Tuesday, 30 November 2010
His wife, Stella, gave him a none too gentle shove "Go on, get in there!" she ordered him "Or else!"
Michael forced himself to walk, ever deeper into his own version of hell on earth. He was right outside the door. His stomach churning and his brain filled with confused thoughts, he turned to his wife and sank to his knees.
"Please Stella, my love! I begging you not to do this to me! I'll do anything, anything, but not this!" To his surprise, Michael found that he was weeping. His blurred vision could make out the grey trousers that his wife wore and the smart heeled boots. He looked up at her face in hope.
Only, when his vision cleared, his wife's normally attractive features screwed up in a look of contempt. Michael looked for any sign of love or pity in his wife's visage and found none. He knew then that she would make him go through with this.
"Get up and stop making a spectacle of yourself you pathetic excuse for a man!" Stella snapped at him before moving past him and pressing the buzzer that was located on the right hand side of the double oak doors.
Michael made out a soft tingle behind the solid doors. Resignedly, he got to his feet, feeling wretched and miserable. Trying to beg had won him no favours from his wife.
Once Stella confirmed who she was and that she had brought her husband to start his training here, the doors swung open to show a smart, modern reception area. A young girl, probably about the same age as Michael and Stella's daughter, Pippa, sat behind a round desk bristling with telephones and a computer workstation.
"Welcome Mrs Harding" the girl chimed, giving Stella a huge beaming smile "I'm Rachel". The two women shook hands. Rachel turned to look at Michael "And you must be the new pupil!" she said, managing to give Michael a small smile of encouragement.
"Yes, this worthless specimen is my husband. Unfortunately for me! You're welcome to him!" said Stella. "I take it that everything is in order and that I can leave him with you?"
"Oh yes, Mrs Harding!" said "You have paid for a full training course for your husband. He will be a pupil here until he graduates".
"Which, considering his abilities, or lack of them!, will mean he'll be here for years!" spat Stella.
The girl looked slightly offended "Oh, no, Mrs Harding, we have taken on the most difficult of pupils and moulded them into perfect graduates in only a matter of months! You'll get your husband back soon - and as you want him!"
"Very well" said Stella "Contact me when he is ready".
"Of course, Mrs Harding".
Without a word to, or a glance at, her husband, Stella walked out of the doors and back into her world, leaving Micheal all alone in an alien place that was about to become all of his world.
Once Stella had vanished from view, Rachel turned to him, with a hard look on her face and ordered him to sit down and be silent whilst she arranged for him to be "collected" as she put it.
Michael, confused and frightened at what lay in store for him, stumbled over to a chair and sat down. He heard Rachel talking to someone on the phone and saw her eyes glance over in his direction. Then she put the phone down, and without any sign that Michael existed at all in her world, went about her duties, merrily typing away.
Michael was looking at the floor when a large shadow fell across his field of vision. He looked up to see a large woman (she must be at least six feet tall and looked pretty strong too) dressed in a ladies business suit and carrying a clipboard. She was older than Michael by a good ten years he decided. Her hair was greying and she wore glasses. Her face wore the same expression as that of his own wife earlier, hard and pitiless and regarding him as a little worm.
She motioned for him to follow her, as if by deigning to actually speak to him she would be soiled or worse, and led him deeper into the building. Michael noted that unlike the elegant oak doors on the front of the building, all of the interior doors were solid steel security doors and that every window he saw was barred. It was like being in prison.
He was led upstairs to an area denoted by a sign as "Dormitories" and taken to a bathroom. The woman, who gave her name as Miss Roach, ran him a bath and once the tub was full, ordered him to take a bath. She then left him alone. Michael heard the lock in the door click and realised that he was locked in. The only window in the room had bars on it.
Michael decided that he had better get undressed and have his bath. It might even make him feel better. He had to admit that the warm water did make him feel warmer and more positive. The soaps and shampoos he had to use were, as he had guessed, for women, and his body and hair smelt of lilac and jasmine once he finished and dried himself off.
He felt slightly humiliated to smell the way he did, but that was the whole point of this horrible place. To humiliate men. He reached for his clothes, which he had folded and placed on a chair, only to find them gone. Someone had obviously entered the room whilst he was bathing and removed them.
The only article of clothing he found was a pink fluffy dressing gown with matching slippers. Just like what a woman would wear. Humiliated, Michael realised he had no choice but to put them on. He had nothing else to wear. I must look ridiculous!
There was a rap at the door, accompanied by Miss Roach's harsh voice asking him why he was taking so long. When Michael confirmed that he had finished the door was unlocked and Michael was ordered out of the room. Miss Roach looked at him in his pink dressing gown and furry slippers and nodded approvingly before ordering him to follow her again.
They walked a short distance to a door marked "Bluebell Dormitory", which Miss Roach opened and led Micheal through. As expected, the long room contained simple single beds, to be occupied by several pupils. Michael noticed how spartan the dormitory was. There was no carpeting, just bare floorboards, polished and scratched by innumerable shoe soles, and just beds and sticks of furniture. A hotel this wasn't. It was even more bare and sparse than Michael's old boarding school from his boyhood. An eternity ago from Michael's perspective.
There was no one else there, at present. Miss Roach pointed to a bed and told Michael that it was his. Then she went to a battered wardrobe and opened it up to reveal what Michael had feared it would contain.
Maids uniforms. Black dresses with frilly edging and a frilly apron, with a lace cap, stockings, suspenders, black high heeled shoes and a pile of bras and knickers.
"This is what you will be wearing from now on, little man! You can sort yourself out with a uniform. And you'll need several sets of underwear. I'll leave you for fifteen minutes and when I return I expect to see you in your uniform, standing by your bed". Miss Roach then departed.
Michael was shaking. This was so horrible and humiliating. To have to dress up as a maid! Steeling himself, he sorted through the clothes and underwear. It took him a while to find anything that fitted him and he struggled with the bra and suspenders but at the end of it he was dressed in his uniform, with spare underwear stored away, and standing obediently at his bed when Miss Roach returned.
Michael felt very foolish standing at his bed like a docile little girl, dressed up as a maid.
She wasn't pleased. She told him his appearance was a disgrace and that he had no idea how to even dress himself. Even small children could dress themselves. She ordered him to bend over. Michael reluctantly obeyed and then he felt the skirt of his dress being flipped up and his lacy knickers being pulled roughly down.
Michael knew what was coming but still screamed as his bottom was spanked with a paddle. After about half a dozen blows, he was told to stop blubbing and pull his knickers up. In much pain and greatly humilated, Michael adjusted his underwear.
Miss Roach ordered him to accompany her to the headmistress's office. Michael entered a large reception area where a girl who looked as young as Rachel manned the desk and announced that Miss Walker was expecting them.
Miss Roach walked past her, with Michael dressed in his maid's uniform, following in her wake, and moved into the headmisstress's office. Miss Walker, a woman slightly older than Miss Roach, sat behind a large teak desk, in complete command of her world.
"Is this the new pupil?" Miss Walker asked.
"Yes, Headmistress" answered Miss Roach "This is Michael. A useless, lazy husband. No longer able to satisfy his wife. Relies on his wife for his upkeep. Sinks into depravity by looking at other women. His wife wants him to serve her, but not as a husband and equal partner, but as a maid!"
Miss Walker regarded Michael with contempt "You are a pitiful specimen of manhood. We can make you into something more useful. To your wife. We will make you into the perfect man!"
Michael's head was bowed down in shame at appearing thus in front of these women and being denigrated by them and being treated as if he was of no account.
Miss Walker rose from her chair and walked towards Michael. As she walked past her desk, she paused to pick something up from it and then advanced towards Michael and pinned the item she had picked up to his false bosom. It was a blue badge with "Michael - Scullery Maid" printed on it.
"You will wear your badge at all times" Miss Walker told him "It not only tells everyone who and what you are, it also denotes the stage you are in your development. At present, you are the lowest of the low, an untrained male. As you learn and adjust to a man's true place and purpose in this world, your status will change. You can progress to a parlourmaid and then to a ladies' maid, if you are willing to accept your destiny. And this is your destiny. To be a maid to your dominant wife".
Michael was appalled at his fate "I don't want to be a maid!" he protested "I'm a man! Not a sissy girl!"
"Oh dear" said Miss Walker "he has an attitude problem. There's only one way to deal with such a poor attitude. The paddle please, Miss Roach".
In spite of his protests and amid much futile struggling against two women who were both stronger than he was, Michael found himself bent over, with his knickers down and being roundly spanked. Michael was sobbing by the time they had finished with and Miss Walker ordered him to be taken to take up his new duties as a Scullery Maid.
The pain was bad enough, but it was the humiliation of being treated like a child - and a girl child at that - which Michael hated most. He realised that he would have to do as he was told if he was to avoid any more punishment. His bottom, subjected already to two spankings, ached.
Michael was taken to the kitchens and put under the supervision of the cook, another older lady called, appropriately, Miss Cooke. Michael was made to scrub the kitchen floors, the ovens, the dishes and was told he would get another spanking if Miss Cooke found fault with his work. Michael found doing what he considered "women's work" humiliating and exhausting. It took him hours to get the work done and at the end of it he was dead on his high heeled feet. He didn't realise how much effort was needed and wondered for the first time how women had managed when they did this sort of work.
To his horror, Miss Cooke was not satisfied with his work and, once again, Michael had to drop his knickers and receive another spanking. He was sent to bed, with no dinner, exhausted and with a very red bottom.
Michael's co-residents other men who had recently arrived for training and who were scullery maids, as Michael was, although slightly further along in their development. For the most part, they were too exhausted and demoralised by their new existence to say much. There was an exception, a man named Peter, who, according to himself had once ran a large company but had had a mistress. When his wife found out she threatened to leave him unless he did this maid training thing. Losing his wife would effectively mean losing not only his home and access to his children. but also his business, so he had no choice. He hated everything about his new life.
"A fifty year old businessman having to wear a frilly apron and scrub floors! It's so humiliating!" he remarked. Then a look of cunning came over his face "But I'm not going to put up with it anymore cos I'm breaking out of here. Tonight! Anyone want to join me?"
The other residents turned over in their beds, too tired to move, let alone embark on a escape. Michael was tempted on the idea of escape but couldn't see that it was possible. The security in this place was like a maximum security prison. He merely got undressed and went to bed in his underwear.
Peter snorted in contempt "OK, if you want to be turned into sissies, it's your call, but I'm outta here!" and with that he left the dormitory.
Michael fell asleep immediately and was only woken up by his alarm clock, set to 5 am, since he had to be in the kitchen by 6 am. He was again made to scrub floors and dishes and treated as a skivvy, running around in a maid's dress and heels.
His routine was interupted by an announcement over the public address system that was in place that all maids were to report to the assembly hall immediately. Michael trooped along with the other maids to a large hall where all of the maids (fifty in all) and the staff were gathered.
In the centre of the hall was a set of stocks and imprisoned in the stocks was a red faced Peter, still wearing his maid's outfit. His escape attempt had obviously not turned out as he had hoped and he was in serious trouble.
Miss Walker stepped forward and addressed everyone present "Maids, please observe and learn from what is about to happen to this wretched excuse for a man, who had the temerity to attempt to escape the happy and harmonious environment which we have provided for you. We are deeply upset by what has happened and that this man has rejected us. Michael, step forward please".
Thoroughly alarmed at being singled out (Had Peter implicated him as an accomplice?), Michael nervously stepped forward. Miss Walker handed him a paddle "As the newest maid, you will have the honour of administering the punishment. Prepare the wretch to receive his punishment!"
Michael looked dumbly at the paddle. His first impulse was to drop it. He didn't want to spank another maid. He felt sorry for Peter, who was a victim, just as he and the other maids were, of these sadistic females.
Peter had meantime been prepared and was ready to receive his punishment. Miss Walker noted Michael's reluctance "Michael, if you don't administer the punishment this wretch justly deserves you will share it".
Michael couldn't face another spanking. His bottom still hurt from the last one. And there was no point in resisting. So he began to spank Peter, trying not to use too much force, but Miss Walker ordered him to put his back into it, unless he wanted to be spanked himself, so Michael laid it on and had Peter in tears by the time he was told to stop.
Peter was left in the stocks "to reflect upon his folly" indefinitely.
"Let that be a lesson to all of you" said Miss Walker to the maids "Put any thought of escape from your minds as no-one has ever succeeded in that futile endeavour. Accept your fate and learn to be better maids and you will save yourself much pain and unhappiness. You are all to return to your duties"
The maids, shaken by what they had seen, glanced at each other before departing. Michael, appalled at what he had been made to do, was trembling. He was no use at his duties, but Miss Cooke did not, for some reason, make an issue of it and for the first time, Michael went to bed with a full stomach and an unspanked bottom.
The next month went by in a blur for Michael. His days were spent doing the backbreaking work of a Scullery Maid, being spanked frequently for poor work, and sleeping. Michael was too tired to even think about protesting or escaping. He shuddered at the memory of what had happened to Peter. Peter had eventually been released from the stocks and demoted to being not even a Scullery Maid, but a cleaner. He had to clean all of the toilets and he would have to earn back his former status. Michael did not want to end up like that and so did not even think about escape.
Instead, he knuckled down to his work. Now that he was used to the work, he found it easier and even enjoyable. To his surprise, in the next assembly, Miss Walker singled him out again and promoted him to the status of Parlourmaid, for showing the proper attitude and applying himself to a maid's work.
The promotion meant a significant change in Micheal's status. He was leaving the dormitory and was given a room to himself. This was carpeted and furnished simply but it was a big improvement on the dorms. Michael now wore a different uniform. A long dress with a large frilled apron and a cap. Michael was also given silk underwear to wear underneath. The clothes and underwear was of better quality than what he wore before. His name badge was now pink to denote his progress and read "Michael - Parlourmaid".
His duties as a Parlourmaid were a lot easier than his previous ones. He still had to do a lot of cleaning but this involved sweeping floors and dusting ornaments and was nothing like as hard as the work in the kitchen.
On his first day, Miss Roach took him in hand. "Michael, now that you have progressed, it is important that your appearance and bearing are impeccable. From now on you will have to shave off all of your body hair and we will have to do something with your hair".
Which, after more than a month, was now shoulder length, Michael noted.
"And" Miss Roach continued "You will be corseted from now. A corset will give you a more feminine figure and improve your posture". Miss Roach then proceeded to introduce Michael to the mysteries of corsetry, lacing him tightly in a pink satin whalebone corset. Michael could barely breath once he had been laced in and was unable to bend over. The corset kept his back rigid.
Once he had put his maid's uniform back on, Michael had to admit that he had a very womanly figure. Miss Roach then instructed him to wash his hair and to style it in a girlish bob and then taught him how to make up his face.
By the time he had finished making his face up, Michael reflected that he made a convincing and good looking woman but inside he was cringing in shame. It seemed that although his lot had improved, the price was to be made to become more feminine!
He was then made to go about his parlourmaids duties, which had suddenly become more difficult when wearing a corset.
As time went on, Michael realised that having to wear female clothes, doing traditionally feminine chores and the fear of punishment made him more timid and submissive. In his former life, he had considered himself to be quite manly, but in just a matter of weeks he had been transformed into a docile maid, afraid to open his lipsticked mouth without permission, much less seek escape or rebellion.
Two months went by and Michael was now accustomed to having to depilate his body regularly, wearing silk frilly underwear and corsetry, and tripping about the building in his maid's outift, dusting and cleaning.
Michael was aware that the place was completely female-dominated and that any men in the place were there to be trained, to serve women and to be punished. A relentless regime of feminisation was pursued to turn masculine males into submissive feminine maids.
All the pupils were broken, eventually, and embraced their both their new status and their own femininity. Michael witnessed graduation ceremonies where sissfied maids, who had once been masculine, accepted their gold name badges before being handed over to their wives to spend the rest of their lives as her servant.
In his fourth month in that place, Michael had become not only used to his feminine clothes and role but actually found himself enjoying wearing pretty things, having soft, shaven skin, the smell of his own perfume, the feel of silks and satins on his skin and hosiery on his long legs, the frills of his apron. Even wearing a corset had become a delightful experience.
Michael reflected that they had won, but that where his old self would have regarded his current situation as a defeat of his male ego, the new Michael was merely resigned to his feminine fate.
Michael answered a summons from Miss Walker. He entered the room and was surpised to see his wife there. Stella looked no different from the last time he had seen her. Michael had obviously changed considerably over that period! He was about to speak when he remembered that he was not allowed to until he was spoken to. Remembering his place, he executed a curtsey.
Miss Walker ordered him to pour her and her guest tea. As Michael obeyed, he could not help but ovehear the conversation between the two women, who treated him as though he was not there.
"Your husband's will has been completely broken" said Miss Walker "He will be as putty in your hands. He is now a pretty and submissive maid. He has lost all tendencies towards masculinity and is very feminine".
"Good" answered Stella "For he was a poor excuse for a man. Having him as a sissy maid will be a big improvement for both him and myself. When do I get him back"
Michael handed his wife a cup of tea and for the first time, Stella noticed him and saw his name badge. She almost dropped her cup in shock "My goodness! Michael? Is that you?"
"Answer the lady, Michael" Miss Walker instructed him.
A whole range of emotions flashed through Michael's brain. His old self would have been filled with feelings of hatred and revenge for what this woman had done to him. But the new Michael felt fear of the power of women and adoration for a woman he still loved, deep down.
"Yes, mistress. It is I, your husband".
"I didn't recognise you! You look so sweet and adorable in that outfit! You look more like a female than I do!" Stella said.
"I am pleased that my appearance meets with your approval madam" answered Michael, submissively.
"Can I take him home?" asked Stella "I have a whole load of chores for him! I can't wait to see him scrubbing my floors and cleaning my house in his pretty uniform!"
"Not quite yet" answered Miss Walker "There is the graduation ceremony....."
An hour later, Michael went through his own graduation ceremony. He exchanged his parlourmaid's uniform for the short dress with frilly petticoats that showed off his long stockinged legs and his handsomely frilled knickers peeping out from the outrageously short skirt, and a pair of gold stilettos. As a tribute to his new femininity, Michael begged to be allowed to have his ears pierced and for gold studs to be fitted into his lobes, a request that was graciously granted by Miss Walker.
To the applause of the staff and students, a beaming Michael was awarded his new gold name badge that bore his new name, "Michaela" and his new title "Graduate Maid" before meekly following his wife to his new life as her maid.
Miss Walker watched her latest creation leave and allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. One more arrogant male successfully converted to femininity. The plans of her benefactor, a young billionnairess who believed in male femininity to make men the servants of womankind, were progressing well. More Maid Academies were being opened up across the globe. In fact, demand for the services the academy offered far outstripped supply. Women all over the world wanted to turn their useless husbands into their maids for their service and for revenge upon the male gender, which still assumed it was the dominant gender.
Times are a changing thought Miss Walker. I won't rest until all males are serving us as pretty, feminised maids and the myth of male dominance is finally put to bed!
Monday, 15 November 2010
"Gender Perception and Discrimination: A Study by Laura Newman
Blue is for Boys, Pink is for Girls. This age old mantra has defined gender and the roles that males and females are best qualified to perform within society. One sees a male and instantly identifies him as being a leader and doer. One sees a female and immediately perceives her to be a follower and a passive element.
From birth, males and females are pidgeon-holed into their gender roles and the self-fulfilling prophecy continues. Men become Chief Executives and Doctors whilst women serve them as secretaries and nurses as this satisfies society's expectations of them.
In this study, I intend to find out how gender colours perception and leads to discrimination - mainly against women. I could take the usual course, as a woman, and apply for male-dominated jobs and conduct a study on that basis, but I have decided on a different approach. Using myself and my twin brother, Lawrence, an engineering student at this university, as test subjects, we are going to assume each other's gender and identity and conduct a unique study to see how someone who appears to be male or female is treated by a supposedly equal opportunities employer.
The preparations are all in place. It only remains for the project to begin".
Laura stopped typing the introduction to her final year psychology dissertation and read and re-read what she had just typed. That, she thought, was as much as she was going to get done tonight as she had much to do. Laura had already packed her own stuff and a suitcase on wheels and a holdall sat near the door. She would, however, need to check in her brother and see how he was getting on and he lived on a different campus from her across town. Laura grabbed her cycle hat and high visibility jacket and headed out.
Lawrence Newman was packing his possessions into a holdall when the doorbell chimed. Guessing who the caller was, he went to greet his sister. Laura asked him how far he was from being packed and Lawrence explained that he had almost finished. Laura came inside and gave him a hand.
Watching his sister pack with a speed and certainty that he lacked unnerved him slightly. But then, Laura had often had that effect on him. Although they were twins, they were very different in character and abilities. Laura was driven and focused, whilst Lawrence was more laid back and less assured. From their early childhood, Laura had always done better than him at school and college. If Lawrence hadn't been interested in study or had been a poor student, this wouldn't have bothered him. He consistently got B's and the occasional A, but Laura was a consistent A student. Lawrence didn't know why this was, but it irked him to be the boy, and yet to appear to be the less successful sibling.
Luckily, when they attended the same university, their subjects diverged and so they were no longer in direct competition with each other, but Lawrence would bet good money that whilst he earned a good degree, his sister's would be just that little bit better, as always.
At that precise moment though, he wished that his sister was studying any subject other than psychology, for she had roped him into this madcap project of hers where she would become him..and he would become her. The possessions he was packing would be used by Laura, whilst he would be using the contents of the luggage she had just packed. He gulped as he realised that he would be wearing her clothes and even her underwear.
It was a scary thought.
As if reading his thoughts, Laura, gave him a little smile as she stuffed one of his jumpers into a holdall.
And it was not just a question of wearing her clothes. He would be assuming her name and identity. Tomorrow morning, he would be driving them out of town, still as Lawrence, to a different town where no-one knew them, to a flat paid for by the university that they would share and it would be there that they would make the switch.
This time, 24 hours from now, Lawrence would become Laura Newman and live as a young woman.
Laura announced that she had finished as she zipped up the final holdall. Lawrence suggested that, as the student bar was not far from where he lived, they should go there for a drink, for it would be more than a month before they would see the university again. Laura agreed and they walked over to the bar and purchased drinks.
"Having any jitters about all this?" Laura asked him, as she sipped her coke.
"A few" Lawrence admitted in a low voice to avoid being overheard. He need not have worried, as the student bar was busy and noisy "Being a woman and all....."
Laura reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly "Don't worry. It'll be fine. And this wouldn't have been the first time we've done this, remember?"
Lawrence's face went slightly red at this and Laura giggled "I see that you DO remember!"
Suddenly, Lawrence's mind was transported from the noisy bar back into his and Laura's childhood. Although they had emerged as different personalties, physically, they had been hard to tell apart. Without the clothes and hairstyles that defined the gender of the child and therefore made it easy to tell which twin was which, the twins had looked exactly alike as children.
When they had been aged six, at Laura's suggestion (for even at that age she was emerging as the leader of the two) they had switched clothes to confuse people for fun. Laura put on her brother's shirt and shorts and his socks and shoes and concealed her long hair under his schoolcap. Lawrence donned Laura's lilac dress, socks and mary jane shoes and styled his shoulder length hair like his sisters. It was impossible to discern that the two twins had swapped clothes.
When Laura's friends came to call, Lawrence went out with them and Laura went off to play football with Lawrence's friends. The twins successfully fooled their friends into accepting them in their altered gender roles, until Lawrence came unstuck when a fierce wind blew up the skirt of his dress to reveal that he was wearing boys' underwear. The mother of the girl at whose house he had been playing was not at all amused and marched him back to the house and told his parents.
When Laura got home from playing football, she and Lawrence got a real telling off and were sent to bed. But the game continued and, over the next couple of years, the twins exchanged clothes at school to confuse the teachers. This infuriated the teachers and Laura and Lawrence's parents.
Time and again the twins stood in front of their parents, Laura wearing a boy's school uniform and Lawrence wearing a girls' skirt and blouse, and were sent to bed early with the admonishment "How many times must I tell you? You are not to wear each other's clothes!"
As the twins grew older, though, the swapping became less frequent and then stopped altogether as both twins matured and became focused on doing well at school, rather than irritating the teachers with childish games. Once puberty set in, it would have been increasingly difficult for the twins to impersonate each other, due to the changes going on in their bodies.
Now, for the first time in many years, their game was beginning anew and in a completely different context.
Back in the present now, Lawrence and Laura smiled at each other, recalling the fun they had had so many years ago.
Laura squeezed his hand again "Thanks for doing this for me. I know it won't be easy, but your input will be invaluable. A man impersonating a woman and being treated like one will be a great asset to my dissertation!"
"How do you feel about becoming a man?" Lawrence asked her.
Laura smiled "A little nervous. I'm worried that I'll be spotted right away but I think I can pull it off. We should leave now. We have a big day ahead of us".
Lawrence had to agree. They drank up and headed back to their homes.
Early the following morning, Lawrence packed his cases into his car, drove over to his sister's house and loaded her possessions into the vehicle also. Then they headed off to what was to be their new home for the two months, a small flat in a town far, far away.
Diary Entry - Day One - By subject Lawrence Newman
"The flat that I and my co-subject will be occupying for the next eight weeks is a tiny, poky little dwelling and badly in need of a good clean judging from the layer of dust. We set to work to clean the place up and then unpacked our things. I, of course, got the luggage belonging to my sister. It was very odd to open up the luggage to find dresses and female underwear and realising that I would have to wear these things. I noted that the clothes and underwear chosen for me were more frilly and feminine than the clothes my sister normally wore, for she usually dresses in a more gender neutral style and rarely wears a skirt or dress. When I questioned my co-subject about this, she told me that I would have to dress in a more feminine style to make my presentation as her more convincing.
Once we had eaten and unpacked, my co-subject decided it was time to transform me into her. She ran me a bath and smothered my naked body with a foul-smelling cream. This served to remove all of my body hair and left me as hairless as a baby. My co-subject remarked that I had quite lovely legs that any girl would be proud to own.
I then had to suffer the discomfort and indignity of having a pair of realistic looking, but obviously false, breasts glued to my torso. My co-subject informed me that the glue could only be dissolved by a substance known only to herself and so I should expect to have a pair of breasts for the duration of the project. It was quite weird to suddenly find oneself with a pair of breasts and I noticed that they immediately pulled my upper body downwards until my co-subject fitted me with a lacy crossover bra that was a great relief to me at that time.
After making sure my bra fitted properly, my co-subject suggested that I should wear a corset. I took umbrage at this, for I knew for a fact that she did not wear a corset herself. Ever. However, my co-subject insisted that I wear one, to give me a more womanly shape and as always, she wore my resistance down and so I ended up letting her lace me into a white corset with frilly edgings. I gasped with pain and discomfort as my waist was gradually reduced to the same proportions as her own waist. It was very strange to see myself in the mirror with a pair of breasts and a small waist, the profile of a woman.
I was given a pair of frilly white knickers and something my co-subject described as a cache sex and which was designed to hide any bulges down below. Once I had these items on, I was a flat below as I was busty above.
I was given a pair of black stockings to wear and slid these over my hairless slender legs. I was handed a flower patterned blouse and it took me some time to put on with the fiddly pearl buttons. A denim mini-skirt followed and I stepped into this. It showed off about 90% of my admittedly rather good looking legs. My co-subject then handed me a pair of six-inch black high heels. I objected to them, as it was not yet necessary for me to wear shoes of such height but my co-subject again told me that I needed to do so for the good of the project. I needed to learn to walk in them. Reluctantly, I slipped them on and almost toppled over. My co-subject then taught me how to walk in what I thought to be a device of torture rather than a fashion accessory. I wobbled around in them, until I got used to walking around in them. I was still a little wobbly but had gained in confidence.
My co-subject produced some jewellery, a pair of pretty clip in earrings that were attached to my ears, a matching necklace was placed around my neck and I wore bangles on my wrists that clanked whenever I moved my hands. My co-subject then took a pair of tweezers from her bag and plucked my bushy eyebrows. It hurt like hell! When she had finished with my brows, they had assumed a thin, feminine arch. A wig in her style and both our colours (auburn) was fitted to my head and I was told that it would do until my own hair grew long enough to be convincing.
No make up was applied to me. That particular treat would come when I had to attend job interviews. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that I made a convincing looking girl. My co-subject had been right to make me wear a pair of breasts and a corset for I had a womanly figure. My face was not beautiful, but it was pretty and girlish. Even I became convinced that my new appearance would more than pass.
My co-subject's own preparations to assume my identity took far less time than mine. My co-subject bound her breasts and fitted a false penis to her lower region to give her the bulge down below that I now lacked. She donned a pair of men's underpants, socks, shirt, trousers, jumper and flat shoes. She then got me to clip her long hair short, which I did. The job was far from expert, as I was no hairdresser, but my co-subject seemed happy enough with her new hairstyle.
We stood together in front of the mirror and concluded that she now looked like a very boyish young man, whilst I looked like a pretty, slender girl. The swap had gone off perfectly.
Diary Entry - Day Two - By Subject Laura Newman
My co-subject and I rose early and got ready. I wore a man's shirt, trousers and shoes whilst my subject was dressed in the outfit he wore the previous evening, a pretty blouse and denim mini skirt with high heels. He makes a rather pretty girl. He is coping quite well with the situation, although he does moan sometimes about how uncomfortable his clothes and shoes are to wear. He'll get used to it. He IS still very wobbly in those heels, and we'll have to work on that, but I am pleased with his appearance.
My own appearance is pleasing to me as well and I'm adapting to my new clothes. After a girlhood in skirts and heels, male clothing and flat shoes are very liberating. My co-subject agrees with me that I look like a real chap. I feel like one too. Very masculine and powerful.
We had breakfast, which I made my co-subject do to break him into his new role as the girl of the house and therefore responsible for the cleaning of our flat, cooking our meals, shopping for groceries, and doing our laundry.
Then we got to work, searching local newspapers and the internet (via my laptop) for jobs to apply for. We struck gold by mid morning when my co-subject found two jobs in a local stockbroking firm, Abbotts. The jobs on offer were that of a trainee stockbroker and a junior secretary. These jobs were perfect for the purposes of the study, as the former job was a traditionally male job and the latter a traditionally female one.
We sent in our Curriculum Vitae's (CV's) and a covering letter. We each applied for both positions. As all we could do was wait for a response, I taught my co-subject how to walk and talk more like a female and introduced him to the mysteries of make up. I have to admit that my co-subject is a quick study and picked up his new skills very well indeed. After only a few hours of me showing him how to apply his make up, he was able to put it on with only a little supervision from myself.
Diary Entry - Day Four - by subject Lawrence Newman
The last few days have been very educational and also very confusing for me. I am finding that wearing feminine clothes and being made to do feminine things, like putting on make up, is having an effect on my perspective. Wearing skirts, bras, corsets, tights, high heels and other frilly, lacy things is making me more feminine. I am becoming more concerned about my appearance, more sensitive and more emotional.
But my focus today had been on my job interview. As related in my previous entries, my co-subject and I had applied for positions at a local stockbroking firm called Abbotts. Yesterday, we each received a telephone call inviting us to an interview. However, although we had applied for both positions, I was only offered an interview for the secretarial position whilst my co-subject was called to attend an interview for the more senior and better paid trainee stockbroker role.
My co-subject was pleased by this outcome, for it demonstrated her theory. Our CV's showed that we had roughly the same grades. We were both well qualified for the trainee position. However, I had not been considered for the role and my co-subject had not been considered for the secretarial vacancy. This was a clear example of gender discrimination at work.
In the meantime, I had had to prepare for my interview. I wore a silk blouse, knee-length grey skirt, with a matching jacket and a pair of black high heels. I wore a necklace and earrings and my make up was flawless, as it had to be. I of course wore my wig. For the first time in my life, I had to use a handbag. It felt very weird to have to carry this bag around with me everywhere.
Nervously, I set out for my interview, feeling foolish and very self-conscious. I was aware of the fragrance of my own perfume, the click of my heels against the pavement, the silky feel of my blouse and underwear against my skin, the hotness of my wig and my handbag bashing gently against my hip as I walked. I was terrified that I would be uncovered as the fraud I was at once, but no-one gave me a second glance. Actually, someone did, a boy my own age, who was checking me out but doing nothing more, much to my relief.
The offices of Abbotts were a ten minute walk but that walk seemed to last forever. I was assaulted by alien experiences brought on by my scent and the clothes and jewellery I wore and worried that someone would see through me. I was also nervous about the interview.
However, I eventually arrived and reported into reception. The girl receptionist glanced at me briefly, asked me to sign in as a visitor (it felt very strange to sign my name as Laura Newman) and made a quick call to let my interviewer know that I had arrived. I was asked to take a seat. I walked over and smoothed my skirt down before I sat, as I had observed women doing before me. After a wait of five minutes, an older woman, dressed in a trouser suit, came to collect me, introducing herself as Miss Farley, Head of Administrative Resources. We rode a lift to the twelfth floor, exchanging trite pleasantries about the weather and my journey, before it depositied us into an open plan office where lots of girls were working, furiously typing away.
Miss Farley explained that this was the secretarial pool, where I would start out if I was successful in my interview. Most girls started here until they were resourced to be the secretary of a broker, a manager or even a director.
I was led to Miss Farley's office. To my surprise, there was a man seated behimd her desk. He was in his late thirties, I guessed and his well cut suit suggested he was fairly senior in the company. Miss Farley introduced me to him as Miss Newman and his name was Brian Latimer and he was one of the account managers. He was, Miss Farley explained, not formally involved in the interview, but had expressed an interest to sit in.
He was there to drool over the girl applicants, I immediately guessed.
I took a seat when invited and the interview commenced. The questions fired at me were mainly about my secretarial experience (I actually had none, which they would have known already had they read my CV) and my personal circumstances. I confirmed that I had moved into the area recently and was sharing a flat with my twin brother, who, incidentally, was being interviewed for a trainee broker spot at Abbotts later today.
All the while, as I tried to not only deal with the questions, but talk in a feminine voice, I noticed Brian's eyes fixed on my breasts, which were prominent underneath my silk blouse, and on my long slender legs. I longed to tell him to stop looking at me in that way, but of course could not.
Miss Farly finished her battery of questions and asked if I had any. I asked if my lack of actual secretarial experience would be a problem. Miss Farley thought not. The position was an entry level position and so I would be learning on the job. I was tempted to ask why I had not been selected for interview for the trainee broker position, but had the sense to hold my tongue.
Finally, the interview was over and we exchanged handshakes. I was sure that Brian Latimer was checking out my skirted bottom as I left the room. I was aware that I had just been treated exactly like a piece of meat by a typical corporate lech. It was a horrid feeling to be objectified and made to feel self-conscious and vulnerable.
My co-subject arrived home from her interview two hours after me. She was pleased because her interview had gone well. She had been interviewed by a panel of three senior managers, who had been friendly. She had then been shown around the office and introduced to some of the brokers she would be working with if she got the job before being introduced to some of the directors. Her interview and the way she was treated when perceived to be a man contrasted sharply with my experience when I was perceived to be a woman.
My co-subject was so enthused that she did not ask me how my interview had gone.
We both got calls from Abbotts, letting us know that we had both been successful and that we would be starting tomorrow. This, my co-subject explained, was a cause for celebration and she suggested that we should eat out tonight.
This meant, of course, that I would have to dress up. I shaved my legs and armpits and put on a red dress with matching heels and made myself up. My co-subject, dressed in a tux, took my arm and escorted me to a restaurant. My legs were bare and I could feel the breeze under the skirt of my dress. I carried a clutch bag, envying my partner, who walked easily in a suit and flat shoes.
We went to "Maisies", not the classiest eating house in town, but a few notches up from our usual restaurant back home, and had an enjoyable time. But I was apprehensive, as tomorrow I would be a working girl, working alongside female employees who might spot that I was not a genuine lady, and males like Brian Latimer.
Diary Entry - Day Seven - Entry by Subject Lawrence Newman
I've been working as a junior secretary for Abbotts for the last three days and what an eye opener it has been as a male who is assumed by all to be a pretty young female and treated as such.
Dolled up in my silk blouse, seamed stockings, pencil skirt and high heels, and perfumed and fully made up, I report to the twelfth floor and spend the day typing general correspondence. My work is checked by one of the more senior girls and I'm made to do it again if it is not considered to be good enough. My typing speed and accuracy is increasing rapidly.
I get an hour for lunch and spend it in the staff canteen. When I started, I was assigned a chaperone to help me orientate myself. This was a girl called Cynthia, only a year or so older than myself, who had been with the firm for six months. Cynthia seemed to like me as she continues to lunch with me and passes me her magazines for me to read. I long to read an engineering manual or a serious book, but instead I have to read articles on make up, losing weight and celebrity gossip. However, I have to have some knowledge of these things to pull off my role as Laura.
The ambition of every girl on the twelfth floor is to become the secretary of one of the brokers or a manager or director, for the rise in pay and status is significant. They seek to attract the attention of these senior people, who are overwhelmingly male, and these girls openly flout the dress code to dress more sexily. The offices lechs, of course, including Brian Latimer, appeared frequently on the floor on the flimiest pretext to ogle us girls.
Some of the girls welcomed this, seeing it as their ticket out of the twelfth floor, but I positively bristled with indignation at being ogled. But, it seemed, the greater my displeasure, the more attention the lechs gave me. They came and sat on my desk, touched me on the arm uninvited and tried to chat me up. I was mortified and secretly terrified by all of the attention.
My co-subject came to visit me. Unlike me, she was having an interesting time being trained for her job and enjoying long lunch hours. She seemed happy and oblivious to my low spirits. Her visit was brief, as she was going out to lunch with some of the directors. I watched her with envy.
Diary Entry - Day Eleven - by Subject Laura Newman
What a fantastic time I am having! Seen by all around me as a feisty young male, I am learning how to be a broker and all of the brokers and most senior people have a high opinion of me. I lunch with them every day!
This all proves that perceptions of one's gender dictates how one is treated throughout life.
Look at my poor co-subject. As a boy he would probably be where I am now, but by presenting himself as a girl, he is given a girl's job to do and is even gawped at by other men!
I am finding that in my new male role, I have become completely dominant over my co-subject. I make him do all the chores in the flat to reinforce his new feminine role.
I'm loving this study!
Diary Entry - Day Fourteen - by Subject Lawrence Newman
I am trembling as I write this entry, as what I have feared most has come to pass!
I was touching up my make-up, something I find myself doing quite frequently, and an activity at which I am becoming more skilful, when the odious Brian Latimer approached me and asked me to fetch a client's file for him.
The client files were stored in a room in the back of Floor Twelve, so I had to leave my desk and mince along in my high heels across the floor. I knew that Latimer was watching my skirted behind wiggle as I moved. I went into the room where the files were stored and bent over to find the file that Latimer had asked for. After a minute, my french-manicured hand was clasped around the spine of the file.
But then I became aware that two hands were gripping my bottom. I gasped with surprise and shock.
It was Latimer who was fondling my bottom. He spun me around and began to grope and kiss me. I was too shocked to resist at first. This situation was completely outside my experience. In between ravishing me, Latimer was telling me how hot and sexy I was and that if I was nice to him, he could do a lot for me.
I was frightened and confused. Then his hands began to move down towards my crotch, and I knew that I had to act before he found out what I really was. So I did what any girl would do in that situation and kneed him between the legs. Latimer cried out, fell to the floor and was doubled up in agony. It was quite satisfying to see him in pain. I stepped over him and returned to my desk.
The other girls looked at me, trying to work out from my face what had happened and were disappointed to read nothing.
A few minutes later, Latimer emerged from the file room and left the floor. Outwardly, I controlled myself to be calm and cool, but inside I was a trembling, quivering mess. Some of the other girls asked me what had happened, to which I gave an answer of "nothing".
The girls looked at me, and then at each other, and shrugged.
Later, Brenda, the unofficial leader of the secretaries took me aside.
"Look Laura" she said "I'm going to give you some friendly advice as you aren't fitting in here. If you want to get on in this company you need to attract the men, not knee them in the balls! We know what happened in that room dearie, no matter how hard you tried not to show it. Let the men have their way with you and you'll have a good job as their secretary. And for goodness sake wear a shorter skirt!" was her parting comment.
My mind was in turmoil as I went back to my desk. Not only were the men allowed to have their way with us, but their activities were sanctioned by the women they were molesting. I was being treated like an outcast by the other girls because I wasn't conforming.
When I got home, I cried a little and then got on with the housework. A woman's work is never done.
Diary Entry - Day Eighteen - by Subject Laura Newman
It was my birthday today.
After work, I went out with the boys. They now accept me as one of them and are always clapping me around the shoulder and cracking jokes with me. This masculine culture is certainly different from my past experience.
What I didn't count on was that the boys had lined up a treat for me.
As we dined on steak, drank beers and watched a football match on the big screen there, a girl police officer approached me and asked if I was Lawrence Newman, which I confirmed.
Had I seen the boys' faces I would have twigged what was going on, but my eyes were on the girl cop and my mind was wondering what I had done to warrant the attentions of the police.
The girl told me that she had been told that I had been a very naughty boy and needed to be punished! It was then I worked out that she was no cop, but before I could say anything she began removing her clothes and went into striptease mode.
This was absolutely the last thing I wanted, seeing another girl strip for me, but if I didn't behave correctly, I would compromise my position and reveal who and what I really was. The boys were encouraging me to touch and kiss the by now scantily clad girl, who parked herself on my lap and began to kiss me.
To preserve my role as one of the boys, I kissed her back and ran my hands over her body. The feel of her wet lips and warm, soft body was not displeasing and so it was easy for me to play the guy's role.
Thankfully, the routine ended, with the guys none the wiser. They clapped me on the back manfully and bought me lots of beer. I fell into bed, quite drunk.
Diary Entry - Day Eighteen - by Subject Lawrence Newman
Following Brenda's advice, I now wore a mini-skirt to show off my rather good legs. The girls looked at me approvingly when I appeared in the office wearing it.
It was my birthday and the girls insisted on taking me out clubbing. I had to go home and change into a skimpy dress that showed off my legs, my shoulders and my cleavage, and stilettos that I struggled to walk in despite the fact that I had worn heels for over two weeks. I carried a clutch purse that was the same colour as my dress.
I met the girls, who were dressed pretty much as I was, in a restaurant, where we had a meal.
Much to my surprise, one of the waiters, a tall, black, muscular man, asked me if I was Laura Newman. I confirmed that I was. To my horror, the "waiter" slowly began removing his clothes, with the girls egging him on. I was trapped. There was no way I could refuse to go along with all this. As far as the others were concerned, I was one of the girls, and so they had treated me to every girl's fantasy, a male stripper.
My red face was thankfully hidden by a thick layer of cosmetics and so the girls did not see my embaressment. The stripper was by now wearing only his thong and insisted on my sitting on his lap. I awkwardly perched on the man's lap and, at the urging of the girls, ran my manicured hands over his large arm and chest muscles, marvelling at their size. The stripper finally removed his thong and invited me to stroke his thingy. I looked at the thingy, cringing with shame, but knew I had to play along and so, shuddering inwardly, ran my hands over the male organ, to the delight of the girls.
The ordeal suddenly ended when the stripper picked me up in his arms and gave me a long deep kiss before depositing me back on the ground. I was taken aback by the kiss and realised with shock that I had actually enjoyed being in a man's arms and being kissed! Was I gay? I was sure that I was not, but my feminine role was exposing me to new experiences, both humiliating and delightful.
The girls kissed me and made much of me and I realised that whatever doubts they had had about me before were now extinguished. I really was one of the girls now!
We went on to Solitaires, one of the city's many nightclubs. Ladies were admitted free of charge, whilst the men had to queue and pay, one of the perks of being a "lady" and the reason why the club had been chosen for our night out.
I spent the evening with the girls, drinking and chatting, and learning a lot about each of the girls. Luckily, the girls steadily got drunker and drunker, and took less notice of me, so I was able to relax a little. I was asked to dance by a number of boys and took to the dance floor. The stilettos were agony to dance in but the attention from the boys was very flattering. It made a nice change to be the prey rather than the hunter. Maybe being a girl was not so bad after all.
The girls at last became too drunk to continue and we got taxis home. I fell into bed.
Diary Entry - Day Twenty - by Subject Laura Newman
My training is continuing and I am gaining more confidence and experience in my roles, both as a male and as a stockbroker.
I am now fully accepted as one of the boys. But this has brought its own problems.
A girl secretary, Cynthia, has the hots for me!
Formerly from that pink ghetto, the twelfth floor, Cynthia was brought to our floor to provide additional secretarial support.
She hovers around me as often as possible and tries to talk to me. As a girl, I can read other girls. She is interested in me. Seriously interested. This is a real worry. If I can read her, maybe she will read me and work out that I am as female as she is.
Diary Entry - Day Twenty Two - by Subject Lawrence Newman
I have escaped from the twelfth floor temporarily. My rescuer is none other than my persecutor, Brian Latimer. Due to his heavy workload, he has requested an additional secretary, and asked for me.
I reported to his existing secretary, a much older woman called Caroline. She was older than her boss so I could see that I was going to be the object of Latimer's attention. Caroline was staid and very bossy and made me do most of the work whilst she supervised me. She sniffed in disapproval at my tiny skirt and my heavy make up. She thinks I'm a trollop, I realised. I suddenly yearned to be back with the other girls.
Worst of all, Caroline announced that she had to leave work early to visit her husband, who was in hospital, which meant I would be alone with Brian Latimer. Whilst Caroline was around, Latimer was courteous and polite to both of us. I sensed that that was about to change.
How right I was! Shortly after Caroline had gathered her things and left for the day, Brian called me into his office for some dictation, which I took down as he massaged my shoulders and stroked my hair (by now this was my real hair, which had grown out, rather than the wig I had had to wear intially). Once the dictation was over, he began kissing me. As I was seated, there would be no repeat of my performance at our last encounter. I guessed he had planned all this.
He whispered in my ear how sexy I was and that he would dump Caroline as his secretary in a heartbeat and let me replace her if only I would soften and let him have his way. I had no wish to be his secretary or for Caroline to lose her job and I told him so.
His face grew dark and he threatened to have me sacked if I did not co-operate. He kissed and fondled me and I did not resist. Like any junior employee, the threat of losing my job made me submissive and putty in his hands.
Thankfully, he was content with kissing me and eventually let me go. I was shaking with fright and humiliation. I was learning what it was like to be a sex object.
Diary Entry - Day Twenty Eight - by Subject Laura Newman
My position has been compromised and I'm being blackmailed by that little bitch Cynthia!
That wretched girl has become my nemesis. As I feared, she has "read" me. She ambushed me as I was leaving the office and told me that she had worked out that Lawrence Newman, hotshot trainee broker and one of the boys, was actually a girl. It was obvious from my small hands and body language that I was female.
I tried to laugh it off and tell her to stop being ridiculous but she threatened to march into my boss's office and tell him, which would lead to the very least in my having to undergo a medical examination. I panicked and begged her not to. I had to tell her that this was a project for my dissertation (but without revealing that my brother was masquerading as me). Cynthia accepted this but said that her silence had a price.
Half of my salary, to be exact. I would have to hand over half my wages to her. I had no choice but to agree in order to salvage the project. As a result, although my salary is nominally higher than any secretary, in reality I now take home less. My co-subject now brings home more than me, hardly the outcome I had expected.
Diary Entry - Day Thirty One - by Subject Lawrence Newman
My life as a secretary has become a nightmare as a result of Brian Latimer's constant attentions. The health of Caroline's husband has worsened, causing Caroline to ask for an indefinite leave of absence, a request that Brian willingly granted.
I was now his secretary, and required to dress more sexily. Brian has bought me expensive lingerie and jewellery, which I am required to wear. He likes his women fully made up and so has provided me with the most costly cosmetics to adorn my features.
He is always kissing and fondling me and whispering in my ear how gorgeous and sexy I am. I am scared of him. What would happen if he found out who I really was?
Today, I had to work late, at Brian's request, to finish off some urgent correspondence. The rest of the floor was by now deserted as the rest of the staff gradually filtered out. Brian called me into the office and told me to strip down to my underwear.
I tried to refuse, but he played his trump card and threatened to fire me. Reluctantly, I began to unbutton my blouse. Within a few minutes I stood shivering, nervous and feeling extremely vulnerable clad only in a bra, knickers, stockings and high heels.
I could feel Brian's eyes on my body, appreciating the swell of my breasts, the curves of my hips and my long, slender legs. He took me in his arms and kissed me all over. I felt quite disgusted by him, but could not resist. He let me go and enjoyed seeing me run around after him in just my underwear. I felt soiled and dirty as I put my outer clothes back on when I was finally allowed to go home. I was just eye candy, not a real person in my own right.
I cried as I lay alone in bed.
Diary Entry - Day Thirty Seven - by Subject Laura Newman
I now have a "girlfriend". Cynthia!
She has insisted upon this arrangement, in order to enhance her own standing in the company. To be dating an up and coming broker will improve her own prospects. She is aiming at becoming my boss's secretary and from that position would have a lot of indirect power and influence.
In the meantime, I have to go through the motions of "dating" her. I have to walk her home, take her out for (and pay for!) meals and entertainment. Kiss her in public and call her darling (when all I want to do is strangle the devious little minx!).
All this, in addition to the bribe, is costing me a fortune! The only upside is that, now I have a "girlfriend", my status amongst the boys has improved. With me dating an admittedly pretty girl like Cynthia, there can be no doubts about my masculinity.
Diary Entry - Day Forty Three - by Subject Lawrence Newman
Brian's attentions are becoming more frequent and more irksome. I now spend more time in his arms - and in just my underwear - than ever. To be kissed by another man is utterly revolting and I almost retch when he as much as touches me.
I have been degraded to being a sex slave to a misogynist lech. I don't know if I can take much more of this.
Diary Entry - Day Fifty - by Subject Laura Newman
I have decided to bring the project to an end, as I have learned that my co-subject's position has become, if anything, more intolerable than my own.
I am being blackmailed. My poor co-subject has been reduced to a sex object.
We have both agreed to leave our jobs.
My method of leaving was dramatic. My first action was to dump Cynthia. She, of course, threatened to expose me and I told her to go ahead. She was taken aback by this. She clearly wanted our "arrangement" to continue for as long as possible and was disappointed that I wanted to bring it to an end.
She hesitated, then begged me to reconsider. I told her to get stuffed. She was getting nothing more from me. This, as I anticipated, made her angry and she stormed off in the direction of my boss's office.
A short time later, I was called in by my boss and told that certain allegations had been made about me. I would have to attend a medical examination to prove my "maleness". I told him it was unneccessary and undid my shirt to reveal my breasts, which I had released from bondage.
Stunned, my boss took some moments to find his voice. When he eventually spoke, he said that I was fired with immediate effect and that I would be sued for misrepresentation
Diary Entry - Day Fifty - by Subject Lawrence Newman
After suffering a crying fit and disclosing to my co-subject full details of the living hell that was my life under Brian Latimer, we agreed that the project should end.
I went into work fully dressed, but once in the ladies powder room, stripped to my underwear and nonchalantly went about my secretarial duties, raising quite a few eyebrows. Caroline, whose husband's health had improved enough for her to return to work, was scandalised and told me to put some clothes on.
Brian was mortified too and asked what the hell I thought I was doing. I told him outright that I was a boy. I dropped my knickers to reveal my thingy. The look on Brian's face was priceless and the women present burst out laughing. Brian, the skirt chaser, was chasing a boy! Brian, thoroughly humiliated, threatened dire retribution. He'd sue me.
Diary Entry - Day Fifty - by Subject Laura Newman
We were marched into the office of the CEO, Marcus Jenner, who was told that he had two employees that had obtained employment by deception.
We were fired immediately, but that went without saying. We had deceived our employer, after all.
As to being sued, luckily that would not happen. Lawrence countered that if we were sued, he would present his own lawsuit of sexual harressment against Brian Latimer and Abbotts.
This would cause Abbotts (and Brian Latimer) much embaressment and unwelcome media attention, so it was agreed that neither side would be suing the other. My dissertation would not mention the firm involved in the study, I promised. We would leave quietly. We were escorted from the building.
We heard later on that Brian Latimer had been dismissed for misconduct towards female employees and that the company's equal opportunities policy was more rigourously enforced. There were more women brokers and more male secretaries, so this study had a positive outcome.
My dissertation was written and, as my brother predicted, whilst he got a good engineering degree, I got first class honours. Women totally rock!
Sunday, 14 November 2010
I suppose at the beginning would be a good place to start. My name is...or I should say was...Victor Simpson. I was born in the sixties, when men were men and society was definitely tailored for men. You can't say that nowadays!
I had a typical boyhood. I had only two younger brothers, no sisters to concern myself with and as I was bigger and stronger and smarter than my brothers, I pretty much had everything my own way. My Dad had a good job at the steel mill and my Mum looked after her men and the house. I had the newest bike, the best clothes and the coolest sportswear. I was sporty in my youth and played lots of sports and got a lot of attention from girls.
I had a lot of girlfriends in my school years and had a lot of fun. I grew up believing that it was men that made the money and the decisions and that women were there to give us children and take care of our homes. I couldn't help that. That was how I was brought up.
I was smart enough to be able to go on to university. I was the first member of my family to ever do so and my parents were so proud of me. At university, the fun continued. Lots of beer, lots of sports and lots of girls.
Then I graduated with a degree in Business Management and real life began. I got an entry level job with a marketing company, Ashburn, Wyatt and Cooper (AWC for short) and worked my way up the corporate ladder.
In the early years, when I was just a junior copywriter, I met my future wife, Chrissie, who was three years my junior and worked in the typing pool and we got married. Chrissie left work to keep house for me and children followed, Nathan, Lucy and Chloe.
Twenty years passed. I was now a manager with AWC. Chrissie had gone back to work after the kids had left school and returned to AWC, working in the Sales Team. The girls were in their early twenties and were doing well, both of them having gone to university and got good jobs.
Nathan, my boy, was not doing so well. He was not a straight "A" student, like his sisters (and like me!) and he stopped his education after high school and went to work at the steel mill, just like his grandfather. I was disappointed that my son had not done as well as my daughters.
I was a decent enough guy and decent enough marketing manager and so when my boss, Alfred Boon, announced that he was retiring early, I had hopes that I would fill his shoes. I knew the department and I knew the people. I was the obvious choice as Alfred's successor.
Imagine my disappointment and shock when it was announced, that not only had I not got the job, but that a woman fully ten years my junior had been appointed to fill the position. Wendy Wagner had been a highly successful marketing manager with another firm and had been head hunted by AWC.
Wendy, a thirty something blonde, whose appearance was always immaculate, took the department in hand. Due to his age and lack of motivation in his latter years, Alfred had, admittedly, let things slide a little. Deciding that the department was full of old fuddy duddy's, she brought in some fresh, female, talent. Two girls, barely older than my daughters, joined the department.
Wendy next introduced challenging targets for each team member to hit every week. Those failing to make the grade would be kicked out of the door. For the first time in years, I and the orginal team members had to start early and work late in order to meet the boss's targets. Some, such as Walter Cuthbert and Larry Fewkes, fell by the wayside, unable to keep up and were duly fired and replaced by younger females.
The new girls however, had no problems meeting the targets within a normal working day. It was galling to see them leaving the office early, having meet their quotas, while we older guys had to work on. We wondered how they did it.
Within six months of Wendy taking over, most of the original staff had gone and young women had filled their desks. The department had gone from all male to mostly female in a brief span. Then, a month or so later, I found that Roxanne, one of the original "bright young things" (as we older guys had called them in jest) had effectively replaced me as Wendy's right hand. Wendy delegated to Roxanne and this girl, about eighteen years younger than me, was telling me to do.
There was some unpleasantness between me and Roxanne. I deeply resented her usurping my role and complained to Wendy. Wendy was indifferent and told me I needed to grow up and join the rest of them in the 21st century. Wendy clearly backed her protegee' and couldn't care less about me and how I felt.
My male pride could not take this humilation and, on impulse, I resigned. I could easily find a job somewhere else, with my experience. Wendy accepted my resignation without comment and I had the awful feeling that this was just what she had wanted anyway and I had played into her hands.
There was a leaving party for me. A pathetic affair attended only by a few close friends since most of the others had been fired. The following week, I went job hunting. I got some interviews at other marketing firms and was shocked to find that my interviewers were not only invariably female, but about the same age as my daughters, if not younger.
Despite attending a dozen interviews, I was not offered a position, and, to add insult to injury, heard that the successful applicant in each case was a younger female. Were all the jobs going only to women? It seemed so.
To make matters worse, whilst I could not find work, Chrissie was not only still at AWC, but had gained a significant promotion to sales manager. She was now the breadwinner. Both of my daughters were going from strength to strength in their careers, whilst my son had been laid off and had returned to live in the family home at the age of twenty-nine.
Whilst the women of my family were doing very well in their careers, to my embarressment, the men of the family were jobless and dependant on my wife's earnings. Brought up to believe that I was the provider and decision maker, I found that I was now a failure in those roles.
Following a letter from a marketing company thanking me for my interest but, with regret, unable to offer me a position (this time, I had not even been offered an interview), I sunk into the same state of depression and lethergy as my poor son, who spent most of his days in bed or down the pub.
Chrissie was unsympathetic to my plight. She reasoned that I walked away from a perfectly good job just because my pride could not handle having to work for a woman. She told me to stop being a fool, swallow my pride, and ask Wendy for my old job back. This I refused to do. I would not let Wendy Wagner have the satisfaction of seeing me beg, and then turning me down, as was highly likely.
Chrissie stormed off to bed. Her back was turned against me that night and I felt unhappy and lonely. The next morning, I awoke to find her gone, off to work. Blearily, I stumbled downstairs, unshaven and in my dressing gown, as was usual most days, to find a note, attached by a magnet, to the fridge door.
To my disbelief, I found that it was a list of chores. A long list of chores. At the bottom, Chrissie had written that she expected all of these chores to be done by the time she came home that evening.
I tossed the note aside, angry. How dare she try and give me orders! She could go to hell. So what if the chores weren't done? What was she going to do? I sat and watched television all day. When Chrissie arrived home, she asked me if the chores had been done and I said no. She had no right to make me do chores. I was the man of the house, after all.
Chrissie gave Nathan, who was present, some money and told him to make himself scarce. Aware that there was about to be a row between me and his mother, Nathan was nevertheless pleased with his sudden windfall and was out of the house in record time, leaving me alone to face a wife who I had never seen so angry in all our years of marriage.
A big row ensued. Chrissie told me that, man of house I might be, but at the moment I was a lazy bum who was living off her and who had walked away from a good job for no reason. At least Nathan had the excuse that he had been laid off. I defended myself, telling her that I had had to leave my job and I had done all I could to find another. It was hardly my fault if marketing companies were only employing young women these days. I was not doing chores for pocket money like when I was a boy, that was for sure.
We argued in this circular way for well over an hour and then, exasperated when she saw that I was not going to back down, Chrissie played her trump card. If, she said, I did not help out around the house, she would not give me any money (for in the past she had generously given me money when I had asked for it). Then I'd have to go out and get any job that paid.
I broke out in a panic at this. I was forty five years old and could not find a job in my field of expertise. The only jobs a man of my age could get would be menial and low paid. I would end up flipping burgers, like my daughters used to in college, for little more than pocket money. People I knew would see me in such a demeaning position and look upon my downfall with pity.
At that moment, doing some chores around the home for a generous allowance did not seem such a humiliation. I caved in. Chrissie, thankfully, did not smile or gloat at my capitulation, just nodded and went to prepare herself some food.
Chrissie, fully dressed in her work clothes, and carrying a smart leather briefcase, her laptop case and her designer handbag, handed me a list of chores, gave me a gentle peck on the lips and was gone, leaving me to mind the house. I was momentarily taken aback at how our roles had suddenly reversed. She was now the high flying employee and I was the homemaker.
Despondently, I looked at the long list of chores. It seemed endless. The whole house had to be hoovered and dusted (it was a four bed detached house by the way), there was a mountain of laundry and dishes to be done. I was now responsible for shopping and preparing the family meals. I was shocked when I realised that I had idea what my wife liked to eat. I realised that I would have to call her and ask.
Scratching my head, wondering how on earth a woman coped with all this, I decided that I could not get all this done on my own. I glanced upstairs. Nathan would have to help, that was the answer, so I went into his room and got him out of bed. Nathan, needless to say, was not happy at being woken and even less happy to be made to do "women's work".
I soon found, though, that Nathan was not a good worker. He needed constant supervision and chivvying before he would do anything. He grumbled and griped a lot, like a big kid. I began to see why he got laid off. He was hard work to manage. I eventually realised that he was more of a hindrance than a help and told him I didn't need his help. He happily left for the pleasures of the pub.
I struggled on alone, thankful not to have the distraction of Nathan around. That meant that I could concentrate fully. However, I was well behind by the time Chrissie arrived home, having just loaded up the washing machine for the fourth time that day. I apologised to Chrissie as I went to fix our meals and Chrissie scolded me, saying that when she ran the home, she had everything done by the time I got home. She was critical of my dusting, which clearly did not meet her standards.
I felt low and a complete failure. Not only was I no use as a provider, I was no use as a homemaker either it seemed!
Whilst Chrissie and Nathan relaxed in front of the television, I continued to work, dealing with the laundry, the washing up. I realised that when I was in work, I could leave all my cares at the office door at the end of the working day, but in my new role, there was no let up.
After a week of me struggling to cope with the mountain of tasks that needed to be done, Chrissie decided to bring in someone to help me and train me. This was our neighbour, Susan. Susan was a housewife of many years standing and was the same age as Chrissie.
Susan came round one morning and took me in hand. First off, she decided, it was high time I wore an apron. She took the flowery apron that Chrissie had used to wear when she was the homemaker and told me to put it on. I looked at the feminine garment, stunned at the idea of having to wear it, but Susan, a no nonsense, bossy lady, told me to stop gawping and put it on.
Sheepishly, I obeyed. Susan then showed me how to keep house. How to dust properly, how to hoover correctly and all of the other tasks. She even took Nathan in hand and taught him as well. To my surprise, both he and I, when faced with such a strong female authority figure, meekly did as we were told.
Under Susan's regime, both Nathan and I became competent at housework. I found that, like my wife before me, I could get everything done before Chrissie arrived home. She would find me relaxed and watching TV and she would be pleasantly surprised to find a clean, tidy home and her meal in the oven, almost ready. She would give me a warm kiss in gratitude.
In return for keeping house for her, I was given an allowance that enabled me to have my own money to spend as I wished. It was kind of a relief not to have to worry about bills anymore, since Chrissie took care of the family finances now, as befitted her role as the breadwinner. I was conscious of the fact that I had lost my place as head of the family to Chrissie, but as she was the wage earner, I accepted this.
The mind, even a male mind I found, is highly flexible and adjusts quickly to a change in circumstances. I was adapting to the reality of my situation and even my fragile male ego was coming to terms with my new status.
The only uncomfortable occasion, when I was sharply reminded of the loss of my status as breadwinner and head of the family, was when I had to accompany Chrissie to an AWC social. There I met my old friends, and Roxanne (now firmly established in my old job) and, of course, Wendy Wagner.
I tried to avoid Wendy, but she saw my discomfort at now being merely a spouse, and made a beeline towards me, with Roxanne following in her wake. Wendy asked how I was getting on. She was, she said, soooo sorry that I felt I had to leave, in a tone that suggested the opposite. I mumbled and stuttered in embarressment when I had to admit that I hadn't found another job and had become a househusband. Roxanne had to stifle a giggle and Wendy smiled and said that I probably looked good in a pinny, which elicited more giggles from Roxanne.
Then, clearly bored with the conversation, the ladies turned their backs on me and departed to find someone more interesting. Someone who actually had a real job, I thought acidly.
I found sanctuary amongst a couple of other husbands who, like me, were now merely the spouse of a successful wife. We had a few drinks together and compared notes. A couple of the husbands worked (one of them actually worked in the steel mill and remembered not only Nathan, but my own father), but the rest were househusbands, like me. It somehow felt comforting to discover that I was not the only man in the world in my position.
A few weeks after the social, I was now fully competent at managing the housework and a routine was established. I found my new role oddly satisfying. It had its advantages in that my time was my own, as long as the household tasks got done, and I no longer had to worry about earning a living, bills or about office politics.
But I found having to do what I had been brought up to believe was "women's work" and being excluded from the working world was beginning to have an effect on my mind. I was gradually becoming more feminine in my mindset, concerned with housework and family concerns. I even enjoyed wearing my apron, seeing it as my uniform for work.
Chrissie too seemed pleased to see me in my pinny and liked me to wear it now only around the house, but in the bedroom. My wearing an apron revived our flagging sex life, but to my discomfort, Chrissie wanted to take things further.
She came home one day, armed with bags from a designer lingerie store and handed them to me. I guessed what was in them but even so I went red when I found lacy knickers and bras in those bags. Later on that evening, I was fumbling with my bra straps and wearing a pair of lace panties in order to please my wife. But although I was embarressed, it seemed a natural progression in my new role, as I was becoming the more submissive and feminine partner in our relationship.
From that night on, panties and bras became my underwear, at Chrissie's insistence. She liked to know that I wearing them whilst she wore silk boxer shorts and a sports bra under her business suit.
Having accepted having to wear the dainty underwear, and the role of homemaker, Chrissie gradually got me to depilate my body on a daily basis, to wear hosiery and finally a dress (or top and skirt). I was by now so used to wearing female underwear and so conditioned into obeying my wife that my masculine instinct to resist was gone.
I now spent my days fully dressed as a woman. My hair was receding and so it was shaven off and I wore a long blonde wig. My nails were allowed to grow and I got a weekly manicure and pedicure at the same beauty salon my wife and daughters used to use. I learnt how to depilate myself, pluck my eyebrows and apply cosmetics to my face. My ears were pierced and dangly earrings inserted into them and I wore necklaces, bulky bracelets and bangles. Chrissie even switched and resized our wedding rings so that she wore the man's version and her old, daintier ring now adorned my ring finger.
Finally, my body was inserted into a corset to give me a womanly shape and my feet were shod with the high heels that defined their wearer as being utterly feminine.
Chrissie loved seeing me running around after her in my dress and heels (while she wore trousers) and liked to call me her "pretty boywife". Most of the time, I could accept my feminised state, but at other times, I would suddenly and for no real reason at all burst into tears. Chrissie would take me in her arms at those times (for it usually happened when we were alone in our bedroom) and comfort me, saying how much better she liked me when I was feminine in dress and behaviour.
I was by now so utterly feminised that I clung to her, grateful for her comforting touch and words, even though she had orchestrated all of this! My feminisation meant that I had become helpless (or rather, played the role of being helpless as appropriate to my feminine state) and had to ask for help in opening jars, lifting anything remotely heavy and where once I would proudly repair a faulty appliance myself in my former life, I would now call a handyman or Chrissie if even so much as a light bulb failed.
Chrissie told me she loved me more than ever when I was all vulnerable and helpless, which made me feel better. Still, it was curious to feel valued for being completely useless in certain situations when I was a highly competent househusband in all other areas.
Having successfully feminised me, Chrissie decided to do the same with Nathan, who was still unemployed. With me backing her up, Nathan proved an even easier conquest than me, since he was naturally lazy and prone to go along with other people running his life for him. Nathan was transformed from layabout son to a pretty looking boy in a mini-skirt and high heels. Nathan was then packed off to hairdressing college and became able to earn his own living in that profession.
I was nervous because it was Christmas and my daughters would be returning home to spend the holiday with us. I was wearing a pretty frock that Chrissie had bought for me, and fiddling with my rings. What would my girls think to see their old man dressed as I was?
As it happened, I had nothing to worry about, for Chrissie had been briefing them on an almost daily basis on my development. Lucy and Chloe were therefore not at all shocked at my appearance and threw themselves into my arms and smothering me with kisses, like they used to do when they were little girls. Embarressed, but overcome by their effusive display, I returned their kisses.
I was proud of my girls, for they both looked like professional young women who knew where they were going in life. Lucy was at medical school, training to be a surgeon, and Chloe was a junior architect, but rising fast in her field. And they clearly still loved me, in spite (or perhaps because of?) my transformation.
We had a happy christmas together (with Nathan too, home from college, and slightly embarressed to seen seen in skirts by his trousered sisters). In the New year, once the children had gone, Chrissie sat me down and laid out her plans for me.
I was puzzled. Surely, I was now exactly where she wanted me. But I found out that Chrissie wanted more. She wanted me to begin taking hormones to make me even more womanly. She wanted me to have breasts and softer, smoother skin and for my muscles to disappear.
I was really frightened by this, but, as usual, with kind words and tender kisses, she eventually got her way, although it took her a couple of months to wear my resistance down. By the following christmas, my children were astonished to see my breasts and my more womanly shaped body. By this stage, what with the effects of the hormones and conditioning to think like a female, I was totally in total acceptance of my new state. Chrissie was amused to see that my breasts were bigger than her own.
On Valentines Day of the following year, Chrissie had persuaded me to another change. I changed my name from Victor to Victoria, to acknowledge my new femininity. In the following summer, we decided to hold a ceremony to renew our marriage vows, but this time, I was the bride! In reflection of my feminised mind, I agonised over my choice of gown and veil, and eventually selected an off the shoulder gown to show off my impressive decolletage and a lace veil. Nathan made a pretty bridesmaid and my girls made great groomsmen. Chrissie looked most impressive in her tux and acted the masculine part to perfection, whilst I meekly played the feminine role.
I took a vow to obey my wife and the family name was changed from Simpson to Drake, my wife's maiden name, so that I was now called Victoria Drake. It seemed wholly appropriate, since I was now a completely different person from the Victor Simpson I had been before.
As Victoria Drake, I see Chrissie off to work every morning and then settled in my role as her "little wife" as she now calls me ("every successful woman needs a wife" was her maxim). I do all of the housework, bake cakes, sew, go shopping and have some of the other wives around for tea and gossip. I even successfully hosted dinner parties, attended by my old colleagues from AWC, who were stunned to see me as the hostess, but soon got used to the new me.
My parties were a great success and, due in part to me acting as the perfect wife, Chrissie earned another promotion.
It had been a long journey, but thanks to Chrissie, I have found my true calling...as a wife.
Friday, 12 November 2010
It is now increasingly the confident, successful woman or girl who will do the chasing. The male of the species, by now more poorly educated than girls, earning less than women and his fragile male ego shattered by the sudden fall of his gender, has now become the more passive element of the male-female dynamic.
Males, finding themselves unwanted or fit only for low status jobs in the workplace, are now wearing tight clothes, jewellery and even cosmetics in the hope of attracting a mate who will sweep him off his feet and offer him a better life. Males are increasingly spending their spare income on male grooming, depilation of their body hair and even cosmetic surgery to make themselves beautiful and alluring.
Males are having their ears, belly buttons and even their most intimate areas pierced to accommodate piercing jewellery to stand out from the herd.
Women, having long abandoned such frivolities, are bemused and gratified by the efforts of males to win their attention. Women now know that they have the upper hand in all areas of life, including relationships and can have their pick of the young boys and men putting themselves forward as suitors for her hand.
Most women are now dominant and regard all males as inferior specimens. Once she has selected her boyfriend, she will take control of him and take him in hand. She will insist on deciding when and wear they meet and what they will do. She will also dictate what he will wear.
Increasingly, young women are insisting on their boyfriends having no body hair, smelling nice, having tattoos and piercings and wearing dresses, skirts, hosiery, cosmetics and high heeled shoes. They are highly amused to see the once dominant male teetering along in his high heels, with the wind blowing up his skirt to reveal his shapely stockinged legs and a hint of the lacy lingerie he has been obliged to wear. Thus attired, the male feels deeply confused and helpless, and grateful for a strong woman to take care of him.
A woman likes to see her man dressed in a way appropriate to his new status in the new order.
The woman will take him to a restaurant, order his food for him and pay for it. She may then take him to a nightclub and dance with him, with her leading and him going backwards in high heels. She may then take him home and have her way with him, if she wishes, or dump him without a care once she grows bored with him or finds another male more alluring.
The woman is in command of the relationship always and the male must follow and submit.
Traditional wedding ceremonies became almost extinct once women became the dominant gender. It was no longer seemly for the strong female to yearn for a white wedding and all of the attendant bridal froth with a girlish glee that she no longer felt, focused as she was on her career and self-advancement.
In recent years, though, the old customs have been revived, but this time the woman is content to play the secondary role and wear a tuxedo whilst she insists that her husband to be takes centre stage attired in a white bridal gown, his waist encircled and reduced by a corset to enable him to fit into his gorgeous gown. His face will be covered by a lace trimmed veil and his hair will be styled and his visage beneath the veil beautifully made up, his luscious full red lips ready to receive the kiss of his beloved.
During the ceremony, the man will make vows to love, honour and obey his wife, whilst she will promise to love, protect and provide for him. Once married, the man will discard his bachelor name and take the family name of his wife, who will carry him over the threshold into her home and carry him up to the bedroom, where he remove his bridal gown to reveal his dainty white silk lingerie and stockings and wait for his wife to appear to take what is now hers.
This is the future.
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Princess Amelia gazed wistfully out of the tower, watching her brothers, Edmund and Egbert, practising their swordplay in the yard below. The loud voice of their trainer, Sergeant Haske, could be heard exhorting the boys to work harder, to put some effort behind their strokes.
Amelia looked down at her skirted lap and at the piece of embroidery she had been working on and felt like crying with frustration. Just because she was a girl, she was not allowed to participate in weapons training like her brothers. Amelia was dressed in a full skirted, pink gown, with silken petticoats, wore a pearl necklace and earrings and her long hair encased in an elaborate headdress, with a veil attached, and had to dress like this every day whilst her brothers wore jerkins and breeches and were allowed to wear their hair short.
Edmund and Egbert had far more freedom than Amelia did and got to do weapon training, horse riding and hawking whilst Amelia spent most of her time indoors with the ladies doing embroidery and listening to court gossip. Amelia longed to be outside, in a jerkin and breeches, riding, or hawking or engaged in swordplay.
Amelia knew that she was cleverer than both of her older brothers put together. She was better at reading and writing and arithmetic and showed them up in the classroom. Whilst Amelia worked hard at her studies, her brothers were lazy. They preferred to be idle and to enjoy the pleasures of the court. Sergeant Haske often complained that the boys were not only slow learners but had no enthusiasm for their military training.
Given the chance, Amelia would put every effort into the training she yearned to be allowed to do. But because she was a princess, she was expected merely to look pretty and do her embroidery like a good girl should.
Amelia threw her embroidery aside and stalked out of the room, to the surprise of the ladies with her. She would go outside and walk off her frustrations. Emerging into the palace courtyard, Amelia saw her brothers limply tapping the shield held by Sergeant Haske, who was clearly frustrated by their feeble efforts. Amelia exchanged a look with him as she walked past, her skirts gathered in her hands.
Suddenly, Amelia heard a cry and immediately identified the source. Osbert, Sergeant Haske’s little boy, had reached out to try to touch a swan in the pond and had overextended himself and fallen in. Osbert was only three years old and could not swim. He thrashed about helplessly, panicking at his predicament.
Edmund and Egbert just stood there, whilst Haske threw down his shield and began to lumber towards his son, but he realized he would have to remove his armour first or he would sink to the bottom of the pond and be of no use to his son. He began to undo his armour, but it would take him several minutes to divest himself. He yelled at the princes, bidding them to help him.
Amelia, reacted more quickly than anyone and knew exactly what to do. She reached up to the back of her gown and undid it in a very quick movement and let it slip to the ground.
Amelia rapidly pulled off her petticoats, slipped out of her jewelled slippers and tore off her headdress.
Unconcerned that she now stood clad only in her silk chemise, knickers and stockings, Amelia raced towards the pond and without hesitation dived in. Amelia quickly reached the flailing little boy, grabbed him and swam a very short distance bearing his weight, not helped by the fact that the boy was still in a panic. Haske was standing by the pond edge and pulled his son to safety, hugging him and trying to calm the boy down before handing him over to his wife.
Amelia pulled herself out the pond, shivering and cold, but pleased that the boy was safe. She felt a pair of strong hands lifting her to her feet and suddenly Haske was looking at her with intensity. “That was a very brave act, my lady” he said with sincerity.
Amelia shrugged “It’s only what anyone would have done. I’m just pleased your son is safe”.
Haske turned to glance briefly at the Princes, who were still just standing there watching, before turning back to Amelia “You have my eternal gratitude, my lady, if you hadn’t been there as quick as you were, I dread to think what might have happened to my boy. I know I’m just a humble soldier and have little to offer you, but if there is anything I can do for you, you need only ask”. Haske turned away to attend to his son.
Amelia knew instantly what to claim as her reward. She sidled up to Haske and whispered softly in his ear. Haske gave her a nod, and Amelia literally bounced back to the palace.
Chapter Two – A warrior is born
Amelia crept out of her bedchamber, looking around in case anyone was about. Her ladies had put her to bed an hour ago and Amelia had to contain her impatience and wait the hour out, for the guard would be changing now and this was the ideal opportunity to creep out unseen.
Amelia had “borrowed” a set of jerkins and breeches from Egbert, the nearest to her in age and size and they fitted her perfectly. Amelia reveled in the freedom to move about. In a dress, with its rustling petticoats, it would have been impossible for Amelia to leave her bedchamber in secret. Amelia silently crept downstairs and moved outside to behind the stables, where Haske was waiting for her.
“Good evening, my lady” he whispered, bowing his head slightly in deference to Amelia’s rank.
“Good evening, Sergeant Haske” whispered Amelia in reply “look, Haske, can we please drop the courtesies when we are alone? Here, I am simply Amelia. Treat me just like any soldier. Shout at me and berate me if you have to, but I’m here to be a soldier, not a lady!”
Haske looked at her with respect “Very well…Amelia. Shall we begin?”
For the next two hours, Amelia felt like she was in heaven. Haske showed her how to block and parry with a sword, how to dodge incoming blows and how to use a shield. This was just what she wanted. But, to her distress, the two hours expired quickly.
“That’s all for now, Amelia. I must be getting back for I have to teach your useless brothers tomorrow. I must say, Amelia, that you’re a natural warrior. Never have I seen anyone, man, boy or lady, with such natural rhythm and passion. I must confess, I had my doubts about teaching a girl swordplay, but I’m glad to have such a natural talent as a pupil”.
Amelia almost fainted with happiness! Haske, a veteran soldier, thought she had the makings of a warrior. “Thank you, Haske” she said, giving him a gentle kiss on his cheek. The old warrior blushed, much to Amelia’s amusement, and said his goodbyes.
Amelia had no difficulty creeping back to bed and went to sleep happier than she had ever been in her life.
Amelia and Haske met twice a week after dark. Amelia wanted to train every day, but Haske was firm. Any more frequently than two nights a week and someone would catch on. Amelia stoically bore her disappointment.
For almost six months, Amelia learned all she could from Haske. How to use a sword, shield and spear, how to wear armour, hand to hand combat, wrestling and military tactics. Amelia picked it all up with a speed and enthusiasm that impressed Haske, so much so that one night, having been disarmed in a duel by Amelia, he had to admit that he could teach her nothing more. They nevertheless continued to meet so that Amelia honed her natural talent.
Amelia noticed that she was stronger and fitter than ever before. She had muscles and took care when she had to be the princess that she wore long sleeves to conceal them. Amelia found that she could put up with the restrictions imposed upon her as a princess as long as she could become the warrior at night.
Haske presented her with her own sword, shield and armour that he had “liberated” from the army stores and he would keep for her “This, Amelia, is a kind of passing out parade for you” he said, with respect. “You’re a real soldier. Much better than those brothers of yours. Don’t know one end of a sword from another. God help us when one of them becomes King”. Haske stomped away, tutting, leaving a happy Amelia behind him.
Chapter Three – The kingdom imperiled
Amelia continued her training in secret. Following one session, she had fallen into a particularly deep sleep and had to be awoken by her maid, Amber.
“Come on sleepyhead!” Amber muttered “The King wants to see you!”
The King? Amelia leapt out of bed and, with Amber’s help, got dressed quickly. Clad in her gown and headdress, she was admitted to the royal presence.
King Herbert, her father, lay within. He once had had a warrior’s physique and had been a famed soldier in his youth, but age and illness had seen his muscles turn to fat. The King still had a fine mind though.
Amelia lowered herself into a deep curtsey and kissed her father’s coronation ring. As etiquette required, she remained silent until her father saw fit to speak to her.
“Rise, daughter, and come sit” said the King in a frail voice. How rapidly he has aged, Amelia thought sadly. Amelia moved towards him, her petticoats rustling, and perched herself on the stool that the King had indicated.
Amelia noticed that for the first time that both of her brothers were present. Edmund was eating an apple and Egbert was staring out of the window, bored.
“My beloved children, the kingdom is imperiled. Our old foe, the king of Osland, is claiming the city of Gork for his kingdom. Our kingdom is too small and weak to resist him. If I give up Gork, I will lose fully half my kingdom!”
The King paused to allow his words to sink in. This is serious, Amelia thought.
“So” the King continued “rather than surrendering or fighting against impossible odds, I have proposed that the matter of Gork be settled by a single combat. King Sanchez has agreed to the proposal, but with one condition. He is sending his son as his champion and Sanchez has laid down the condition that our champion must be royally born and of equivalent rank”.
The King turned his head towards his sons “Edmund, Egbert, one of you must fight Prince Talam! I would fight the prince myself were I only twenty years younger and in better health, but in my present state I am unfit even to ride, much less fight such an opponent”.
Amelia was disappointed to see the look on her brothers’ faces. They were white and blanched and Edmund was so shocked that he dropped his apple.
As well they might be frightened. Amelia thought. Haske had told her of Prince Talam. He was older and more experienced as a soldier than either of her brothers and had won many duels.
If the King saw the fear on his son’s faces, he made no comment “Depart and decide between you who is to be our champion. The welfare of the kingdom depends upon you, my boys”. The boys, their faces still white, stumbled out of the room hurriedly. The King bade Amelia to stay.
“Daughter, stay with me a while. You are such a pretty girl and I like your company” said the King.
Amelia had to contain her temper. Pretty was the last thing she wanted to be right now. She knew instinctively that she would be a better representative than either of her brothers. Edmund and Egbert just weren’t up to the job. Gork was doomed.
She stayed with her father awhile, feeding him sweetments and reading to him. He patted her hand and said what a good girl she was.
Amelia was worried. The loss of Gork, and possibly one of her brothers, could well kill her father. The shame and humiliation would be too much for him.
Chapter Four – The Lady Princes
Edmund and Egbert were in their sleeping chamber, frightened out of their wits. One of them would have to go up against a veteran warrior. It was a virtual death sentence.
“You’re the eldest” said Egbert “You’ll have to do it!”
“No way!” replied Edmund “Talam will kill me in a few seconds!”
“Well, I’m not doing it!” said Egbert.
The two boys looked at each other and nodded “We’ll have to hide until all this ends. Sanchez can have Gork, for all I care” said Edmund.
“But where can we hide?” asked Egbert “Not here, that’s for sure. This will be the first place they’ll look”.
“Obviously” said Edmund. “We’re in a real hole. We can’t leave the palace, there are guards everywhere and they’ll turn the palace inside out to find us once they realize we’ve gone!”.
“What about Amber?” said Egbert.
Edmund looked at his brother in puzzlement “What about Amber?”.
“She might have an idea where to hide us” suggested Egbert.
“You’re right. Let’s go and talk to her”.
The boys found Amber in Amelia’s chamber, putting away their sister’s gowns.
“Amber, you have to help us!” Edmund pleaded “Father has handed one of us a death sentence. We have to hide!”
“But, my lord, doesn’t the kingdom rely on one of you fighting this prince Talam?”.
“We don’t care less about that” said Egbert. Amber looked shocked.
“You have to help us. There must be somewhere we can hide”.
Amber was thinking “You can’t be disguised as servants, your faces are too well known”. Then her eyes lit up “Of course! I know exactly how to hide you!”
“Where?” asked Edmund.
“With the ladies, of course! Guards cannot search ladies”. Then Amber smirked and said “Of course, for this to work, you will have to become ladies!’
Edmund and Egbert looked at each other. Become ladies? “No, you will have to think of something else!” they replied, almost in unison.
But Amber was firm “There is no other way. The ladies are the only courtiers immune from the guards. Of course, it’s up to you…” Amber began to walk away.
“Wait!” Egbert almost shouted “Alright, we’ll try it. We haven’t any choice”.
“Alright then, come along with me!”.
Edmund and Egbert trailed along after Amber as she led them to unfamiliar territory, the wing of the palace reserved for the ladies of the court.
Amber pushed open the door to a chamber and ushered the boys inside “Lady Anne is absent from court. I think her clothes should fit you. Now strip, please!”
The boys shed their jerkins, breeches and underwear hurriedly. They stood in the chamber, naked and embarrassed.
Amber looked them over “You haven’t much muscle and are quite small. I believe that this will work well and you will make pretty ladies!”
The boys blushed.
Amber took a bottle with an atomizer and perfumed the boys’ bodies with scent “Now you smell nice and feminine”.
Amber took out silk chemises and knickers and handed them to the boys.
“We don’t need to wear these things do we?”
“Yes, you do” said Amber firmly “What if you tumble over and someone sees your underwear?”
Blushing, the boys slipped into the silky lingerie. They already looked cute and more feminine, Amber decided with a smile.
Amber produced pairs of silk stockings and helped the boys put them on. The boys had great legs, legs any girl would be proud of.
Silk petticoats followed. The boys found that they could no longer see their feet, they felt their petticoats swish against their legs when they moved and heard them rustling as soon as they made any movement.
Amber pulled out some gowns and lay them on the bed “Choose which gown you’d like to wear. Edmund, I think the pink one would suit your complexion well. Green for you, I suggest, Egbert” said Amber.
The boys reluctantly picked up the gowns that Amber had suggested and Amber helped the boys put them on and up and over their petticoats. Edmund’s gown, as well as being a very girly pink, was festooned with lace and frills. Egbert’s gown was emerald green and had jewels sewn on the skirt that shimmered in the light.
The boys looked at each other in embarrassment, but this was better than getting killed.
“Sit on the bed please, boys”. The boys obeyed as best they could, encumbered as they were by their voluminous skirts. Amber proceeded to put pearl necklaces around their throats and applied cosmetics to their faces. The boys’ faces and lips were now rouged and their eyes covered in something Amber described as kohl. Finally, Amber produced elaborate headdresses that matched the gowns and fitted them to the boys’ heads. It felt very strange to the boys to have to wear such things. They had to turn their heads to see anything.
“You will have to put up your veils. Some of the ladies may recognize you otherwise”. Amber attached their trailing veils to their headdresses and the boys looked out on the world behind a gauze veil. Amber was right though. This was the perfect disguise.
“You both look very pretty!” said Amber “This will work. Now, names! Boys, pay attention. Edmund you are to be the Lady Cecily and Egbert you are to be the Lady Grace. You must remember your names and give them if anyone asks. Oh, and you’ll have to get used to being referred to as females”.
The boys nodded.
“One last thing. The curtsey. I will teach it to you. You must curtsey to anyone of higher rank than you”. Amber showed them the graceful feminine obeisance and made them practice until she was satisfied.
“Now, ladies, follow me please and I’ll take to meet your new companions”.
“Can’t we stay here” asked Edmund “I don’t want anyone seeing me like this!”.
Amber shook her head “No, your ladyship, you must be with the other ladies. You’ll be less obvious in numbers. Say as little as possible and don’t make yourself conspicuous and this will work”.
Amber took them along a corridor. The boys found it hard to move about in their wide skirts, jeweled slippers and headdress but somehow managed it.
Amber stopped outside a chamber. The door was open and the boys could see three ladies concentrating on their needlework. “Are you ready, ladies?” Amber asked.
boys reluctantly nodded. For anyone to see them dressed like this!
Amber marched into the room, curtsied to her superiors and announced “Your ladyships, we have been joined by two more ladies. Please welcome the Lady Cecily and the Lady Grace!”.
Amber turned around “Come along please, your ladyships, don’t be shy!”
The boys moved slowly into the room. The ladies present rose and curtsied to them and the boys curtsied back. As Amber was leaving the boys to their ladylike new existence, she heard Lady Margaret say to the newcomers “Come sit with us, ladies and take up your embroidery. I must say, you are both fine looking girls!”
Chapter Five – A Champion is found
The king was almost tearing what little hair he had left out of his head.
“What do you mean, gone? They must be found at once! The future of my kingdom depends on it”.
The Captain of the Guard shrugged “Sire, we have searched everywhere, even in the ladies’ quarters. They must have either been kidnapped and spirited away or they somehow got out of the palace undetected”.
“This is a disaster! A disaster, I tell you! I have no-one of my family to duel against the prince!”.
“Yes, you do sire!” came Ameila’s clear voice.
The King looked up to see his daughter, but she was not wearing her usual gown and headdress but a boy’s jerkin and breeches. Her hair had been cropped short.
“What’s the meaning of this, daughter? Why are you dressed like a boy?”.
“So I can fight, sire, for the kingdom. For you”.
“Impossible. You’re a girl. The enemy is expecting a prince to fight the duel, not a slip of a girl like you! I haven’t time for this nonsense! Leave me be girl!”.
Amelia picked up the parchment the King had received from King Sanchez containing the terms and conditions under which the duel was to be fought “I’m not leaving you yet, father. Look, King Sanchez specified that a member of the royal family had to fight the duel and that they had to be of the same rank as Talam. It does not specify that our champion has to be a male. I’m a member of the royal family and I am a princess, so I’m Talam’s equal in rank. I can fight the duel for you, father”.
“You’re a clever girl, Amelia, much cleverer than your brothers and even perhaps myself, but you’ve had no training. You can’t use a sword! You’ll be killed! I couldn’t bear that, I just couldn’t! I will have to concede Gork to King Sanchez”.
“Sire, that won’t be necessary. Look!” Amelia took out her sword from its scabbard and turned to the Captain of the Guard “Defend yourself!”
The captain protested “My lady, please..”
“Fight me, captain, that is an order!”.
The captain looked at the King. “Do as she says, Captain” instructed the King, intrigued.
The captain reluctantly drew his sword “I’ll try not to hurt you, your ladyship”.
The captain soon found that it was he who was most likely to get hurt. His opponent’s speed, skill and strength were astonishing! It took all of his skill and experience to avoid being defeated early in the contest. As it was, ten minutes later, the captain, the king’s most skilled swordsman, was lying flat on his back with Amelia’s blade at his throat.
“I yield” said the captain, embarrassed to have been beaten by a girl in front of his own men and his sovereign.
Amelia graciously helped him to his feet “Thank you, captain” and was then astounded to hear everyone in the room, including her defeated opponent and including her own father, applauding her. Amelia blushed.
The King looked at her with love and with genuine respect “That was a truly awesome display, Amelia. How did you acquire such skills?”
Amelia told him about her sessions with Sergeant Haske “He taught me all I know”.
“He has made a warrior of you! Captain, I want Sergeant Haske found and brought to me, please. He deserves reward. Between them, my daughter and the Sergeant may have just salvaged a desperate situation!”
An embarressed and awestruck Haske was brought to the King, bade to kneel and was dubbed a knight.
“Sire, I am unworthy of this honour”.
“Nonsense. You have given us our champion. But I have favour to ask of you, Sir Harry”.
Haske smiled at his new title “You have only to name it sire”.
“Good, would you accompany my daughter to the duel and act as her second?”
“Gladly, sire” Haske said, smiling at Amelia.
“Amelia. Kneel please” ordered the King.
Mystified, Amelia obeyed and was overjoyed when her father dubbed her a knight also “Arise, knight Amelia and go with our love and blessing to vanquish our enemy”.
Chapter Six – The Duel
Amelia, clad in the gold plate of the king’s champion, and accompanied by Haske, rode out to meet Prince Talam outside the palace. She was nervous, aware that there was a risk that Talam might be too good for her and kill her, but she was determined to go through with it. The King and the kingdom was relying on her.
They stopped at the Duel zone, an enclosed square. King Sanchez and Prince Talam were waiting, along with a nobleman who was to act as Talam’s second.
Amelia spoke to the King “King Sanchez, as agreed and at the appointed time, I am the King’s Champion and I am ready to fight”.
There were guffaws of laughter “But you’re a ..girl! Has your king lost his wits? Sending girls to fight for cities”.
Amelia had expected this reaction but ploughed on “I am the Champion for the King nevertheless”.
Prince Talam spat on the ground in disgust “I don’t fight girls!”
“That’s your right, of course, not to fight, but under the terms of your own letter, if you do not fight me, Gork remains my father’s by default!” said Ameila firmly.
King Sanchez and Prince Talam looked at her. A girl, she may be, but she had guts and brains in ample measure. They were impressed by her fearlessness and ability to stand her ground.
“Very well” said King Sanchez “I’m not willing to concede Gork, so fight her Talam. It should be an easy win for you in any event”.
“Father…” Prince Talam began, but his father’s expression made him silent.
“Shall we proceed your highnesses?” Amelia prompted “I don’t have all day you know!”.
That angered Talam, as Amelia had hoped “Cheeky wench! Very well, get ready for the worst pasting of your life!”
Fifteen minutes later, Talam and Amelia faced each other in the dueling square. As soon as the instruction to fight began, Talam launched a vicious attack against his opponent and was surprised to find the girl not only coping with the onslaught, but counter-attacking and forcing him on the defensive. He had to admit that the girl was as good as, if not better, at swordplay than himself. The two opponents fought for a solid half hour and became weary.
Amelia found the weight of her armour oppressive and was flagging. The energy seemed to be sucking out of her and it was all she could do to defend herself. There was another blow and Amelia went sprawling to the ground. She couldn’t move, let alone get up. She expected to feel the blade of her opponent at her throat and her life ended. I’m sorry, Father, she thought. I have failed you.
To her surprise, the feel of cold steel did not come. She looked up to see Talam just standing there, looking at her.
“Well, come on then, finish me off!” Amelia shouted at him.
Talam responded by throwing his sword to the ground and calling for help to get Ameila on her feet. Talam removed her helmet and gave her water. Amelia felt herself being lifted up.
Talam turned to his father, who was dumbstruck at what he was seeing.
“Talam! Explain yourself!”
“I concede” said Talam simply “this girl is the finest opponent I have ever dueled with. She has earned my unstinting respect. I will not end her life just for a city”.
The King swore and shouted at his son, calling him a fool, but Talam simply walked off the field.
“Your highness” said Amelia, now feeling much better “I believe that under the terms of the contest, Gork is undisputedly part of my father’s kingdom”.
King Sanchez reluctantly nodded, turned his horse around and rode away, eager to leave.
There were cheers from the spectators for the winner and champion, Amelia.
Chapter Six – The Hero returns
The King was overjoyed to see his daughter alive and gave her a tremendous hug “Thank the gods you are alive!” he said, which made Amelia happy.
Amelia related to her father what had happened in detail. “This Prince Talam, it seems, is a man of great honour. He could have killed you and won the city for his father. I am glad he did not”.
“As am I, father. I found myself liking him. He was a formidable opponent”.
There was a commotion outside the chamber and the Captain of the Guard rushed in “Sire, we have found the princes and arrested them, as you ordered”.
“Where were they?” asked the King.
“Perhaps, sire, you had better see for yourself. Bring the prisoners in!”
Amelia was astonished to see what appeared to be two ladies being led into the chamber. Their veils had been removed to show their painted faces. They looked oddly pretty and feminine and their skirts rustled as they moved. Amelia had to stop herself from bursting out laughing.
“As you can see, sire, their lordships disguised themselves as ladies and hid amongst the women. A very convincing disguise, if I may say so, sire. We only found them when your daughter’s maid tipped us off”.
The King looked at his sons in disbelief and disgust “You sirs, dare to shirk your duty to defend this kingdom and place my kingdom in jeopardy? This is outrageous! My sons are revealed to be cowardly and weaklings whilst my daughter risks her life for me and my kingdom? You have earned my contempt”.
The feminine figures remained silent, their heads down.
“Well, you will be punished for your dereliction. For one thing, I think it is clear which of my children deserves to succeed me. Princess Amelia, I name you my heir apparent! I can think of no one more worthy to succeed to the throne”.
Amelia was taken aback “Oh, father!....thank you!”
“You have earned it. I am so proud of you!” the King turned to his sons “As for you two, I will decide your punishment later. Captain, take them back to their quarters”.
There was another commotion as a messenger rushed in, bowed, and delivered a letter to the King.The King opened it and his eyebrows rose as he digested the contents. He turned to Amelia.”
“Amelia, Prince Talam has asked for your hand in marriage”.
Amelia was stunned.
“This is a significant development” continued the King “You are the heir to my kingdom, not that Talam would have been aware of that when he wrote this, and he is the heir to his father. Our kingdoms would be united. What do you think?”
Amelia was astonished by the question. She was a royal daughter and owed obedience to her sovereign. If her father told her she was to marry someone, she would have to obey him. Her father was according her respect by asking her what she wanted and that he valued her opinion. Amelia felt giddy with pleasure, but she knew what her answer would be.
“I think, father, that I will accept!” Amelia answered without hesitation. A future with another warrior and a man who respected her was very appealing.
A day later, Amelia was practising with Haske in the courtyard. She had adopted male clothing and had complete freedom of action. Her father would not deny her anything. A banquet would be held to celebrate the engagement of herself and Talam and Talam himself would be attending. Amelia was greatly looking forward to meeting him.
From a window in the tower, two painted and veiled faces gazed with envy at the girl in the courtyard, inhibited by their tight gowns, stockings, voluminous skirts and petticoats and the headdress that made their heads warm and obscured their vision. They were conscious all of the time of their silk chemise and knickers that they had to wear beneath their dresses and petticoats. Their ears had been pierced on the instruction of their father and heavy pearl earrings now hung from their lobes. Their fingers ached from hours of needlework and embroidery and their bodies gave off a sweet fragrance of rose.
They lived in a chamber decorated for a lady and their father had spent heavily to purchase for them pretty gowns, undergarments and jewellery. They spent all day, every day, under the supervision of a tyrant, Lady Margaret, who had absolute authority over them and chided them constantly. They had to answer to their feminine names and were treated just like any lady.
If that was not shameful enough, Lady Cecily and Lady Grace had to attend the banquet being held in honour of their sister. Expensive gowns with huge skirts had been made for them, with a mass of silken petticoats and a heavy headdress. They were not going as guests though. They would have to wait upon their sister and even curtsey to her. Worst of all, they would have to appear in public, gowned and petticoated and painted. Everyone present knew exactly who the Lady Cecily and the Lady Grace were, and the shame would be unbearable.
Their father had decreed that their punishment would be, fittingly, to live in the disguises that they had used to shirk their duties for a whole year! A whole year!
They had been forced to live as ladies for almost two days now and they could already sense that having to wear female clothing and underwear had an effect on the wearer’s mind and instincts. They were already becoming more feminine and ladylike. Goodness only knows what they would be like when they were finally released from the bonds of femininity!
“Lady Cecily! Lady Grace!” Lady Margaret snapped “be good girls and attend to your embroidery please!”
“Yes, Lady Margaret” Edmund and Egbert replied dully, thinking of their future with horror.