The Wife - 2011

Errmm.....I'm not sure where to begin with this. It is such a strange tale, but one that is, I suspect, increasingly happening to men everywhere nowadays.

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.