In Her Shoes - Chapter Ten - All Maid Up

I looked down at my toes and saw ten beautifully manicured digits, each coated in a shiny pink gloss. They looked very pretty, I decided. I was quite proud of the fact that the transformation of my toes was all my own work.

I hurriedly dressed up in my skirt, blouse, stockings and high heels, fixed my hair and make up and grabbed my coat and handbag and left my girlfriend asleep in her bed.

I had dressed as a woman for only a week now, but I was amazed that already the beauty routines of womanhood were becoming not only easier for me with practice, but also felt natural. I was beginning to do things, like shave my legs and paint my nails, without even thinking about it.

I was no longer as self-conscious or embarassed about going out dressed as I was. Where once, I kept my head down, now I held my head high and strode with confidence in the street, no longer caring about the looks I got from others.

I arrived at the office. My colleagues now no longer gave me a second glance. They were used to the new feminine version of myself. One of the girls even stopped me on the way to my desk and complimented me on my new nail varnish.

Pleased as I was at being complimented on my presentation, which had been an issue in the early days as I was completely new to the feminine culture, I had a lot to do today and so ended the chat as quickly as possible.

On the last leg of my journey, I marvelled at both how quickly I, a genetic male brought up to be masculine, had adapted to womanhood and how quickly others accepted me in my new persona.

When I had left the previous evening, I had left my desk tidy and free of any clutter. It still was that way, except for a pink envelope that had been propped up against the monitor of my computer terminal.

After divesting myself of my coat and handbag, I picked up the envelope and opened it up. I had guessed that it would have been an invitation. I had initially suspected it was an invitation to attend the wedding of one of my colleagues, Carol, who had proposed to her boyfriend a few weeks earlier.

But my pencil thin eyebrows were raised markedly by what I read. Carol was inviting me to her Hen Party. Living as a woman was one thing, but attending an event for real females only was another matter. I couldn't possibly attend, I decided. I put the invitation aside for now, for I had features to write for the women's feature of the paper.

For the next few hours, I was absorbed by fashion, beauty tips and celebrity gossip. It was far harder work to come up with ideas than my old job as a political correspondent, where the news just happened for you and you wrote a commentary on it.

It took me until lunch time to write and check over my contribution. The Editor hadn't been overly happy with my last effort and I had had to spend a lot of time doing re-writes, so I was determined to give it my all. Finally, I e-mailed my work over to the Editor and went to lunch.

In the staff canteen, I grabbed a salad and a mineral water. When in my male persona, I'd often go out to lunch and have enormous meals. In keeping with my new persona, I ate little.

I'd no sooner sat down and picked up my fork to stab at a piece of lettuce when the canteen was filled with the sound of female voices and laughter. Suddenly, a dozen women entered the canteen, talking loudly and giggling as they selected their fare. I saw that Carol was amongst them. I also saw Chloe and Fiona, the two minxes that had got me into experimenting with life as a woman.

I wondered if now would be a good time to break the news to Carol that I couldn't attend her Hen Party. I felt low as I realised that it was not a case of couldn't, but wouldn't attend. I racked my brain for a suitable excuse.

My train of thought was interupted by Carol's loud voice "Oh look, it's Leo!"

"Don't you mean Leonora?" Fiona reminded her.

Carol waved Fiona's comment aside "Let's go and sit with her!"

To my consternation, all twelve women made their way towards me and sat around me. I was suddenly in the midst of chatty, giggly women. I wasn't used to this sort of thing at all and felt uncomfortable. My instincts told me to make an excuse and go, but it would have been rude and anyway, I had barely touched my food.

"How's it going on the women's features, Leo?" Chloe asked me. I gave a non-committal response. I wondered if the Editor would like my latest offering or tear it to shreds, like last time.

Carol, a lady almost as tall as I was and who had similar proportions, was clearly annoyed at Chloe deflecting the conversation away from her favourite topic currently, her Hen Party.

"Leo's got it under control Chloe" Carol said waspishly. Chloe took the hint and retreated into silence. Carol looked at me directly "Did you get the invitation, Leo?" she asked me. I had been dreading this moment, but I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Carol.....I don't think I can make it. Sorry" I said in a small voice.

Carol looked like I had just slapped her across the face. Hard. Recovering rapidly, her face hardened and she said "Why can't you make it?" she asked forcefully. I realised then that I was dealing with a formidably determined woman. Carol was the undisputed leader of her group of friends, she had proposed to her husband-to-be and by all accounts she wore the trousers in their relationship. Now I began to see why and I knew that I would need to come up with a watertight excuse. Nothing less than the death of a close family member would do.

I racked my brain for a suitable excuse and of course came up empty. Defeated, I had to say "I was going to meet an old friend to play golf that weekend". I instantly cursed myself for coming up with such a feeble excuse.

"Golf? Surely you can call this friend and re-schedule!" The other women nodded in agreement. Of course, in the face of this female solidarity, I had no choice but to agree to re-schedule the fictitious golf match and accept the invitation to the Hen Party. Carol was beaming in triumph at having got her way.

Later that day, my work on cake recipes was interupted by an incoming e-mail from Carol entitled "Carol's Hen Party". I opened it up to find detailed information and plans for the Hen Party. It was being held next weekend in Brighton. Carol had booked hotel rooms for us and organised a mini bus to take us there and back. There was an intineray with the names of pubs and clubs which meant nothing to me.

I flushed slightly when I saw the theme for the weekend: French Maids. I would have to spend the weekend dressed as a French Maid! I was already regretting agreeing to go, but reflected that I hadn't been given much choice in the matter.

Women, as I was beginning to discover, always got their way.