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Miss Lalique nods again and takes my hand. I offer no resistance, accustomed to my walks with Nurse Sueann in control. We move to a small elevator, just about able to accommodate us both. The door slides shut.
“You will remain silent, Renee. This is new for you, but is done quite often in New York. There are many to be transformed and we are here to help. The girls I think you will find to be delightful... and discreet... so you should not deny them their enjoyment.”
The hum of the elevator stops. The door slides open. We step into a woman’s clothing boutique. There is not one item to be described as less than gaudily frilly.
It will be a long morning.
***
I am chagrined to have to report there was thrill. And with it, more confusion in understanding myself.
We sit at lunch. Miss Lalique, having finished making an extraordinary monetary outlay for my new clothing, is buying at a midtown bistro. We sit outside, the mid September weather quite mild. Passersby tend to gawk, and I must wonder if I will ever become accustomed to the questioning stares.
Miss Lalique notes my mild discomfort.
“Overall Renee, deep within, all pretty girls like the attention. Just as you did at the shop.”
I blush, my reaction to her reference something else that I do not fully understand... when my flesh turns pink, bumps form, on occasion my nipples crinkle.
“You pranced about so happily, once you got used to the girls.”
I did. And I did so without a stitch of clothing, exuding a strange pride in exposing my smooth, plumped and hairless body. The girls took relish in visually noting my missing organs, but otherwise said nothing, just looked at each, nodded and smiled... a ‘here’s another one’ type of reaction.
How many times have they fitted... selected... frilly feminine clothing for the male figure... one time male figure?
The result of the curious display... my modeling of so many pretty, sheer and colorful garments. Dozens of pink satin panties are the most memorable. The feel of such fine smoothness at my empty scrotal sac and neglected penis brought arousal. For me a rather peculiar style was chosen, tight at the front, at the back covering less than half of my plumped and burgeoning globes.
The word skimpy comes to mind.
After determining my size, Miss Lalique went to work. Women love to shop and all types of dresses and blouses were selected. The pile grew.
But what was most comical... shoes. Even I joined in the laughter in attempting to walk about naked in heels. The girls caught me each time before sprawling to the floor. Their guiding hands felt good. And with one near fall some fingers brushed my privates, others rubbed my derriere. I protested not... instead lustfully absorbing both the touch and the attention.
Hours later, lunch becomes a lesson in proper ‘ladylike’ deportment, Miss Lalique many times correcting some masculine habits, such as aggressively stabbing stuff with a fork.
But in completing the meal, as Miss Lalique orders coffee, a slice of reality pops to mind.
When will I be wearing such an extensive wardrobe?
I inquire, and the reply disheartens... initially.
“You will dress for me every day, Renee. I have selected some fine things. Why would you not wear??
??
“But I must work!”
“And so you shall. Your counselor will handle your employment. You should not worry about a thing.”
I do worry... but then... the stuff felt so good... and does now! Miss Lalique tossed away my undergarments at the shop. I am wearing the pink panties at lunch... and there is curious comfort... physical... and emotional.
***
“Must we do this?”
“Would you have me report your disobedience, Renee?”
I glumly shake my head ‘no’ and Miss Lalique nods to the girl.
