Grow a Pair!

My confidence rose each time I paused at a storefront window to study my reflection. For some reason I looked much younger this way, almost cute, judging from the looks I was getting from the few straight men in that part of town. The House of Fabulous had given me a crash course in how to carry myself as a woman, and I concentrated on shortening my stride, standing up straight and above all, confidence! "A smile is your best camouflage" one of the mistresses told me.

My guy clothes and shoes were stuffed in my backpack, along with a new woman's wallet, lip gloss, a hairbrush, and a throwaway cell phone. I caught one of the renovated antique streetcars to downtown San Francisco, where I transferred to a BART train to Berkeley. I was relieved that nobody paid much attention to me, although the looks from guys increased the farther away I got from The Castro!

Emerging from the BART station on Shattuck Avenue, I stopped at a drugstore to pick up a pencil and notebook. As an afterthought, I also bought pair of women's sunglasses, although my disguise was so perfect there was little risk that anybody would clock me as Dr. Lo's assailant. Make that Dr. Hung, I reminded myself...the email I'd sent her from a new hotmail address introduced myself as a psychology major who was doing a paper on transgenderism, and she had agreed to give me a few minutes of her time that afternoon.

I took my time meandering through the beautiful campus, trying to rehearse in my mind the questions I'd be asking Dr. Hung. When nobody was nearby, I practiced the girlish voice which the mistresses had drilled into me, feeling very self-conscious. By the time I got to the biology building, I was nervous as a kitten, a far cry from the master of the universe who'd stormed this ivory tower a few months earlier. How the mighty have fallen, I thought ruefully as I fussed with my dress and freshened my lip gloss in the ladies' room. I perched my sunglasses on top of my head, took a long last look at myself in the mirror, and headed down the hall to Dr. Hung's office before I could change my mind.

Her door was ajar, and it opened wide when I knocked on it tentatively. The lab looked just the same, except for the person behind the desk: instead of a scruffy little Asian man, an incredibly hot Asian chick looked up from the journal she was reading and waved me in. I took off my backpack and sat down awkwardly in the offered chair, tugging my dress down to my knees. I held my breath and waited to see if she would pick up her phone to call campus security.

But she didn't recognize me, and I took the initiative before she could ask me any questions of her own. "Thank you so much for seeing me today," I chirped in my valley girl voice. "It's such an honor to meet you."

"My pleasure," Dr. Hung smiled. "I'm afraid I don't have much time. How can I help you?" I stole a glance under the desk, curious to see her open-toed heels showing off a perfect pedicure. I saw enough leg to know that she was wearing a skirt or dress, and her hair and makeup were also perfect.

"I'm studying transgender issues. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I've never met a transgendered person, and you're famous so I hoped you wouldn't mind, I mean I hoped you wouldn't be offended...I'm sorry, I'm so nervous!"

Dr. Hung tried to put me at ease. "It's okay, Miss Boyd. As long as you're not from the media, I'm happy to talk to you."

"Me, the media? In my dreams!" I laughed. Dr. Hung laughed too. "I know you're busy, so can I just ask you some questions?" I pulled the notebook out of my backpack and started to scribble.

"Fire away."

"Okay, like how long did you know you wanted to become a woman?"

Dr. Hung frowned. "You should never jump to conclusions, Miss Boyd."

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize, your question is quite natural. I am not a typical transsexual. However, I've come to understand that most transgendered people do not wish their condition on themselves, rather they profoundly believe they were born into the wrong bodies. So it's not a matter of choice. In my case, I was born into the right body, but my body changed."

That was the opening I'd been hoping for. "What made your body change?"

"Do you know anything about my research?"

I screwed up my face. "You like won a noble prize for studying frogs, right?"

She sat back and smiled. "Something like that. My primary research was into the toxic effects of a pesticide called atrazine." She saw me pause my scribbling. "That's a-t-r-i-z-i-n-e, Miss Boyd. I discovered that atrizine caused male frogs to turn into female frogs. And I suspected that atrazine could cause the same effect in other species, including humans. Unfortunately, my theory was all too accurate," she said with a sigh.

"Wow. That's amazing. I can't believe I didn't know that!"

"I've kept the link between my research and my personal situation very private, not wanting to turn my research into a media sensation. Someday, when the time is right, I'll reveal it in a dignified forum. In the meantime, I have much more research to do about atrizine feminization."

"Did you like drink atrizine to see if this would happen to you?"

"No!" Dr. Hung chuckled. "I'm not some Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. The sad fact is, all it took was daily contact of atrazine against my skin over a prolonged period of time for this to happen to me."

"So this couldn't happen to someone unless they had years and years of exposure?" I asked hopefully.

"I didn't say that. My research indicates that a massive infusion of atrazine through the skin can have the same results." I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. "For example, if you dip a male frog in atrazine and leave it overnight without washing off the solution, the chances of that frog turning into a female are very high." I closed my eyes and thought back to that awful day, in this very room: I'd been soaked to the skin in atrazine, and I hadn't even taken a shower until the next morning.

My hands were shaking so hard I had to stop writing in my notebook. "What's the cure?" I blurted out.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, is there some other chemical that turns you back into a guy?"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy," she sighed, getting up from her desk to signify that our interview was over. She was drop-dead gorgeous in her jade silk dress, which showed off her curves and cleavage magnificently. "The biology of transitioning from male to female is relatively straightforward, whereas the reverse would be infinitely more complex."

I got to my feet and she showed me to her door. "You're very pretty," I stammered.

"Thank you. In a way, I'm very fortunate. Like most aspects of nature, the physical characteristics of the human population fall into a bell-shaped curve: on the one extreme is the Cal football team, who would never be able to pass as women if this happened to them. On the other extreme are short, slender men like me, and so many others of Asian descent who find it relatively easy to cross the gender boundary."

"You just said men like me...I thought you were a woman now?"

"That remains to be seen, Miss Boyd. In my work with frogs, I learned that while 75% of the affected males were emasculated, only 10% actually became females, capable of bearing young. As a scientist, I'm rather curious to find out my fate. When I know, it will be time to tell the world. Until then, what we've discussed this afternoon will be just between us girls, okay?"

"Uh, sure," I said in a daze. We shook hands awkwardly and I left her, utterly devastated by what I'd learned: I'd been emasculated by atrazine, there was no known cure, and there was even the possibility that I'd turn completely into a woman. I stumbled outside and began walking aimlessly across the campus. My backpack suddenly felt very heavy. Might as well toss my clothes and shoes, they were no good to me now...I watched my lengthening shadow as the sun dipped low on the horizon, mesmerized by the dress swirling around my knees in the breeze. Better get used to it, buddy!

At least I was on the right end of Dr. Hung's bell-shaped curve! At 5'8" and 140 pounds, with a full head of long hair, I was totally convincing as a pretty girl. I stopped at a footbridge overlooking Strawberry Creek, pondering my future, when two of those Cal football players on the other end of Dr. Hung's bell-shaped curve came up and invited me to a frat party. Better get used to it, baby!

After I blew them off, I continued on my way back to the BART station, my immediate future decided. I was unrecognizable as a woman, which meant I could stay in San Francisco and live off my pirated millions. I'd been a total shit as a guy, would I become a better person as a woman? Naah...I always dug girl-on-girl porn, maybe I could make it as a lipstick lesbian while I continued my search for a cure? I wondered how I'd look in a miniskirt, fishnets and stilettos....

I fumbled through my backpack for my cell phone and hit redial, which put me through to The House of Fabulous. "Hi, this is Cissy. Today went great, you guys are awesome...can I make another appointment for tomorrow? We have some serious work to do."

One month after my return to San Francisco, the tinny radio alarm clock on my fiberboard nightstand awakened me from a fitful sleep. Five o'clock in the morning! I threw back the covers and staggered into the bathroom, full of foreboding over the day ahead.

The bleary-eyed woman looking sullenly back at me in the mirror still seemed like a stranger, an alien intruder who was slowly but surely taking over my body. Her blossoming breasts pressed proudly against her long cotton nightshirt, and her tousled hair crept down towards her shoulders...my shoulders! With a sigh of resignation, I surveyed the array of creams, lotions, powders and brushes strewn over my cheap formica vanity and tried to figure out where to begin.

A few scant months ago, I'd been the master of my destiny, a high-flying hedge fund manager with millions of dollars and all the women I wanted. Since my financial empire collapsed, I'd been living off a seven figure stash which I'd secreted into an offshore bank account. After a few days in a suite at the Fairmount Hotel, it became apparent that I'd have to cut back drastically if my stash was going to last me the rest of my life. My old neighborhood in Russian Hill was out of the question, and after a disheartening week of apartment hunting I'd settled on a furnished studio in Walnut Creek, a white bread bedroom community across the Bay.

I soon settled into a life of androgynous obscurity, living in jeans and sweatshirts while I plotted my comeback. With thousands of ruined shareholders, the IRS and the Berkeley police still looking for me, my prospects of working again were nil. My only hope was to eke out a meager existence until I could find some antidote to the terrible calamity which had robbed me of my manhood and was slowly, inexorably turning me into a woman. It was the quest for that antidote which had gotten me up at this ungodly hour...

The twinge in my bladder brought me back to the matters at hand. I had to sit down to relieve myself these days: my little nubbin of a penis was almost too tiny to grasp, so I plopped down on the toilet seat and hung my head in misery, contemplating the stubble on my legs. They were my first project this morning! I poured way too much bubble bath into my scarred old tub and submerged myself in the mountains of steaming hot suds, wishing that I could stay there all day.

The immediate source of my misery was a byproduct of my scheme to go behind enemy lines: a notorious tort lawyer was assembling a legal dream team to pursue me to the ends of the earth, and hiring administrative staff to run the juggernaut. If I could land a job as a secretary there, maybe I could learn something, anything which would enable me to stay one step ahead of them.

After landing an interview, it dawned on me that if I was going to escape detection, I'd have to raise my game as a female. As I tediously shaved my legs, I contemplated everything I'd done to myself over the past few days, in preparation for my debut as Cissy the secretary: an appointment at a hair salon, where my shaggy ponytail was styled into a collar-length bob with perky bangs...a session with a MAC stylist, who gave me a complete makeover and sold me a small fortune in makeup, sponges and brushes...a mercifully quick trip to a Korean manicurist, who filed and polished my hot pink talons...and endless hours shopping for career girl outfits, including skirts, tops, dresses, accessories, and the items I dreaded wearing the most: pantyhose and high heels!

Ouch! I nicked myself with my Daisy razor...I hate this! Why did I have to wear nylons anyway? Most women didn't! Why couldn't I just wear pants? I was relying on my Google research into what a girl should wear to a job interview in a professional office: knee length skirt or dress, conservative pumps, and nude or off-black stockings. I spotted some stray hair on my knee, and whisked it off while I thought back to the most humiliating moment of my life: trying on women's shoes with the assistance of a randy sales clerk. He'd forced me to put on little mini-nylons that just covered my feet before he brought me box after box of high heels, waiting patiently while I paraded back and forth until I found a pair that didn't cause complete agony when I walked more than a few paces.

At least I'd been wearing jeans so he couldn't see my bits and pieces! Today, I'd be on full display if I forgot myself and sat like a guy...when I'd stalled until the bathwater turned chilly, I finally got out of the tub, dried myself off and glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Shit! Almost six o'clock! I'd have to hustle my bustle to get myself dressed in time to make my train.

I switched on the TV to listen to the news while I pulled myself together. Moisturizer was a must, I reminded myself, then it was back to the vanity for my makeup, a towel tugged up over my breasts. Let's see, what did the MAC girl teach me? Foundation sponged on first, then eyebrow pencil, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara...precision work, so far so good! Next, pressed powder and blusher, brushed and blended just so...looking good, what's missing? Lipstick! Carefully I drew a cupid's bow on my pouting lips, smacked them on a tissue, and stepped back to admire my handiwork. Not bad! My new hairstyle was easy to care for, and I played with my brush until I had it looking the way I wanted. Anything else? Cologne! I spritzed myself behind each ear and once on my cleavage for the hell of it, before returning to the bedroom for the moment I'd been dreading.

The TV weathergirl interrupted my thoughts: "No dresses or skirts today, girls, it's going to be windy in San Francisco." Great! Now you tell me, I thought morosely as I surveyed the meager collection of outfits in my closet. I wished I knew what I was doing! All my knowledge about dressing as a woman was based on countless hours of Internet research, mostly websites frequented by crossdressers, who seemed to be more into women's clothes than the real girls.

Finally I selected my black pencil skirt, reasoning that it would be least affected by the wind, and the cream colored blouse and half-sleeved sweater that went with it. Hmmm...my pearls and matching earrings ought to work with my twin-set, so I dug them out of my dresser along with a white bra and panties, a camisole to smooth me under my top, and an unopened package of sheer nude pantyhose...I'd never worn nylons before, what if I'd guessed wrong on the size? At least my skirt was lined, so I wouldn't need a slip, although most of the crossdressers on the web seemed to wear them for kicks. Go figure!

My head was spinning with conflicting thoughts as I tugged on my panties and reached behind my back to fasten my bra. So far, so good: I'd been wearing a bra since my breasts took off, and panties were no big deal anymore. I hated to even look at what remained of my once proud penis, so I tugged them on quickly. Up to that moment, there was no difference from what I'd been wearing under my jeans and sweatshirts, but the rest would be uncharted territory. Sure, I'd tried on my new clothes before I bought them, only to make sure they fit, but I'd never dressed myself completely as a woman before. The mistresses at the House of Fabulous had turned me into a girl that first day, but since then I'd been living as an androgynous tomboy. All that was about to change forever.

Another glance at the clock radio: it was almost six thirty! When I was a guy, I could roll out of bed, shower, shave and be out the door in twenty minutes. Not any more! I grabbed my camisole and realized that the price tags were still on it, as well as on my skirt, top and sweater too, and I lost valuable time searching for a pair of scissors to cut them off. Calm down, Cissy...you can do this! My stomach was churning as I lifted the camisole over my head and dropped it down to my shoulders. My skin actually shivered from the feel of the cool silky fabric, and when I pulled on my top, I found myself staring at my bra and camisole straps in the mirror. I looked, and felt, so vulnerable!

My hair was mussed from pulling on my top, and I lost a few minutes brushing it back into place before I resigned myself to the inevitable and tore open the package of pantyhose. I don't know why I felt such resistance to them, I suppose they represented the ultimate submission to my new status in life...with a sigh of surrender, I sat down on the edge of the bed and started easing them up my legs. I was surprised by how sensual it felt to slide them on, and it was almost like an out-of-body experience, watching my legs shimmer under the silky, sheer nylon. When I tugged them up to my waist, I felt a little tingle in my panties, the first time I'd felt anything down there in a long, long time....

After that, stepping into my skirt was almost an anti-climax. I'd never worn a skirt before, and it took me a while to figure out how to zip it up, clasp it, and twist it around so the kick pleat was centered between my legs. I had to lift it up to tug down my camisole and top, and once again I felt totally vulnerable at the sight of myself in the mirror, scantily clad in silk and lace....I tugged down my skirt and padded over to the closet it my stocking feet to search for my shoes. I had to hold my knees together as I stooped down in my tight skirt to pick them up, but I was pleasantly surprised by how easily they slipped onto my feet. Nylons were good for something!

What else? My pearl necklace had a little clasp in the back, and it took me forever to figure out how to get it fastened. I'll never make that train! I'd put off getting my ears pierced, although I wished now I hadn't as I fumbled with my clip-ons...might was well, I said to myself ruefully as I surveyed the finished product in the mirror, resistance is futile! The girl looking back at me was gorgeous, and when I turned sideways, I was actually proud of my curves: jutting breasts, tight little waist, cute ass, and sexy legs which looked so long and lean thanks to my heels. I was almost in a trance as I pulled on my sweater, fumbled with the contents of my purse, remembered to put on my new woman's watch and raced out the door.

Okay, racing is an exaggeration...how could I, hobbled by my pencil skirt and high heels? My apartment complex was a short walk from the BART station, but my feet were throbbing by the time I'd gotten halfway there. I'll never get used to this! I moaned as I gritted my teeth and toughed it out...I noticed another woman – did I just say another woman? – passing me by, wearing sneakers over her stockings, with a large shoulder bag undoubtedly containing her stilettos. Why didn't I think of that?