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The walk to work is usually short, but not in heels, and not when having to avoid subway gratings. Filthy sid
ewalks are also of concern, the open toed shoes fully displaying a pedicure which is not to be despoiled.
So it requires 30 minutes. And I begin to understand some of the burdens of my transformation. More time required for just about everything... the limited need for shaving notwithstanding.
Few recognize the young blonde, heels clicking in the building lobby. But when I step from the elevator on the floor of the accounting department, heads begin to turn. My heart pounds. My circulation throbs, but I also feel a certain contentment. I am becoming the center of attraction as I walk the long walk to the corner office of Mr. Thompson. I may as well start there. I know he will want to see me.
His secretary seems unaware. I assume whatever conversation my counselor had was recent. The memo, so to speak, not yet issued.
“Yes,” she looks up not recognizing me.
“Warren, here to see Mr. Thompson.”
“Ms. Warren, are you expected?”
“It’s Renee Warren, and I believe I am.”
She buzzes. When announced I hear my boss suppress laughter but bids me to enter. For some reason I find myself stamping the floor to exaggerate the clicking of my high heels and swaying my hips most seductively.
There is no going back, I tell myself.
***
A most emotionally cathartic day. Jeers, whispers, some understanding women, some horrified men. The interoffice memo beseeched that my fellow workers accept my choice in lifestyle. No mention of the catalyst of all this... the acute medical need to snip my gonads.
Still, as accommodating as Mr. Thompson was through this first day, there is the open question as to whether I use the ladies’ room or the men’s room. After all, the company cannot foster an atmosphere where I am deemed imposing my transformation on others... just as others cannot impose vanilla gender identity on me.
For now I use the ladies’ room with a gracious cohort standing by the door to warn others that a male... one time male... is temporarily occupying the facilities
Tuesday events somewhat repeat, with some commotion yet more calming with the speed and frequency of rumors slowing.
But I am lonely, to a certain extent ostracized. So when Wednesday arrives, I am grateful to know that my bi weekly visit with Nurse Sueann is scheduled. She has not yet seen me in satin, silk, makeup, nails and high heels. I hope she will be pleased.
So at day’s end, I proudly exit the office, fully aware that I have begun to master the application of cosmetics, walking in heels, enjoying the sensation of smooth and soft satin and silk felt where a girl most likes to feel things.
Curious thoughts.
***
Entering the doctor’s office I announce myself to the receptionist. On hearing the name she quickly looks up and smiles. Amused, but me appearing as a girl does not totally surprise.
“Changing room three... Mr... ah, Miss Warren.”
I know the way. Know also that complete nakedness is required. And whereas these visits are most degrading, I assuage the mental discomfort by envisioning my feet in stirrups as Nurse Sueann extracts the demanded fluid sample, to be tested for whatever purpose every two weeks.
Other than frottaging against my own clothing, it is the only pleasure left to me... however incomplete.
Blouse and skirt removed, there comes a knock. I know it is not Nurse Sueann. She barges...and only after making me humbly wait in nakedness.
“Yes.”
The receptionist pops in her head.
“Nurse Sueann wants you in heels. Remove everything else.”
Obedience. Always obedience. I will comply. Besides, untying and later retying the long crisscrossing leg straps can be cumbersome. Thus I merely slip off the flimsy pink panties and wait. My only covering... stylish ‘come fuck me’ four inch heels and entwining leather leg straps to just below my knees.
Returning to the site of my alteration, I always find myself looking down in remorse. My penis, woefully small and getting smaller, seems lonely as well. Below it is a mass of loose flesh, also seeming to contract, that which once nestled what defined my gender. Now there is no definition. Initially shocked by my own reflection, it now pleases... tantalizes... offers such quirky possibilities.
