Miss Anne Thrope

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Eventually I soaped up my hairless body and shampooed my now-long hair, which felt almost natural. I had an idea that a good weave was very expensive, and for the first time I got an inkling of how much money my employers were spending to mollify the Metabolean plaintiffs. After I dried myself off, I pulled on a terry cloth bathrobe that was hanging on the back of the door and walked into the bedroom to discover that Donna had laid my outfit for the day out on the bedspread: a bra, panties, nylons, a slip, a gray wool skirt and a matching top were arrayed before me. I was staring at them when she walked back into the room. "Oh my, look at your hair! Come on, Anne, let me show you how to do something with yourself."

Just go with the flow, I told myself as she sat me down in front of the vanity and went to work on my mop of wet hair. I watched as she wrapped a towel around it, like the turbans that my ex-wives and girlfriends used to create for themselves, never dreaming that I would one day need to learn how to perform the same ritual on myself. When she started curling up strands of my hair into rollers, I wondered if I could at least get a shorter hairdo that would be easier for me to take care of. As if reading my mind, Donna said, "Of course, once you get the hang of this, you may want to experiment with different styles or even a totally new look. That's one of the fun things about being a girl." I grimaced as she combed through wet tangles and closed my eyes in resignation when she went to work with a hair dryer. In a way, it was almost pleasant, having an attractive girl fussing over me like this, and in other circumstances I might even have found the experience erotic.

It was the same when she showed me how to apply moisturizing crème to my face and body before she started in on my makeup. Only the harsh reality that this would be my routine for the next year of my life prevented me from enjoying the experience as she got down to business with her mysterious creams and powders. A scientist by training, I found it fascinating to watch my face being slowly transformed from the familiar one I had known all of my life to that of a totally different person. I protested when she started to tweeze my eyebrows, but once she had one of them halfway done, there was no point in stopping her. When she finished with a flourish of lipstick, and combed out my hair into soft feminine curls, I was astonished at the final result. "I look just like a girl," I stammered.

"Well, what did you expect, Anne? That was the whole idea. You're lucky your features are easy to work with. A lot of guys would look flat ugly no matter what. You were a pretty boy, and you're gonna be a pretty girl."

"Some luck," I muttered as she led me back into the bedroom.

"I'm going to leave you alone to get dressed. Try not to snag your nylons with those fingernails. And call me before you put on your top, I've got some breast forms for you. Ta ta," she said, closing the door behind herself before I could respond.

This really sucks, I said to myself as I surveyed the feminine finery on the bed. With a sigh, I tossed the bathrobe on the floor and morosely picked up my new panties, which were white with a little pink flower at the waistband. As I pulled them up my legs, the thin fabric stretched to accommodate my slim hips, and I realized as I tugged them on that I had lost a lot of weight during my hibernation at Cassandra's. They held my limp penis flat against my stomach, and I worried about the effects the hormones were having on me as I tried to figure out how to put on the bra. Would I develop breasts? The bra was diabolical, and it took me a good five minutes to get it fastened around my chest. It took me a good five seconds to put my foot through the pantyhose, and I was hanging my head in frustration when Donna tapped on the door.

"Having fun?" she asked as she breezed into the room. "Oh dear, you've ruined your new stockings. Don't worry, we've plenty more, but once you run out you'll be on your own to replace them, and you would be shocked at how expensive pantyhose can be on a secretary's salary."

"Why do I have to wear them, anyway?"

"Well, I guess your legs are good enough that you could probably get by without them, if it weren't for the dress code for secretaries. 'Skirts or dresses and hosiery are mandatory except on casual Fridays,' according to the company handbook. So on Fridays, or the weekends, if you want to wear slacks and knee-highs or socks, you're welcome to buy some. On your secretary's salary, of course. Now, stand up and let's give you a bust."

I didn't understand what she meant at first, until she produced two flesh-colored forms with nipples on them and inserted them into the cups of my brassiere. Once she did, the impact was remarkable: I no longer looked like a man in women's underwear. When I surveyed my reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door, the person looking back at me was unmistakably feminine, and downright sexy in her skimpy lingerie. Incredibly, I felt my penis beginning to stir under my panties.

"Let's put on the rest of your things before we tackle another pair of pantyhose," Donna said. "That's a tip girls learn to help save them from running their nylons while they're getting dressed." She handed me the slip, and I was grateful to pull it on to cover up my budding erection. Donna adjusted the straps on my shoulders, then helped me pull on the top without mussing my hair too much. She showed me how to step into my skirt and twist it around to zip it up and button it, and she taught me to lift it up and tug my slip and top back into place after I centered the kick pleat behind my legs.

"Now, sit back down on the bed and I'll show you how to put on your stockings," she said. I watched as she took another pair out of their package and started to ball them up, one foot at a time. "Easy does it," she said as she handed them to me and watched while I started tugging them on one leg at a time. "Careful, not too fast...watch out, you're twisting them," she said. As her fingers gently tugged at the delicate fabric on my smooth legs, the twitching in my panties took an a sudden urgency, and when she ordered me to stand up and pull my pantyhose over my waist, the sight of my slip and stockings under my skirt was too much for me. With an involuntary shudder, I yielded to a feeble orgasm that petered into a wet spot on my panties and hose as I blushed with embarrassment.

If Donna noticed, she pretended not to as I hurriedly tugged my skirt back down over my knees. What the hell was happening to me? Had the hormones messed me up already? Why was I so turned on by wearing women's clothing? My mind was a jumble of confused thoughts and emotions as Donna tried to show me how to fasten a thin gold necklace behind my back and swapped my trainer studs for a pair of gold earrings. She finally got my attention back when she presented me with a shoebox containing a pair of high heels. "Here they are, Anne. This is a right of passage into womanhood. Let's see if you can handle them."

After everything else I'd been through, putting on a pair of women's shoes seemed almost anti-climactic. The box said they were black pumps with a two inch heel, and when I stepped into them, other than the pinching in my toes I found them easy enough to get around in. Of course, I wouldn't want to have to wear them for any length of time, or cover any distance in them, but that is exactly what fate had in store for me.

"Okay, let's check out the finished product," Donna said. "Wow, you look kind of cute, Anne." Sizing myself up from head to toe in the full-length mirror, I had to agree with her. My pretty face was framed by soft curls, my top clung to pert breasts and a trim waist, and my high heels gave a nice curve to the silky legs below my skirt. Incredibly, I felt another stirring in my panties, and quickly sat down on the bed to stifle the feeling. When I did, my skirt slid up past my slip, provoking a lesson from Donna on how to sit like a lady. As she taught me how to smooth my skirt beneath me and cross my legs, the exquisite sensation of nylon against nylon triggered another whimpering orgasm in my panties. While the pleasure quickly subsided, I was profoundly worried about what was happening to me.

Once again, Donna snapped me back into reality with a few spritzes of cologne behind my ears. "Okay, sister, you're as ready as you'll ever be. How about something to eat?"

All of a sudden I realized how hungry I was. "When's the last time I ate something," I asked her.

"Almost three days ago. That's how you got that girlish figure. Come on, I'll treat us to a ladies' lunch."

"You mean outside?" I asked with sudden panic.

"Of course, outside. My job description as Special Mistress does not include cooking and cleaning for you! When we're through with lunch, we can take a trip to the grocery store, and you can stock up on some essentials. You will be cooking for yourself once you start work."

"When does that happen?"

"Based on the progress we've made here today, I see no reason why you can't start tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Why not? I need to give you a crash course in speaking like a woman, but we can start in on that while we're out and about. Come on, I'll fix you up with a purse and we'll be off!"

"Can't we just stay here today?"

"You can stay here if you want to. Maybe you'd like to spend the day trying on all the skirts and dresses in your closet? There's no food in your refrigerator and I'm going out for something to eat. When I get back, we can continue where we left off, although I have to remind you that your year as a female does not begin until your makeover is complete."

"Look at me, for God's sake!" I exploded. "Are you telling me my makeover isn't complete? I look like a fucking girl, and I'm even starting to act like a fucking girl!"

"Maybe so, Missy, but you certainly don't sound very ladylike. According to the Consent Decree, you have to present yourself in a feminine fashion, including speech and deportment, at all times. Why, that little outburst alone would be enough to start the clock running all over again, if it ever gets started. Now, would you care to join me for lunch, or not?"

Utterly defeated, I watched forlornly as Donna filled a purse with lipstick, compact, a wallet with Anne Thrope's new identification, and miscellaneous female junk. After she showed me how to sling it over my shoulder, we stepped out into the hallway of my new apartment building. "Where are we, anyway?" I asked nervously as we waited for an elevator. "And what happened to all my stuff?"

"Your old apartment has been sublet, and all of your clothes and personal effects have been placed into storage. We were lucky to get you a one-bedroom apartment in Streeterville, which is only a ten minute bus ride from the office. It's going to be tight on your new salary, but if you're frugal, you should be able to swing it." Before I could say anything, the elevator doors opened, and we stepped into a crowded cab. I looked down at my feet while the elevator made multiple stops on the way down to the street level. When the doors finally opened onto the lobby, I hesitated a moment until I realized that the guys on the elevator were waiting for us to get off first. Anne gave me a little push, and the sound of my high heels clattering across the marble foyer warned me that me feet were starting to hurt.

By the time we had walked a couple of blocks on the concrete sidewalk, they were killing me. Donna pointed out a little restaurant and asked me if it looked okay. "Anyplace is fine, I've got to get off my feet," I whispered.

"Poor baby. Just be glad we're breaking them in today," she said as we went inside. The hostess led us to a quiet table, and after sitting down carefully in my skirt, I gratefully kicked off my heels and reached down to squeeze my aching toes through my nylons. Donna told me to hang my purse on the back of my chair, and I was studying my menu when a waitress approached to ask us if we wanted anything to drink. I tried to open my mouth, but I froze up and was unable to speak.

"We'll each have iced tea," Donna said. After the waitress left, she leaned over and said, "Just keep it short and sweet. Speak from your throat, not your diaphragm. Here, let's try a little experiment." She handed me my glass of water. "Gargle with this."

After I did as I was told, she said, "Try saying something from the spot in your throat where you just gargled." When I did, my voice came out higher, softer and almost natural. "Very good, Anne. That's your new voice."

"Thanks," I said shyly.

"What are you going to order?" Donna asked.

"I'm famished," I said, getting a feel for my new voice. "A double order of chili sounds good."

"Not if you want to maintain your figure," Donna admonished me. "No self-respecting girl would order something like that for lunch. Why don't you try the pasta salad?"

The waitress returned before I could argue with her. "Pasta salad," I said reluctantly, surprising myself by putting a little hiss in each word.

"Show off," Donna teased me after the waitress left. "You're a fast study."

"Somehow I get the feeling I'm not the first guy you've taught this too," I said.

"And so perceptive," Donna said, deftly changing the subject. "You are going to make such a wonderful secretary!"

"How will I know what to do tomorrow?" I asked nervously.

"All you have to remember is to report to human resources at eight o'clock. Everybody is expecting you."

* * *

The next morning, I was filled with foreboding when I woke up before dawn. I tossed and turned until the six o'clock news came on the clock radio, informing me that it was going to be a perfect fall day in Chicago. With a sigh of resignation, I took off my nightgown and staggered into the bathroom.

An hour later, my hair styled and my makeup as good as I could get it, I returned to the bedroom and opened the door to the walk-in closet. I had only glanced into it the day before, and I was overwhelmed by the selection of skirts, tops, jackets and dresses that hung before me. The perimeter of the floor was covered with shoeboxes full high heels in various styles and colors, and a cubby by the door was teeming with scarves and sweaters. I was floundering with indecision when I spied an envelope pinned to one of the jackets. "Open me on your first day" was written in bold letters, and I tore it open to find this note:

Dear Anne,

Come out of the closet, working girl! I just know you will make an excellent secretary if you keep that pretty little head of yours.

Having trouble deciding what to wear? To solve your daily dilemma on your first day, I have selected your outfit for you: a pink top, plaid skirt and navy blue jacket will go well with the black heels that you broke in yesterday. Why not try accessorizing your ensemble with a pretty scarf, and don't forget your jewelry! Nude pantyhose and white lingerie can be found in your drawers.

Good luck, sweetheart! Remember, you are not an executive any more. Just do as you're told, smile sweetly, and the year will go by before you know it!

Donna

Sure enough, the skirt, top and jacket were pulled to one side, with a colorful scarf wrapped around the hangers. In a trance, I took them down and tossed them onto the bed. While I fished around in the drawers for my panties, bra, slip and stockings, I felt myself becoming aroused once again.

During my lunch with Donna, I had obliquely brought up my concerns about what was happening to me. "I'm worried about the hormones," I told her.

"So far, you've only had one shot. That's not enough to cause anything permanent," she assured me.

"Will I have to take any more?"

"Only if you're bad."

"What happens if I keep taking them?"

"Well, if you take enough of them, there could be some irreversible changes."

"You mean like turning me into a girl?" I asked her nervously.

"Not completely."

"What will the shot you gave me yesterday do to me?"

"Slow you down a bit, make you a little more docile. Let me know if you want another one."

Her words were ringing in my ears as I put on my bra and panties. This time, I tried tucking my penis between my legs, and it stayed there when my panties were pulled up tight. Once again, I watched my reflection in the mirror as the breast forms transformed me into a sexy girl in her bra and panties. After I stepped into my slip, the lacy hem swirled seductively around my knees as I dropped the pink top over my head and shook my curly hair free from its princess collar. I decided to throw caution to the wind and put on my nylons before my skirt, and as I watched the girl in the mirror slowly easing her stockings up her legs, I felt my contorted penis struggling against its silken restraints. Once I tugged my pantyhose up over my waist, all I felt was a dull ache in my panties as it settled into captivity. I stepped into my skirt, zipped it up, fussed with my slip and top like I had been doing it all my life, and even figured out how to tie my scarf into a loose bow before putting on my jacket. I remembered to put on my new woman's wristwatch, and a glance at it told me that I had better get moving if I was going to catch my bus. My purse was still loaded from yesterday, so I slipped on my heels, checked to make sure my keys were in my purse, and headed out the door.

The weatherman was right: it was a fine autumn day, with just a hint of winter in the air, and I was glad I was wearing stockings when I passed a woman on the sidewalk whose bare legs looked almost purple. The walk to the bus stop took me five minutes, and already my feet were on fire. I looked nervously at the people standing in line, but nobody paid any attention to me. Donna had assured me that if I acted like a normal girl and didn't call attention to myself, my true gender would be undetectable to strangers, and so far she seemed to be right.

I got on the crowded bus and found a seat next to a man with his face buried in the Tribune. I stared straight ahead and as we lurched along, it was hard to believe that not long ago I had commuted to the office in my company car. Sadly, I reached into my purse and extracted Donna's letter. "Good luck, sweetheart! Remember, you are not an executive any more. Just do as you're told, smile sweetly, and the year will go by before you know it!" A whole year like this...right now, all I wished was that my bus would swerve out of control and plunge into the Chicago River to put me out of my misery.

At a few minutes before eight, I stepped off my bus and walked hesitantly into the building where I had spent the past fifteen years slowly climbing the corporate ladder. My only hope was that no one would recognize me, but it was not to be. As soon as I got on an elevator, a woman's voice said, "Omigod, it's Mr. Thrope!" I didn't know her, but two guys in marketing I used to have lunch with occasionally started poking each other and giggling uncontrollably. I just stood there, red in the face, until we got to the floor for Human Resources. "Have a nice day, Ms. Thrope!" the woman called out as I stepped off the elevator to peals of hysterical laughter.

It went downhill from there. The receptionist in Human Resources treated me like an alien from outer space, and the officious Assistant Director sat me down in his cramped little office and gave me the facts of life about my new status. He seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out the dress code for females in my company handbook, and shared with me a memorandum which had gone out to everyone at corporate headquarters, informing them of my punishment and admonishing them to treat me the same as any other entry level employee. If that wasn't humiliating enough, the Assistant Director had his secretary take me on a familiarization tour of my new work areas: the file room, the supply room, the kitchen where I would go to fetch coffee, and finally the ladies room. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, she escorted me into my old department and introduced me to the man who had replaced me as vice president. He wished me well with undisguised contempt, and then I was paraded past my gaping former colleagues and taken to my new cubicle.