Amy and Antony - Part Two

One Year Later.

Amy Adams, now aged thirteen, walked to school proudly. Her mother had presented her with her first bra, which Amy now wore underneath her school uniform. "My little girl, almost a woman!" had been her mother's words when Amy had slipped the bra on in her mother's room. The words had filled her with pride. To be a woman was the highest ideal in Amy's young life.

The training bra was a plain garment, with no feminine frills or adornments whatsoever, but at that moment it was the finest thing she had ever worn! Almost a woman!

The other girls in her year were also developing from girlhood towards womanhood. Whereas the talk had once been about school and lessons, now it was about bras and periods and, of course, boys.

Amy flushed at the thought of boys and doing....things....with boys. Yet she was intrigued and fascinated with the idea of one day coupling with a boy.

But, the boys of her year, especially that Barry Brooks, were still immature and obnoxious. Barry, now noticeably bigger and more powerfully built, was worse than ever, bullying poor Antony Starling and disregarding the rules.

Antony Starling, a small and gentle boy who seemed not to have grown at all in the past year as one would expect, was the only boy who interested Amy.

Amy caught up with her group of friends and they made their way into class together. Double math on a Monday morning. It was a good thing that math was one of Amy's strongest subjects. Added to that was that Barry Brooks and his mates were too thick to do even simple sums, let alone the complex equations that confronted Amy as she opened up her workbook, and so they were in remedial class whilst Amy was in the most advanced class, mainly populated by girls. Antony and one other boy were the only boys in the class of fifteen. Out of the corner of one eye, Amy watched Antony mentally wrestle with an equation.

Not for the first time, Amy thought, Antony was more like a girl than a boy. This intrigued her.

Amy forced herself back to her work. She was soon absorbed in the world of mathematics and the time passed quickly. Before she could complete the last exercise in the workbook, the teacher announced that class was over. Amy was disappointed. She packed her things away, ready to move on to her next class. History. Amy inwardly groaned as she remembered that Barry and his mates would be in the class. She would be lucky to get any work done.

But the teacher announced that the next class was cancelled. All pupils were to attend a special assembly. Puzzled, Amy made her way to the assembly hall.

The pupils sat, bewildered. Never before had a class been cancelled in favour of an assembly. Assemblies were held mid-week and little of note was ever announced there.

Mr Briggs, the Headteacher, shuffled out onto the stage. Amy noticed for the first time that he looked even older than usual. He seemed to have aged a decade in the space of a year. In his day, he had been a good teacher and headteacher, but due to his age and diminishing faculties he had become more lax and ineffectual. He had been quite unable to handle Barry Brooks.

In the slight stutter that he had had since childhood, Mr Briggs announced that, after almost thirty years in the teaching profession, he was taking early retirement. Today would be his last day. The Deputy Headteacher, Mr Tomms, presented him with a gold watch and the audience politely applauded.

Thanking everyone for his gift, Mr Briggs came to the announcement of who his successor was to be. Amy and everyone else present had assumed that it had to be Mr Tomms. However, Mr Tomms was only five years younger than the outgoing Headteacher and he was already becoming easily tired by his teaching duties.

Raising his voice to a level more like the days when he had been in his prime, Mr Briggs announced that his successor was to be....Dr Amelia Craig. Dr Amelia Craig came out from the shadows. She was at least fifteen years younger than her predecessor. She wore her hair cropped short and wore trousers, a plain blouse and a jacket. Her face looked strong and severe. Not someone you'd ever want to cross, was Amy's initial thought.

Amy spotted Barry, who was sitting two rows ahead of her, and his reaction. He'd not anticipated that Briggs would retire (although he had undoubtedly helped contribute to the decision) nor that Briggs successor would not be anyone other than Mr Tomms, who he could have managed as easily as Mr Briggs. His brow was furrowed with consternation that his new adversary was a woman, and a formidable looking one at that.

Dr Craig gave a short speech praising the work that the outgoing Headteacher had done in his thirty years service in general, and for the school in particular. Then, her tone becoming graver, said that in spite of Mr Briggs' contribution, there was much work to be done to raise the profile of the school to the level of excellence that all schools should aspire to attain and that she meant to do it. In spite of whatever obstacles that stood in her way. These would be overcome.

Amy noted that Dr Craig seemed to look directly at Barry Brooks as she uttered those last words so forcibly. Amy looked at Barry and saw that he looked rattled and uneasy. Good, Amy thought, remembering the times he had mercilessly tormented poor gentle Antony Starling.

For the next few weeks, Barry and his cronies played by the rules. To the surprise of Amy and the teachers, there was not the usual disruptive antics. Barry was trying to gauge what he could get away with under the new regime and get the measure of the new Headteacher.

But, when it came to Antony Starling, the despised sissy, Barry's self control slipped. Antony, for him, was an affront to conventional masculinity. A boy actually volunteering to do Home Economics! A boy who was so meek and docile!

Barry and his mates dragged Antony into the boys' toilets and made him put on a girls' skirt that they had filched from the girls' changing rooms, and confiscated his trousers. They pushed him out of the toilet block in his skirt to be ridiculed by the other students.

Amy saw him, almost clutching the walls for support, and raced towards him, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Antony gave her a weak smile in gratitude.

Barry, seeing what was happening, became incensed and advanced towards Amy. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, raising a fist. Amy closed her eyes, waiting for the impact. Barry was a powerfully built boy. He could do some serious damage. But...it would be worth it, to protect poor vulnerable Antony.

But instead of the impact of the blow penetrating her senses, it was the sound of a voice. A strong, powerful female voice.

"Brooks! Don't you dare to even think about striking that girl!"

Amy opened her eyes to see Barry lowering his fist in confusion and Dr Craig in complete command of the situation.

Dr Craig spoke "Brooks, Starling and Adams, you will follow me to my office!"

The three pupils, Barry included, meekly followed the Headteacher to her office. Over the next hour, Dr Craig extracted the truth from Antony about how Antony had ended up dressed as he was. But Barry held out.

Amy had had least to do with the whole episode and was treated as if she was almost incidental. But at least she had the chance to observe that in spite of Dr Craig's diminuitive stature, it was Barry's nerve that was crumbling. But he was still defiant. That is, until, Dr Craig produced a cane and threatened to use it on Barry's bottom unless he confessed.

"But...but....you aren't allowed to use a cane on me!" said Barry.

Dr Craig smirked at him "Oh, you silly boy. Of course I can! Canes haven't been banned. It's only because Mr Briggs refused to use one that you have been spared until now. If he had only worked out that but for his absurd principle he would still be Headteacher today and greatly
admired by staff and pupils alike...but, it has fallen to me to adminster your just punishment!"

Barry's face went white and he sank to his knees "Please Miss! Anything but the cane!"

Amy was amused to see the all powerful bully's arrogance and aggression evaporate in an instant and for him to become a cringing wretch.

Dr Craig's eyes narrowed "Anything but the cane. Anything?" she demanded.

"Yes Miss!"

Dr Craig lowered her cane, much to the relief of Barry. "Very well, Brooks. I will decide on an alternative punishment for you at my leisure. You are all dismissed!" she said imperiously.

Amy wondered what the "alternative punishment" might be, but she had more important matters on her mind. She turned to Antony, still clad in a girls' skirt.

"Are you OK" she asked him.

Antony nodded.

"Good. Now, let's see about getting you your trousers back!"

Antony smiled in gratitude.

The following day, Amy and Antony (restored to trousers) attended English class. The atmosphere was quiet due to the conspicuous absence of Barry Brooks. His usually rowdy mates sat in a confused silence, unsure what to do

The teacher took the rota, as always. Amy noticed that Barry Brooks' name was not mentioned and she wondered about that. Once the rota was done, the classroom door opened and Dr Craig strode through with an air of confidence and announced.

"Pupils of our great school! Owing to his unacceptable behaviour, I have decided to punish Barry Brooks in a fitting manner, as you will see for yourselves. Brooks! Get yourself in here right now!"

Amy, and everyone else in the classroom, burst into peels of laughter at the sight of the once great Barry Brooks, as he edged slowly into the room.

For he was dressed in a shiny pale pink babies' dress. He was clearly wearing a diaper over which a pair of white frilly knickers had been placed. The skirt of his dress was far too short to cover up his knickers, so they were on display. He wore a pair of cute booties and mittens, a pink, beribboned babies' bonnet and he had a pink dummy in his mouth.

His face was a picture to behold.

Amy - and Antony - marvelled at the transformation at the hands of Dr Craig of an incorrigible bully into a baby girl and shown off as such!

Amy and Antony - Part One

Amy Adams, aged twelve, rolled her bright blue eyes in despair.

The Home Economics class was in chaos. Lumps of sticky dough adhered to work surfaces, appliances, other pupils and even to the teacher, Miss Appleby, who in vain tried to restore order.

Pots and pans were strewn about and ingredients had been trampled into the floor and there was a thick cloud of flour. Amy realised with disgust that she, like everyone else in that room, was covered from head to foot with flour. Her mum would be furious with her.

It was all the boys' fault, of course. With one exception, the boys usually did wood work. However, the boys couldn't do wood work because the school had hired an electrician to replace the ancient wiring that had been there since Amy's grandparents had attended this school. So, for the next month, the boys had to do Home Ec alongside the girls.

The boys, led by the obnoxious Barry Brooks, had pooh-poohed the idea of them doing girls' stuff like baking and cooking. They had reluctantly put on their aprons and sanitary gloves. So far, so good. But then the boys, led by Barry, had started a food fight.

They were standing about, laughing their heads off, as Miss Appleby gave Barry a ticking off. Barry smirked at her, as he did with all teachers who tried to discipline him. Miss Appleby ordered the boys to clear up the mess they had made. Led by Barry, the boys took off their aprons and gloves, threw them on the floor and left.

Miss Appleby, usually a calm and softly spoken woman, shouted after them, threatening dire retribution. All of the girls, and one other person, shrugged and pitched in to help Miss Appleby restore the kitchen to its former pristine condition.

As Amy peeled off the dough in disgust, she glanced at the only boy who had remained. Antony Starling was like no other boy Amy had ever met. He was small for a twelve year old boy and had a delicate build and features. He was also gentle and placid for a boy. Unlike the other boys, he did not do woodwork, or cheek the teachers and girl pupils. He had signed up for Home Ec, the only boy amongst girls, yet not standing out in any way at all.

The other boys despised him, of course. They called him the usual sissie and girly-boy names that all boys applied to a boy who wouldn't conform to what they considered traditional masculinity. Then Barry had come up with a new name for him. Toni. In one class, when the teacher had been called away and Antony was left at the mercy of the merciless Barry, Barry had made him write on the blackboard "I'm a sissy and my name is Toni", over and over again, to the great amusement of the boys.

But, instead of blubbing or falling apart, Antony had stoically and compliantly did as he was told and returned to his desk, his head held high. In spite of his effeminate nature, Antony had some steel in him, Amy noted.

Antony caught her glance and gave her one of his sweet smiles. Amy flushed and looked away. Like all girls at that age, she was still shy amongst boys. Even a boy like Antony.

The mess was all cleared up, earning Antony and the girls the effusive thanks of Miss Appleby. Miss Appleby removed her own apron and went marching off in the direction of the Headteacher's office to report what Barry and his loutish friends had done. It would do no good, Amy knew. Barry was summoned to the Headteacher's office at least once a week. He had been given detention, extra homework lines and litter picking duties. But Barry simply didn't bother to show up for his punishment.

The Headteacher, a kindly old man called Mr Briggs, had even tried talking to Barry's parents about his behaviour. Barry's father, who had been on benefits since before Barry had been born and who spent most of his time either in the bookies or in the pub, had shrugged and slammed the door in Mr Briggs' face. Barry's long suffering mother, who worked all hours in a nursing home as well as looking after her own sick mother, was too tired and worn out to even notice her son's aberrant actions.

So Barry was at liberty to flout the rules and cause chaos and mayhem in every class. And did so.

On the following day, Amy and some of her friends were walking along the edge of the sportsfield. Barry Brooks was leading out the boys in their football gear. PE was about the only subject that Barry took remotely seriously.

The PE Teacher, Mr Cooke, looked the boys over and then a frown creased his rugged features. "Where's Starling?" he asked the other boys. For some reason, the boys were doubled up with laughter.

Fuming, Mr Cooke shouted "Starling! Get out here right now".

Antony timidly sidled out of the boys' changing area. He was wearing a girls' short PE skirt and looking embarressed, as well he might.

Amy's heart went out to him. The poor boy! Barry and his cronies must have made him wear a skirt to publicly humiliate him!

Mr Cooke of course shouted at him, asked him what the hell he was playing at. Antony, of course, wouldn't dare tell the truth. If he thought his life was hard at the moment, thanks to Barry, it would be a million times worse if he split on Barry. Antony disappeared to change into something more appropriate and emerged a few minutes later in shorts.

Mr Cooke glared at him "Right lads, now that comedy hour is over, lets play some football!"

Amy watched as the other boys pushed, shoved and elbowed Antony as he tried to join in the match. Antony was hopeless at sports, that much was obvious, but he didn't deserve to be so badly abused. Amy watched him limp off the field at the end of the match, muddy and covered with bruises. But, remarkably, he walked with his head held high.

Like a Princess, Amy thought. Like a Princess? Why would I give him that label? Amy was greatly puzzled by her own thoughts.

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.

In Her Shoes - Chapter Nine - Knicker Power

Disappointed to find that my girlfriend was not home, I decided to have a bath and then went to bed. After such a tiring day, I fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

I was suddenly and rudely awakened by the sound of the front door of my flat crashing open and by the sounds of loud, female voices, laughing and giggling. Momentarily disorientated as a result of my disrupted slumber, it took me a few seconds to realise that Milly had come home and that she had brought a friend with her.

I looked at the alarm clock on my bedside table. It read 3.03 am. It was practically the middle of the night! Confusion turned to a surge of anger. I pulled my silk bedsheets aside and got out of bed, set on giving my inconsiderate girlfriend a piece of my mind.

I stomped out of the bedroom and into the living room where Milly and another woman had sprawled themselves on the sofa. They looked very drunk. Before I could even open my mouth to speak, the women collapsed into a fit of laughter.

With horror, I knew it was my appearance that was the cause of the hilarity. I was dressed in a pink nightdress with lots of frilly bits, with matching pink fluffy slippers. My bare legs were hairless and I had tied my long hair up with a pink ribbon.

I wore what a woman might wear when she retired for the night, but I was still obviously a man. With my height, build and faint traces of stubble on my chin, I could hardly pass for anything else.

When the women had stopped laughing, after a good few minutes, at my expense, Milly, in a slurred voice introduced me to her friend, Sadie. Sadie looked at me curiously.

"Oh, he's doing some thing for the paper he works for. Living as a woman for a month!" Milly told her.

Sadie's lipsticked mouth dropped open "Goodness! How many days has he done so far?"

"This is only his third day".

"You wouldn't think so to look at him! Cute nightdress and slippers and his hair all tied up in a sweet little ribbon! He looks like he's been doing it for a while!"

"He's a quick study, my Leo!" said Milly, with a hint of pride "He can already get himself ready for work without my help. Not that I gave him much choice! He can do his own make up and he is good around the house. In fact, he can demonstrate for us now! Leo! Be a darling and cook us up a snack will you?"

I was ready to object, but thought again. I couldn't argue Milly with a guest in the house, even if she was Milly's guest. But I was still angry at being woken up and angrier still with being talked about as if I wasn't in the same room. Besides, some food would help the girls sober up, so I stomped off to the kitchen, donned my pinny and cooked up omlette and chips.

I served up my food to the ladies, who each took a mouthful. "Hmmm....not bad" said Sadie. "You have got him well trained!" After the ladies had cleared their plates, they passed them to me. "Be a good girl and wash these up!" Milly ordered me.

Fuming at being treated like a maidservant, I stomped off into the kitchen and washed up. So, this was what it was like when one became a girl. Put upon, ignored most of the time and expected to wait on others. When I had finished, I went back to the living room to find it empty.

To my consternation, I heard noise from my own bedroom. The women had gone exploring in there. I rushed in to find a disturbing, and for me, deeply humiliating scene. Milly and Sadie were going through my underwear drawer. Milly had pulled out a pair of pink ruffled knickers and was showing them to Sadie, who was in hysterics.

"He actually wears these?"

"Of course. He's now a girl, so he has to wear girl underwear!" Milly noticed me for the first time. "Oh, hello! Don't mind us, we're just taking a look at your knicker drawer!" The women collapsed in hysterics at the idea of a six foot plus man having such a thing as a knicker drawer.

I blushed underneath my make up at this latest humilation. But I was as angry and indignant as a real woman would be when she found other people invading the drawer containing her most intimate apparel. I snatched the ruffled knickers from Milly's hands. Milly jumped back, startled. She knew she had overstepped the mark. I put the knickers back where they had come from and closed the drawer shut with a bang.

"I think your friend should leave now" I suggested "I'll call her a cab".

The women looked suitably subdued as I left. I summoned a taxi and it collected Sadie and took her home. Milly looked sheepish "I'm sorry about going through your kni...underwear drawer. It's the drink...and your unusual situation".

Mollified by the apology, I allowed her to kiss me before she went to bed. I looked down at my nightdress and remembered that I wore a pair of virginal white satin knickers, well trimmed with lace, underneath it. It was curious, but it gave me a strange sense of power that only I knew what I wore underneath my outer feminine clothing. A secret that was mine and mine alone, unless I chose to reveal it. Others could only guess at what colour my underwear was, or what style, or whether it had frills, ruffles, lace and ribbon frivolities upon it.

Oddly, when I thought of my knickers, it gave me a surge of power and confidence.

In Her Shoes - Chapter Eight - Her First Pinny

After the fiasco at the press conference, I was upset and angry with myself and I went straight home. My mind was so pre-occupied with my humiliation that I scarcely noticed the looks other people were giving me. I was relieved when I got inside the flat and was able to shut the rest of the world out.

I heard the sound of the television from the living room. Good, I thought. That meant Milly was home. She could cook me a meal and I could take the weight off my feet. After taking off my coat and dumping my handbag, I walked into the living room.

Milly was curled up on the sofa, clad in her dressing gown, watching the television. After exchanging accounts of our day, I waited expectantly for Milly to offer to cook me a meal, but she made no sign of budging. In fact, she turned to me and said that I should cook her something.

I opened my mouth to object and then closed it again. Dressed as I was, I could hardly refuse and besides it would be a good experience for me. I went into the kitchen.

"Put your pinny on over your clothes!" Milly yelled from the living room.

I was bewildered. I didn't have a pinny! Then I found a bag on the kitchen table. Inside it was a flower patterned pinafore, edged with lace. It still had the price tag attached and I could see that it had been quite expensive.

I wasn't at all keen on wearing this overly feminine garment. But Milly was right. It would protect my work clothes. After removing the price tags I slipped it on and did it up. It was over the top and altogether too feminine but it had a strange, calming effect on me. The cares of the working day were over. All I had to do was cook my girlfriend a meal.

Since my university days, I had nearly always had a girlfriend to cook for me. When I was in between girlfriends, I ate out. My cooking skills were rusty to say the least, but I had a go. I cooked a risotto. It smelt lovely. I served it up to Milly whilst still wearing my pinny.

Milly smirked and told me I looked lovely in my pinny and that the food wasn't bad either. I took a dainty spoonful of my food and it did taste good. After a disastrous day at work, it was a great confidence boost to get something right.

When she had finished her meal, Milly gave me a kiss and thanked me. I felt a little quiver of pleasure at this approval. However, I had been given a glimpse of the inequities that still existed between the sexes. Even though I had been at work all day and even though I earned more than Milly, as a woman, I was expected to fill the traditional female role and cook.

I took off my pinny and we watched television together. Eventually, weariness overwhelmed me and I had to retire to bed.

I was abruptly awoken by my alarm clock. I groaned and grumpily got out of bed. I looked about for Milly to help me get ready for work but she was still in bed. I timidly tapped on the door and asked her if she could help me.

Her answer was no. She was having a lie in. It was high time I got ready for work on my own. Confused and uncertain, I showered and shaved my legs and armpits. I put scent on my hairless body and dressed in the same outfit I had worn yesterday. I brushed my hair and put my make up on. I felt foolish and ashamed at having to do all of these feminine activities.

I gathered my coat and handbag and went into work, ignoring the looks, sniggers and giggles of others. I was just reviewing my e-mails, when Chloe Bright, one of my colleagues, approached me. When she saw my face, her eyes widened. Then she became grave and asked me if I had done my make up myself, because, frankly, I looked bloody awful. I confessed that I had.

Chloe took my hand and gently pulled me off in the direction of the ladies. She wiped off my feeble effort and gave me a crash course in make up. She wiped off her own work, which was far better than my own, and made me make myself up. Within half an hour, my face was as well made up as it could be, and by my own hand.

When I got back to my desk, I was summoned to the editor's office. I was apprehensive, remembering the disaster of the day before and cringing. Ms Carruthers was not happy with me and felt it was not appropriate for me to continue to represent the newspaper in such a high profile role. She had decided that Chloe and I should switch roles. Chloe to cover politics and I to cover the womens' column.

I objected, but was overruled. The newspaper could not risk another embaressing episode, in front of the Prime Minister no less, just because a reporter couldn't remember to close her handbag.

I stumbled out of the editor's office, upset, but knowing that I had only myself to blame. Chloe stopped by to brief me on her role and I had to do the same with her. After Chloe had left, I looked despondently at my brief. I would be giving women advice on how to make flans, what was hot in fashion currently and talking about womens' issues. It was a far cry from the world of high politics.

When I got home, I took off my coat and dumped my handbag and slipped into my pinny. I immediately felt calmer and happier. Milly had left a note saying that she was out with girlfriends and that I shouldn't wait up for her.

I sat down, still wearing that ridiculous pinny, all alone. I was getting some idea what it was like to be the woman. Left at home whilst my significant other was out enjoying themselves with their friends.

In Her Shoes - Chapter Seven - Working Girl

Feeling dreadfully self-conscious and foolish, I bravely put one high heeled foot forward and began my journey to work. Normally, I would have driven, but that was out of the question whilst wearing high heels.

Besides, I should experience using public transport as a woman. I lumbered along in my heels. The journey to the tube station was only a few minutes away, but it seemed to take ages. As I passed other people, there were sniggers and wolf whistles when they realised what I was, and I would be deeply ashamed of my feminine condition.

I made it to the tube station and purchased a ticket from a machine. Then I encountered three sets of stairs that I found difficult to negotiate when wearing high heels and carrying a handbag. The whole business was totally alien to me.

Then I was on the tube. The tube was packed and I had to stand, clutching a pole with one hand and my handbag with the other. I was conscious of the fact that I was drawing a lot of attention. The most obvious feature that made me stand out was my height, but I had to admit that other aspects of my appearance such as my stockinged legs, my bottom surrounded by a tight skirt and my made up face contributed to the amount of attention I was getting.

I went red when I saw people staring at me, and then turning their heads away with amusement. Never had I felt more vulnerable and ridiculous in my life.

Mercifully, the tube ride was a short one and I got out and joined the mass of people busily making their way around the capital and walked the short distance to the offices of my newspaper.

This would be the really difficult part. Walking into the office fully dressed as a woman in front of people who had known me for years. My colleagues knew I was doing this, but it didn't make the apprehension and fear any easier.

Timidly, I stepped inside and flashed my security pass at the receptionist and rode the lift to my floor. The office was busy, as always, and I was relieved to see that most of my colleagues were busy on the phones or out and about getting stories. I went to my desk, took off my coat and put my handbag on the desk. I wasn't sure what to do with it. What did women do with their handbags?

I left it where it was for now and tried to concentrate on my work, but I only managed to read a few of my e-mails when I realised that I had drawn a crowd. I turned to see five of my colleagues with amused looks on their faces. Two of the women in the group were giggling. They told me that I looked amazing and how brave I was before leaving me be. Throughout the day, others would stop to check me out and offer compliments on my appearance.

I was summoned to the office of my editor. Ms Carruthers said she was stunned by the transformation and what a lovely woman I made, which caused me to colour up for what man wants to be complimented for being womanly? Then, getting down to business, she told me that I had a photo shoot to attend later that morning. They needed pictures of "Leonora" to go in the paper once this article had been written.

As a journalist, I saw the sense in this, but as a man now dressed up as a woman, I was uncomfortable with it, but could not say so. I went back to my desk, made a few calls and answered a few e-mails.

Then it was time for the photo shoot. One of the staff photographers got me to stand holding my handbag with both hands. Then he snapped me sitting at my desk. Then he got me to lie on my desk, simulating a sexy pose and showing off more than I wanted to. Throughout the whole process I felt incredibly vulnerable and as if I was a piece of meat to be eyed up. I was getting a taste of exactly how the media objectified women and I didn't like it.

The photographer left after giving me a friendly pat on the rump and said I had been a "good girl". I was mortified to have my bottom slapped. I had a good mind to report the man for sexist behaviour before remembering that I had behaved in a similar way to women myself before I had ended up becoming one myself.

For now, I had to concentrate on my work. I had to attend a press conference being given by the Prime Minister in an hour and I needed to get some lunch. I walked to the staff cafeteria, carting that handbag thing along with me. I ordered a plate of fish and chips and sat down on my own to eat it. After the morning I had had and how I felt, I did not feel like company. As I shovelled food into my mouth I became aware that I was drawing stares from everyone around me and I realised that I was still eating like a man. I forced myself to cut my food into small pieces and daintily eat them. Some of the women present gave me approving looks.

When I had finished, I marched out and into a place which until now was a forbidden zone to me. The Ladies Toilets. Expecting to find flowery wallpaper or the walls painted pink, I was surprised to find that except for the absence of urinals and any member of the male gender, the place was little different from the mens. I checked out my make up and decided that it would probably do.

I went to the conference and joined the other journalists seated in front of a podium where the Prime Minister was due to give his address. I had to root about in my handbag for my pad and paper and my recorder, a time consuming experience. I got more amused glances from everyone present.

The Prime Minister emerged and gave an address on his administration's new policy on health and social services. There was little new or novel about it, so I wrote little. A woman journalist who had arrived late tried to squeeze her way behind me to get past. I obligingly moved my chair forward to help her and, to my horror, my handbag, that had been resting on my knees, toppled forward. I had forgotten to close it and so my lipsticks and other cosmetics poured out, making an ungodly noise.

Everyone, including the Prime Minister himself, turned towards me and I wished the ground would open and swallow me up. The women collapsed in giggles at my predicament. Blushing furiously, I had to get down on my hands and knees and retrieve all of my things. The Prime Minister gave me a friendly smile and asked me if he could continue. I was glad when the whole conference was over. I scurried out as fast as my heels could carry me. I had never felt so humiliated in my life!

My first day as a woman had not gotten off to an auspicious start......

In Her Shoes - Chapter Six - Clothes maketh the Woman

It is Wednesday morning. My first day at work in my new feminine persona. Having already had my body re-shaped into a womanly form, being denuded of all my body hair and having my nails shaped and painted and my eyebrows plucked, I was finding myself disorientated, confused and not a little ashamed.

My feelings were not helped by the silky pink nightdress that I had had to wear to bed that night. Used to pyjamas, boxers, or just being in the buff, the feel of silk clining against my body was strange and I looked just like a girl. Albeit a very big one. The flowing silken, lace trimmed garment was the first feminine garment that I had ever worn.

After I had showered and donned a pink fluffy bathrobe, Milly took me in hand. I was astonished at her sudden take charge manner. My hair was her first target. I had deliberately allowed it to grow into a long mane, like that of the king of beasts, the lion. Milly, a hair stylist amongst her many other talents, set about taming it. She washed it, cut it and shampooed it. Then she used straigtheners to give me flowing tresses that came down to my shoulders and which framed my face. The result was I looked more womanly. From the back, I would look just like any other woman.

With my hair sorted out, Milly produced a bottle of perfume and proceeded to liberally spray it all over my large body. An overpowering aroma of tiger lily and jasmine assaulted my senses. This was how I would smell to others.

Next came my new clothes and I was confronted by an assortment of garments that were familiar, yet at the same time utterly alien. I was handed a bundle of white lace and it took me a moment to deduce that these were my new underwear. Ladies' knickers! Fighting back feelings of shame and humiliation, I put them on. They were a lot tighter than any of my male underwear, but then they were designed to be, to show off my rear and to provide a pretty cover for my most intimate area.

I was next given something even more symbolic of womanhood. My first bra. With help from Milly, I put the lace contraption around my chest. Once the clips had been done up expertly by Milly, the weight of my breasts became a lot easier to bear. Still, it was very peculiar to find my chest, shoulders and top back covered by this lace support garment.

Instead of the corset that I had worn the day before, I was put into what Milly called a waspie. And boy did it sting! A white elasticated band, festooned with lace trimmings and attachments for stockings. The waspie did the same job as the corset of pulling my waist in, but was much smaller, and allowed me to experience wearing the bra. It was uncomfortable to wear though. I would have to wear this thing, and the strange bra, all day.

A pair of black stockings with black lacy tops was handed to me and Milly showed me how to put these on and attach them to the suspender tabs on the waspie. Soon my legs were sheathed in nylon, save for a small amount of bare flesh at the top of my legs. The stockings felt comfortable, but it was odd to be wearing them.

And that, Milly said, concluded dressing me in my foundation wear. Now for my outer clothes. Much of my underwear and stockings would be hidden from the eyes of the rest of world, thank goodness. Milly was in her bossy mode and she picked out my outfit for me.

I had to put on a flowery top with puffy sleeves that left two thirds of my arms bare. It also exposed the tops of my shoulders and revealed my bra straps. Most disturbing of all, and something I was still not used to, was the sight of two mounds in my chest region. The material of the top was silky and clingy. I was experiencing some strange, sensuous feelings.

Then I had to put on my suit. Not my normal man's suit, but a woman's jacket and skirt combination. I had to step into a pinstriped skirt with a slit up the back to expose more of my stockinged legs. The skirt fitted tightly around my lower body and especially around my bottom, which would be prominent and on show for all to see.

It was very weird and, for a man as masculine as me, very humiliating to suddenly find himself in a skirt, one of the most obvious symbols of femaleness. Parts of my body that had been hidden from view by male clothing were now on display.

I slipped on the matching jacket, noting the different cut. It had been designed to adorn and flatter a female form. Of course, with my breasts and my small waist, it fitted me well enough. Milly slipped a thin leather belt around the waistband of my skirt. It had a buckle in the shape of an oversized golden butterfly. The belt further emphasised my womanly waist.

Milly handed me some accessories to wear with my new outfit. A slender silver ladies' watch with a tiny face, a pair of diamond clip on earrings and a silver band necklace. Milly helped me put these on. The feeling of wearing earrings was entirely foreign to me, as well as jewellery in general.

Milly then sat me down at her vanity table and proceeded to apply my make up. A thick layer of foundation that softened and blurred my naturally masculine features. Milly then put on eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, blusher, lip liner and finished off with a deep red lipstick. The cosmetics she was using, Milly told me, were the best in the business.

I submitted to having my face altered and painted with the best grace that I could muster, but I was finding it shameful and demeaning. Men should not wear make up, that was for the ladies, had been instilled in me since, well, forever!

I was startled by the results of the transformation. I actually looked quite pretty!

Milly produced yet another distinctively female accroutrement, a pair of black high heeled shoes. I was uneasy at the prospect of having to wear them. Not only were they a icon of pure femininity, but they would be uncomfortable to wear. Milly got me to put my stockinged feet into them and helped me up.

The shoes raised me up so that I appeared even taller than usual. However, they made me wobble about and it took me a while to find my centre of gravity. Walking in them for even a short distance was challenging and I was forced to adopt short, mincing steps in place of my usual long stride. The shoes also rubbed my feet and toes. They were seriously uncomfortable to wear!

Then Milly handed me something which made me groan inwardly. A handbag! It was a Prada one that I had bought for Milly and which she was now loaning to me. It was yet another symbol of womanhood. The previous evening, I had had to transfer all of my money and credit cards to a purse. The purse, a compact mirror and some make up occupied the handbag.

I accepted the handbag with inward reluctance. I would have to cart this thing around with me everywhere.

Milly helped me into a ladies' brown macintosh. My transition from man to woman was complete!

Now I had to go out and face the world. My stomach was turning somersaults at the thought of everyone seeing the new me.

Milly gave me a gentle peck goodbye, then pushed me out of the door and quickly shut it behind me, as if to say "there's no way back lady!".

I stood there for a few minutes, wibble-wobbling in my new shoes. I could feel a draught up my skirt, the unaccustomed weight of my handbag perched on my right arm, and my earrings swaying gently. Momentarily paralysed with fear, from somewhere within me, a spark of courage galvinised me and I bravely stepped forward......