Garage Story

I started to undress to get into my guy clothes when Jill stopped me.

"I want you to help me, but dressed as you are."

"You're kidding, aren't you? I thought you wouldn't make fun of me?"

"I have no intention of making fun of you. I want you to let me fix you up, all the way. If at that time you think someone will make you out as a guy, then dress as one and help me. Otherwise, stay dressed till the end of the sale, take all the things and leave."

"Look, from the neck down I may look OK but from the neck up I look like a guy."

"Just agree, and I will take care of everything. OK?"

"OK."

Jill was calm and never pushed me. We crossed the hall into her bedroom. Since I had so little facial hair Jill felt that I didn't need extra makeup. I sat at her vanity and watched as she primed and color corrected my face. She smoothed and evened out my complexion to act as a foundation for the "concealer". She applied concealer on the spots that needed more coverage (under my eyes, over blemishes, etc.). Then she softened the edges with a Blender Brush. She also brushed color onto my cheeks with a blush. With the base finished she worked on my eyebrows to create a thin arch. Eye-shadow, eyeliner and mascara Followed. Her final action outlined my lips with a deep red and finished with a spray or powder.

I looked in the mirror as she worked on me. At first, I looked like a guy with a lot of stuff on my face. When she rubbed the primer and later concealer on my face, I became sleepy. I closed my eyes and may have fallen asleep for a short time. I didn't know how much time passed when I finally opened my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. There was definitely a female looking back at me. I looked "butch".

"My face looks feminine, but I still look butch," I said.

"Not for long," she said. Next she opened a closet door and pulled out one of several wigs.

"Along with Aunty's clothes and undergarments, there are a lot of shoes and wigs. With all the therapy she underwent, she also lost her hair." Jill fitted a wig on my head. With pins, she secured the wig to my own hair with several pins.

"OK now," Jill said. Stand and look at yourself in the full length mirror. I stood and walked in front of the full mirror. This woman whom I just met made me into a woman. There were few traces of my man-self. Shaved legs, nail polish and a few more touches here and there would have made me perfect. Then again, I was super-critical. I never thought I would ever have the opportunity to be fully dressed and made-up. Now I was. I never imagined that if I was fully dressed and made-up I would look this good. No one had ever seen me dressed before. Now I stood in front of a stranger looking for all the world, like a woman.

"You think I can pass?" I asked.

"Most assuredly." she said as she gave me some jewelry to put on. "Remember to keep your voice high and walk as though you are proud of your chest. Many guys slouch when they walk. A woman stands straight to show off her feminine attributes. The way you move is super important."

"Come, we've spent enough time playing around. God knows how many customers we lost because no one was there to help them."

I followed Jill out of her bedroom.

I felt different. Every move I made, felt different. My earrings and new hair kept reminding me about my face and how I looked. Looking at myself in the mirror enhanced my feminine image. The wide hips interfered with my normal hanging arms. It was easier to hold my hands in front of me then swinging them by my side and hit my hips. Jill dressed casually while I was dressed formally. The difference in how we were dressed made me feel more feminine. I felt so different and wasn't sure how to react to myself. I had never been in this position before. While she walked casually, I walked delicately, unsure about everything.

She walked down the stairs without hesitation. I froze at the top as I worried about going downstairs in high heels.

I moved towards the edge of the stairs. Looking down the stairs, I felt as though I stood on stilts.

On the first step down I had trouble finding my footing. At the same time I felt the restrictions of what I wore.

"Walk sideways down the stairs, especially in heels and a tight skirt," Jill yelled up to me. "One foot at a time, honey. Step sideways, so the skirt doesn't restrict your movements.

With one hand on the rail I took each step down. The heels wobbled as I looked for a secure footing. My "breasts" bulged in front of me as I looked down. Sudden movements caused them to jiggle on each step.

Dressed and made up as a woman was different from walking around as a guy. My only experience dressed as a woman, was alone in my apartment. Even then, I only wore a few items of woman's clothes. This was a totally new experience.

Jill gave me her hand to help steady me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. I felt vulnerable negotiating the stairs and clothes I wore. This added to my "feminine" feelings of the moment. At the bottom, opposite the stairs was a mirror. I saw my legs as they came into view. Shortly the tip of my skirt appeared. I could tell the woman in the mirror, was walking downstairs sideways. Her skirt was too tight to walk straight down. When her hips came into view I got all fuzzy inside.

My eyes fixated on my bouncing breasts in the white blouse that peeped from between the folds of the jacket. I was getting hot looking at this creature coming into view.

The ruby red lips made it look as though I was ready for a more formal meeting. The cascading hair that touched her shoulders focused my eyes on her face. It was the face of an angel. At the bottom of the stairs she stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hands pulled down on the jacket as they slid down her curvy sides to straighten out the skirt. Vulnerability and femininity were the same. I felt both.

My body tingled as I watched this display of womanhood. But, when she opened her mouth to speak, it was me speaking. When she placed her hands on her chest in mock surprise, it was me moving. When she came closer to the mirror for a better look, it was me. Yes, I looked like the girl of my dreams.

"Any questions?" Jill asked.

"Not so far."

"Jill..." It was her husband again. "I Forgot my keys. Hey... You look real good. My wife has the touch, don't you think?"

"I guess so," I responded with a stammer.

"Don't worry. I'm not criticizing you. I mean it. You look great. You don't look anything like you did before. But you should stay the way you are. Us guys need something good to look at. And you ARE good-looking."

I stammered something like "thank you."

"No compliments, just the truth. Stay, and we'll talk later?"

"Maybe."

"Gotta run now. See you later."

"That is your husband, isn't he?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"And this doesn't bother him?"

"Nope. It is one of the things that make it easy to live with him. He accepts things as they are."

"I should only find somebody like that."

"You will. You need patience," she added

"So now what?"

Jill led me outside. It was cool as we walked out of the house. I felt the cool breeze on my exposed legs. Jill dressed for a garage sale; I was dressed for work at a law firm and out of place for a garage sale.

We were alone as Jill walked over to two chairs.

"First time outdoors?" she asked as she sat on one of the chairs.

"First time for anybody to see me."

"A few suggestions," she said. "First, think of how women move, and try to move the same way. Men stomp their way forward. Women take delicate steps. Second, your voice is midrange, which is low for a woman. Try raising it a bit, so it sounds more flowery and natural. Do you think you can do it?"

"I never thought I would be doing what I am doing now. So I'll try my best. Please tell me if I slip or where I should improve."

We were alone as I sat down beside her. Further conversation avoided my particular situation. Soon we were discussing general subjects that got me involved. For a short time I spoke without thinking & forgot about my situation. An occasional passerby, walked in the driveway to look at us, then walked out. I looked up to acknowledge them then continued the discussion with Jill.

Occasionally Jill mentioned my posture or sitting position. With skirts and heels it was easier to place my legs to the side of the chair. Jill was being helpful.

Aside from the occasional comment about me, Jill was only interested in the garage sale. She showed no particular interest in my lifestyle or me. The fact that I was a man dressed as a woman helping with her sales made no difference. She was on a mission to sell.

My job was to see that no one took anything without paying. On the back of each piece was a code that indicated the bottom price she would accept. I could negotiate down to that price.

By all appearances, we were two women talking. After a while Jill seemed to forget that I was a man. She started telling me about some of her female friends and what they did to get themselves in trouble. Then she casually mentioned what to wear and when to wear it. She asked my opinion on different color combinations. Later she wanted to know what I thought of the clothing hanging on the rack. I wasn't sure if what she said was instructional or conversational.

I asked several questions about her aunt. She was only 37 when she died. She never married. At one time she was an executive with a large firm. She made good money and spent it on herself lavishly. That explained the large and expensive assortment of clothing.

Jill never asked my name. When our conversation lost its anxiety Jill asked if I was OK with the name Susan. I didn't object.

People came and went. Sometimes they got out of the car to take a closer look. Other times they drove by. Without the conversation Jill engaged me in, I felt that all eyes were on me.

At one point there were so many people, there wasn't time to think about my special situation. Jill was busy helping others. New people arrived and approached me. I did my best to sell what I could. I could tell Jill watched as I helped to sell clothes from the line I would inherit if no one else bought them. No one looked at me oddly. To the contrary, some guys, accompanying their wives, focused on my legs or chest.

When the rush of people died down to a trickle, Jill looked at me, and said, "You handled the crowd very well. When you stopped thinking about your situation, you acted naturally, just like a woman. Congratulations."

"Thank you, I think," I responded and thought to myself that I didn't have any desire to be a natural woman. Wearing woman's clothes was a fetish and nothing more. I was happy being a guy.

While Jill was casually dressed in skirt and low heels, I was overdressed for the event. My excuse was that I was a friend visiting, roped into helping her. Everyone accepted the explanation.

As the afternoon wore on I relaxed and was more at ease with my new self. I found new ways of moving to fit the restrictions of clothing and heels. My "breasts" kept nagging me. They were always in front of me. When I looked down their evidence protruded. Every time I moved too fast, they jiggled. Every time a man came near me, he looked at them first.

Being busy was the best therapy. There was no time to feel insecure. Things had to be taken care of. There was no corner to crawl into. There was nowhere to hide, and there was nothing I could do but be the woman I looked to be.

Everything I was going through was restrictive. I moved to accommodate the restrictions. Men that came by, appreciated the way I moved. My chest made first contact with their eyes. Soon, I accepted their attention as natural. The repercussions of what I was doing never entered my mind. I was too busy with other things.

At 5 O'clock the sale was over, and we started wrapping up. Jill let me pack the clothes I was taking.

I walked back and forth between the driveway and garage many times. I took clothes off the racks, folded them then put them into boxes in the garage. Each walk back and forth forced me to move to accommodate the clothing and shape-wear I had on.

Few people were interested in the clothes that interested me. Maybe it was my luck.

Walking back and forth from the driveway in and out of the garage was wearing on me. My feet were killing me and my back began to feel sore from the weights on my chest. A few times, I almost lost my balance because I was not paying enough attention to what I did or where I was.

Carrying loads of clothing up against my chest was new experience. It emphasized my feminine charms.

I felt more vulnerable with each load of clothes I carried. The restrictive clothing I wore hobbled me and made me feel vulnerable. My breasts were squashed against my chest, and needed adjusting each time I took a new load. My hair was blowing or falling into my eyes and my skirt forced me to keep my legs together. That created balance problems when I bent over, sat or stepped up or downs stairs.

Each new trip in and out was less trouble. On each trip I began to adjust my movements to make things easier.

When I started wearing these heels, I instinctively hunched over to help my balance. Over time, I began straightening up as I became more secure. Each step was easier to negotiate if I allowed my ass to protrude out. This resulted in swinging my hips more. At least that is the way it felt.

I found that it was easy to walk if I stopped resisting a natural position my body assumed when wearing the heels. By the time I finished carrying all the clothes inside, I was feeling at ease in my new encasement. Strangely enough, the heels were not bothering me anymore. Jill's aunt must have stretched the shoes out already.

It took almost an hour to bring everything into the garage. "My" clothes were packed in boxes, and I was ready to go. I was about ready to walk upstairs to dress in my male clothing when Jill asked if I would like something to drink. "That would be nice," I said while keeping in character.

As we sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, she pulled out my wallet and keys and gave them to me. "Don't worry, I didn't take anything out. Just didn't want you to forget it here. I put your clothes in one of the boxes, so you wouldn't miss them."

Now it occurred to me that I saw them but was so busy packing that I shoved them inside with the other clothing.

"Don't you remember which box they were in?"

Shaking my head I said, "no."

"Well, there are too many boxes, and it is too late for you to start opening each one to find them. You'll find them when you get home." She looked at me to get my reaction. "You're not afraid somebody will make you, are you?"

"I guess not."

She handed me a pocketbook for my wallet and keys, then said, "You owe me $100."

I took $100 out of my wallet and paid her.

We talked some more than went into the garage to get ready and move my boxes to my car.

"Why not back the car up to the garage, so we can lift the boxes in?"

I stood there pondering what this would entail. Up till now I was in a different world, separated from reality. Getting into my car was like making a connection with reality.

"Some problem?" Jill asked.

"No. I don't think so. It is just that ...."

"Look don't worry. You are accepted. Driving the car backwards is nothing after what you have been through today. Go ahead, I'm waiting."

I looked at her, took my pocketbook and walked down the driveway to my car.

Standing in front of the door trying to position the key in the lock, I felt vulnerable. I began teetering on my heels, as I got nervous. Finally, the key went in, turned, and the door opened.

I couldn't extend my right leg into the car as I did with pants on. I turned my back to the car and sat ass first into the seat. Then I swiveled my legs in.

It was hard finding the gas pedal. The heels required that I extend the tips of my toes all the way forward before engaging the gas pedal. It was easier with the brake. There was no floor next to the brake for the heel of my shoe to touch.

As I looked from side to side at the road, my long hair fell across my face. I had to brush my hair aside, so I could see.

I began backing into the driveway. I twisted my body, so I could look backwards. I stopped twisting my body when my "breasts" made contact with the seat.

The restrictions of my new appearance were becoming more and more obvious. I needed to think before I made every move. I was more aware of my movements because of this.

With the car backed up near the garage, I turned off the motor. I opened the trunk and helped move the boxes from the garage. My heels and skirt made moving with boxes in hand difficult. There were about 10 boxes. Some Jill had filled with items from upstairs that never were for sale. Since I was going to give them a good home she gave them all to me.

I was about to get into the car when another car pulled into the driveway. The driver got out and yelled, "what, over so soon? Hope you weren't going to leave without saying good-bye?"

"Well, now that you are here I can say good-bye," Jill said to her husband.

"Jill, you never introduced us," her husband said.

"Tom, meet Susan."

"How do you do Susan?"

"Fine thanks," I answered

"Jill, guess who I met?" Tom said.

"I don't like guessing!"

"Ok, OK, I met Herby."

"Which Herby?" Jill asked.

"Is there more than one?"

"I guess not. So what happened?"

"He's passing through and wanted to drop by, so I said OK."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope, absolutely serious."

"You know I hate that guy," Jill Said

"Yeah, but what could I say, you hate him?"

"You should've."

"You know I can't do that."

"OK so what do I have to do now?"

"He should be over in about half an hour. We can have dinner, talk some, then send him on his way."

"I don't want to cook for him. Did you forget all the bad things he did?"

"Well he's coming over what do you want to do?"

"How about going out? At least I won't have to cook. With enough noise in the place I won't have to listen to him."

"Well, OK. But the three of us going out is sort of awkward."

Jill thought about that then looked at me.

** END CHAPTER ONE