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DREAMGATEWAYS By Geneva A man has a complex dream with women characters that gradually assumes reality. Note. All of my previous stories have used a little ancient magical book that has wonderful effects. This is an attempt to try something different. There is magic here, but absolutely no books figure in it! START Walking home this evening through the crowded market I watched the wonderful variety of people going about their lives, but I noticed the women especially, shop-girls, office workers, professionals, teenagers, students, housewives and the others, no doubt in myriad professions, thinking about their separate and diverse lives they must lead, their ambitions, challenges, trials and successes, wondering how they compared in quality and happiness with my own. I wondered what my life would have been like as a woman, instead of an ineffectual man. For my own life? I manage, yet I have lost a spark. At home, I check my email, heat up and eat my solitary meal, attend to some chores and some financial stuff, watch TV for a bit, read for a bit more and have a nightcap. Then it is time for bed and I put the lights out, but I am barely asleep before I sink into a strange state. Events, scenes and experiences are jumbled haphazardly and time has lost its meaning too. .......... I have come to somewhere between a dream and reality, between sleep and consciousness. I am in a fog that swirls about me, with shimmering, incoherent images and sensations drifting through my mind. If I try to focus on any one image it slips away. Gradually, a pathway ahead, through a thinning of the fog, begins to resolve. I do not hesitate more than a second before I again move along, slowly, erratically, but always forward, through the fog. Images, as if from a kaleidoscope, flit through my mind and in my sight, breaking through the fog. They occasionally tempt me with indistinct views but then the fog closes around me again and the images whirl out of sight or reform. Passageways materialize and disappear. Sometimes I am tempted with several doors, sometimes there are none. But I still move, unable to stay still and now even my own consciousness breaks apart and reforms like the images. I alternate between watching and experiencing, as if being in them. At last the images stabilize and assume more constancy and a doorway appears and a young woman has appeared on its other side, but dimly and there is nothing I can make out beyond her to tell me who and where she is. She is dressed mostly in black clothes, but is not at all sinister or threatening. Then, whatever it is driving me nudges my slow feet and I move to the door, not knowing what I will find for myself. Next, somehow, I am through the door and when I look behind me it has disappeared and I can only move ahead. It is like I am moving to the woman, now inexorably. She is young, dressed in black, and carrying a pack. Her hair is brown, like mine, but it is much longer, shinier, and hangs down to her shoulders. Then I am by her and suddenly I am absorbed into her, living her life. I am not alarmed that my male body is now subsumed with hers. I have all her memories, maybe aspirations too, and a new identity consumes me. It is sudden, but it is as if I had been aware of her memories for years. By the feel or rather the absence of a sensation between my legs I know I am suddenly lacking a penis and balls but this does not alarm me. In fact I am strangely unconcerned about their absence. It is completely appropriate for the young woman I now am. I have lost height too, probably about six inches. I feel my whole body different, its proportions changed, with now a slim waist over wider hips and a much more prominent butt. Instead of a flat chest I have firm breasts and these feel part of me, as if I had known them all my life. My sensations are wonderfully enhanced! My skin is soft and I feel all of her clothes on me, their textures lighter and different from my heavier, coarser, male clothes. I feel the crotch of her.....my light cotton panties snug against my pubis. Amazingly I can feel the heft of breasts on my chest. They are snuggled into a bra, its cups covering, supporting and holding what had belonged to her, but are now my own! I feel the slight tension of the bra straps across my back and at my shoulders under my T-shirt and when I wriggle my chest and I feel a slight jiggle but this comforts me rather than alarms me. I draw in my breath slightly as I absorb all the new sensations. The bra is now a part of my life and I feel my nipples slightly prickle at its intimacy. It is a strange sensation, to have assumed another life with its memories, yet to still retain shadowy memories of my life before, as if watching, yet experiencing, her life. When I look down I see the bulges of my breasts on my chest just slightly prominent under my jacket. I feel the stretchy fabric of her ... my black leggings hugging my rear, thighs, knees and legs. I am aware of the longer hair brushing my neck and when I rub my ears I discover I have earrings, nothing fancy, just little practical studs. Then, just over some seconds all these new sensations fade away so that I am only aware of them when I deliberately think about them. The body is now mine. I have slid into her identity. I remember I have just gone into the pharmacy to get some shampoo and conditioner and I have to keep my eyes open for the bus. It will get me to college in plenty of time for my first class. It is a late morning one but after that I have a pretty full day and I will have to eat supper at the cafeteria as I have an evening lab as well. I won't get back to my apartment tonight until late and I discovered this morning when I showered I was almost out of shampoo. I push the shampoo into my backpack on top of my textbooks, laptop and the notes I had been studying last night. My head is still full of the stuff, swirling around inside and I hope it stays. At least this, my second year, is better than last as I have a better idea of the amount of work I have to do. Last year, fresh out of high school, it was a bit of a learning curve before I got properly organized. The bus arrives and I climb on, aware that my hips are wider and that I am not so tall. Automatically I show my student pass, noticing my female face. Despite the poor quality of the photograph I look quite pretty. I move down the aisle to the back, passing one or two familiar faces that I have seen on the bus in past weeks and I give brief nods of acknowledgement to three of them. One is a white haired woman who reminds me of my late grandmother. Another is a middle aged woman. Partly hidden by her cloth coat I see the fabric of a white polyester uniform. I think she is a nurse. Another is a good looking guy, with nice even features, fair hair and bright blue eyes and I nod to him, but only in acknowledgement as he is often on that bus. He gives a faint smile back. I wish I could run into him on campus, or maybe one of these days we will end up sitting together on the bus. I feel a slight surprise that I should notice this man and be attracted to him. It seems I have only been in this female body a few minutes. The ride is only twenty minutes and when I get off the bus I see the guy heading off to the Engineering building but he does not look back. Almost automatically I head for the science lecture theatres. My first class is Organic Chemistry. Learning its dozens of reactions takes up more time than most of my other classes but at last it is coming together and I can now recognize patterns and I did pretty well in the last little test. We are not allotted any places to sit, but I usually choose a place close to the front, not right under the professor, but just so I can see and hear him and view the screen properly. Halfway through the lecture he asks a question and looks round the class for answers. Half a dozen or so braver souls hold up their hands. The image flickers and I observe rather than participate. The girl... Then I am her again. I remember reading about that very reaction the night before but I give it a little thought before I put my hand up. The professor shakes his head at the first two answers then looks at me and a bit self-consciously I hold up my hand again. I wonder why I am doing it and as the surprise makes me struggle to consciousness again, the answer fades from my mind. When I allow myself to sink again somehow into my dream the answer comes out easily. I feel my heart jump when he nods. "Good! You've got it," he says and proceeds to expand on my answer while I let out my breath. My friend Gina, who often sits beside me, nudges my side. "Good for you!" she whispers but I blush self consciously as other students turn round to look at me. The chemistry class shimmers and disappears and my mind flicks to the next class, a biology one, and then by the time it is over I am beginning to feel hungry. I join the lineup in the cafeteria and pick up a salad, a pack of chips and glass of water. When I look round I see Gina and Bobbi in the far corner. Bobbi is another friend from one of my classes and I join them. Soon we are talking about the classes and laugh at one professor's idiosyncrasies, then some local news followed by a new movie Gina had seen with a boyfriend and Bobbi lets slip she has a new boyfriend. By the way they look at me they are hoping will have something to say but I have kept my romantic life low since I broke up with Grant. Then I have to run to another class, this time in English literature followed by a math. tutorial session. It's now getting late and I will have to get a quick bite at the cafeteria. By this time I am hungry and I will need something to help me through the evening lab. I find a space at the end of a table and in my vision I have got engrossed checking my phone and when I look up and I see the guy from the bus looking down at me. He is also carrying a food tray. "Hi," he says. "You ride the same bus as me don't you?" His manner is slightly hesitant. I am startled and I stammer a reply but get my mind together. "Oh yes,...I.. I've seen you but I didn't notice that you were a student." That is a barefaced lie of course but I don't want him to think I had been watching him! "Mind if I sit here?" he asks, sitting down anyway. "Oh, I'm Carl." "No, not at all and I'm Jessica. And don't try shortening it!" I say severely then give him a weak smile. So the ice is broken and we chat a bit about our courses, then what we are aiming for and then just a little more about ourselves. I am careful not to let him know too much about me, just in case. He is a third year electrical engineering student. I am enjoying our conversation but I am slightly nervous. Maybe it is the beginning of our getting-to-know-you dance, like when I started to date other boys. But I look at my watch and my hand goes to my mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry, Carl, I have to run. I have an evening lab." "So do I." Now is the critical point. Is he interested enough? "Do you want to meet after your lab?" he asks. Shit, I curse under my breath. "I'd love to but," I shake my head. "No, I have another big day tomorrow and I don't want to be late to bed." I see disappointment in his face so the ball is now in my court and if I want our starting relationship to progress I will have to make the next move. "But I'll be free after five." I suggest. I am pleased when his face lights up. "Great! I'll be finished then too. So let's meet here and get something to eat then we can decide." "Okay, see you then, tomorrow. With a little spring in my step I head to my lab. All through it I keep thinking about him. After the lab, I get the bus home to the small apartment that I share with my girlfriend Monica. She is off on a week-long field trip. It is quiet place, more than I could afford by myself but Mom and Dad have said they are happy to support me. I hand-wash several days' worth of undies and stick a load of jeans, socks and tops in the washer along the corridor, study a little and check my emails. I collect my laundry, hang it up beside my underwear to dry and look at the clock. I shake my head. I really should do some more studying, but I am too tired. It's time I got some sleep but as I drop off I am thinking about what to wear tomorrow. It will have to be jeans, but maybe I can use my tighter fitting black ones and maybe I will wear a pretty blouse instead of a T-shirt. Suddenly my vision has the radio jump to life and I wake. I want to stay in my warm nest but there is no option but to get up for an early class. I put on some coffee, gulp down some cereal and a slice of toast, check myself in the mirror, debating whether I should take some lipstick for when I meet Carl and I decide on a pale pink one. I get my stuff together and head to the bus stop. As I am waiting a taxi stops at the light and I see a woman peering out. I can't make her face out more as she has dark glasses and a head scarf but it looks as if she is interested in the street and the buildings and she turns briefly to look at me. Then it is like I move to her, meld in her and I am her. I toss my head, wondering why I am wearing a scarf and dark glasses. The weather is certainly not sunny but, unsure of who I am now, I leave them on. Then it comes back to me that this is the first time I have been back in the city since I was here five years ago for the sad days of Mom's funeral. There is nothing else to bring me back now. Dad had died before her and my brother lives in Portland, my sister near Omaha. It is a cold gray day and I was slightly cold waiting for a taxi at the airport. Living in Southern California must have made me soft! The taxi from the airport is now passing through downtown and I note the changes, what was familiar and what is new. Some old stores are still hanging on, others replaced by new ones. There is a lot more evidence of national chains, gradually replacing the old and familiar. The traffic is heavy and I see the driver has decided to take a short- cut. At a corner two or three blocks off the main drag I remember there was a mom-and-pop store. I now see a swarthy looking man washing its window. We pass by a small theatre, now shuttered and I have a twinge of regret and nostalgia. It was there that I first stepped onto a real stage and felt the rush of getting an audience's attention. The acting bug bit me hard and I smile at how na?ve I was then, so full of myself and my potential that I could hardly wait to get to California and Hollywood where no doubt my personality, looks and talents would be noticed and fame would follow. That wasn't quite the case. In fact it was a come-down and two or there times I was on the verge of sneaking back home, my tail metaphorically between my legs. I had got an agent, but the best he could do was as extra in several crowd scenes. Like hundreds of other aspiring actors I waited on a lot of tables and I realized the girls were much prettier than I was. There were a few modeling jobs too, genuine ones, but I resisted the temptation of sleaze. I was struggling, just keeping above water. That is, until a happy accident. I was incredibly lucky. It even could have been a tragedy for me. They were shooting a movie, a comedy, and in some crowd scene I accidentally tripped, fell over some rails and had to hold on to some flagstaff to avoid falling into a muddy slimy puddle. I could have been injured but there I was, with my skirt indecorously flapping round my thighs and blowing up around my white panties. Fortunately they were opaque, clean and had no holes. It was caught on camera and I was embarrassed as hell but the director and cameramen were laughing and because it matched the comedy the scene was actually left in the finished movie other than with some minor editing. P.T. Barnum is supposed to have said there is no such thing as bad publicity. The accidental but hilarious scene got my face noticed and I was offered a small bit part in another movie and that worked out well too and fortunately without any mishaps. I'm not vain enough to think I have the most glamorous face, but I like to think I am pleasant enough looking, more like an attractive girl-next-door character. So, I got a call for a part in another production, then another, with bigger parts each time until I was a minor star and even appeared on several TV talk shows. So my face, rather than my white thighs and butt, got recognized. Now it looks like that if I behave myself and work hard and avoid all the sharks and pitfalls I could be on my way. Roland, my agent, called me last week with another offer, a part in a planned TV sitcom series. I got a sample script to read and I am not sure. If it got to be successful I would do pretty well financially but I know that all too easily I could get typecast. Still, it might be an opening to the theatre. It wouldn't pay as well as the movies but I have the feeling I would prefer to do my work with the stimulation of live audiences. I think theatre is my first love. The taxi is turning around and it comes to my mind that I have booked into one of the large city hotels, one that I would have never thought I would be able to afford when I lived here. I decided to travel incognito and fortunately the taxi driver has not recognized me. One of my oldest girl friends is getting married and I just had to come back to the city. I have dark glasses, no makeup and wear a scarf over my hair. I will keep my stage persona for the camera or footlights. My dream slips slightly as if I lose concentration then, is it my secret thoughts when I see the taxi draw up outside the hotel. My driver gallantly opens the cab door for me then he stiffens slightly and I grimace internally as his eyes widen with recognition. So I pay with cash and give him a really good tip. "You never saw me! Right?" I emphasize and he nods but whether he will keep my visit to himself or blab it to the paper or worse, the local TV or radio media. I will just have to risk it. I suppose I will find out soon if I see local media clustered at the hotel. Roland did the booking for me under my real name, not my stage name, and my credit card is also under that name. Fortunately the taxi driver doesn't want an autograph. It is the same at the hotel. The desk clerk shows no sign of recognition. This will be a short visit, only two nights and as I only have a small case anyway I wave off an all too keen porter. Then I see he has recognized me after all and on second thoughts I point to my case. I will give him a generous tip with a caution and maybe he will be less keen to tell the media. With the different time zones I have lost two hours and it is getting dusk outside. I call up Josie to let her know I have arrived and along with Kay, one of her bridesmaids, we decide to meet for a drink at the hotel bar. I feel slightly hungry but I kick off my shoes, shrug off my outer clothes, snuggle under the duvet and take a brief nap followed by a shower. Then, slightly refreshed, I dress again, in a fresh blouse and smarter slacks. I grab a quick snack at the hotel restaurant and as I head to the bar I see two young women. As my dream makes their faces come into focus I recognize Josie and I squeal as we hug each other and she introduces me to Kay and we have a brief hug too. Josie is excited and over glasses of wine we talk about her fianc?, the wedding arrangement and her plans. I am happy for her but I feel slightly embarrassed that I have to shake my head when she asks about my own love life. The talk briefly shifts to having kids and that gives me thought. I would like kids too, and wonder how compatible an actress' life is. Actually I have been seeing two guys. One is an actor too and wonderful in company but perhaps he is too full of himself. The other is much quieter and a budding executive at one of the studios. He is attentive and steady, but quiet, too quiet, and I suspect he suffers from stress. I feel the relationship with either is going nowhere. Besides, I know they both see other women but I can't work up any jealousy about it. It is getting late and when I see Josie and Kay beginning to rub their eyes we call it a day. I have the advantage that I am on California time. I hug both and they head home, while I go up to my room. I am not ready for bed so I switch on the TV and tune into a local program but the local news means nothing to me now and I finally undress, pull on a long T-shirt and get ready for bed too. My dream actually has me wake late and I decide that I am still on California time. I shower, dress and head to the restaurant for some breakfast. Over my croissant and coffee I stare out of the window at the gray cold day, wondering what I will do with myself but I have heard of a new museum in the city and I take a taxi to it. I walk through the museum getting more and more impressed. They have done a good job with local history and I see pictures of early settlers who gave their names to city streets. The museum is larger than I thought it would be and I even take a light lunch there, walk along the river bank and after some more coffee I take taxi to the church for the wedding rehearsal that night. Another slight wavering of my dream, a loss of focus. takes me as I arrive. The there seems to be no reason why I am here and in women's clothing then it just as suddenly it leaves me and I walk eagerly up the steps to see my friend. Then it suddenly comes on me again so that I have no body, no sensations, just an awareness. Just as suddenly again I feel all that the body feels, even its emotions as I hug my friend again. I am bewildered that people there know me and Josie introduces me to more and their eyes widen when many recognize me. I suppose it is good for my ego that I get a lot of attention. It's nice to see so many old friends again too. Josie's mother was always very friendly to me and I give her a special hug. I get to meet Ben, Josie's fianc? and his best man Ron. Both look at me appreciatively. The rehearsal goes without any hitches and we break up. I am invited back to Josie's house then all too soon it is time to break up as the wedding is to be in the morning. It will be followed by a lunchtime reception but unfortunately I will have to leave almost immediately as I need to be back in LA that evening. I have an early meeting with some advertisers about a TV commercial the next day. My dream loses some focus and when it settles again it seems Ron is going to take me back to the hotel. I am slightly apprehensive but he is easy company on the drive and I suggest we have a drink at the bar. All too soon it is time to close and I give him a little peck on the cheek after he makes sure that I am in my hotel room safely. Maybe he hoped to be invited in but I was not ready for that. Still, I hum happily as I go to bed. Ron has offered to drive me to the airport and said he would be coming to LA for a meeting in a month and I have offered to show him around. I think I'll like him and we will see what develops. Next morning I am up and about faster. I am washed, dressed and fed but too early to set out for the church so, feeling like a walk. I take a stroll around the block. It is chilly but my jacket is light and warm. I pass by a diner and I catch sight of a young waitress with cup of coffee in her hands. Briefly I wonder what her life is like. Then it is as if I am through the door and gliding to her, then I am her. My mind is like my body, at times accepting things, at times not. When I look back I see a young woman, my previous existence, stroll away along the street. I wanted her exciting life and now it is gone. Now I feel the waitress' uniform and on me. I am aware of the smells, the coffee and the toast and all the other smells from the kitchen. I feel her slightly sticky lipstick on me. I have all her memories and experiences. I become her. It's just upon nine and the main breakfast rush in the diner in just about over so I gulp a half cup of coffee, bite into a half muffin and give my leg muscles a little stretch. I have been on the job since we opened at six and I still have five hours to go until the end of my shift. The earlier shift meant I had to be up before five to get myself ready and catch one of the first buses into town. It comes to my mind that it was cold and I was yawning most of the time. At least I managed to get some more sleep on the bus. I feel fresh enough at the moment, but if the shift goes on like it always does I will be footsore and weary when it ends. Then I'll have a snack, and another coffee and I'll take the bus home, thankfully take off my uniform and stick my feet into cool water, watch a bit of TV then get on with the any chores around the apartment. Later I'll have a shower and wash my hair to get the smell of the diner's cooking out. After that I know I've arranged to see my boyfriend Ray when he gets off work. I will meet him outside the plant and we'll get a bite to eat, maybe at some hamburger place. Then afterwards? There's a movie I'd like to see. It's a comedy, neither an action movie nor a chick flick so I hope we both enjoy it. I seem to know these things automatically and it is as if I have now completely melded with my new body. Still, when I smooth my hair I find I am wearing earrings, big hoops that I chose for today and they briefly skim my neck when I turn round fast. I hope Ray likes them. More memories or figments of dreams come to mind. Ray and I have been dating for two months now and it looks like we are a good match. I feel myself getting fonder of him. We like doing things together, but he has his own guy things with some work buddies and I have my girl things with my group of friends. We started to sleep together about a month ago. It was my first time for about a year after I broke up with a previous boyfriend. I don't know what other girls Ray knew in his past and I don't want to ask. Maybe he will tell me sometime, maybe not. I'll keep my own silence. I remember that we slept together last night, at my place, and I feel a little ache between my legs from our enthusiastic coupling. We had been watching a movie with a lovemaking scene and I guess we both got turned on. I am on the pill so in our rush Ray didn't bother with a condom and that meant I had to be extra thorough when I showered this morning. I am beginning to feel this could be a permanent relationship. I know I am comfortable when he is with me. He earns fairly well at his construction job too. If things work out and we have kids then I might even be able to be a stay-at-home mom until they are in kindergarten. A group has just come into the diner. They are regulars, a bunch of retired men that sit over coffee and donuts or muffins and talk away for an hour. Their talk seems to be mainly complaints about the city and state governments, the local sports scene and mostly their aches and pains. I take their orders but apart from some grunts of thanks they don't really notice me except for one guy who always gives me a smile and even asks how I am. He's a sweetheart. At least they tip well enough. Some other regulars come in next, this time a group of women who meet here once a week. I smile and nod to them, take their orders and they resume their conversation about television shows, local gossip and show family pictures to each other on their phones. I have been working at this diner for three months now. It comes to my mind, my imagination, or fabrication, that before that I had worked in a hardware store but when it was taken over and closed I took the waitress job, temporarily, I thought, but that has stretched out. I spilled and broke a few things my first days, but the manager Sid, just laughed at my red face. Still, I had better not break any more. I seem to have acquired a more outgoing personality. I've actually got to like talking with most of the customers when we are not too busy. Some are good and pleasant, some are offhand, but it's the rude ones I don't like. I have to keep a smile on my face to the customers in the hope of better tips, but I enjoy talking to most of the customers when we are not too busy. Sid doesn't like it when I spend too much time when we are. I think of how my feet hurt terribly the first days. It isn't so bad now. Maybe I am getting more stamina. My uniform is pretty standard, a pale lilac front-buttoned polyester outfit and a white apron, that I alternate with a pale green outfit. They both have my name 'Jan' on a tag above my left breast. The uniform is comfortable enough. Maybe I wish it was a bit looser across my chest but Vicki, the other waitress, had suggested that I keep it tight. "It helps with tips," she said when I started. The length isn't too bad. It's knee length but is just a bit stretched over my rear. At least Sid the manager doesn't have us wear high heels but expects me to look 'neat and fresh'. Whatever that means. Occasionally I use an outfit with a shorter polyester jacket type top over matching pants, but the tips are not as good. Men like seeing my legs, I guess. In the ladies washroom I straighten my uniform and discreetly adjust a bra strap and pull it further up onto my shoulder. It's time I shopped for some more. I refresh my lipstick and smooth my panties and my stockings. Sid says I am expected to wear hosiery but the work is hard on it and many days I use stockings rather than pantyhose. I don't like the way the straps of the garter belt slide about my rear when I bend but if one stocking rips I can still team it with another single one and save money. I have been looking out onto the street to check the weather. Maybe Ray and I can take a walk after the movie and I can sound him out about our future. As I look out I see a woman pause in front of the diner. She's maybe in her late forties. Her pale blonde hair looks immaculate. It is swept into an efficient but elegant looking bun above her ears, and expensive looking gold earrings are set in her ears. She is wearing an expensive looking cloak and from what I can see of it what I can see of it, an expensive looking skirted suit. She is carrying a leather purse and a case that even match her gloves. A professional woman, I guess. Maybe she is a lawyer, or in business or she's a manager in some store. She looks poised, confident, powerful, someone who has got it made. I am briefly envious of what looks like her comfortable life. I wonder if she has ever worked in a diner. But she looks tense. I wonder what her day will hold. At least as a waitress I don't have business pressures but somehow I feel drawn to her. The force, or whatever it is that controls me, moves me to her, even through the closed glass door of the diner and we meld seamlessly. I feel a momentary jolt then I am her. It takes a second or two to get used to this harder and tauter woman's body. I am aware I am in an older but fit body, toned by frequent visits to a gymnasium, a private exclusive one. She takes care of myself. She dresses well. Her-my, clothes feel expensive and good quality when I run my hands, now smooth and manicured, over my coat. I feel my thighs and hips firm and constrained and I discover I am wearing pantyhose under a panty girdle. I now remember selecting them this morning. As I hesitate to make sure I have my car keys in the usual pocket I catch sight of the waitress in the diner. She has been looking out but is now at a table and handing out menus to customers. There is a smell of fast food from the diner and I feel momentarily hungry as I have not had much breakfast, only coffee, juice and a croissant. My stomach won't let me take more. Then the diner is past me and the waitress is gone. I walk purposely along. I focus on my day ahead. It will be a big day and I hope it goes well. My dream shimmers then I am crossing the street to our office building where the doorman tips his hat to me. I forget briefly who I am but I decide I will be an important person in this office. As I pass through the rotating door and step across the granite tiled foyer the receptionist looks at me expectantly and I remember to smile and exchange a civil greeting with her although my mind is on the coming events. The details come into my mind. It is just after 9.00 in the morning and the office workers are at their desks so I have the elevator to myself, a good thing as I am getting tense. I breathe deeply and I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. That is good. My mind will be focused for the coming meeting. At the boardroom floor I head to my office first, remove my coat and put it on its hanger. Then, in my private washroom, I check my appearance in the mirror, straighten my jacket and slightly rotate the gold chain at my throat to make sure the clasp is right at the back. My appearance must show competence and efficiency. My clothes are different today and I wonder if I have chosen the right outfit. Memories of my old male business outfits flicker through my mind but now my professional outfits are usually pantsuits teamed with coloured silk blouses. However, today I have decided to take the opposite tack. I have chosen a skirted suit but in a dark gray with a faint pink thread, teamed with a severe looking blouse in a vertical striped pattern that could almost double as a man's shirt. It gives off the right degree of authority. My panty girdle is firm and my bra too feels firmer so I feel braced and ready for the coming struggle. I paid special attention to my makeup this morning and my lipstick is a little more intense but the rest, mascara, foundation, blusher and so on, is carefully applied and it is hardly noticeable. I sit down at my desk to attend to last minute things. Email and ordinary correspondence can wait. I see pictures right on it, and remember it is a picture taken last year of my husband Jerry with our daughter Sylvia and our two sons, Mike and David. Jerry is off on a fact-finding mission with the State Department and Sylvia and Mike are at Yale, Sylvia in Physics and Mike in Business. David, our oldest, is finishing an internship at Johns Hopkins, specializing in Internal Medicine. Gisela, my personal secretary, sets down my three files before me and has placed little colored tabs at relevant pages. "I have marked some pages as you requested, Mrs. Jones." Her German accent appears stronger today. Perhaps she is feeling stress too. She must have heard through the office grapevine of the tension behind today's meeting. The board had tried to limit any information but things leak. "Thank you, Gisela," I say and smile confidently, but it is not how I feel. "Anything you want to check, Mrs. Jones?" "No thanks, I'm as ready as ever I will be." I see other executives arriving and standing outside the boardroom door. Occasionally some glance over at my office before they enter. I take a deep breath, step out of my office and head to the boardroom. Gisela is behind me with my files and will sit by me. I am a senior executive with the company. I have worked here for years, in fact all my working life after four years at college for BA and then that was followed by an MBA. The certificate is on the wall 'Gabrielle Jones, MBA' I did take minimal time off when my three kids were born but was glad to get back to work. My dream tells me that Jerry and I were both well enough paid that we could afford live-in domestic help. The company was actually founded by my father and my older brother Phil is president and CEO. My sister Britta's husband Mark also has a seat on the board. He is a good man and we were glad he kept with us after Britta died after a long struggle with cancer. Since then other companies tried to lure him away but he is loyal. My younger brother Brad has never taken much interest in the company and spends his time in Europe. He was given his share of the company shares when Dad died but sold them to Phil, Britt and me and now lives off the interest. The other board members have their files too in front of them too and look at me as I enter the boardroom, trying to exude a total confidence that I don't feel. I get some satisfaction when I see Phil looking at me warily. My dream loses focus then I remember that it will probably be a drag-out fight. Our company has been losing ground and today I am going to be the one to set about remedying that. Phil has to go as chairman and CEO. I have been patient long enough. I look around at my fellow board members. Over the last year I have spoken to all of them about my concerns, gradually sounding them out. It was obvious that some of them will be resistant to any change. When I sensed that I either backed off, or couched my criticism more as suggestions of support for Phil. However, I think I will have a majority behind me. Phil calls the meeting to order and we soon move into discussion of the company's performance. He presents several graphs that on the surface suggest we are doing well but I have my own facts ready. I launch my attack when he has finished and calls for questions. I do not see the battle. It is as if my vision shifts and it is well after noon and we are finally spilling out of the building. It has been a bruising morning and the battle has been hard. I am exhausted. Some members that I thought were supportive were more lukewarm in the actual meeting and I had to continually press my case. Gisela was wonderful, handing me graphs and sales statistics quickly and efficiently. The director of our Research and Development section, Peter MacLeod, was my staunchest ally and we began to turn the tide, stiffen the resolve of my supporters, and even win over some of the skeptics. Mark was neutral at first, and asked some penetrating questions but eventually came around to my way of thinking. As we come out Gisela nods to me and her eyes flicker in understanding of my ordeal. Once in my office I give her a very brief hug. "Thank you for your immense help, Gisela. So you see that things are going to change but I would like to keep you as my private secretary. You'd like that?" Her beaming face gives me my answer. I have won but I don't feel much exhilaration. It is not that I am afraid of the work ahead, just that I have no one to share my victory with. Along with Mark and another director, Peter accompanies me to a restaurant for a late lunch, but I see that all are keen to get back to work. Peter looks exhausted too may need to decompress. I get back to work too but I will give Phil a day or two to clear his personal stuff out of the head office. His own position is not clear now. Personally, I hope he will remain with our company as I think he would be an excellent person to supervise our manufacturing division, but whether he will look it as a demotion and resign is another matter. His wife Sonia will probably hate me, but that can't be helped. I feel a glow of satisfaction that now I have become CEO and chair and I can now push the company in the direction I want, that I think it needs, but somehow I feel let down. I need someone to share my victory with. It is now late evening in Europe and I call Gerry to let him know the news. He is exhilarated with my triumph and congratulates me. I will call my kids at night. They are adults but I still have a motherly view. After an hour I give up trying to concentrate, the adrenalin is still flowing and I need to take a break and get out of the building. I have some minor errands to do anyway. Gisela would be all too happy to do personal shopping for me but I need the break and her talents are better used as a secretary rather than a gofer. Despite a stiff nightcap, a scotch on the rocks, I don't sleep well that night, still too tense, but also planning the changes I will make. My view shifts so that I am driving myself to work the next morning. Maybe as CEO I will be expected to have use a company chauffeur like Phil does, or did, and I smile to myself. I enjoy driving. The discipline of driving helps settle my mind and prepare it for other things. Close to the office, and the parkade, I see a slightly overweight young woman has just turned into a space and she gets out. It looks as if she is in a hurry. I wonder what she does and then it is as if I am moving to her. Then I am her. Suddenly I feel a bit heavier and as I hurry along. I feel my breasts slightly bounce in my bra, and its straps pressing on my shoulders. This feels like a looser and heavier body. I discover I am wearing pants, and I feel them stretched over my rear. I am not wearing a girdle. I shrug off a feeling of guilt. I need to lose a few pounds but I know I am just too fond of food. My younger sister has been at me to take long walks with her in the morning, but that would mean getting up early and otherwise there never seems enough time. Some women I know suggest I join a gym, like they do, but we are trying to save money. The salon is already open and I exchange greetings with Sally and Maria, the other two manicurists. They are already busy with customers and the smell of the nail polish and other salon odors are already in the air. One younger customer is having a manicure and an older woman has her feet stuck out for a pedicure. I check my appointment book again to confirm my first appointment is in a few minutes so I hang up my coat in the back, change my boots to flat heels and put an apron on over my work clothes, just in case of spillages. It's my turn today to handle most of the phone calls if Pat the owner is out. I don't like the interruptions and I give a small sigh of relief when Pat comes in with a cup of coffee and gives an exaggerated shiver. There has been a light frost overnight and there is an easterly breeze that seemed to cut through me as I was walking from my car. The image begins to falter, but in trying to concentrate on the scene, it only slips away more. It is only when I relax it comes back My first client comes in. She is called Elena, a middle aged woman and a doctor's wife. She has been one of my clients as long as I have worked at this salon. This time she has scheduled a manicure and a pedicure. We are almost like old friends and she tells me she and her husband are going to Mexico, Puerto Vallarta for a month where they will stay in a resort. My mind takes a flicker as I wonder about some time on a beach in the sun but then I am back to the salon and filing her nails She is almost matter-of-fact about it. It comes to my mind that I have talked with her over the years and know that holidays in Mexico or Hawaii are almost routine for her. I am just slightly envious of her. Mike and I are still saving up for a house of our own so holidays are usually, a drive to Tennessee when the schools are out to visit both sets of parents see our kids and maybe some side trips to take the kids to local attractions. The kids are still at the age when they are pleased to see their grandparents, but Sue, the older one, is about to become a teenager and I have no doubt that daylong drives with her parents across two states to see grandparents will soon become a bore. I know I was like that. I keep busy with a steady group of clients as they come in. The client before midday has not been with me before but she says I was recommended by a friend. She is a young mother and has two girls. She tells me today it is her sixth wedding anniversary and she and her husband are going out for dinner at night. She chooses a deep pink color for all her nails. Her older daughter is at kindergarten and a neighbor is looking after her younger daughter while she gets her nails done. Afterwards, I take a brief break for a sandwich and some coffee than it is back to work. Pat is checking the shelves so she can order some supplies and wants my advice on a new product so that take a few minutes. My last client is booked for five and when she is done I tidy up, stretch and get my coat on. I wave to the others and head to the car. It is chilly and I let the car warm up for a bit before I head out home into the gathering dusk. I worry about the extravagance of the car. Mike has one too, but if either of us took a bus or train it would add hours to our working days. Still, with another year and a bit of luck it looks as if we will be able to afford our own place. Now my mind jumps to a different scene and I come in my door to a welcoming smile and a kiss that lights up my life. Mike starts earlier than me and finishes earlier too so he has the supper well underway, this time something he has concocted with ground chicken and potatoes. While he is occupied I change into jeans and a T-shirt and get to the laundry. I should be able to get a load done before supper and afterwards put it in the dryer. Bob, our older son, has sports practice, but comes in soon after me. Jake, the younger one, is upstairs, studying for a test, his dad says but he yells down, "Hi Mom," when he hears me come in. Sue is in a living room armchair with a school book on the arm rest and an exercise book on her lap but is more interested in the television. It was her turn to set the table and it looks like she never got back up to her room to study. I think it is time she started to do her bit preparing supper, the boys too, but Mike is happy to have the kitchen to himself. At supper I take a quick look at my family and I feel happy with what I see. We are not rich but there is always enough food on the table, all are well clothed, although not expensively and our credit card gets paid off each month. That night Mike and I make love. My suppressed male identity almost breaks the surface but I only feel a slight curiosity that I have become a woman and a man is entering and filling me. I am somewhere between a voyeur and a participant. Our lovemaking is satisfactory but we are both tired and fall asleep almost immediately after. I am on the pill and I will stay that way until my change of life. I get a good sleep and am only vaguely aware of Mike kissing my brow as he sets off in the gray morning. I will have another hour then it will be my turn to get up and start the usual morning rush to get the kids fed and pushed out for school. The rush passes quickly in an incoherent blur. I think of tonight. It is Friday and I wonder if Mike would be interested in seeing that new movie in the theater in the mall. Or maybe we will just curl up on the sofa and see what Netflix has on offer. There is a comedy that has a local girl in a brief appearance. I will have to work tomorrow as Saturday is a busy day at the salon. Once the kids are out I get myself ready and into the car for work but I have a few errands to do first. My mind takes another tremor. Sometimes in these experiences or dreams, it is as if I have no body, no sensations, only an awareness, as if I was standing at the side and watching, but most times now I feel all that the body feels and it is more and more my own. Every experience makes me feel increasingly as if my female body is the more proper one and being in a male body is more and more alien. The scene suddenly breaks apart and reforms and I am in a small gift store and I look down the aisle into another section at a young woman ahead. She seems familiar and I realize it is the young woman who got the manicure from me the previous day. She is dressed casually in jeans and a short coat, and holds a young girl by her right hand. I move towards her and suddenly I have become her. Yet again I feel the slight frisson of discovering myself in other clothes and in another body. This one is slimmer and more toned than the previous one and moves easily. Her clothes fit well. I take just a few seconds to get my bearings and absorb her memories and experiences and all at once remember I have schedule to keep. Almost automatically I check my watch, a fine gold one on my slim wrist that Gerry gave me for my last birthday. The scene flicks briefly through my mind. I notice the wedding and diamond engagement rings on the third finger of my... this woman's, my left hand. The ring on my right hand has a slightly antique look and I remember it belonged to my grandmother. Her face and white hair come into focus. I see I have freshly manicured, polished nails and I examine them. It takes me a second or two to remember that I chose the deep pink color at the manicure I had just the previous day. Someone is holding my right hand and I realize it is the small, warm hand of Aimee, my younger daughter, her small face looking up at me. I look along the aisle at another woman, pleasant-faced but slightly overweight. It is as if she had been looking at me and then she turns away and is gone. Too late I remember it is my manicurist from yesterday. Aimee, getting impatient, tugs at my hand. I have made my selection anyway and I lead her to the cash desk, pay with my credit card, exit the store, cross the parking lot, open the car and lift her up into her car seat. I set my purchases down into the trunk and I check my watch again. It is close to the time and I head to the school. It is not far away and I draw up in the parking lot, lift Aimee out and exchange a few greetings with other young mothers like me, waiting for their children in the schoolyard. In a few minutes the door swings open and children spill out. My elder daughter Nicole runs to my outstretched arms and I hug and kiss her. She has not yet become embarrassed by her mother's affections. Then I buckle Aimee back into her car seat, while Nicole had already set herself in, and she waves happily at her friends as we carefully ease out into the street. When I ask how her day it is like turning the water on and she excitedly chatters almost nonstop as we head briefly down the freeway. That takes only a few minutes until I swing off into a suburban street. Two year old Aimee, in her own seat, struggles with her words and babbles her own simple greetings for her sister and holds out a chubby hand to her. When a train on a railroad crossing holds me up I check the car clock. Yes, I am in good time but I take the opportunity to check my face and hair in the mirror. I had been to the hairdresser earlier and almost unconsciously I pat my dark hair behind my ear. A few minutes more and we arrive in the driveway. Nicole has already undone her seat belt and I release the door lock. I then lift out Aimee from her seat and let the girls run to the door. Grandma has already opened it and stands beaming at her grandchildren then kisses and hugs both. "Hi Kathy," I say and give her a brief hug too. She is actually Harry's mom but I have made a deliberate effort to get along with her. After Harry and I were married I tried calling her 'Mom' too, but she just smiled easily and asked me to use her first name as I had done from when Harry and I were first dating. There were a few rough patches at first, but things are much easier now. I wish my own parents lived closer. I go to the car and lift out the case with the girls' nightwear, brushes, some toys and their fresh clothes for the next day. Oh yes, I almost forgot. I pass over two books from my recent purchases for Grandma to read at the girls' bedtime. "Do you have time for coffee, or tea, Denise?" she asks but I shake my head. "Sorry, Kathy, I have to get back and change. Something a bit dressier than this!" I open my hands and gesture to my sweatshirt, easy fitting jeans and flat shoes. My younger sister Jessica is a student at college here and she teases me about my 'mom' jeans. I have jeans with a more flattering fit but there is a time for everything. Kathy grins knowingly. "Well, happy anniversary and have fun. You look really nice," she compliments. We embrace again and then I hug each of the girls. "Be good!" I say and they almost immediately disappear inside the house. Kathy laughs. "See you tomorrow," and she waves at me. I back out of the driveway while the girls wave at me from the living room window then I head home. I am still in good time but I don't want to rush. The scene shifts and I am in a house. It must belong to me as I am in a bedroom where I see a picture of me and my family on the dresser. Then I am looking in drawers and closets and carefully checking out my clothes for the night. I undress and head for the shower, don a shower cap to protect my new hairdo and choose a nice scented soap. Its floral yet musky aroma fills my nose. Then I pat myself dry, add a little perfume at my pulse points and slip on my bra and panties. I adjust them and smile at myself in the mirror. I had taken a bit of care in selecting my outfit. The panties are black, high cut and lacy. The bra matches them with lace over the cups. It is a slightly push-up style so I show a little cleavage. I look at the rest of my garments, now a little unsure. "What the hell!" I mutter and pick up the matching garter belt and hook it round me, then open a packet of sheer black stockings and unfold them. I roll one into a ring then pull it up my legs, smoothing it as I go, up to my thighs. I fasten the front garter and I roll the other stocking up too, then standing up and with a bit of bending and twisting I fasten both back garters. I straighten up and adjust the garter straps so they are taut. I have chosen the stocking size correctly and the dark welts of the stocking tops, slightly curved with the pull of my garters, lie nice and high on my thighs. The black garter straps contrast with my pale thighs and the back one curve over my rear. I look at myself in the mirror, turn around and smile. I know Harry likes to see me in garters and stockings but I save them for special occasions like this, our wedding anniversary, our sixth. The image flickers and I am momentarily surprised to be dressed like this then the image renews and I am happy. It's now time for my face. I sit down at the dressing table in front of the mirror, carefully touching up the shadow on my eyes, my mascara and my lipstick. I have chosen a deep red one. My face finished, I do a check at my lips, straighten and poise in front of the mirror to check my overall appearance and I pick up my new dress. It is also black, a design with a lacy sheath over satin. I pull it on carefully over my head, let it fall down over my bust, shimmy it over my hips and it falls so that its hem is almost knee length. I fumble at its back and do up the back zipper. The dress fits close to my hips but is looser at my waist. Its neckline shows just a hint of my cleavage. I wear the necklace Harry gave me when we got engaged and its little gold oriental character sits between my breasts. The last are my shoes. They are black, high heeled of course, but backless and open toed too to show off my polished toenails under my dark stockings. They set my legs off nicely. I find I can walk easily in them. I am almost ready. It looks as if it will be cool so I put on my best coat, and gloves. Fortunately they are black too. I check my purse to see if I have everything and make sure a small case with a change of clothes for both Harry and me gets in the car. I lock the door and set off. I am amused by a slight fluttering of butterflies in my stomach, as if I was setting out on a date, even though I remember we have been married six years. My residual male feeling make me surprised at how excited I am, meeting my husband for a night out. My dream shifts so that I am on my way downtown to meet Harry at his office. The original intention had been for him to drive home and get ready after his work but apparently there has been a major management shakeup at work and that needed a late afternoon meeting today so I have arranged to meet him, as if on a date. As I drive to downtown my skirt rides up slightly so that the darks tops of my stockings show just slightly under the hem of my dress. I smile. If Harry had been there he would appreciate it. Maybe later. I exit the interstate and several city streets later I draw up to his office. I see he is already waiting. He walks out and without speaking climbs into the passenger seat, leans over and kisses my cheek. He has been able to freshen up at work and he has shaved and I get a scent of his aftershave. My coat has opened and he can see the skirt of my black dress and my black stockings and his eyes open appreciatively. He squeezes my hand and we tell each other about our days as we head to a favorite bar. Our plan is to have a drink, then head to a dinner theatre/cabaret near the railroad station, then we have booked a hotel room for the night. We chat over drinks, a cocktail for me, a beer for Harry and I see him gradually relax then we see it is time. I hook my arm around his and I suggest he drives us to the theatre. He shakes his head. "No, you drive. I still need to relax a little." I bite my lip slightly. If there have been tensions at his work I hope they will not affect our night. The production is amusing but not deep, ideal for a relaxing night out and get Harry to relax. The food us good and tasty and we sit side by side facing the stage. At one point his hand is on my thigh and when it moves higher I know he will feel my garters. In fact he gently tickles my thigh on the bare spot beween my stocking top and my panties. I am tempted to feel his crotch but resist. The theatre is too crowded so I just put my hand over his and stroke it gently. I am not sure how much of the play we really absorb. It is probably as well that it is not a drama. We don't really pay too close attention to it anyway. Maybe we are too filled with desire for each other our expectation of its fulfillment, building up as the evening goes on. I hold his hand and we give occasional squeezes. At the break I go to the Ladies' Room to freshen up and check my makeup. It is holding up well. I have chosen a slightly redder hue of lipstick than I usually use. When the play is over and we are going out we meet a couple we know and chat briefly to them. I let Harry drive back to the hotel and we check in. The hotel has been quite newly redecorated and the room smells slightly of fresh paint. We are barely in the door of the room when he takes me in his arms. A man's arms are around me, slightly unfamiliar, but I suppress the traces of my male persona, and let this wonderful female body lead. "Well, " he says. "Happy anniversary, Denise! You look beautiful," as I pull him to me and we kiss. We undress each other tenderly and slowly, alternating each opening with lingering kisses. Finally his hands are at my breasts and his fingers stroke across my swollen areolas and gently pinch my hard nipples. He brings his lips to one of them and sucks me gently. I run my fingernails through the springy hair on his chest and from then we let our desire lead. Afterwards I lie on my back, happy and in a glow. I stroke his hairy arm and I fall asleep. But I am wakened or am I dreaming vividly? Another kaleidoscope of impressions, feelings , visions and emotions flashes in my head and my body feels pummeled by sensations. Then it settles and I drift off to sleep again. .......... I waken again and turn. I doze, thinking of the sequence of vivid dreams I have had. For some reason I feel different. The smooth texture of the sheets feels different too from my usual sheets. I am confused that they are like those I felt in that last dream. I am on my side but turn to my back, feeling as if there is something on my chest that catches the sheet and gives a nipple sharp sensations. Turning is more awkward somehow as if my hips are wider. Then, as I pull the sheet up to my chin I tense. I hear the sound of breathing next to me. Someone is in the bed beside me! I tense with apprehension, trying to persuade myself that I am mistaken but at the sound of another slight grunt I freeze. Then tentatively, curious and mystified I slide my hand over to my right and I feel flesh a hairy arm. I pull my hand back quickly. I am petrified then I recognize it is the same arm that I felt last night in my dream, Harry's arm. The man called Harry is beside me in bed! When I lift my head and look over to a chair I see a black dress, stockings and lacy underwear where they were carelessly thrown. How can that be? I put my hand to my mouth in shock. I feel down my body and draw in my breath. Instead of my own wiry body male body I now feel smooth softness. When I dare to put my hand on my chest I do not feel male hair. Instead I feel two soft warm female breasts and sensitive nipples, slightly tender from Harry's attentions. I push my hand down to my? waist, It is now narrow and female. I feel a soft slightly rounded belly and further down I find soft springy hair, different in texture from what I had. I push further and I find a soft pad, with a vertical groove. It surprises, but does not shock me. I feel a growing wonder and contentment. With mounting satisfaction and pleasure, I stretch further down to just almost beyond my reach and feel soft folds of flesh and around a moist sensitive opening. When I test its contours with my finger I feel moisture as it starts to express its own needs. Then I feel myself get even wetter when I remember Harry slowly pushing between the lips of my labia, entering my warmth, filling me and moving in me and bringing my passion to a shuddering climax. The memory becomes fresher, more real, its dreamlike qualities evaporating. There is a grunt beside me and I feel a hand press on my thigh, a firm big male hand. It moves up, stroking through the soft springiness of my pubic hair, over my belly to cup my breast. His fingers find my nipple. They pinch me and I feel it harden. The man beside me, Harry, grunts contentedly and I turn to him, my husband, my love of more than six years, my new love. This is no longer a wishing, imagination, dream, or delusion and I happily let myself meld absolutely, completely into my new existence. I wonder if I will get pregnant again. It was the right time of month and I want a brother for our two girls. No more gates open for me ever again. END