Friday, September 2, 2011

Wide Right

I've always kind of liked the idea of an athlete being feminized.  There's something about the inherent masculinity of an athlete that makes seeing them turned into something pretty and feminine so, so delicious.  If you've never read it, I suggest reading  Team Spirit .  It's a story by Janice Dreamer, which really captures the idea well.  However, going into writing my story, entitled Wide Right, I didn't really want to do a science fiction or magical change type of story.  So, I was pretty much limited to making it about a kicker (American Football).  I suppose I could have gone with a soccer player or a baseball player, but I really wanted to do football because it's such a masculine sport.  Either way, I wrote this story about a kicker who, after being hired to replace a team's normal, but injured kicker, misses a Super Bowl Winning field goal.  Needless to say, he is absolutely ostracized for it, and he quickly finds that he is nearly unemployable.  This being the sort of story that would be posted here, you probably already know what happens next.  Anyway, hope you enjoy this.

Wide Right
by
Nikki J
Cody looked around, and was immediately overwhelmed by the roaring
crowd.  Neutral location, my ass, he thought.  The stadium was packed,
and not with supporters for his team.  He could hardly hear himself
think.  He looked down, at his teammates, then across the line of
scrimmage at the opposing defense.  They just seemed enormous.  C'mon,
he thought.  You've done this a thousand times.  It's no different than
practice.  It's the same as any other game.

Even Cody didn't believe the lie.  It was, in fact, different.  It was
the Super Bowl.  He'd likely never be in a more important situation.
Focus.  He counted the players on his side of the ball. Eleven.  He
stood next to the holder, took a deep breath, and then took two steps
backwards, then two steps sideways.  Turning his body slightly, he bent
over just a bit, and let his arms hang.

It seemed like it went in slow motion.  The holder called for the ball,
and the center hiked it, shooting it backwards into the holder's hands. 
He caught it deftly, and quickly put the nose into the ground.
Meanwhile, Cody had started his motion, taking his first step toward the
ball.  The holder spun the ball, putting the laces towards the goal
post.  Another step, and Cody planted.  He swung his leg with all of his
might, connecting solidly.  He sent the ball on its way.

The towering defenders jumped, but the ball sailed over their
outstretched arms.  Cody didn't want to watch, but he couldn't look
away.  He knew it had the distance.  The ball arced through the air, and
through the goal post.  The crowd went silent.  It was good!

Then he heard the whistle.  The opposing coach had called a timeout
before the ball had been snapped, intending to ice the kicker, to get
into Cody's head.  So the kick didn't count.

"Did it once, do it again, man," the holder said.  Cody merely nodded.

He glanced up at the scoreboard.  One second remained on the clock.  A
single second until the end of the game,, and the score stood at 40-38,.
A field goal would win it.  Cody could win it.  He could be the hero.
Or he could be the man who lost the game.

The other players stood around him in the huddle; he didn't need to call
a play.  They all knew what was coming.  He looked up at them - they
were each at least a foot taller than his five and a half feet, and most
weighed at least twice as much.  All of those enormous, muscle-bound
men, and the game rested on Cody's narrow shoulders.  Or on his small
foot, as it happened.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling that the time out was finished,
and they broke the huddle.  They lined up just like before, and Cody
counted.  Eleven.  He took the same steps, and thought the same
thoughts.  The time out had not gotten into his head.  He had made it
once, and he would do it again.

Cody had been signed practically off the street; the team's normal
kicker had broken his leg the week before.  Cody had kicked in college,
and been reasonably successful, but he certainly had never been in such
a pressure packed situation.  But college was a while back, and he
definitely hadn't been on the top of the list.  A few lucky breaks and a
really good workout for the coach, and Cody had been signed the week
before the Super Bowl.  He had already made two field goals that game.

But none of that really entered Cody's mind as he stared at his holder,
at the spot where the ball would be.  Again, the holder signaled for the
ball, and again, the center sent it back like a bullet.  The holder
caught it, and placed it on the ground.  Cody took his steps, planted,
and swung his leg, just as he had done thousands of times before.

*

Cody sat at his locker, his shoulder pads thrown carelessly on the
ground beside him.  But he didn't move; he didn't look around.  He just
stared at his locker, unseeing.

He knew the moment the ball left his foot that the kick wouldn't be
good.  It should have been an easy kick.  Only twenty-eight yards, and
the ball had been right in the middle of the field.  A high school kid
could have made it.  However, his foot hadn't hit the ball quite right. 
Just a millimeter one way or the other could alter the trajectory of the
ball, and Cody's foot hadn't connected where it should have.

It had sailed past the goal post, wide right by only a few inches.  A
game of inches, that's what they called it.

Cody couldn't even look the other players in their eyes.  He knew they
blamed him, regardless of whether or not it made sense.  Sure, they
could have scored another touchdown earlier in the game, or stopped the
other team at some point, but when everything was said and done, people
would remember that Cody lost the game.  It didn't make sense, but there
it was.  If he hadn't been so new, the other players might have tried to
pick him up, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, to comfort him in
some small way.  But as it stood, he barely knew them, and they hardly
knew him.  So, they blamed him.

He sat there, unable to move for what seemed like hours.  He saw the
reporters waiting to ask questions, but they didn't bother him,
thankfully.  Some of the other players gave interviews, but Cody
couldn't even bring himself to move, much less answer questions.

Slowly, he came back to himself.  He had to do it sometime.  Cody
started to get undressed, and as always, was keenly aware that he did
not have the body of a world-class athlete, not like the other players
with their bulging muscles.  No, Cody had always been slim.  No matter
how hard he worked, he had had trouble developing any muscle tone.  But
his lower body had always been slightly thicker than his upper body.
Maybe it was all the kicking, or perhaps he was just built that way -
genes or something, perhaps.  Either way, he knew that his body was
quite a bit different than the ones surrounding him.

He undressed, wrapped a towel around his waist, and walked towards the
shower.  Cody didn't look at the other men as he stepped under a shower
head.  He didn't need to; he knew what he'd see.  Judgment.
Disappointment.  Maybe even hatred.  He showered quickly, and went back
to his locker.  He dressed just as quickly, and disappeared out a side
door.

Blessedly, there were no reporters waiting for him as he boarded the
team bus.  There was no one else aboard yet, so he quickly found a seat,
and settled in.  Slowly, a trickle of players piled into the bus, but
none sat near him.

It was the same when the bus took them to the airport, and they boarded
the team plane.  No one spoke to him. Nobody acknowledged Cody at all.
He knew they blamed him.  Hell, he blamed himself.  He should have made
that kick.  He could have been the hero.  Instead, Cody was the kicker
who lost the Super Bowl.

He tried to sleep on the flight, but only succeeded in sitting with his
eyes closed, the kick replaying in his mind.  Wide right.  Just a few
inches.   The flight seemed a lot longer than it was, but eventually,
they arrived back home.

No one had spoken to him since he had missed the field goal, and no one
would.  Finally, Cody had had enough, and as soon as he left the plane,
he didn't look back.  He couldn't.  He just wanted to get back to his
life of blessed anonymity.  So, he hailed a taxi outside of the airport,
and went home.  Thankfully, the driver didn't recognize him, and the
short ride from the airport to his apartment was uneventful.

Cody just wanted to leave it all behind, to forget that the Super Bowl
had ever happened.  He went into his apartment, threw his bag down, and
went to his bedroom, where he fell onto the bed.

Life hadn't been a cakewalk for him since he had graduated from college;
times were tough, and there weren't many jobs available.  He had gotten
a degree in journalism, but there simply weren't any opportunities for
him to work.  So, Cody had even tried getting manual labor or retail
jobs.  The retail jobs were refused simply because he was far too
overqualified.  And as for the labor jobs...well, one look at his petite
body, and there was no way they would hire him.  Cody had gotten by with
odd jobs here and there, but mostly, he had depended on his girlfriend
for support.

Melissa had been a godsend, and they had lived together since right
after college.  So, while being unemployed was very embarrassing for
Cody, it wasn't like he was out in the street.  But when that offer to
join the team as their kicker had come around, it had changed
everything.  It was a sizable amount of money, even though it was
practically the league minimum.  So, Cody had moved out of Melissa's
apartment, and into his own place.  Therein lie a problem, however.
Cody had no illusions about being asked to return as the team's kicker. 
He had burned that bridge when he sent the kick sailing wide right.  So
there he was again, completely unemployed, and practically unemployable,
but now, he had a new set of bills to pay.

Cody fell asleep that night still pondering how he was going to get out
of that mess.

*

Cody didn't leave his apartment for nearly a week after the Super Bowl. 
He barely ate, and he didn't answer his phone.  Depression ruled his
life.  For the fist few days, he couldn't even watch television, for
every show seemed to mention something about his missing the kick.

Five days after the Super Bowl, there was a knock on Cody's door.  He
didn't bother to get up and answer it.  Another knock.  And then, he
heard the telltale sign of a key turning, and the door opened.

Melissa walked in.  Even amidst Cody's depression, he had to keep
himself from staring.  She was a knockout.  She had the body and face of
a runway model, which meant that she was a few inches taller than Cody
himself.  She was perfect in nearly every way, and Cody had almost no
idea why she was even with him.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" she asked without preamble
as she shut the door.  "I've been calling for the last three days."

"I don't know," Cody answered.

Cody looked up, and Melissa's anger faded as soon as she saw the despair
on his face.

"It's going to be okay, you know," Melissa said.  "Everything will
settle down in a few weeks, and nobody will even remember it."

Cody shrugged.  "But what then?  I don't have a job, and the money from
that contract is going to run out soon."

"You can always move back in with me," Melissa suggested.

"It's just that for the first time in my life, I was completely
independent.  I felt like a man, more than any time since college," Cody
said.  "It's not that I don't like living with you.  I do.  I just need
to do try to make this work...for me."

"Sure doesn't sound like you like living with me," Melissa said as she
sat next to where Cody was sitting on the couch.  ""But I think I
understand.  I don't particularly like it.  It's incredibly selfish and
you're not really thinking about how that's going to make me feel, but I
do understand."

"I --" Cody began, but he was interrupted by Melissa.

"No, Cody.  I get it, and to be honest, I can't really blame you," she
said.  "Most men would feel the same way."

The two talked for almost two hours before Melissa had to leave, citing
an imminent business dinner.  Against all odds, Cody felt slightly
better after their conversation.

*

That warm, fuzzy feeling didn't last for long.  The next day, Cody
decided to begin his job hunt.  He started with the usual suspects:
radio stations, local television stations, and even his old college's
journalism department.  Apparently, the fallout from his missed field
goal had not dissipated in the least bit.

It was a typical sports town.  They loved their heroes, and hated their
villains.  Cody happened to fall into the latter category.  Everywhere
he went, he was given the cold shoulder.  Nearly everyone in town
recognized him on sight, and it wasn't surprising.  His picture had been
plastered on television and newspapers everywhere, nowhere more than in
his own city.

The result was that Cody ended that first day with worse career
prospects than he had ever had before.  The next day was even worse.
Not even his usual temporary employers would speak to him.  His
depression deepened with each rejection.

Day by day, he kept looking, though.  He was absolutely committed.
Commitment, though, was not enough, and he couldn't even rustle up the
odd jobs he had enjoyed before the Super Bowl.

Almost a month after he had missed the kick, Cody lost all hope, and
stopped even trying.  One night, Melissa came over, and they were
watching television, when she said, "So how is the job hunt going?"

"Same," he answered.

"You could move," she suggested.

"And go where?  At least here, I have the apartment paid up, and some
sort of safety net.  If I were to move, what would I have?  And even
then, there's no guarantee it would be any different," he said.

"Then change your name," was her next suggestion.

"That might get me in the door," he answered.  "But they would still
recognize me."

"You could always dye your hair, or grow a beard or something," Melissa
ventured.

"I've never been able to grow a beard, and I don't think that dying my
hair would do much good.  You underestimate how much these people hate
me," Cody said.  "You're not from around here, but these people live,
eat, and breathe football."

"So --" she stopped.  "No, that won't work."

"What?" Cody asked,

"It's silly," Melissa said. "Just forget I said anything."

"C'mon," he coaxed.  "I'm not going to be able to forget anything, and
you know it."

"Okay.  Well, you could just change yourself so drastically that no one
will recognize you," Melissa stated.

"Easier said than done," Cody said sarcastically.

"I guarantee that I could do it," she said.  "You won't like it, but I
could make it to where nobody would think of the kicker who lost the
Super Bowl when they look at you."

"What?  How?" Cody asked, his interest perked.

She looked away for a second, then turned back, "I could make  you look
like a girl."

Cody had been prepared for a lot of things, but he could have never
imagined that.  He laughed, and said, "Ha ha.  Very funny.  I'm trying
to be serious here, and you're making jokes."

"I'm not joking, Cody," she said.  "I mean, it's not really a stretch,
is it?  You're not exactly Mr. Macho, you know."

Cody didn't know what to say.  Was she still joking?  Or was she
actually serious?  "Well, joking or not, I'm not interested in
crossdressing."

"But --"

"Just drop it, okay?" Cody said, and she did.

*

Two months passed, and Cody still found no job.  Those people held a
grudge like nobody's business.  Another month, and Cody was evicted from
his apartment.  Melissa, for her part, was as supportive as anyone could
have expected, and offered Cody a place to live.  He accepted, albeit
sheepishly.

When Cody moved in, Melissa said, "We're going to have to have some
ground rules, here."

"Like what?  You know I'm not a messy person, and I don't mind cleaning
the place up," Cody said.

"No.  I need you to get a job.  It's not fair to me that you would be
living here, rent free," Melissa stated.

"You know I've been looking.  I get laughed out of every single --"
Cody was cut off.

"Yeah, you've looked.  You've tried it your way, but you completely
rejected my suggestion," Melissa said.

"What? The crossdressing thing?"  Cody asked.  "I told you I wouldn't do
it."

"Then you won't live here," Melissa said.  "Don't bother arguing,
either.  If you can't be bothered to change what has obviously failed,
then I can't be bothered to let you live here."

Cody was floored by both Melissa's attitude and statement.  Was she
serious?  She'd let him live on the streets?  She knew he didn't have
anywhere to go, and no way to earn any sort of money.

"And I'm not just talking about the job hunt, either," Melissa stated.
"I wasn't kidding when I implied that you weren't much of a man.  Look
at yourself, Cody.  They won't even hire you to dig ditches.  You're not
man enough."

"I can't --"

Melissa interrupted, "Don't give an answer yet.  I know this is a big
decision, so you can stay the night.  But I expect a commitment from you
in the morning, or I expect you to be gone.  Don't make me force you
out," she added dangerously.  Cody had no doubts about how a physical
confrontation would go. "You can sleep in the spare room."

Cody picked up his scarce belongings, and went to the indicated room.
He set them down, and fell onto the bed, losing himself in thought.

What did Melissa want?  Was she really trying to help him?  That seemed
likely, even if her method was unorthodox.  She had always been a
loving, giving person, and had never been anything but honest with Cody.
But the gravity of the situation refused to let Cody dismiss how strange
her suggestion was.  She wanted him to seek work as a woman, and she had
implied that she wanted him to live as one, as well.  What did that
mean?

More than anything, though, Cody asked himself what choice he really,
truly had.  He had no family, and no friends who would be willing to
take him in.  He had no job prospects, little money, and nowhere else to
go.  And that scared him.  It frightened him enough that he didn't sleep
at all that night, for thoughts of living on the street, of  having to
rely on soup kitchens for his meals.  But what was the cost of not
surrendering to that?

So he lay pondering his situation for the entire night, barely moving
until he heard the door to the room open, and Melissa asked, "Have you
made your decision, then?"

"I have."  As if there were a choice.

"And?" Melissa asked.

Cody sat up, and said, "I'll do it."

"Good," Melissa said.  "Let's get started then, shall we?"

Cody barely had time to think before Melissa had him stripped, and had
instructed him to shave his body, which he did.  It felt strange,
running the razor over his legs, like the action carried with it some
sort of finality.  He knew it was just body hair, and he had never had
much to begin with, but that act seemed to seal the deal for him.  He
was committed.

What did Melissa plan?  Just to dress him in drag, and send him out into
the world?  What if someone recognized him?  He would surely be
ostracized even more, and the story would likely make its way to news
outlets everywhere.  The thought scared him, but not as much as being
kicked out, and doomed to a life of homelessness.

He nicked himself a few times, but after a while, was completely smooth.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, and realized that Melissa
had been right.  He didn't really have the body of a man.  There wasn't
anything even remotely masculine about him.  Even his face was pretty
rather than handsome, and his penis was a little below average in size.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped from the bathroom.

"No, not like that," Melissa said.  "Wrap it around your chest."

Cody sighed, and obeyed the direction.  He felt frightfully exposed,
what with the towel barely covering his rear end.

Melissa directed Cody to sit down in a chair near her vanity, and she
went to work applying makeup and styling his hair.  Cody sat obediently,
unable to really speak.  Was he really going to go through with it?
Cody didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually, Melissa said,
"Okay, that will do.  Now, let's get you dressed."

Cody started to turn, to look at himself in the mirror but Melissa
stopped him.  "Wait until you can see the full effect."

Cody shrugged.  "Okay." For some reason, he couldn't even bring himself
to argue with her about something so simple as looking in the mirror.

She led him into her bedroom, where she had some clothes laid out.  Cody
couldn't look at them until Melissa hand him, piece by piece, a pair of
black lace panties, a black bra, a garter belt, and a pair of thigh-high
stockings.  He put each piece of lingerie on reluctantly, and had
particular trouble with the stockings.  Melissa told him to be careful
not to rip them, so Cody was extra careful as he slid them up his smooth
legs.  It only took a couple of minutes, but donning the lingerie seemed
to take hours.

Next came a gray skirt, and a white blouse.  Cody felt ridiculous,
standing there in women's clothes.  Nothing filled his bra, and his
tucked penis felt quite strange between his legs.

And then he looked in the mirror.  Cody gasped, and Melissa smiled.

Beautiful.  It was so disconcerting for Cody to see himself as a woman. 
Sure, he stood like a man, and his body didn't have quite the right
shape (though part of that was merely his perception), but he still
looked like a slightly masculine bodied woman.  And his face...his face
was female.  There was no getting around it.  Even with his relatively
short hair, he looked unmistakeably like a beautiful woman.

He stared for a few minutes before Melissa said, "See?  I told you I
could make you look like a woman.  And this is without changing you at
all - no implants or breast forms.  No waist cinching undergarments.
It's all you.  I didn't even have to use that much makeup."

She reached out, and turned Cody to face her.  "Look, Cody.  I know I
didn't give you much of a choice here, but you have to admit, it is a
good idea.  What sort of life can you expect if you stay as you are?  Do
you think people will forget?  Your only real hope is to change your
name and your appearance to such a degree that no one will connect you
with that guy who missed that field goal."

"I know, but --"

"No 'buts' Cody," she said.  "You know I'm right.  Besides, I think
you're really cute like that."

"You do?" Cody asked.

She answered with a passionate kiss.  "I think I do."

Getting undressed went so much more quickly than putting on the clothes;
Melissa practically tore them from Cody's body.  Cody had never been a
particularly aggressive man, but he had at least always been dominant in
the bedroom.  His depression, extraordinarily low self-esteem, fragile
mental state, and the fact that he was dressed as a woman combined to
push him further away from masculine dominance, and into a more feminine
submissive nature.  Melissa took full advantage as they made love.  She
was the dominant one; she was the aggressor.

But it was good, that much Cody had to admit.  Still with his stockings
and garter belt on, Cody lay on the bed as Melissa rode him, and hard.
She obviously quite enjoyed dominating him rather than the other way
around.

Afterward, as they lay in bed, Cody stayed in his submissive role as
Melissa held him.

Finally, he asked, "What now?"

"Now, you agree to change your life drastically," Melissa answered.
"And not just dressing like a woman.  You have to become a woman.  How
much money do you have left?"

"About a thousand dollars - it's what I got back in my security
deposit," Cody stated.

"That should get us started," Melissa said.

"That's kind of vague," he responded.

"Okay, you want specifics?" Melissa asked, standing.  Cody nodded.
"Well, first off, we're going to get you some female hormones.  Then,
we're going to change your name, and get you a new driver's license.
After that, we're going to get you a couple of minor surgeries - don't
worry, I'll pay for them.  You know I have the money.  I just want you
to start moving towards changing your life, you know.  It's not about
the money."

It was quite a lot to process.  Surgery? Hormones?  None of that sounded
even the least bit reversible, and he said as much.

"Of course it's not reversible.  This isn't some temporary fix, Cody.
This is something for the rest of your life," Melissa said as she got
dressed.  "Now put on some clothes.  No, not the skirt and sexy
lingerie.  That was just to make a point.  Just put on some panties, a
pair of jeans and a tee-shirt.  And be quick about it, or we're going to
be late."

"Late for what?" Cody asked.

"You'll see," was Melissa's only answer.

*

After the events leading up to their arrival at the electrolysis clinic,
Cody was only slightly surprised that Melissa had already made him an
appointment.  Sitting in the waiting room, Cody was keenly aware of the
panties (pink and cotton) he wore beneath his jeans.  Insisting that he
needed to get used to it, Melissa had made him keep the feminine hair
style and light makeup.  All in all, he was quite self-conscious when he
was led into the room.

The doctor came in, and said, "What can we do for you today?"

Melissa spoke up, and said, "We need to set up an aggressive schedule
for the removal of all of his body hair."

"Well, we can do it in a little over two weeks, but he'll have to come
in every other day,"  the doctor answered.  It irritated Cody only
slightly that they were talking about him like he wasn't even there.
"Maybe a bit less if he's not particularly hairy."

"Oh, he's not," Melissa said.

"You want to do the face, too?" he asked.

"Of course.  Everything below the eyebrows," she said.  The doctor
nodded.

"Let's get started, then," he said, and Cody was instructed to lie back
on a table, and the doctor started the procedure.  He began with Cody's
face and neck.  Cody had expected it to hurt, but he only really felt a
tingling sensation as the doctor did his work.  That first session
lasted about an hour.

From there, Melissa and Cody went to another doctor, and again, Melissa
spoke for him.  She explained to the doctor that he was a woman living
in a man's body, and that he wanted to become a woman.  The doctor
referred them to a psychiatrist, and prescribed some female hormones.

They did not go to the psychiatrist, but instead, dropped the
prescription at the pharmacist, and then, went home.  The whole time,
Cody had trouble keeping from rubbing his face.  It was a little sore,
but that wasn't why he kept touching it.  There was no hair, not even
the sparse stubble he was used to.  When they got home, Melissa sat him
down.

She said, "I'm so proud of you for doing this, you know."

Cody could only nod.  He hardly knew what to think.

*

The next two weeks were a blur of activity.  Each day, he returned to
the doctor to continue his electrolysis, and by the end of two weeks,
his body was completely smooth, save a small patch of hair at his
crotch.

He had been taking the hormones since that first day, but hadn't noticed
any changes.  He reasoned that they would take quite a while to do their
work.  Melissa had ordered some clothes online for him, and he had taken
to wearing slightly unisex clothes (women's jeans, tee-shirts, and
shorts) around the house.  Melissa had thrown away his male clothes, so
he had little choice.

The lingerie was a different story.  Melissa wouldn't allow him to wear
anything plain; she said that he needed to feel feminine.  So, he wore
frilly, lacy panties and sexy bras (though he still didn't need one).
On the few days when his underwear was cotton, the colors and patterns
were decidedly feminine.

In the middle of the second week, Melissa came home from work, and said,
"I made your appointment with the surgeon for next week.  It's just a
consult, but the surgery should follow pretty quickly after that.  A few
weeks after that, and we can start you on the job hunt."  She set her
purse on the table, and continued, "Have you thought about a name, yet?"
Cody shook his head.  "You really need to do that.  It won't be long
before people will start looking at you funny if you introduce yourself
as Cody."

Cody had been avoiding the name thing.  How do you pick a name?
Hundreds had crossed his mind, but none seemed quite right.  However, he
knew time was running out.  He'd have to make a decision soon.

Sex had been strange in the two weeks since Cody had started his
transition, but not necessarily in a bad way.  Melissa's aggressive
love-making had continued, and it seemed almost commonplace for Cody to
submit, which was different, but not altogether strange.  What was odd
was the fact that sex between the two had become more sensual rather
than purely sexual.  They held one another, and foreplay seemed to last
a lot longer than it had before.  That said, Cody didn't mind the
attention of Melissa's mouth all over his body, and he actually enjoyed
pleasing her likewise, but he did know it was different.  He supposed
that Melissa was trying to make him feel more womanly, and he had to
admit, it was working.

Each day, Melissa would try to teach him feminine comportment, and Cody
did try, but progress was slow.  He couldn't help but feel like a man
acting as a woman.  He reasoned that comfort would come in time.
Melissa would constantly chide him about his posture, gestures, and
mannerisms, and for his part, Cody would take her suggestions, and try
to apply them.

And then there were the arerobics sessions.  Melissa insisted that he do
them for two reasons.  One, they were designed to augment a feminine
shape, and two, many had very feminine movements, and would, at least,
continue his training.

None of it seemed quite real, though.  It felt like he was preparing for
an acting role or something, and as seriously as he tried to take it, he
always felt like a fraud.

The day of his doctor's appointment came, and Melissa took him. It was
quite daunting to hear them talk about body sculpting, breast
augmentation, tracheal shaving, and facial feminization, but Cody took
it all stoically.  He even managed to smile a few times when the doctor
addressed him.  The procedure was scheduled for the end of the month,
almost a week away.

Cody's routine continued, and the day of the surgery arrived.  Melissa
took him to the hospital, they prepped him, and he remembered seeing the
smiling face of the surgeon just before he lost consciousness.

Cody awoke to confusion; it took him a few minutes to figure out exactly
what was going on.  Finally, his mind fought through the anesthesia, and
he remembered about the surgeries.  And then came the nausea.  His
stomach roiled, and he had to keep himself from vomiting.  He could feel
a slight discomfort throughout his body; pain masked by drugs, no doubt.
He dozed back off after a few minutes.

He awoke again in a hospital room, and he felt the pain in full.  His
entire body ached, he couldn't speak, and his fear began to mount.  He
was near panic (irrational though it was) when Melissa walked into the
room.  She saw the fear in his eyes, and sat on the edge of his bed.
She stroked his hair, and comforted him with soft words.

*

The recovery was, like Cody's entire situation, odd.  Not only did his
wounds have to heal, but he had to get used to his new body as well.  In
addition, the hormones had begun to affect him.  His mood swung from one
end of the spectrum to another in a matter of seconds.

It was a time of transition for Cody, and in every sense of the word.
The first time he stood after the surgery, he was well aware of the
weight of his breasts.  They weren't big - just B-cups - but they were
unmistakeable.  Melissa h ad said that they would probably grow another
cup size once the hormones had done their work.

Then, there were all the bandages.  The surgery had been extensive, and
his entire face and neck sported gauze.  In addition, his stomach felt
like a professional boxer had used it for a punching bag.  Altogether,
Cody was miserable when he left the hospital two days after the
surgeries.

A week later, he finally made himself look at his naked body.  It was
still bruised, and it exhibited swelling in a few places, but the effect
of the surgeries was drastic.

He had always had a heavier lower than upper body, and the surgery (and
the recovery) had accentuated that fact.  He knew that his hips weren't
really wider - they had decided against fat injections because the
doctor didn't favor them - but they certainly looked that way.  His
waist was positively skinny, and his breasts were perky.  His face was
still bandaged, or bruised and swollen so badly it was unrecognizable,
though.  He wondered if the change would be just as drastic.

He got his answer a week later when the doctor removed his bandages.
The swelling had dissipated, and the doctor asked him to speak.  Cody
had been forbidden from speaking after the surgery so that his vocal
cords could heal.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked.  He clamped a hand over his
mouth in surprise.  That wasn't his voice!  Sure, it was still raspy,
but that was not a man's voice at all.

"Good," the doctor said.  "Vocal chords are healing nicely."

The checkup ended soon after that, and Melissa took Cody home.  Once
they were inside the apartment, Melissa said, "Go ahead and look.  I
know you're dying to."

Cody was anxious to see his new face, but he was scared as well.  He
didn't need to be, as it turned out.  He could still see himself when he
looked in the mirror, but he could also see the changes.  The doctor had
done his job well, and Cody looked like he could have been a cousin or
sister to his former self.  He smiled.

Life fell back into a rhythm, and Cody continued to recover.  He started
back with the aerobics, and comportment lessons, and to his surprise, he
didn't really feel like he was acting anymore.  It all felt, well,
right.  After a few minutes of thought, his surprise faded.  Of course
it felt right.  He was becoming a woman.

Another month passed, and soon, Cody was comfortable enough to leave the
apartment in blatantly feminine clothes.  He still didn't like wearing
skirts or dresses, but it had little to do with comfort.  He just didn't
like the way men looked at him when he wore them.

The hormones continued to do their job, and Cody's breasts gradually
grew.  After three more months, he was a C-cup.  Looking in the mirror,
he had to admit that aside from his penis (which had shrunk a bit), he
had a body of which most women would be proud.

A few weeks later, they were eating a light dinner when Melissa said, "I
think you're ready."

"For what?" Cody asked.

"To get a job as a woman," she explained.  "You don't look anything like
you used to.  Some people might think you look vaguely familiar, but I
doubt anyone will put two and two together."

"But what sort of job should I look for?" he asked.

"As it happens, there is an opening where I work for a secretary," she
stated.  "We won't work together, or really anywhere near one another,
but we could carpool, at least."

"A secretary?  Am I qualified?"  Cody asked.

"You can type, and you can answer the phone," Melissa said.  "Everything
else, you can learn.  If you want the job, I can get you an interview."

"I recognize that look.  There's a caveat here," Cody said.

"A couple, actually.  First, you can't put it off anymore.  You have to
change your name, and you're going to have to talk to your college, and
get your records transferred to that name if you ever want something
more than a secretarial job."

Cody didn't know what to say.  He had known the day was coming, but
changing one's name is a difficult decision.  Finally, he said, "Stacy. 
And I'll use your last name if you don't mind."

"We could be sisters!" Melissa squealed.  That hadn't been Cody's first
thought, in truth.  He thought it a grand gesture of his love that he
would take Melissa's name, just like if they were married.  If he was
honest with himself, he would have admitted that there was no such love
really there on either side.  They had been drifting slowly apart, at
least sexually, since his surgeries.  But emotionally, they were closer
than ever, which was why Cody mistook his feelings for love.  He forced
a smile.

"Okay, then, Stacy.  We'll fill out the paperwork tomorrow," Melissa
said.

*

Stacy wrung her hands nervously as she sat in the waiting room.  Stacy
thought it a little odd that she thought of herself as a woman now, but
figured that it had been inevitable.  She wasn't a man anymore, and she
couldn't afford to think of herself as one.

It had been surprisingly easy to change her name and legal status - just
a bunch of paperwork and a few fees.  But it had tipped the balance for
Stacy.  She had left Cody behind when she had signed the papers, and had
fully committed to her new identity.  Even so, she felt butterflies
dancing in her tummy as she sat waiting for her interview.  She tried to
read a magazine, but couldn't concentrate.  She had been on dozens of
job interviews, and none had affected her quite so much.  She knew why. 
It wasn't that the job was great - it wasn't.  She didn't even want it
that much, aside from needing to show Melissa that she was serious.  No,
she didn't care about the actual job.  But in the back of her mind, she
knew that she was interviewing for more than a job.  She was being
tested for the rest of her life.  If she got the job, it would be an
affirmation of everything Melissa had said.  If not...Stacy didn't want
to even think about that.

She had taken great pains to look her best, but Stacy was no fool.  She
knew, perhaps better than most, that looking professional was only part
of it.  She had to look enticing, sexy, and professional all at the same
time.  It was a difficult balancing act, but Stacy thought she had done
quite well - with Melissa's help, of course.

Her skirt was modest, but tight enough to show off her feminine rear
end.  She had chosen a fitted white blouse, the top buttons of which,
she left open, showing off a bit of cleavage. Stockings and high heels
completed the ensemble, and Stacy had been satisfied that she looked
quite fetching.

Her name was called, and the secretary said, "Mr. Robinson will see you
now."

Stacy stood, and entered the office.  Behind the desk sat a balding,
middle-aged man.  He might have been handsome once, but a sedentary
lifestyle coupled with the passing years had given him a bit of a
paunchy look.

"Ah, so you're Melissa's little sister, eh?" he said, rising and
extending his hand.  They had come up with that story, even though Stacy
was, in fact, older than Melissa by two years.  Stacy took his hand, and
shook it daintily. "Have a seat."

The interview went almost perfectly.  Mr. Robinson asked the normal
questions, and Stacy answered them as truthfully as she could without
giving away her secret.  But more than that, Stacy got her first
practice with flirting.  She battered her eyelashes, laughed at Mr.
Robinson's bad jokes, and endured his openly lustful stares with grace. 
It made her uncomfortable at first, but Melissa had warned Stacy that it
was bound to happen to a pretty girl like her, and that she should use
it to her advantage.   She did her best.

After about twenty minutes, Mr. Robinson said, "Well, I think that's
about it.  Do you want the job or not?"

The question surprised Stacy a little.  She expected to get the job,
sure, but she hadn't anticipated getting an offer directly after the
interview.  She managed to stammer, "Yes sir, I do."

"Okay, then.  You start next Monday at nine sharp," he said.  "You'll be
reporting to Mrs. Franklin on the second floor.  She'll get you settled
in."  Mr. Robinson stood, and extended his hand.  "Welcome to our little
family."

*

"We have to celebrate!" Melissa exclaimed.  Stacy smiled.  "Let's go out
tonight.  We'll go dancing."

"I don't know," Stacy said.  She didn't think he was ready for that
step.

"Oh, come on.  It'll be fun," Melissa insisted.  "You'll have fun, I
promise."

Stacy knew that Melissa wasn't going to relent until she agreed.  "Okay,
but --"

Melissa cut Stacy off with a hug, and a kiss to her cheek, "This is
going to be so fun!  I know just what you should wear."

Melissa led Stacy into her room, and immediately started rummaging
through her closet.  Stacy sat down, waiting patiently, but Melissa's
excitement was absolutely infectious.  Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea;
she could use a little fun, and Stacy had gotten pretty good at her
dance aerobics sessions.

Melissa pulled out a short little red dress.  It was loose, but had
elastic around the hem.  She tossed it on the bed, and then went to
Stacy's underwear drawer.  She picked out a red thong, and threw it to
Stacy.  Finally, she found a pair of strappy heels to complete the
outfit.

"Where did all this come from?  I know I didn't buy it," Stacy said.

"It was going to be a gift for your birthday, but this seemed like a
good occasion," Melissa answered.  "Don't you like the outfit?"

Stacy shrugged, and said, "I guess.  It's a little, ah...racy, isn't
it?"

"Of course it is, silly.  That's the point," Melissa explained.  "I'm
going to go take a shower and shave.  You are so lucky you don't have to
shave your legs."  And she disappeared into the bathroom they shared.

"What bra should I wear?"  Stacy asked.

From the bathroom, Melissa called out, "You don't wear a bra with that. 
Let the girls be free tonight."

The girls.  Her breasts.  She still wasn't quite used to them.

*

They arrived at the club a little after nine, and were let in without
standing in line.  Stacy felt extremely self-conscious in her short
dress, but put on a brave face.  Melissa, on the other hand, seemed
looser than she had in months.

It was a little strange for Stacy to have men offer her drinks, and she
politely refused most of them.  After all, her sexual orientation hadn't
really changed; she still liked women.  Melissa seemed to have no such
reservations, and was soon a little tipsy.

The two danced together, and Stacy had to admit that she was having a
good time.  But then, she found herself dancing with a man.  He was
tall, but otherwise average looking.  She didn't see a way to gracefully
excuse herself, so she danced with him.

The man's hands were all over her, and who could blame him?  Stacy was
sexy, she knew, and she was dressed like she wanted the attention. She
looked at Melissa, who danced with another man.  But Melissa didn't
politely push the man's hands away like Stacy kept doing.  No, she let
him rub her up and down.

After a few minutes, Stacy couldn't really take it anymore.  She grabbed
Melissa by the wrist, and pulled her away from the dance floor.

"I think we need to go home," she said.

Melissa responded, 'You go ahead.  I need to get laid."

"What? You can't --"  Stacy began, but was interrupted by Melissa.

"Go on home, sis," Melissa said.  "I'll be fine."

With that, she walked away, leaving a stunned Stacy in her wake.

*

Stacy lay on her bed in just her panties later that night.  She had
quickly removed the dress; it made her feel slutty and cheap, but had
seen no reason to put anything else on.  She was, after all, alone.

Melissa still hadn't returned.  What had she meant?  Was she really
going to sleep with some random man?  What about Stacy's feelings?
Weren't they still a couple?

In truth, they hadn't slept together since the surgeries.  Stacy had
assumed that everything would remain the same as it was before she had
changed, that the two would remain together, but Melissa, it seemed, had
other ideas.

After waiting up for nearly two more hours, Stacy finally fell asleep.

Melissa still wasn't home when she awoke the next morning.  It was
almost noon before she returned, looking for all the world like she had
had one wild night.

"Where have you been?" Stacy demanded.

"I told you.  I needed to get laid," Melissa answered.  "What's the
problem?"

"What's the problem?  You can't be serious," Stacy said.  "I thought...I
thought you were my girlfriend, that --"

"Oh, sweety.  I'm not a lesbian," Melissa said sweetly.  "I thought you
understood that.  You're a girl, now, and while I do find girls
attractive sometimes, I will, from time to time, need a man."

"But --"

"Just wait.  You'll see.  In fact, that's something we need to talk
about," Melissa said.  "You're starting your new job next week, and
people are going to expect a normal, heterosexual girl.  You can't get
all guarded when a man touches you."

"I'm not going to sleep with men," Stacy responded.  "I just won't."

"I think you will," Melissa said.  "And I think you should.  Nothing
makes you feel more like a woman when some man sticks his big cock in
you."

She looked up, as if an idea had just sprung into her head.  "You
know...you said you want to have sex with me, still, right?"   Stacy
nodded.  "And we can do it anyway I want?"

"Of course.  Whatever you want," Stacy answered.

Melissa smiled.  "I'm going to hold you to that, honey."

*

Stacy knelt in front of the strap-on dildo, and stared at it for almost
a minute.  Melissa had left almost as soon as she had gotten cleaned up,
and returned with the box about an hour later.  After a short argument,
Stacy agreed that Melissa could do what she wanted with it.  So, she had
strapped it on, and asked for a blow job.

Stacy knew that it was just a piece of rubber, and that it wouldn't make
her gay if she sucked it.  In fact, she hardly knew what constituted gay
anymore.  She thought of herself as a woman, so did that mean that
having sex with a woman made her a lesbian?  Or because she still had a
penis, did having sex with a man make her a homosexual?  Confused
thoughts danced through her head until, finally, she just decided to go
with it.

She took the rubber penis into her mouth all at once, and roughly sucked
it.

"No.  Not like that.  Tease it a little.  Show a little technique.  Do
what you would have liked done to you before the change," Melissa
instructed.  So, Stacy tried.  She licked it, and kissed it, doing all
of the things she had liked before.

It felt odd, sucking a fake cock,  and, in truth, Stacy felt silly about
it all.  But to her credit, she did her best to treat it like it was
real.  Melissa rested her hand on Stacy's head, and said, "Look at me
while you're doing it."  Stacy looked up.

After a few minutes of sucking, Melissa said, "Okay.  Enough of that.
Get on your hands and knees." She pointed to the bed, and Stacy did as
she was told.   "Now put your face into the bed, and get that ass up in
the air.  Good."  Stacy looked back at Melissa, who had a tube of
lubricant in her hand.  She squirted some onto her fingers.

It was cold when Melissa touched Stacy's rectum that first time, and she
flinched.  Melissa caressed Stacy's rear with her other hand, and said,
"It's okay.  Just relax."  Then, she plunged a finger in.  It was
different, but not in a bad way, Stacy thought as Melissa worked the
finger in and out.  After a couple of minutes, one finger became two.
It was a tight fit, and Melissa told Stacy to relax again.  She tried
her best, but couldn't help but clench her rectum.

When Melissa pulled her fingers out, Stacy felt an emptiness in her
bottom.  She looked back again, but this time, Melissa was rubbing her
hand up and down the rubber dildo, lubing it up.  It looked so big
compared to her fingers.  Could she take that much?  Stacy buried her
face in the sheets, and waited, her breasts hanging freely.

Melissa wasn't quite ready, though.  She was enjoying the anticipation. 
Stacy felt the dildo rubbing against the outer rim of her anus,
teasingly.  Finally, Stacy felt Melissa's hands planted firmly on her
buttons, and then, the tip went in slowly.  Stacy gasped - it hurt so
much!  Melissa went slowly, easing it in inch by inch, and Stacy felt
tears welling in her eyes.  A whimper escaped her lips.

"It's almost in.  You're doing so good, baby," Melissa cooed as she
continued to push the dildo in.    After what seemed like hours, it was
in, and Stacy felt Melissa's hips brushing against her.  Melissa left it
in for a few seconds, and Stacy started to relax.  The pain started to
fade a little.  It was still there, but part of it had been replaced by
pleasure.  It was so much different than what she had felt as a man.
And then Melissa started to pull out just as slowly as she had pushed
the dildo inside of Stacy.  She pushed it back in, a little faster than
before.  Each thrust was faster, and with each one, Stacy's pain faded. 
In and out, Melissa fucked Stacy's ass.

The two went at it for hours until exhaustion forced them to stop.  They
tried so many different positions that Stacy couldn't even remember them
all.

And from that day on, Stacy was the woman in the relationship.  When
they had sex (and it really wasn't that often - Melissa wasn't a lesbian
after all), it was Melissa fucking Stacy with the strap-on dildo.

*

Stacy's first day as a secretary had been hell.  She had arrived a
little early, but Mrs. Franklin had looked at her like she had shown up
two hours late.  While spouting off a litany of rules and regulations,
she led Stacy to her small desk.  And then things got busy.  She hardly
had a second to herself between answering phones, typing memos, and
running little errands for everyone from the other secretaries (being
the new girl and all) to the executives and sales staff.  By lunch, she
was absolutely exhausted - not physically, but mentally.

She decided to go up to Melissa's floor to have lunch (Melissa was a
senior sales associate), but was moderately surprised that Melissa had
already made a lunch date with one of her male colleagues.  So, deciding
to just zone out at her desk for her lunch break, Stacy boarded the
elevator.  A second later, a handsome (even Stacy had to admit that he
was cute) young man in a business suit got onto the elevator as well.

He looked at her, and obviously noticing her downtrodden look, said,
"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Stacy answered.  She looked up at him, and said, "I was
supposed to have lunch with my...sister, but she made other plans,
apparently."  Why had she said that?  She hadn't intended to share any
information with the man.  She looked at him again.

He was tall - around six feet - and with an athletic build.  He had
short brown hair, blue eyes, and a ruggedly handsome face.  But there
was something else there that just screamed "trust me."  Stacy couldn't
put her finger on it.

"Oh," he staid.  "That's terrible."  After a few seconds, he said,
"Well, why don't you let me take you to lunch.  I'm probably not as good
of company as your sister, but I'll do in a pinch."

Stacy didn't really know what to say.  She had been asked out before,
and was kind of used to it by now.  Something, though, made her say,
"Okay."  She smiled shyly.

"Okay, then," the man said.  "I'm Owen, by the way."  He extended his
hand.

"Stacy," she answered, taking it.

*

Later that day, Stacy entered the apartment, still thinking about Owen. 
Their lunch date had been fantastic.  He was charming, funny, and yes,
quite handsome.  And he was obviously taken with Stacy.  The two made a
plan for a proper date that weekend.

Stacy couldn't help but wonder what she was doing.  She didn't like men,
did she?  She wasn't so sure, now.

Still, though, she kept the information from Melissa.  Part of her was
embarrassed about it all, even though she knew that she had nothing
about which to be ashamed.  She was a woman who had had lunch with a
man.  Nothing wrong with that.  But in the back of Stacy's mind, she
felt supremely uncomfortable with it.  She wasn't a real woman, after
all, she thought.  The feeling that she was simply a man acting like a
woman lingered in the back of her mind.

As the days passed, Stacy became far more comfortable with her new job. 
It wasn't so hard if she just kept from panicking, and organized her
time correctly.  She also became used to being viewed as a bit of a sex
object.  She felt men's eyes on her wherever she went, and why not?  She
was a very pretty young woman, and she dressed like it.  Stacy
practically asked for the attention.

She was, however, a bit taken aback the first time one of her bosses
patted her on the rear.  She was less surprised by the little pet names
they had for her, like honey or sweety.  She got used to it, though.
Such was the life of a pretty young secretary, or so Melissa told her.
Besides, they were terms of endearment, and Stacy sort of liked it.

*

The day of Stacy's date arrived, and she was forced to tell Melissa.
She did want to look her best, after all, and she couldn't do that
without Melissa.  Melissa did not react at all as Stacy expected.  She
thought that Melissa would be jealous, angry, or maybe even laugh, but
she did none of that.  Instead, she seemed genuinely excited.

"I know just what you should wear!" Melissa said as she disappeared into
her closet.  Stacy was surprised to see that Melissa didn't go for a
dress or a skirt, but instead, chose a simple pair of black capri pants,
a fitted, collared, and ivory-colored shirt, and simple flats.  Stacy
looked at her questioningly, but Melissa said, "You don't want him to
think you're a slut."

If the outerwear had been conservative, the lingerie was decidedly not. 
Lacy and white, Stacy knew it was intended to make her feel girly and
sexy.  It did the trick nicely.  There was no way she would forget just
how feminine she had become when wearing that underwear.

She dressed, and looked in the mirror.  Casual but still sexy.
Although, Stacy reasoned, she thought she might look sexy in just about
anything.  The hormones had continued to do their work, and her body
showed it.

The date itself went as expected - just a movie and a meal.  Owen was,
as before, handsome, funny, and intelligent.  He didn't dominate a
conversation, but instead let Stacy speak her own mind.

At the end of the date, as she stood in front of the door to her
apartment, staring at Owen, Stacy couldn't help but think just how
perfect he was.  Then the guilt hit.  He deserved to know the truth.

"I have to tell you something, Owen," Stacy said.  "And you're probably
not going to like it."

"You have a boyfriend, don't you?" Owen asked.  Stacy shook her head.
"A husband?"

"No, it's not that," Stacy responded.

"Then I don't need to know anything except for the answer to one simple
question," Owen said.  He smiled, and then asked, "When can I see you
again?"

Stacy didn't have the heart to tell him what was on her mind, so she
said, "Oh, I don't know," a playful tone in her voice.  "Who says I want
to?"

And then he kissed her.  Stacy had kissed a lot of girls in her life,
but nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of being kissed by a
man.  He was forceful, strong, and tender all at the same time.  When
Owen began to pull away, Stacy almost went with him.  She simply didn't
want it to end.

When she opened her eyes to a smiling Owen, she said, "I think
tomorrow's good."

*

And so it went for Stacy.  She and Owen saw one another almost daily,
and spoke on the phone even more often than that.  Melissa was
supportive, and the two even went on a few double dates.  They talked
about their respective relationships (Melissa about whichever guy she
was seeing at the moment and Stacy about Owen).   They were closer than
they had ever been, but at the same time, their relationship was so
different that it was hard to make a comparison.  Occasionally, they
would have sex, but it was clear, even while they made love, that
neither's heart was really in it.  As the weeks passed they slowly
gravitated away from that sort of relationship.

As for her job, Stacy quickly became a respected part of the team.  She
took the playful flirting in stride, and did her job exceedingly well.
It wasn't long before the other secretaries quit giving her the least
desirable jobs, and Stacy settled into her life quite well.

But it all came crashing down about a month after Stacy had started her
new job.  It was at the end of yet another date with Owen, and the two
were getting frisky.  Owen's hands roamed over Stacy's body, massaging
her breasts while Stacy's smaller hands found Owen's crotch.  They had
been on quite a few dates, and Stacy had been wondering how long she
could keep up the chaste act.  It was clear to anyone who saw them that
they wanted one another.  So when would Stacy have to tell him?

The guilt had been building since that first date, and finally, in the
middle of their fooling around, Stacy said, "Owen.  Before we do
anything else, I have to tell you something.  Don't try to stop me, or I
won't be able to get it out."  She pulled away.

"This sounds serious," Owen said, recognizing the gravity of the
situation from the tone of Stacy's voice.

"Please don't hate me.  Whatever else happens, know that I wanted to
tell you that first night, and that I just --"

"It will be okay, Stacy.  Just spit it out," Owen said.

"I'm not who you think I am," Stacy said.  "I," she struggled with the
words.  "I used to be a man."


*

Stacy sat on the couch, head in her hands, and cried.  Her hair formed a
curtain around her face, obscuring her vision.  Melissa sat beside her,
rubbing her back, and trying to console her.

"He just said to get out," Stacy said between sobs.  "It was so surreal.
He didn't raise his voice or sound angry, but I knew it was there.
It...I don't know."

"He'll come around, Stacy.  You'll see," Melissa said.  "It doesn't
matter what you used to be, just what you are now.  If he can't see
that, you're better off without him."

Stacy knew that Owen wouldn't come around.  Melissa hadn't seen the look
on his face when he finally processed what Stacy had said.  It was one
of disgust.  But she had had no choice but to tell him.  Better  sooner
than later, before the emotional investment was too high.

Stacy cried her self asleep that night.  Melissa had insisted that the
two sleep in the same bed, and as Stacy lay in Melissa's arms, she
couldn't help but wonder at what life would throw at her next.

She didn't have to wonder that long, because the next morning, it was
clear that word had gotten around.  Everyone at work looked at her
differently, and there were no flirtatious nicknames or pats on the
rear.  She had complained to Melissa about those very same things on
countless occasions, but their lack was even more disturbing.  She
wasn't a woman anymore.  She wasn't Stacy, the pretty secretary.  She
was a freak, someone to avoid.

Then and there, Stacy made a decision.  She would not let herself be
singled out again.  She wouldn't allow the world to dictate to her.  It
was a bold move, and probably not at all rational, but Stacy quit that
day.

At the same time, she knew that if only she went ahead with complete
gender reassignment, future problems might not exist.  But then there
was the extraordinary cost, not inconsiderable pain, and the risk of
getting a bad surgery, which would make the whole thing worthless.  No,
Stacy would remain as she was, and people would simply have to accept
her for that.

Strangely, quitting her job reinvigorated her ambition.  She had been
coasting, she knew, content with her job as a secretary.  But when she
got home that day, she called her college, and got the ball rolling on
changing her records over to her current name.

Melissa was supportive as always, when she arrived home.  She had heard
what had happened, and tried to comfort Stacy as best she could.  Stacy,
though, was past that point.  She had tossed her pain and disappointment
aside for the moment, and had her sights set on something bigger.  She
wanted to succeed, and in the field in which she had dreamed of working
since she had been in college.  She wanted to be a journalist.

A couple of weeks later, the process of having her records transferred
having been completed, she went to a local news station.  The reaction
was ridiculously different from what she had received as a man.  Stacy
supposed that being a pretty young woman had more than a little to do
with it, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  She
had an interview within the week, and a job within two.  It wasn't
anything glamorous - just as a reporter.  The man who had offered her
the job hadn't made any bones about it; she was going to be doing fluff
pieces at first.  If, and only if, she proved herself, she would get a
chance to do something a little more substantial.  Stacy took that as a
challenge.

Over the next six months, she truly applied herself to the job like she
hadn't with anything since football.  Stacy did everything that was
asked of her, reporting on stories which most journalists wouldn't touch
with a ten foot pole.  But Stacy was driven.  She wanted success.

One morning, she was at the studio making herself a cup of coffee when
she heard two of the male anchors discussing the latest Sunday's
football happenings.  She eagerly joined the conversation.  A lot had
changed in Stacy's life, but nothing could take away her love of
football.  It was, after all, why she had started playing in the first
place.  And so, each weekend, she watched college and professional
games.

The anchors were a little insulting at first, as they assumed that she,
like many women, knew nothing of the sport, but soon changed their tunes
when she demonstrated a knowledge which exceeded even their own.  Soon,
word got around that she knew her sports, and the producers started
giving her the sports related stories.

After a few more months, she had become a local celebrity (this time,
the good kind).  People knew who she was, and some even asked for
autographs.  Stacy took it all in stride, even though at first, she was
supremely afraid that someone might make the connection between the
sports girl and the kicker who had missed the winning field goal in the
Super Bowl.  She needn't have worried, for she had become a far
different person, inside and out.

Life, it seemed, had taken a turn for the better - at least
professionally.  Stacy's personal life, however, was empty.  She went
out on dates quite frequently, but she kept everyone at arm's length.
She couldn't tell anyone her secret; she was afraid that if anyone knew,
she would lose her newly found success.


*

One night, Melissa and Stacy were sitting at their small dinner table,
eating, when the phone rang.  Melissa walked over to it, and picked it
up.

"Hello," she said.  "Oh, yeah.  One sec."  Melissa strode to Stacy, and
said, "For you."

Stacy held the phone to her ear, and said, "Hello?  Yes, this is she."
She paused.  "Yes, I know who you are."  She listened to the person on
the other end speak for a few moments, and then said, "I'll be there.
Thank you.  Thank you so much."  She hung up the phone, and with a
stunned look, sat back down at the table.

After a few seconds, Melissa said, "Well?"

"That was one of the producers for the network - you know, the national
network.  They want to interview me for a job," Stacy responded.  "As a
sideline reporter for their football broadcasts."

Melissa reacted as one might expect, squealing with joy and
congratulating Stacy.  Stacy couldn't help but be excited too, even
knowing that it was still a long shot that she would even get the job.
But they had called.  That meant something.

She caught a flight two days later to New York, and when she walked into
their offices, she felt extremely intimidated.  Everyone moved so
purposefully, and it was all going so fast.  She told the receptionist
who she was, and she was told that the producer would be free in a few
minutes.

Stacy looked around; she had expected to see a lot of other women
interviewing for the job, but there was no one else there.  It was only
her.  Perhaps they had already conducted the others.  A few minutes
later, she was told that the producer, a man named Bob Adams, was ready
for her.  She stood, took a deep breath, straightened her skirt, and
strode through the office door.

Adams was a short, fat, and bald man dressed in a very expensive suit.
He stood, and smiled at Stacy as she walked in.  "Glad you could make
it," he said.  Stacy smiled, and returned the greeting.

As it turned out, there were no other interviewees.  There was only
Stacy, and the interview was a formality.  They had seen her work, and
they wanted her.  The ball was in Stacy's court.  The two talked for a
few minutes before Stacy was asked if she wanted the job.  She took it
without a second thought.

Two weeks later, she was on the sidelines of a professional football
game, reporting on injuries, interviewing coaches at halftime, and
trying to contribute to the broadcast as much as possible.  After the
game, though, she was confronted with a situation she had been dreading
- the locker room interviews.

Athletes, Stacy knew, having been one, were not exactly shy about their
locker room attire.  Most thought nothing of giving an interview
completely naked, especially to pretty young reporters like Stacy.  They
knew the effect they had on women, and that was the true test of a
female reporter.  Could they keep their cool when confronted by fifty or
so half-naked (or fully naked) men in their physical prime?

That was where Stacy wasn't so sure of herself.  Despite her early
denials, she was, in fact, attracted to men.  She liked women, too, of
course.  Maybe it had always been like that.  Perhaps she had been
attracted to men all along, and had simply repressed it because it
wasn't socially acceptable.  But the fact remained that, over the course
of her life as a woman, Stacy had started noticing men a lot more. She
had dated men, kissed men, and even given oral sex to a few.  She felt
safe with them, and she certainly enjoyed the way they looked at her.

Stacy had a theory that attraction isn't necessarily a one way street.
Perhaps it is as much about who finds you attractive as who you find
aesthetically pleasing.  The attraction, Stacy supposed, was, in and of
itself, attractive.  Or maybe she just liked men, and was trying to
rationalize it.

Either way, she stood outside of the locker room, frozen for a few
moments before she gathered her wits, and pushed through the door.  As
expected, she was the recipient of a few catcalls, and she saw more than
one dangling penis (from which she would quickly avert her eyes).  But
she made it through her interviews without a hiccup.

It was quite strange, though.  It hadn't been that long ago that she
would have felt completely at home in a locker room surrounded by men.,
but as she left, Stacy felt a distinct sense of relief.  She had felt
out of place there, like she didn't belong (which she didn't).

That realization was important, Stacy realized later that night.  She
truly felt like a woman intruding into that locker room.  Did that mean
her journey was complete, that she had passed completely into womanhood?
Maybe so.

*

Many years, and quite a lot of success later, Stacy looked back on that
moment as just what it was - the end of one life, and the beginning of
another.  It wasn't that long after that day before someone recognized
Stacy for who she had been, but it wasn't the disaster Stacy had
expected.  It had been in a locker room where a player noticed her.  He
had been one of Stacy's teammates in college.  But what he did with that
information, Stacy could not have expected.

He had found her after the game, and had told her that they needed to
talk.  Stacy agreed, and he poured his heart out.  The reason, it
seemed, that he had recognized Stacy as Cody was because he had come to
know Cody's face, his mannerisms so well.  He had watched him, desired
him.  But he had kept it secret, for an openly homosexual football
player didn't get drafted.  No team was going to take that kind of
public relations risk.  But when he had seen Stacy, he had known almost
immediately.  They talked well into the night.

The two slept together two days later.  They were married six months
after that.  No one else ever knew Stacy's secret.  Some people may want
to know what the rest of their life was like, but suffice it to say that
they were, to Stacy's enormous relief, quite a normal couple.

1 comment:

  1. Great story! Another to add to your growing list of well written stories. Really enjoyed this one! Keep them coming and I'll keep reading. Still waiting to find out what happened to Tristan.

    ReplyDelete