already hired a temporary intern for the summer, so I was out of luck. They did however refer me to an employment agency specializing in short-term placements, saying the agency would be sure to have clients who hired some people at lucrative pay on-call, for short periods of time. It was the best they could do for me at the time. Had I been there a week earlier, they might have been able to hire me, instead of one of the other candidates. The advertising firm was kind enough to make an appointment with the agency for me, so I wouldn't appear to be someone walking in off the street. During my initial interview I had at the employment agency, the gentleman advised me that they specialized in personality services and they asked me to sign a contractual document to authorize their firm to be my referring agent before they would send me out to a prospective employer. As an incentive to sign up with them, they promised me very attractive fee rates which sounded really inviting, even if it would be for short-term day-to day assignments. They assured me once I received an assignment, it would be for a minimum of a full day at their regular billing rate, from which they would deduct their ten percent management fee. At the minimum rate they mentioned, I'd be earning as much in a single day as I did in a week at my last job. I didn't want to seem anxious, as their eagerness made me feel a bit cautious. They asked for ten percent of all of my income in return for handling my account. Unsure of what to say at the time, I politely told the interviewer that I would think it over, and get back to him if I was interested. He seemed offended, to think they were asking for exclusive rights to receive a part of what I earned from anyone who engaged my services. When I stood up to leave, he stood up, as well, and insisted I wouldn't fare any better with any other theatrical booking agencies. Ah, so that was his premise! He thought I was an actor or a model of some sort, as my resume indicated that I'd taken drama and art classes in college to fill out my schedule with some easy liberal arts courses. "Look, kid, I know you're brand new at this, and rightfully cautious about making your debut with us, but if you'll sign a contract with us now, I can guarantee you a swell assignment, that might last all summer, right away, no waiting, with a real good client who has a steady need for plus-size clothing models. Being a bit chunky makes you an ideal candidate. He's doing real classy ad work for a national clothing manufacturer right now, from what he has told us. His regular model received a lucrative offer from a movie mogul out in Hollywood, and had to accept it. If you'll take this assignment, you'll be sure to gain notoriety right away, I'm confident of it. What have you got to lose? It's ready money ripe for the taking. What more could you ask for? This guy is on a very tight tether with his client and needs someone right now. Tell you what: I'll set up an interview with this guy for you and alter our standard contract that it's just for the duration of this assignment only. "If you decide to decline this assignment, you won't be obligated to us any further. I like you, kid and I want you on our team. I think you have what it takes to make it in the business. You have an excellent future ahead of you." "I'm not so sure. How? I'm overweight, short, and I'm not very photogenic. What makes you think I have any chance at securing regular work?" "Read our contract. You'll see that it's the standard boilerplate for the entire industry. We'll also never ask for money from you like some agencies do to promote you. Either you got it or you don't. I think you've got what it takes. It's up to you as to how you want your career to progress. You can decline any offers you don't like and not owe us a dime, other than our standard ten percent management fee for the assignments you accept. "Take your time, read the contract over carefully. Ask around. Everyone in the business knows we're straight shooters. Once you get to know us better, you'll agree. We've been around forever. We wouldn't be if we weren't a reliable, conscientious agency." I told him that I'd give him my answer the following day and left. He wasn't too happy with my reply, but I told him I never made an important decision without sleeping on it, first. I then said he had my cell phone number and if I didn't call him by noon the following day, he should call me. I went to my car's trunk to retrieve my laptop as soon as I arrived at a local library branch. I checked out the firm on the Internet. They were a reputable agency, a five star rated professional acting and modeling booking agent, just as the man had claimed. Their website proudly showed pictures of some popular actors and models they represented. If I signed on, I suppose I'd be in good company. I phoned the family lawyer next and to ask how much he'd charge to review an employment contract. He said it depended on how lengthy it was. I told him it was about seven pages long, mostly covering the terms and the means of arbitration in the event of a dispute. He said that it sounded like a standard modelling contract. "Agency's arrangements for actors are more involved because of the unique nature of an individual's specific talents. Modelling contracts are simpler because they don't specify the performance expected. Normally, a model simply poses the way that the employer asks." He then asked me to drop it off at his office, and he would give his opinion on the spot if it was indeed a standard modelling contract. "They said it was a 'boilerplate' contract for the industry." "They all do, but it's the fine print that you have to be leery of. I'll let you know if contains anything to cause concern or avoid, after I review it in its entirety, not before. I have some time available late this afternoon, and I do want to speak to you about the value your personal effects that were lost in the recent home fire." He explained that he'd like to request an immediate advance disbursement for the clothes I would need to carry me through until the final, entire claim will be paid. I told him that I had left most of my clothes and a few pieces of furniture in a small storage unit back at my college. He said he would still need to meet with me to discuss my temporary living arrangements, as I was living at my parent's home for the summer when the fire occurred. I then indicated one of the neighbors whose son was a classmate in high school offered to put me up until I found something close to where I'd be working. "They assume I'll be going back to college in the fall, but I doubt if it would be proper to impose on them until then." "No, you're right. You shouldn't. The insurance carrier is obliged to provide you with temporary housing. Don't go overboard and book the fanciest hotel in town. Be sensible and find some place that'll be convenient to your new employment. You may have to use your own funds for a short while until I can negotiate an advance for you." We set the time for my late afternoon appointment and I then stopped by the neighbor to tell them my lawyer was negotiating temporary housing for me at the insurance company's expense. The parents of my former classmate insisted I stay with them until my lawyer made the arrangements. I wasn't in the mood to argue, as it might seem I was looking a gift horse in the mouth. At the lawyer's office: Once our lawyer reviewed the agency's contract, he affirmed it was a standard "boilerplate" and mutually beneficial. "Make sure the contract you sign is exactly the same as this one, without any additional clauses added. Also, make sure one of the principals listed in their website signs it in front of you and dates it, as well. Have them then send a certified copy to me in this pre-addressed envelope." Our family lawyer had more closure need than any of my college accounting professors. He then recommended a few local motels where I could lay my head without losing my shirt in the process. "If you stay with a friend or an accommodating neighbor for more than a few nights, they'll probably file a claim with your insurance company for remuneration. Be polite, but don't delay making your own arrangements." Regardless of my lawyer's advice, I decided to delay making arrangements until after my first night with the accommodating neighbor. When I arrived, they were far too inquisitive about what had caused the fire, where my dad was staying now, which insurance company was covering the claims, and so forth. Disgusted, I lied to them and said I didn't know any of that, which was mostly true, and suggested they contact our family attorney. That shut them up in a hurry, and they seemed a bit upset over my response. I didn't get much sleep that night, knowing my hosts might have an ulterior motive for putting me up. I left early, declining to have breakfast with them due to an early appointment with an employment agency, which was true. The gentleman at the agency who interviewed me the day before saw me right away, as if he was glad to be of service to me. We talked casually for a bit, and when I said I was ready to sign the contract, he immediately stepped out and returned with one of the principals I recognized from their website. We signed the contracts in a round robin fashion, and they were all notarized by a public notary from the staff. I was given my copy and a second copy for my attorney, as I had requested. Only then did they provide the name of the advertising firm that was interested in hiring me. An appointment was then arranged with the ad firm for early that afternoon. It seemed that everyone was in a big hurry in this business, which was fine with me. I found out why as soon as I arrived at my potential employer's address. He was surprised to see that the agency sent a guy. Then, he looked at my face and stood back a bit and examined me more closely. Then he asked me to take off my outerwear. He said that he wanted to get a good look at my legs. I was a bit surprised, but then assumed he'd want me to pose in a pair of walking shorts or perhaps a bathing suit. He then said it didn't matter much to him that I was a guy, because he could "retouch" any flaws in the final submissions he'd have to send to the vendor for approval, if I didn't mind wearing some flashy new styles in leather, vinyl or latex. By latex, I assumed that he meant spandex. I had a few spandex bathing suits when they were in style, and seeing how it was still the beginning of summer, I naturally assumed he meant that I'd be wearing spandex. I told him I knew he was in a hurry, so I told him I was willing to wear anything he'd ask me to wear, if he was willing to pay me the going rate the agency offered. I was referring to the fifty dollar per hour rate the agency quoted. "So, they told you I'm behind schedule! Did they? Damn them. Okay, oaky, look, so you already know this is a rush job, and I'm way behind schedule. Okay, I'm willing to pay you double the normal rate seeing as how we'll have to work late into every evening for the next several weeks to catch up. "You seem so fresh and innocent. How long have you been dressing?" "For as long as I can remember. My mom dressed me when I was younger, but even as a child I preferred to do it myself." "Where's your makeup kit?" I assumed that he meant stage makeup. From taking college drama classes I knew that actors had to wear some makeup to enhance their facial features for the benefit of the audience. "I don't have one yet." "You don't have what? All dressers have their own makeup!" "This is my first professional modelling assignment. I didn't know what to expect, other than you were going to want me to pose for fashion ads. They didn't tell me that I'd need stage makeup, or what kind of clothes you'd want me to model. How was I to know? I know I can get a makeup kit pretty quick at any college book store. They carry them for drama students." "Hey wait a minute! I don't think we're on the same page here. I expected a female model. Now, don't get me wrong, I can use CAD design to change your facial features adequately in a pinch, but you're going to have to meet me half way, here. I'll admit, your legs look terrific and you have a very nice looking face, but your brows are too full and your lips are thin. Well, maybe with a bit of computerized artwork, I can --- are you homophobic? Do you have anything against people who like to crossdress? If you are, I don't think this is going to work out. " I didn't want to lose out on making a hundred dollars an hour, even if it was temporary. At ten hours a day, I could gross five thousand dollars for a full week's work. Gulp! I could live with posing in anything he wanted as long as it didn't embarrass me or my family publicly. I knew a bit about crossdressers, and that a lot of them were gay, but this was a job, and the guy didn't seem remotely gay, so I had to give him the benefit of the doubt and a assume he had a client that manufactured a line of clothing that was intended for women. I'd have to dress as one to model the women's clothes he mentioned for a summer Internet and hard copy catalog. "Me? Hell no, I'm not a homophobe. I was never a jock, that's for sure, and I've been called a wimp many a time, so I'm used to it. Hey, I've been away at college for the past two years and I know all about guys who like to dress up as women, but I don't know anyone who does. I've never done it myself; but, what's that got to do with my modelling for you? I'm game if you are." "You have great looking legs, better looking than most women's legs, and most of the shots I need will require seeing them in sexy nylons. Do you have a problem with showing off your gorgeous gams to the world?" "No, I don't think so, as long as my face isn't in any of the shots." "Don't worry about that. For any facial shots, I can fix you up so your own mother won't recognize you." He took a hold of my chin. "You don't have a prominent beard line. You'd look more attractive as a college coed than as a guy. You have excellent potential. I was thinking. Do you mind taking off your tee-shirt for a moment. I want to see something." I did as he asked. He looked at my chest closely for a moment and commented: "Just as I thought, with the proper support, you'll look more authentic than you can imagine. Of course, for me to bring in a cosmetologist to do your makeup, you'd have to be willing to wear whatever the manufacturer has on tap for the coming fall season. If you are, I'd be willing to extend your contract for at least a month, maybe even as much as two months, or close to it." I added it up the figures in my head. That would come to five thousand per week times four, or maybe even times eight. "For that kind of money, I'd be willing to wear whatever you like, even next to nothing, as long as I couldn't be identified. I'd never agree to do anything that might embarrass my family, my dad, my brother, his wife or me." "Not a chance. What about you. Do you have a cute looking girlfriend?" "No, most girls like butch guys, and I never fit the bill. I had a few dates some time back, but no girls wanted a repeat date, after the first one." "Too bad, a cosmetologist can advise you on how to be more attractive, maybe as a metro man or a boy-toy. You'd be surprised how many guys seek professional help in that area. You wouldn't recognize some of the major actors without their faces made up. Some are really plain looking." "Oh, I don't think I'd ever want to wear makeup in public." "I'd get a pro to come in and fit you with wigs, do your hair, your makeup; the works. Like I said, you own mother wouldn't recognize you. The outfits in this particular line are designed for plus size girls, so your weight isn't a problem, at all. We may have to fit you with a corset for some of the styles. In fact, getting used to wearing a skin-toned waist cincher would probably be the best way for you to enhance your contours for the shoot. "Do you own a car?" "I do, an older one, a small minivan passed down to me from my mom when she stopped driving a few years back. It's still in her name, though." "Do you suppose she'll ever want it back?" I regretfully had to explain about her death, and the subsequent fire and the fact that I'd be likely staying at a motel nearby, which I had yet to arrange. "Well, we need to get rolling, kid. Let's start by seeing how you'll look in sexy pairs of sheer nylon stay-up stockings, in a variety of colors, with a wide band of lace at the top. You'll have to wear a pair of matching nylon briefs to disguise your masculine bulge with the stockings, Are you game?" "Sure. Ugh, right now? Where can I change?" "You can use the studio's bathroom if you must, but let's not waste a lot of time doing it. The first shots will involve many changes in colors, then a few different styles, and different colored pan - uh - -- briefs to match the colors and styles of the nylons. It'll take most of the rest of the day, as it is, what with picking out an appropriate gaff to hide your three-piece package. "As a bonus, anything you wear will be yours to keep. Since it's been worn it can't be returned. If, you don't work out as my ideal model, I'll wire the vendor to send out a complete set of stockings and panties --, I mean, briefs. We'll start with the flesh-tone gaff." He handed me a very small brief. I knew what a gaff was from hearing dancers refer to then the around the dorms, though I never wore one. "May I use your bathroom to put it on?" "This one will give you a realistic looking camel toe, but you'll have to tuck to achieve the effect. Do you know how to tuck your package?" I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. "You know, there are far more similarities between men and women than there are differences. For example, your legs look terrific, nicer looking than a lot of women's legs, and far more attractive looking than any men's I've ever encountered before. A gaff is used to conceal male genitals, so a man's groin will look like a woman's by hiding your package between your legs. " I told him I knew what it was for, and he didn't have to explain its purpose. He insisted I didn't know as much as I'd like him to believe, and to prove his point, he challenged me to depilate the hair on my legs, all the way up to my hips to compare my legs to some pictures of professional models' legs from his extensive folios from previous advertising shoots he made. I accepted his challenge, thinking that he'd be paying me a hundred dollars an hour to spend time getting rid of the hair on my legs which would grow back in a few weeks, so I didn't mind. He supplied depilation cream, suggesting I read all the instructions carefully; then follow them to the letter, to avoid a rash. I'd show him! I went into the bathroom, got naked and read the fine print on the bottle, applied the cream to my legs thoroughly, including the periphery of my crotch, so no hairs would show outside the gaff I was to wear. I turned on the shower taps and looked at my cell phone to time the duration of the cream's application: no more than fifteen minutes, the instruction had said. The cream started to sting after about ten minutes, so I re-checked the time on my cell phone, and watched the time run out, and then got into the shower at exactly fifteen minutes after I started to put the cream on. At first, it seemed to me that the cream wasn't working, but when I began to wash my legs with a lather laden washcloth and water, all of the hair on my legs came off into the washcloth. Even the heavy matt of hair near my groin came off. My legs felt strange with no hair at all on them, once I dried off. I wasted no time putting on the gaff he provided, even though it seemed to be a few sizes too small at the waist, and was a bit baggy at the rear. Maybe it was meant to fit that way. Women had bigger butts than men, I recalled. When I came out of the bathroom, he was waiting. He gave me one look and proclaimed that I wasn't wearing the gaff high enough. He asked me to turn so my back was to him. He rolled over the waistband on the gaff halfway down my hips, grabbed the rolled fabric and yanked up hard. When I had put the thing on in the bathroom, I had pushed my three-piece set down because it was the only way I could wear the tight fitting garment comfortably. His adjustment made me think he crushed my sensitive gonads inside of the tight confines of the groin panel. "There, that's better. See how those two small roll pads down low at the front of the brief give you a more womanly appearance?" I went back into the bathroom to see what he meant. Sure enough, the tiny pads made my groin appear to have a definite indent in the center, as if I had labia instead of testicles and a penis. I felt a sudden rush of energy inside. Not having been sexually active, previously, I didn't know what to make of the rush I felt inside, other than my liking the odd sensation. He must have noticed my blushing, because he placed a warm hand on my butt, which also felt sort of nice. He was right up close behind me and spoke softly. "Some men, the lucky ones; can respond to tactile stimulation much as most women do. It's nothing for you to be ashamed of. You'll be pleased to know that there are many women who prefer to be aggressors with gentle minded men, and they'll fall hard for a man who can enjoy fulfilling the passive role in an adult relationship." "Is that so? Tell me where I can find a woman like that, and I won't waste any time letting her know I'll be as passive as she wants me to be." "So, if the right kind of alpha woman should come along, you'd probably be willing to become her passive pet? Is that right? I'll bet you would. Can you cook and sew? Power driven women demand a man who would be willing to keep house, be the maid for her, while she is busy being the bread winner. Think you'd like being a happy little homemaker for a woman like that?" "I don't know. I haven't had much luck with women, so far. They all seem to want guys that are buff and strong, not timid guys, like me." "Take another look in the full length mirror on the door again. Notice how you have nipples on your chest, just like women, but women have greatly expanded mammary glands. Men do not. Men possess mammary glands, as well, but the hormonal triggers that causes the glands to fill out is lacking. Close your eyes a bit and imagine what you'd look like if you had fuller looking puppies up on your chest, like a young developing teenage girl's." He stood behind me and placed his hands on my ribcage under my armpits. As he pushed the excess flesh of my chest together, my chest appeared to have sprouted small, but distinctly feminine looking protrusions. "Oh! Is that really me? I almost look like a teeny- bopper, coed!" "You didn't know you were able to express yourself this way. Did you?" "No, I wasn't aware, not at all." That wonderful feeling deep inside of me made me shiver inside over the attractive reflection in the mirror before me. "Now you have a much better idea of why I think you are as qualified to do this shoot as any women I've ever had pose for me. Remember that, I'll be paying you double the going rate if you'll do it. Think of the money!" "I can't do it!" I simpered. "Someone might recognize me." "I want you to try on something else for me that will greatly enhance your attractive appearance. It's called an under bra, a waist cinch that tucks in the waistline gently, but leave the bosom on display. Of course, to protect your identity we'll put you in a full corset to further enhance your luscious curves and use wigs and cosmetics to completely disguise your facial features. "A part of this shoot calls for a full-figure female model, but I think you can do the job justice, with a little help from a professional cosmetologist. Think of all the money you'll be making. No one will ever know who you are beneath your sexy finery. You might even enjoy the experience" His last sentence sent another wave of sensation washing through me, as if it would be okay for me to enjoy the task at hand. He said no one would ever know who I was, and he implied that I'd look sexy! Maybe, if some of those power driven women saw me modelling clothing from his client's line, they might like what they see and reach out to find me. It was worth the chance, "Okay, I'll do it, whatever it takes. Maybe one of those power hungry babes will figure out that I'm a guy under all the war paint and seek me out." "That's the idea. Go for it! What have you got to lose?" "Yeah, I haven't been doing well with getting dates, lately. Maybe this is the incentive the ladies need to make them take notice of me and make my day." He handed me the black spandex under bra and told me to go put it on in the bathroom. I did as he asked and came out showing a lot more flesh than I did when he used his hands to urge my soft chest flesh into small, but noticeable man-boobs. The reflection I saw in the mirror over the sink and vanity was unmistakably feminine in appearance, other than my plain, male face. I had to cop a feel of my nipples while I gazed at my reflection. The same, unusual wonderful sensation came over me as I tweaked my hardened nipples. I liked how it felt and I liked how I looked so much; I found it difficult to stop. I didn't fall off a tree and knew gay men dressed as women to attract straight men, but I wasn't the least bit interested in men admiring me, and wouldn't want to attract any. My immediate concern was about the man waiting in the next room seeing my newly enhanced chest exposed so blatantly. I called out to him to ask him if he'd provide me something to conceal my nakedness. "Don't be silly." He hollered back. I've seen it all before! You haven't got anything the other models don't have. We haven't got all day, you know, and I'll have to lace you into the corset I've chosen for you to wear for the stocking shoot. Come on out of there! Or, do I have to come in to get you?" "No, no I'm coming out." I replied. "I didn't mean to upset you." "That a girl, you'll do well to listen and do as I suggest. Now turn around and raise your arms, and face the mirror while I lace you into this corset." I looked down at the silk-like heavy brocade corset he was wrapping around my shivering torso. Padded, lace trimmed demi-cups barely covered my protruding nipples. An almost impossibly small waistline blossomed out at the corset's bottom which extended to just below my crotch. Six wide garter tabs hung down on my upper thighs, to firmly hold the corset down in place, to be attached to full-length nylon stockings. He asked me to hold the corset in place while he clasped the eyelets down the front of the corset together. More sensations coursed through me after he fastened the tabs in the front of the garment and started pulling on the laces in the center of its back. I felt as if he was intentionally defining my attitude about modelling as well as my contours as he tightened each row of lacing behind my back a little at a time. I could feel the constriction at my waistline more than anywhere else, and begged him to stop tightening when I felt I would snap in two at the waist. I could feel my body slowly yield to the restricting structure of the garment. It was unyielding on the inside, though it looked so delicate on the exterior. Short of breath, I tried to sit down on the small stool in front of the vanity in the bathroom, but discovered the tightness of the corset wouldn't allow for it. The corset groaned a bit to let me know sitting in it wasn't possible. "I can't sit down in this thing. It's way too tight!" "Give your mid-torso a chance to get used to its smaller shape and size. In less than an hour, it'll feel loose and you'll be asking me to tighten it for you. Turn around and look at your reflection in the full-length mirror now." I did as he asked and saw that my waistline was at least two inches smaller. I didn't look very feminine, but didn't look as chubby as I did earlier. I liked the effect it had on my torso. I looked a bit slimmer. It almost made me look taller, and more agile. He pulled on the bottom hem of the corset to coax it lower in place and ran his hands over the backside to smooth it out. "I see what you mean. How small can my waist get if you tighten it more?" I didn't comment to him on how nice and warm his hands felt on my bum. "Depends on how long you're willing to wear the corset. The longer you wear it, the more dramatically attractive the hourglass shape will become. "In Victorian times, some women intentionally wore them constantly, day and night, gradually whittling their waistlines down to a mere ten inches in circumference. That's drastic and isn't advisable. Excessively restricting the shape of a waistline isn't healthy. It forces the internal organs to relocate, and can cause damage if the restriction is as drastic as those women did it." "How much more would I need to whittle off to make me look real sexy?" "I think about four inches or so would be enough. Would you like to look sexier in a tight-fitting corset? It's probably doable. You'd have to go on a low-carb, high-protein diet, and purge regularly to rid your body of toxins associated with a strict vegetarian diet, or you'll become very flatulent." "Do you think a thinner waistline would it make me look more attractive to the kind of power driven women you described to me earlier?" "Most definitely, but it would also enhance your ability to model some of the more delicate, sexier looking ensembles my current client manufactures. With a slim waistline, if you maintain your current weight, you'll develop a voluptuous figure, and I could then keep you on the payroll to model their fall line of intimates when they introduce it. Are you interested? If you are, I'll clue you about food supplements that coincide with what you'll need." "Am I? Most assuredly, if you'll pay me the same as you've agreed to pay me for this shoot. You know, we never discussed how often I'd get paid." "I pay my models weekly, as per the terms of my contract with your booking agent. They want their cut on a weekly basis. I suppose they get to deal with some deadbeats in this business, and they don't want anyone to owe them or their models more than a week's commissions, so they don't get complaints from them. You don't have to worry. I pay all my bills on time, religiously." He handed me a pair of grey silky, shiny nylon stockings and a matching obviously feminine panty. By this time, I didn't balk when he asked me to put it on over my flesh-tone gaff. Hell, I was modelling women's nylons. It made sense to wear underwear that matched the stockings. I checked how I looked in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, only to hear him tell me to shorten the garter tabs to pull the corset down to where it belonged. It didn't make sense to me. The corset almost completely hid the panty, once I adjusted the garter tabs and attached them to the stockings; until he told me to stretch out on a phony beach backdrop he'd set up. He had to help me to get down on a beach blanket in a lounging position, leaning on one elbow. . He took a few pictures of me in rapid succession on the phony beach scene with my legs outstretched in front of me. He then showed me proofs of those shots on his hand-held notebook. My legs looked great, but so did the corset and my crotch, the focal point of each shot in the center of each photo. "Women want to look attractive, and they know where all the guys will be looking. We want the women who look at the ads for this firm's new line of intimate apparel to see how men will see them, what the men will be looking at when they look at the women. The stockings featured in the foreground of the photo sell them, but what women's attention is directed to in the photo is what men checking out women want to see: the juncture of their thighs, and the women's camel toes vividly on display, so the ad sells the panties, too." "The camel toe in this example isn't that obvious!" "It will be for the observers of the ad, after I retouch the photo. They want to see beautiful, so they see what they want to see. They will see an attractive curvaceous woman out on a beach on a sunny day, showing off her body." "Hey, you can tell that it's me in this picture!" "I was in a hurry to show you the effect I'm after. Watch this." He fumbled with his keyboard for about a minute and turned the notebook around to show me the picture again. He had cropped my head off the shot and replaced it with a woman's head "I can't use her image in an ad without paying her, and her granting me her permission, even if it isn't her body, just a composite. She's not available, so I'll need you to wear a feminine wig and some makeup tomorrow to replace this photo of your male looking head. "You might as well know now, I can't use any pictures I take of you for the layout until I pay you and you grant me rights to the photos. So don't worry, you will be paid for every hour you work on set with me, unless you decide to crash here and take advantage of my hospitality. "If you bunk here in the spare bedroom, I won't pay you when you're not working, but we can work later into the evenings, and I'll buy dinner and cocktails for us before we bed down for the night. How's that sound?" "Time flies, I guess, now that you mention it. I just realized that I haven't arranged for a place to spend the night. It had slipped my mind. I became caught up in what we're doing. I never wore women's sexy intimate apparel before. In fact, I never even knew what it felt like to wear nylon stockings, or a gaff, let alone a tight, sexy looking corset. Surprisingly, what you've asked me to wear so far feels much nicer than my men's underwear, t-shirts and white briefs. I wouldn't mind spending a night dressed up in this outfit." "Is that so? How do women's undies make you feel inside? Do you, perhaps, enjoy what I was doing to your backside while I helped you put on the tight gaff? How about while I fastened the long-line under bra and fancy corset? By the way, how does the corset feel now? Is it as tight as it felt earlier?" I stopped to think. "It's still feels a bit confining, but doesn't seem as tight as when you first laced me into it." I bent over. "I can actually bend over a bit." "Your torso is conforming to it, yielding to the unforgiving hidden structure of such a quality garment. Your body welcomes its gentle restraint, It will take some time, but I'll bet you can lose another inch or so at the waistline by tomorrow if you'll spend all night wearing an entire ensemble like this." "If I choose to sleep in one, which I doubt, I wouldn't dare leave your studio with it on, even under my male clothes. I'm still unable to sit upright in it. I wouldn't trust myself behind the wheel of my minivan." "Think over what you'd like to do for the night while you change into this sexy looking bright red pair of panties and matching thigh-high nylons." "Won't I have to change corsets, as well?" "Black is almost universal. When you change your panties, slip the corset up and inside out. Then, pull it back down into place over the panty afterwards. Women manage to go to the bathroom wearing corsets, but they wear their panties over the corsets. The ordeals women tolerate to appear attractive makes wearing form-defining corsetry somewhat less desirable these days. "Instead, most women opt for pantyhose and cotton panties, unless they want to impress someone special. That's what my client specializes in." "Think I'll be able to attract someone 'special' if I wear elegant corsetry?" "I'm sure that you will, without a doubt, if you do it enough. You may even become addicted to the sensuous feel of the luxurious fine textures you'll wear in these photo shoots, so much, you won't be able to go without them. However, once you become addicted to sexy looking corsetry, will you be prepared to accept all the different advances you're bound to receive from the different admirers checking out the ads? Now, that remains to be seen." "I'd be willing to take my chances, as long as the women I attract are willing to accept what they see in the ads." "You'll probably attract some men too; men with lust on their minds. Some of them, the experienced ones, will figure out that you're not a true woman, regardless of how good a job a cosmetician does on your face. " "I suppose I would attract some men, but I'm not interested in any men." He changed the subject. "I noticed that you didn't indicate a 'non de plume': a pseudonym, in your contract. Your booking agent won't be too particular when they screen the calls they'll get about who you are. They thrive on the notoriety the photo shoots generate. The more popular you become, the more they'll be able to negotiate for your modelling; improving the commissions, they'll get from your higher income. I suggest you think up an appropriate alias to use for public consumption, something that's easy to remember." The confident look on his face suggested he knew a lot more about what will happen when he submits the first proof photos of me for acceptance by the clothing manufacturer, regardless of how a skilled cosmetologist might alter my facial features. "Would you be very offended if men were to think of you as being very attractive, knowing full well that you aren't a real woman? Some men may think of you as attractive as those alpha women will." His saying certain men would consider me attractive, even if they knew I wasn't a woman, gave me an odd, naughty, odd feeling inside. It was almost the same feeling I felt when I was sliding the first thin lace-trimmed panty up my newly denuded, hairless legs while he watched me do it. 2. My new acquaintance and employer took several photos of my sexy looking legs in the grey, sheer nylon stockings, of course, my entire legs, including my sexy looking grey panty, after which, he had me change into a similar set in red, pale blue, then violet, then maroon, then yellow, and more common beige a lot of women wear to work and socially, and finally, he asked me to put on a pair of flesh-toned stockings made of very flexible looking, thin rubber. By this time it was late in the afternoon, and I was counting up the money I had already earned in my head. He said these stockings might tear if they were pulled on like other stockings so he'd help me put them on the first time. First, he dusted my legs lightly with fine talc. Then, he carefully rolled the stockings up into what looked like doughnuts and then unrolled them first onto my feet, and then onto my calves, one stocking at a time. The stockings fit tightly on my legs very tight, and I told him they wouldn't be very visible, because they looked the same shade as my bare skin. He said that was the idea: but they'd make my flesh look like it's made of high-gloss porcelain. "You won't need to wear a panty for this set, just a different gaff, and a new corset." He handed me a gaff made of slightly heavier rubber than the nylons I was already wearing, but it had tapered pads built in inside the sides of it. It was shinier than the gaff I was still wearing, and the camel-toe's indent was more obvious. "Put it on. I promise I won't reveal any of your facial features during the next set. I just want to get an idea what I'll be working with. A photo of you in the nude will enable me to overlay your torso with a variety of dresses. You'll be paid for every image of you, but I'll superimpose different dresses or swimsuits for the current summer edition, as if you had to pose for each individual photo, even if you don't pose for it." Once he dusted me from the waist to my groin, he helped me into the tight rubber panty. The inside of the panty was lined with a layer of cloth, so it slid up into place a bit easier than the stockings, but it provided me wider hips to admire. In fact, I was admiring it! Amazing! The gaff gave me great looking 'booty'! I looked sexy, and I loved the effect! He powdered my arms next with talc and told me to hold them out and stand still so he could slip the sleeves of the rubber corset up my arms. The corset had long sleeves meant to hide the hairs still on my arms. "The long sleeves avoid you having to shave all the hair off of your arms and body." I looked down and noticed the rubber flesh-toned corset had breasts built into it that were hollow on the inside. As he fitted the corset to my body, he coaxed the loose flesh of my chest into the small hollows inside the upper part of the full body corset. It felt cold at first, but the corset was lined with a layer of smooth cloth below the bust line, so it didn't take long to warm up. The new corset went all the way up to my neck, and was open in the back, where he was busy lacing it. I watched as my waistline compressed and the stretched out rubber reduced in size without any wrinkles. He continued to tug at the laces in the back until I had trouble breathing, and I asked him to stop. "It's way too tight! Give me a break! Will you?" He directed me to the full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door. The relative sizes of my feminine bust, waistline and wider hips were truly remarkable. I resembled a sexy, voluptuous woman from the neck on down, and I was reacting to the vision of the sexy body in front of me. It was then I realized that the new gaff I was wearing had a hole at the bottom of it, and my little penis was poking its head out of it, pointing down, lewdly. He put his hands on my bum and rubbed it asking me if I could feel his warmth. "This has gone far enough, you pervert! I didn't come here to be sexually abused!" He had already tied off the laces in the back of the corset, and hard as I tried, I couldn't reach them with my arms restricted by the tight grip of the sleeves of the corset. "Get this blasted thing off of me, or I'll tear it off!" "Don't worry, I'm not going to molest you, sweetheart, but you must admit that you do look absolutely darling in a latex body suit. I could molest you easily, if I wanted to, as the back of your shiny, new gaff has two holes in it, one for your cock and one for another cock, in the rear." I tried to reach in behind me at the neck, to undo the corset's seam in the back, but I couldn't feel it. "Where's the goddamned seam on this thing?" "Settle down. The corset you're wearing is porous, and will breathe to vent out your perspiration, but in can get uncomfortable if you're too active." "I don't care! Get me out of this thing, damn it!" I will, I will, if you insist, Stop fidgeting so! The cloth lining on the inside contracts and will tighten as it absorbs perspiration. I promise I'll remove everything very soon, if that's what you want, but only under one condition. One that I'm sure you won't mind, in the very least." "What kind of condition?" "I want you to wear a flesh-toned hood with this outfit. Your entire body, including your head will be covered, so no one will ever know that you are modelling in it. Let me take a few shots of you, and then I'll remove it all." "Why should I? When I got here, I didn't expect to be doing any modelling, at all, let alone modelling women's stuff, especially not any sexy, intimate or fetish underwear. I want out of this thing, right now!" "But, I've already explained my problem to you. This is a very expensive item that will be included; no, it will be featured in the new catalogue that will be coming out for the summer fashions. I'm very, very late due to my last model getting a Hollywood screen test. My client knows my model took off on me, and I'm between a rock and a hard place. It'll be near impossible to find another model as well- qualified as you are on such short notice. " "That's your problem. You should have offered your regular model more." "I did; a lot more. And, I made you, a damned guy, the same offer, and you accepted it! Look, I need to send off the initial proofs of a few of their new latex outfits to secure my retainer from them so I can pay you. I'm close to a month behind schedule already. I know they won't wait another whole week. I need to send off some proofs to them, now, or I wouldn't have offered you a small fortune to model for me. How was I to know that it's your first gig? Listen, I'll sweeten the pie and pay you a thousand dollar signing bonus if you'll just let me finish the entire fetish wear assignment quickly!" "You'll give me an extra thousand? Can you pay it up front, in cash?" It was an enticing sum. I was tempted. "How long will it take you to finish?" "I can probably finish today, but I want you to stick around until tomorrow, in case they want some additional shots of you in some different poses." "So, if I stay, how soon will I get my two thousand dollars pay for today's work?" "It isn't ten hours, yet! If you stay until tomorrow, I'll give you a thousand, the signing bonus, right now, and I'll pay you the balance when I'll get paid, but not before. I've got enough money in my checking account right now for the signing bonus, but I have other bills to pay and I have to eat, you know. I'd pay you the whole two grand right now if I could, but I'm short of funds due to my last model leaving me in the lurch." "Write a check for the first thousand, right now, and I'll hold on to it for a day or two when I can get to my bank, then we'll do the first set of proofs." "I can give you a check for nine hundred written out to you; your booking agent gets the other hundred. If you want, I can write the entire amount out to your booking agent, and you can ask them to withhold appropriate taxes for you and they'll write out a check to you for the balance. We have a direct payment arrangement between firms. I pay them the agreed upon amount as modelling fee. It's the method your booking agent prefers. I don't want to be paying any payroll taxes. I have enough trouble making ends meet." "Make out a check to my booking agent for the gross amount. I'll call them and arrange to pick up my balance after I consult with my attorney." He went to his desk, fired up a separate desktop computer, and did a direct transfer of funds to my booking agent's bank while I stood over his shoulder watching. A few seconds later, he received confirmation that the transaction went through and the money had been taken out of his checking account. "Satisfied? If you are, let's get started. It's getting late, and I'm tired." "I guess we can. Alright, but you still can't take any head shots of me!" "Oh, can't I?" He took a realistic looking facial mask out of a box and asked me to turn around. He sprayed something I presumed was an anti-microbial onto the inside of the mask and placed the mask over my face, coaxing the mask to fit my face everywhere except above my hairline. The mask was so tight on my face it seemed to conform to the contours of my own features. It had a single wide flap in the back, so when he overlapped the flaps together with some kind of mastic, my head was completely covered. He used the same sweet smelling mastic to adhere the bottom edge of the mask to the neckline of the body suit. The smell reminded me of the glue that I used to make model airplanes, which had alcohol for its solvent. The mask had tiny eye holes for my pupils, so I could see out. The mask's nostrils had tiny flanges extending inward, meant to fit inside of my own nostrils. I could breathe easily. The lips of the mask's mouth opening were much fuller than my own lips. The thicker lips were held in place over my lips by a wide flange that extended into my mouth over my own lips in front of my teeth, enabling me to flex the thicker lips as if the lips were my very own. I could talk with them without any problem in spite of my having the inside of my lips covered in a layer of flexible, thick rubber. "Do people really pay good money for masks like this one?" I asked. "They pay small fortunes for them. This stuff is high-tech and doesn't come cheap. The body suit you're wearing with this mask costs more than that bank transfer I just made for you. I'm glad we settled that business before the banks closed for the day. I don't want you to think for a second that I'm a welcher. It isn't always easy, but I always try to pay my bills on time, and I pay all my models very well. I resent what you were thinking about me." "Can you blame me for wanting some assurance that I'd be paid? I don't know you from Adam. We've never met before. " "Well, you've been paid your retainer, so now it's up to you to fulfill your part of the bargain. Let's see if you are as responsible as I am." He took a series of pictures of my hooded head without any hair. Then, he took a lot of pictures of my body encased in the shiny rubber body suit. He then placed a short platinum blond wig over my shiny hood-enclosed head and combed it into place. "I needed the nude shots for the body suit and mask ads. We'll use a pixie style for the first set of head shots featuring wigs that go well with the mask. If they accept the proofs, we'll switch masks tomorrow and continue taking pictures of you in different wigs until we have a variety of examples to send in. If they like the head shots I send them, they'll probably ask for additional shots with other masks representing the other races." "They make these rubber suits in different colors?" "Of course, but they call them skin tones, not colors!" When he completed the shots he took of me in the platinum blond pixie style wig, he showed the glossy prints he'd taken of me to me, spread out across a large table he said he used to lay out various posters and other graphic art work artists made for him on contract. "Wow! I look pretty, almost as pretty as a real woman." "Yeah, the hood is realistic, but it can't compare with a real face that's made up to look gorgeous by a pro. You'd look absolutely darling as a woman, my dear, if a good cosmetologist gives you a makeover." He put his hand on my bum when he said it, and I felt that strange feeling inside me once again, one that I was slowly becoming familiar with, as the day wore on. I didn't want him to sense any reaction to his touching me, even if it was only meant to encourage me to continue working for him. He noticed me tensing up and smiled. He must have observed my reaction to his touch from experience with his previous models. "Do you usually manhandle all of your models' bodies, or is it a habit that all photographers have from seeing models in such intimate attire?" "The human physique is a marvel to behold, whether it's male or female. In your case, it's impossible to decide which is more lovely, the female version or the male. One of the principal advantages of this type of body suit is that it enables its wearer to experiment. Wouldn't you like to know what it must feel like to be a member of the opposite sex?" "Well, I must admit, the thought crossed my mind a few times, but that was only a foolish impulse, a 'what if' sort of reaction. Every time I put on one of your other outfits, I felt an odd rush flash through me. When I first put on the gaff that I'm now wearing, I even got a little excited where it matters the most, but it has since gone away, so it's no bother." "Are you sure that it's gone? Maybe what you're wearing, or more aptly what you are not wearing, is still exciting you, but somewhat differently, as if you are feeling how you believe what you appear to be would feel." "I don't understand. What do you mean? Are you calling me gay?" "No, I mean that if you feel like there's a woman inside that body suit, deep inside, you may also want to find out what it would feel like to be treated like a woman by everyone instead of like a man. I don't mean just sexually, necessarily, but emotionally. Some guys have a strong femininely emotional inner self. They appear to be normal males physically, but have a feminine psyche, deep down where it doesn't show." "Listen, I'm not gay! I never had any desire at all to interact with other men. Believe me. I've had enough encounters in high school and college to know that I don't have any sexual interest in other men. Being the school's most unlikely guy to get a date with a girl, I got propositioned by other guys often enough to know the mere idea of resorting to that kind of interaction made me sick to my stomach. Guys who were the biggest jocks looked straight as an arrow but acted like fairies when they got me all alone. It turned my guts inside out just to think about what they expected from me! To some guys I may have looked the part; but, trust me, I'm not a fag!" "Okay, I'll grant you that. Sounds to me like you are homophobic, even though you claim you haven't got anything against some guys being gay. What makes you think any guy in his right mind would choose to be gay? According to some highly regarded professional psychological studies, the sexual preference of everyone is inherent and not entirely selective. Gays can't help being gay any more than you can help looking so gorgeous in that body suit with that mask on. You already admitted it gave you an emotional rush when you first put on women's sexy unmentionables! "I'll bet that you can look just as nice without a mask, with a bit of makeup women use to improve their appearance. A lot of women would look plain as men do if not for their makeup. Cosmetic manufacturer gross billions in revenue from selling the stuff." "Say what you like, but I doubt if any of what you claim is true. I don't have the right figure to be attractive to anyone. I'm not tall and muscular, the kind of guy most women find attractive, and I don't have any inclination to look attractive to men, so having soft, frumpy looking skin isn't going to help my love life any. I might as well pose in these sexy outfits for you though since you're the only person I ever met who thinks I look good in them. Maybe someone else will agree with what you claim, but I sincerely doubt it." 3. "You didn't ask me, I know, but if you want my opinion, maybe you should consider what you intend to do with the rest of your life, pal. You can make a lot of money in this trade, and you won't have to ever feel like you need to compete with the over achieving lover boys. Modelling is a good profession, and you could become a lot better looking if you'll set aside your inner fear of being labeled a wimp. You're not the only one in your shoes. Most male models are very successful, and, like you, some of them model women's clothing better than women can." One other thing: if you feel like you won't ever find that wonderful woman of your dreams, and you can survive without being tied down to someone who may treat you like dirt because you aren't musclebound and powerful, you can stay single. Think about it. You won't have to share your money or your bed with anyone who has cold feet about your abilities. There are some not so obvious advantages to being a loner, like me. I discovered a long time ago that women steer clear of professional photographers. They're all afraid of being asked to pose in the nude or something, heaven forbid. "A lot of women think photographers get to see a lot of sexy looking skin while doing their jobs, and we do, so they assume we'll compare how they look to the models we photograph. I don't know if it's true, necessarily but it's what I believe. Whatever it is, like you, I always had a hard time getting repeat dates with women. I gave up chasing them long ago and have decided to resort to madam palm and her five daughters while watching porn." He laughed at his own corny reference to using his hand to get off. I laughed along with him to cover my embarrassment because I used the same method he did often enough to relieve my own sexual frustrations. I didn't want to share my being a virgin with him, however. Instead, I changed the subject. "Are you planning to take any more photos of me tonight in this ensemble? If not, maybe I should take off this nearly transparent nightgown, and then ask you to help me remove the rubber body suit. I wasn't expecting we'd be working this late; but, fortunately I have plenty of extra clothes with me out in the back of my mini-van, so if I could have my clothes back now, I'd like to get dressed in my male attire. " "I think we've done enough work for one day." He looked his cell phone to check the time. "Wow, time did slip away from us. I'd much rather you continue to wear everything you have on for the time being except for the hood, while I call for a delivery pizza. I'd like to feast my eyes on your fine facial features while we eat, so I can visualize what color and style wig will suit your skin tone best. I can't get over how good you look in that body suit, though. It's yours, you know. Everything that you model for me becomes yours to keep." "Great! What would I do with it?" "You can wear the body suit again and again, under other styles of clothing you'll be modelling, if my client approves your overall look. They can be as fussy as hell sometimes, but my guess is you'll be approved immediately. You can even wear it when you're not modelling for me, and just relaxing around your apartment." I was taken aback for some reason when he said that. Why would he think I would want to wear a tight fitting, uncomfortable body suit except for when I was modelling for him? "Why would I wear something uncomfortable if I didn't have to?" "Every time you take it off, your waistline resumes its previous dimensions. If you wear it all the time, your body contour will gradually adapt to it. Let me order the pizza. We can discuss the other reason I want you to wear the body suit a while longer, over dinner. After I put in the order for a pizza and some diet soda, I can show you the rest of my studio, the darkroom and the adjacent two-bedroom apartment. You'll stay in my guest room tonight, of course, and you can bolt the door from the inside if you'd like, if you are concerned, though that will not be necessary, I can assure you. You will be left alone, unless you want someone to keep you company during the night, of course. Never mind, I didn't mean it. I was only joking." "How could you even think it, after what I'd told you?" "Sometimes, I'm my own worst enemy. Please accept my apology." "No, you're not. I think you're a nice guy, in fact, but we met a few hours ago. For all I know, you could be a latent serial killer planning to drug me and have your way with me all night long. I still don't know, really." "Well, pleasant thought, but I'm not a "ripper", but while I'm showing you the lay of the land, have you noticed how the rubber body suit that you're wearing is contracting your waistline a little more? It's due to the cloth inner lining inside of it. The cloth lining is soaked in a very caustic solution while it's being made, and then it's rinsed out well many, many times, before it is glued into place inside of the slightly stretched rubber outer shell. Your saline perspiration causes the cloth lining to contract very slowly. The outer shell contracts along with the lining when it reacts to the salt in your sweat, and grips your waistline gradually and gently, but firmly, contouring your girlish figure without being noticed. Ingenious, isn't it?" "You're right. It doesn't feel any tighter, but I can feel a difference in the size of my waistline as compared to my hips, not a lot, but it's noticeable." "A regular corset has to be laced up again and again, to achieve the same effect, and the repetition can be a bothersome pain in the butt." "It can be a pain in the backside, not the butt, same thing, only a bit higher," I quipped. I once again looked into the full-length mirror on the door to the bathroom and admired the shapely figure I saw, running my hands along each side of my body, twisting my torso one way, and then the other. My new acquaintance came up directly behind me, and asked politely if I minded if he put his hands around me. I didn't say 'no', so he did, before I got a chance to tell him to keep his hands on my waist. I felt that inner rush of emotion again as his hands came around me and covered the front of my lower torso, very low, down near my crotch. He was close behind me when he did it. I sucked in a deep breath, not knowing what to say. I felt his groin rub against my backside, from his hands pulling me back up against him. I could feel his manhood was excited from rubbing against my backside, and couldn't help but respond by groaning softly. I didn't want to deprive him of his cheap thrill, but I didn't want things to progress any further, either. Was I about to become a casting couch casualty, I wondered? As he continued to rub his manhood against me, I was becoming sexually excited, too. It felt so good I didn't want him to stop. I never thought I'd ever want to succumb to a man's advances, but my mind was in such turmoil from the suddenness of his approach, I couldn't find the words to tell him I wanted him to stop. "Feel good?" he asked. "Yes, it does, you know it does. It feels real nice, but it's wrong, terribly wrong, so I want you to stop, right now!" "Do you really want me to? You know you look gorgeous, don't you? How would you expect any healthy, virile man to respond? It isn't your fault you are sexy looking, and it's not my fault that I'm attracted to you. It's simply human nature, feminine human nature. You have a deeply seated, inherent feminine nature that's been waiting to be exposed for a long, long time. "What are you saying? You know I'm not gay. I find gay men disgusting." "Naw, I'm not saying you're gay, I'm not even inferring you are; you're just more feminine than most men are. No one is either totally male or female, but you have a particularly strong feminine proclivity in your personality. You didn't ask for it, but you have to admit that you try to hide it inside of you by denying it exists. There's nothing much you can do about it, except to accept it, and make the best of it. Personally, I kind of like how you are so inquisitive about your inherent ability to mimic a woman, so well." "I am? I have never wanted to act like a woman. Are you sure about that?" "I'm positive. Every single question you have asked about modelling for me, so far, verifies how strong your inner proclivity for female impersonation is. No right-wing straight arrow would ever agree to wear a gaff to hide their manhood for a photo shoot, regardless of the amount of money offered to do it. You didn't take long to make a decision. All I had to do was to make the offer enticing enough. You probably wanted to wear it all along, for the thrill of it, but didn't want to seem anxious in front of a stranger. You didn't want to admit that you have a softer, gentler side to your personality." "I wouldn't have agreed at all, if not for the rate of pay you offered me." "Maybe you wouldn't have agreed to do it here and now, but you wanted to give crossdressing a try, somehow, someday; maybe on your own within the privacy of your own digs where no one would see you indulge in your secret fantasies. I could tell by the way you looked at the gaff. Your eyes bugged out of your head, like you were dying to find out how it would feel to wear something so naughty, ha, ha. You should have seen the look on your face!" "It was that obvious, huh?" He led me through the studio as he talked. "Hey, why not let your hair down and have a little fun with dressing up? Look, I'm not suggesting that we do anything sexual together, and I'd never intentionally jeopardize our working relationship by violating your personal convictions. I just wish you'd open up with me about what you like most about the clothes you'll be modelling. I promise I won't ask you to wear anything or do anything you find distasteful. As long as we're going to be working together for a while, I want to help you enjoy it a bit more." "Yeah, and as soon as I agree to let my guard down, you'll be all over me like a raving bull in heat. Thanks, but no thanks!" "So, I'm human! I promise to respect your limits. How's that? I'd like to be able to offer whatever advice I can on how to make the best of a good thing, but you're acting prudish, as if I'll jump on your bones the first chance I get! Why won't you at least admit that you enjoy wearing the women's intimate apparel? It's already obvious from the way that you shivered like crazy each time you put on a new piece of sexy looking lingerie." "Alright, I suppose I have been a bit too uptight, insistent about not being gay, and all. I've never done anything like this before and I'm still not comfortable with your seeing me in the nude, looking so vulnerable." "Nonetheless, you're here, and you've agreed to model women's clothes for at least the next week or so, perhaps a lot longer than that. You're going to have to get used to me adjusting the tight fit of the outfits, especially the undergarments. You'll have to give me some leeway with that. Every time I came near your tiny man boobs, you tensed up. Are you that skittish about my seeing you naked? I'm sure plenty of guys have seen you butt naked in high school gym, when you took communal showers together." "That was different! There was power in numbers. Some of the guys didn't care though, and they groped me when no one was looking, supposedly." "What if I tell you in advance whenever I have to adjust the fit of your outfit to make it camera ready, so as to give you fair warning? You know that I'm going to have to touch you to help you out of that body suit eventually. You won't be able to reach its blind seam from up in front. I have to peel it apart from behind." He turned me around and pulled. I heard the seam separating. "I noticed in my reflection that the seam isn't visible. Where is it?" "It's starts on the right side of your neck, and runs down your right shoulder. The left side overlaps from the center, to hide the laces and it continues all the way under your right armpit to the bottom edge. It's designed to be put on by someone in charge of the wearer's transformation, not the submissive wearer. Some people get off having complete control over their lovers." He put the seam back in place, telling me that I had agreed to wear the body suit while we have dinner. "Others get off by not having control over a situation. They almost want to relinquish control to their Alpha partner." "Oh." I felt that sudden rush of energy again, as I realized that he had affixed the seam again. Knowing that he had a degree of control over me caused my little manhood to respond by trying to sneak out the bottom of the gaff I was wearing. Was that what he meant by relinquishing control being a source of sexual gratification for some people. "I guess I don't have a choice about whether or not I'll be wearing this body suit during dinner. Will I?" "It's up to you. I'll grant you your choice, if that's what you want, but I'll be disappointed if you decide you want out right now." "Why will you be disappointed?" I knew why, but a sudden devious impulse made me want to hear him say it, admit that he got excited by being able to keep me trapped inside the body suit for as long as he wanted. "You know why! I don't have to tell you. The real question is whether or not you want to be ogled by me during dinner in that body suit that gives you the attractive figure of a sexy looking gal. How does it feel to look sexy? Eh?" "I suppose I could get used to the feeling, in time. Remains to be seen, but I haven't worn this suit long enough yet to become enamored with myself, not yet. I didn't think seeing a pair of pert boobs on my own chest would make me --- I don't know --- responsive?" "Get excited?" "Yeah, I suppose. You could say that." My head was swimming from the internal conflict I was experiencing. I wanted to explore what it would be like to play dress up, but I wasn't sure I wanted to let a man observe me." "How would you like to wear that sexy get up all night long, maybe with a long, sexy nightgown or a short baby doll over it? Think you'd like that?"" "I don't know. It sounds tempting, but I'm not sure it's a good idea." He was breaking down my objections, one at a time, and I was letting him. "What I do know is that having perky boobs instead of flat buttons on my chest turns me on. Trouble is, with this body suit on, I can't feel them like I could when I first wore the under bra you gave me when you introduced me to what it's like to pose as a woman." "You preferred the under bra?" His eyebrows perked up when he asked. "Sort of, it tucked in my gut and made my flat chest stick out a little. That was the first time I ever got excited over something without thinking about a mental picture of a naked woman. It was as if the woman was right there in front of me, attractive and available, showing off her titties to me, only they were mine." "Did you like how your chest looked when you looked into the mirror?" "Well, my tiny nipples got firmer and felt real nice when I ---- never mind." He was listening intently, too intently. I realized what I said was turning him on, something that I didn't want to happen, necessarily. "Let me show you the balance of my studio and classy apartment. We'll talk more about what you can wear to sleep in tonight when the pizza arrives." I merely nodded in response, because I didn't want to continue the line of conversation we were having. I didn't want to give him any ammunition he could use against me by admitting that I liked the sensations I felt inside of my stomach when I was gazing at my small, but attractive boy boobs. Fortunately, he didn't say anything more about what I was wearing or could be wearing to bed. In my head, I surmised that he'd like to see me dressed up for bed as a sexy temptress. He showed me his bedroom first, which was what I expected it to be. He was a single guy, so he treated himself to a king size bed with satin sheets and a thick comforter, and massive pillows. The adjoining bathroom led to another bedroom on the opposite side of it. The second bedroom had a canopy full size bed in it with a lace curtain to keep out pesky insects, I supposed. It wouldn't do much good to keep out any pesky men, though, so I was still leery about sleeping there. "Of course, you can lock this bedroom's door from the inside. If you have to use the bathroom during the night, you can lock the bathroom door leading to my bedroom. Besides, I get my kicks seeing you in that lovely body suit, not from violating your trust in me. I'll behave and keep my hands to myself unless you tell me otherwise. However, if you want me to, I'll be honored if you'll allow me to coax your bosom into the bra of another slimming corset, but only if you want me to, of course. " "Of course," I repeated. He knew I was on the brink of giving in, and didn't want to push too hard; too fast. Two can play the game just as well as one, so I feigned wanting him to touch my chest. "You really don't have to wait until you strip this body suit off of me." I turned my back to him. "Would you like to 'feel' me up right now?" I didn't think he'd accept the dare. "I will if you'd like me to." He immediately reached around me and placed his hands over the naked rubber breasts sticking out prominently from the body suit. I could sense the pressure and feel the warmth of his hands right through the heavy layer of foam between the surface of the body suit and my own flesh. I winced in initial response, but didn't pull away, though perhaps I should have. Where would I have gone if I did pull away? "You seem reluctant. Is this the very first time you let a man grope you?" "Yes, and it's also the first time I had something for a man to fondle, thanks to this tight fitting outfit you laced me into. I didn't think I could feel the warmth from your hands through the rubber, but I can." "So, tell me. Do you feel like a man or a woman inside, right now?" "I don't know. --- I suppose I should feel like a woman, in this thing--- yeah, definitely like a woman. If I felt like a man I'd have socked you by now. Somehow, letting you do what you're doing doesn't bother me much, maybe because the thickness of the body suit is in between your hands and my chest, and we're only fooling around, making believe. We're not really doing anything gay. That's the idea of a guy wearing a body suit that makes him look like a woman. Isn't it, to fool around, making believe?" He was about to answer me when his doorbell chimed. He asked me to go into the Jack and Jill bathroom at the back of his apartment while he took care of the pizza delivery man. "I don't want the guy to get excited by seeing your sexy looking body. He won't know it's made of rubber and will think you're a woman with a man's head." I laughed and promised to stay out of sight until he gave me the "all clear". As he was walking away to answer the door, he said: "Now you know what it's like to be seduced, like a woman. By the way, a woman can wear a body suit, just as well as a man. The idea of someone wearing a body suit like this is for the wearer to relinquish complete control to the person who put him or her into it. How does it feel to give someone else the ability to take charge of where you can go or what you can do?" I shook my head from side to side negatively. Some seduction! Then, when I thought about it, he was right. He talked me into letting him fondle my chest. A minute later he called out from the kitchen, indicating the coast was clear. We sat at the kitchen table and ate the pizza together, well, he sat. I had to sit crosswise in the chair because I still couldn't sit completely upright. It gave him a good view of my entire torso, which he ogled in delight. Since it was a rubber suit and not the real me, I didn't mind --- much. He did scold me and told me to slow down, as the body suit wouldn't let me eat a lot of the pizza. He sprinkled his pizza pieces with oregano and asked if I ever tried dusting my pizza with fennel seed instead of oregano. When I told him I never heard of anyone using fennel instead of oregano he asked: "Do you like licorice?" I told him I loved it, that licorice candy was one of my favorites. He went to his spice larder and brought out a jar of fennel seed. He sprinkled a tiny bit onto a piece of pizza and said: "Try some. Sprinkle it on a piece .It's much sweeter tasting than oregano. I think you'll like it if you like licorice. " I tried it on a piece, and liked it. When I picked up the shaker to put some on a second slice, he said: "It only takes a little, so don't use too much." I nodded, took his advice and only used a little. I asked him if he wanted to use it. He said he preferred the taste of fresh Italian oregano, and went on to extoll the virtues of Italian versus Greek oreganos, licorice anise and fennel. I never knew there were different kinds of oregano, or that licorice anise and fennel were three different but similar tasting spices so I listened and smiled. It was all new to me. All I knew was that I liked the taste of the fennel. We didn't finish the entire pizza, so my host put what was left into a plastic storage container and put it away in his "fridge". That's what he called it: a "fridge". Only people who come from Chicago call a refrigerator: a "fridge", so I immediately knew he was originally from my home town. It was one more reason for me to like him. The more time we spent talking the better I got to know him, and the more I liked him. "So, do you eat a lot of candy?" "Not really, but when I do, I make sure some of it is licorice flavored." "Well, fennel, a close cousin botanically to licorice, grows in a ball shaped bulb the size of a major league baseball. To look at it, you wouldn't think it has a strong and sweet flavor, like licorice, but it does. The stalks coming out of the bulb grow to over three feet high and look like celery. The most amazing part of all three close cousins, licorice, anise and fennel is that all three of them taste almost the same, but they don't look like they would. "What's your point?" I asked. "Well, most people don't realize it, but the oil that lubricates their skin gives off a telltale essence: an aura that isn't detected by its scent. Yet, people who are within range do manage to detect the aura, just like you can't detect the taste of licorice when you look at the plant from which it comes, not until you taste it do you recognize it. Then the taste is potent, as potent as the aura people exude through their skin when they are attracted to someone." "I still don't get your point." "Ever hear of 'love at first sight'?" "Sure. There are a lot of love songs about it." "Well, it isn't the vision they behold that is alluring. It's an aura. When two people who are attracted to one another come into close contact, they sense the aura emitted from the other person." "Are you making this up?" I asked. "No, this is some brand new biological technology I've been reading about. The underlying theory has been around for centuries, but they just recently discovered indisputable evidence to support it." "And?" "You like licorice. By the way, some of it is really anise flavoring, not real licorice." "You're still not making any sense!" I couldn't tell where this conversation was heading. "What has this biological theory business have anything to do with my wearing a body suit?" "I'll bet dollars to donuts you like to use lavender scented soap, too." "Yeah, I do, now that you mention it. So what if I do?" "If you've been using lavender soap and been eating a lot of licorice candy consistently for a prolonged period of time, it may account for those guys in high school coming on to you. Your aura was influenced by the essential oils within your soap and favorite candy. They are both very strong and pungent scents you can't detect, but you exuded them through your skin and it was attracting those guys to you. I'm attracted to you, as well, and I'm a loner!" "You're attracted to how I look, soft and hairless, and the fact that I'm at your mercy in this damned body suit. Isn't it time you helped me out of it?" "I'll be glad to, but don't be shocked if you still have two small bumps on your chest. You'd be surprised how many younger girls who are models are somewhat flat-chested and wore body suits similar to this new model to fill out their figures. When they took off their body shaping outfits, like we're about to do, they had more prominent breasts, too. Don't get excited. It's only temporary. They'll recede back to normal in less than an hour." As he proceeded to peel away the overlapped flap in the back and undo the laces I looked down. He was right. My soft flesh retained the cone shapes of the hollowed out insides of the rubber shell. When the laces were completely removed in back, he peeled away the front of the shell, slid the arms inside out down my arms and I felt sudden relief from the ability to breathe more easily. My waistline still retained the indent from being confined for a good part of the afternoon, and it was well into the evening, by then. I scratched at an itch that I couldn't get to for all that time. "See what I mean?" He said with a smile, as he went back into the studio. I wondered if there was any truth to what he said about me exuding essential oils through my skin without knowing. Was I unintentionally attracting guys to me in high school? If I was, it was dirty pool on my part. They were only being guys and were responding to my essential oil "aura" as if I was a girl. How was I to know my favorite candy and body wash attracted guys? When he returned he had the under bra I wore earlier in the day over one arm, and the corset I wore over it on the other arm. I asked him: "If what you said is true, I guess I'll have to stop using lavender bubble bath whenever I soak in the bathtub and not eat so much licorice from now on." "Not necessarily. If you've been doing both for several years, the damage done is already done, and there isn't much you can do to undo it. Maybe the best thing for you to do is continue using the soap and eating the licorice like you've been doing. Licorice and lavender are both potent phytoestrogens. To stop using them now, could cause a serious hormonal counter reactions." "How come you know so much about herbs and hormones?" "In this business, I've seen a lot of feminine pulchritude." "Pulchritude, what's pulchritude?" "It's flesh, skin, backsides, boobs, women's bodies! It used to get to me, and I wanted to do something to keep my mind off of the parade of sexy women who I saw nude in my studio, day after day. Like any virile guy, I lusted for them, after them, and they teased me. I read up on the subject and used some androgens: drugs to help me become immune to their taunts. After a while, I didn't have to take them anymore. Seeing naked women didn't arouse me." "You mean: girls don't excite you, and guys don't excite you, but I do? If I do, where does that leave me?" 5. "You already told me that women don't find you very attractive, and you don't want to be attractive to gay men. That doesn't leave you much choice except for the two of us. " "It leaves just the two of us?" "Yeah, because I'm not gay, not really; but I feel a very strong attraction to you somehow. I was hoping maybe that you might feel somewhat attracted to me, since I don't exude a strong male aura anymore. I can still get it up, if I try, but I don't produce any viable sperm anymore." "Wait a minute! Are you suggesting we have sex together? That's the last thing on my mind. I came here to model clothes for you, not go to bed!" "I'm not interested in having any sexual relations with you! I only thought we could cuddle together a little and provide each other with some degree of solace, since we're not getting anywhere with anyone else at the moment, and our prospects for changing that are nil." "Are you suggesting I'm the only person you find attractive, I mean besides madam palm?" I added, only because he made the association with her first. He laughed. "Yeah, you are, sort of." "What do you mean by sort of?" "I like to admire how you look in drag. I won't ever ask you to do anything you don't want to do. I'll be satisfied with helping you dress up in women's intimate attire and posing for me. You won't have to do anything physical. I'll 'handle' that privately, on my own, like I normally do," he quipped. "I didn't mention it earlier when you first admitted that madam palm was your primary source of sexual release, but it's been my only source, so far. I'm still a virgin, in every respect, other than madam palm, I mean." "That gaff you're wearing; it has those two pads where a woman's vagina should be. Between those two pads is a tight hollow tube that runs up the front of the panty, a simulated vagina. I could show you- --." "No, don't say it. We really don't know one another well enough, not yet." "I know your body well enough. I've seen all of it, and I like what I've seen. Funny, though how seeing women in lingerie doesn't turn me on anymore, but you managed to get my motor running without even trying. I've seen enough half naked women to know that you excite me more than anyone of them has for the past five years. "It's been that long since your seeing provocative looking women got you sexually excited? That's terrible." "It's probably been more than five years, but that was how long ago I first noticed I don't produce as much virile semen as I once did. It's not as bad as you might think, though. I still enjoy whipping my cream immensely, even if the cream isn't very creamy anymore. It's mostly clear whey now. " "Mine is clear, too! I thought everyone's was clear like mine. How do you know you aren't virile, though?" "I went to a doctor to get a vasectomy. I told him I was taking an androgen to quell my libido because of what I do for a living, He asked me to produce a sperm sample right then and there, so I gave him one. He said a vasectomy was totally unnecessary, according to the sample that I provided. He wasn't satisfied, though and I had to go back on two more separate occasions to provide him with two more samples. Both were negative. I'm sterile" "That's terrible. It's almost like admitting that you're not a man anymore." "It is what it is. I really like seeing you dressed as a woman though. I find it very 'inspiring'." "You mean: it gives you an erection?" "Yeah, it gets sort of hard, but not like it did in the past. It's close enough to satisfy my lagging libido, though." As he helped me put on the under bra I asked him: "What was in that fennel seed you gave me to put on my slices of pizza? I feel very giddy ever since we had that pizza with the fennel seed on it. Is it supposed to do that?" "Some people are more sensitive to different spices than others. Some spices can make you 'blow positive' on a drug test, like poppy seeds, for an example. Fennel seed contains a lot of phytoestrogen. Maybe it's giving you an emotional high. Don't worry, occasional use of any over the counter spice isn't dangerous or habit forming or you'd need a prescription to buy it." He seemed to know what he was talking about. Listening to him was fun and educational. He told me a lot of things I never heard about before. I wanted to hear about more interesting stuff like that, sexy stuff, mostly. "If someone had suggested that I'd be willing to discuss my sex life or rather, my sexual problems with someone, like how I normally relieve my pent-up frustrations, I would have told them they're crazy, but here we are." "Yeah, here we are, but where exactly are we. Are we any better off?" "I don't know. I would never have admitted to anyone that I'm still a virgin, but I admitted it to you now. I don't know why, but I feel I can talk to you." "It's because you figured out that I'm not a threat to you, not sexually." "Probably, but, so far, no one has ever been a threat to me, sexually other than a few guys back in high school, and I wasn't interested in men at the time, and I'm still not interested in men, but, I am interested in hearing more about why you think I'm so sexy looking. I'm not really handsome, and I'm certainly not pretty, by any stretch of the imagination." "No, not right now, but you could be, if you put your mind to it. You have a feminine mind, or, perhaps it has a feminine mode, or something. The way you talk and move your arms about when you talk is very sexy looking to me. You haven't got a very heavy beard, which is probably due to eating too much licorice and bathing with lavender scented soap too much." "How was I to know doing those things was going to cause me any grief?" "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. You've matured beautifully. Fact is: I like what I'm seeing. Why? I'm not sure, why. I only know for sure that seeing you wearing this under bra has my mouth watering. You have no idea how much I want to run my fingers over your tiny boy breasts! I want to kiss them and fondle them to see if I can excite you like you excite me!" I felt that sudden rush of energy pass through my guts again upon hearing him tell me that I excited him, sexually. I didn't fully understand what he found so attractive about me, but it didn't matter, because I liked him, and I wanted to let him know that I did. I felt a chemistry building between us. "You shouldn't have admitted that you'd ravage me if you got the chance. Now, I'll be worried all night long that you won't be able to resist giving in to temptation. You'll break into my room at night and force yourself on me." I then realized I'd called it "my room," as if I'd already decided to spend the night as his guest in his apartment. Oops! "If it was my intention to ravage you without first obtaining your consent to do so, I would have done it by now. If I tried, you might get away from me for a minute or too, making the chase all that more alluring, but then, where would you go, dressed, or I should say undressed as you are? Do you think you could find your pants and get out your keys to your minivan in time to escape? I doubt it. Besides, I don't think you want to escape. You have too much at stake to run away." He was right, again, but it wasn't the money I'd lose that prevented me from walking out on him. It was an undeniable and unexplainable closeness I felt to him I never felt with anyone else before, not even my parents or brother. His voice and his manner of expression were captivating. I don't know what came over me at the time, but I almost whispered: "What do you expect me to do? I can see the desire in your eyes. They're begging me to let you touch me and hold me. Do you want to? Are you asking me for my permission?" He held his hands out in between us, chest high, cupped and quivering as he spoke softly. "Do you want me to touch them? Fondle them?" I could detect the urgency and pleading in his plaintiff voice, as if his touching my breasts would mean the world to him. I was fully aware that he was another man, but deep inside I still wanted to find out what his caress would feel like. "I know what you want, and if I let you touch them, will you stop when I tell you to stop?" "I'll do anything you say!" He reached out and cupped both tiny breasts at the same time. His warm fingertips felt wonderful on my nipples. He was being gentle, and I wanted him to be gentle. No one ever held me so close. The electricity I felt inside was almost amazing, more than I imagined being touched by someone could generate. I couldn't believe what I heard myself saying next: "That feels nice, but I want you to cover them, with your palms and massage them. I'm sorry I don't have something more substantial." My trembling voice was incredibly soft, almost a murmur; a whisper; a purr. He gently placed a warm hand over each of my two meager size mounds and suggested: "Any more than a mouthful is superfluous." With that, he leaned over and kissed my right ear. I thought that he was going to kiss one of my breasts, and I even was willing to let him, if he wanted to, but he just kissed my ear. Once again, I felt an immediate rush of energy inside. I wanted to respond some way, as best as I could, without seeming too anxious so I kissed him back, on his cheek, and put my hands on his shoulders. I didn't want to hug him or it might have encouraged him too much, so soon. I wanted to hold him off, keep him at bay, or I might give him the wrong impression. I didn't want him to think I was willing to do the things gay men did together, things I believed gay men did instead of intercourse to please each other sexually; what they all wanted: to have mutually gratifying oral sex. Why would any guy ever want to ingest another man's sperm? To me, such a filthy act seemed disgusting, too vulgar and demeaning to even consider, yet I knew that some guys did it, gay guys. I even heard straight guys openly talking about wanting "blow jobs" from their girlfriends, and considered that was a disgusting desire. How could they talk about demeaning women so? As my lips grazed his cheek hesitantly, he turned his head, and put his lips right up against mine, kissing me. A man I had met earlier the same day was kissing me --- right on the lips! I didn't know what I should do! What could I do? Being kissed on the lips by another man wasn't really a bad sensation necessarily, so I didn't resist at first, and just let him kiss me, thinking he'd soon come to his senses and the kiss would soon be over, a fleeting fancy, a mistake. He didn't stop, and continued to fondle the soft round nubbins on my chest at the same time. Between the kiss on the fondling, my mind was once again in turmoil. Why did he kiss me? Neither one of us was gay. Of that, I was sure. He shouldn't have done it. Finally, with my hands on his shoulders, I pushed him back and he relented. I broke away, started to cry, turned away, went to the bedroom he designated was mine to sleep in and locked the door, too upset with him to confront him. He called out to me from in the den where we had been standing, and then from right outside the room leading to the bedroom, but I didn't answer his pleas. He had gone too far, and he knew it from the way I bolted away and slammed the bedroom door, not even looking back to see if he was standing close behind me, and would be hit in the face by the closing door. Ignoring his repeated pleas, I took off the under bra and gaff, and decided to take advantage of the room at my disposal, planning to confront him about his indiscretion in the morning. Then, I realized I didn't have the clothes that I arrived in with me in the room. I'd have to use whatever was available in the bedroom's closet to sleep in. I sorted through all the clothes hanging in the closet, looking for a pair of pajamas. Of course, as I had seen earlier, when he first showed the room to me, the only kind of clothing available in the closet were women's clothes, mostly day wear. Nightgowns and negligees were all the sleepwear there. I went into the Jack and Jill bathroom, locked the door to his bedroom and listened, to hear if he had gone there yet. I didn't hear anything, so I took a quick shower and went back into "my" bedroom, ignoring my employer's pleas to unlock the door and talk to him. I ransacked all the drawers of the dresser and bureau, and picked out the plainest panties and a chemise from the multitude of choices I could find. There weren't any men's briefs or boxer shorts in the entire collection. I was so upset, I was tempted to go commando, but decided I didn't want him to see me butt naked if he suddenly burst into the room. All of the nightgowns and baby doll outfits were elegant in design, allowing a wearer to tease to distraction whomever she was sleeping with. Again, I had to select something from there, or sleep in the nude. I chose the former, and put on a short baby doll jacket that seemed to go with the plain panties and chemise, not that it mattered, because I wasn't letting anyone else see me wearing it, only me. I turned to the mirror under the pretense of combing my still damp hair, but really wanted to see if my waistline had still retained the indent caused by the corset and tight body suit I'd worn for a good part of the day and evening. I was disappointed, nary a trace. I found a hairbrush and turned on the faucet to dampen it. It alerted my host that I was in the bathroom, because I could hear him inside his bedroom. "Mel, please open the door." It surprised me. He called to me by name. All day long he had called me 'you' whenever he spoke to me, presumably to avoid using my name. Why change tack at this late hour? I wondered. His voice sounded odd too. It sounded contrite and less sure than it was earlier when he talked endlessly about trivial things. He wasn't a bad guy, I knew. What the heck was I to do? I relented and hesitantly opened the door. He was holding my male clothes out to me. "I brought you your clothes, in case you're not staying the night and you want to get dressed in these." I'd worn those clothes all day long; well, for a good part of the day, anyway. Putting them on after my just taking a hot shower seemed less than prudent. I told him to put the clothes back and told him I'd spend the night here and talk over whatever we needed to discuss in the morning 'with clear heads'. His eyes lit up and he smiled from ear to ear. I don't have to mention that he had seen what I was wearing. He apologized for his rudeness earlier and said he was acting purely on instinct instead of thinking clearly, like he should have, claiming my feminine 'aura' had that kind of effect on him. I told him he was imagining things and said we had a lot to discuss in the morning, that I was upset with him, and I didn't want to go into until then. It appeared he wanted to say something more, but when I emphatically told him "Goodnight." He nodded and only said, "Okay, goodnight. See you in the morning." To be continued in part 2.