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By: Cindi Johnson Dallas, June 2004
I was driving across Texas on a late autumn afternoon. The landscape was dreary, the sky gray, and I had been driving all day when, about six p.m., I pulled my car into a small motel just north of Dallas. After settling into my room, I called the lobby to request an extra blanket. Shortly thereafter a young lady brought a blanket to my room.
As I had been alone all day driving across this seemingly endless state, I asked the young lady to join me for dinner. I needed company. She agreed and, after checking with her manager, she joined me. We went to a Luby's cafeteria located about two miles away.
As we ate our meals, I mentioned that I was headed home to Iowa, and that I had grown up near the Iowa border. This fact seemed to affect her strangely. I asked her how an articulate, seemingly educated woman such as herself had come to work as a motel maid. Expecting a typically vague reply to my routine question, I was very surprised as tears formed in the young lady's eyes, and she began to tell the shocking tale of her own journey across Texas.
Intrigued, I stayed three more days at that motel. I interviewed the young lady and many others whose lives had intersected with hers. Based upon these interviews, I put her most unusual story down on paper.
At the end of my stay, as I loaded luggage into my car and prepared to resume my own journey and my own life, I asked the young lady for a final statement.
"Just tell everyone," she said, "never attempt to cross Texas. Texas is like a true love: you may love her, then you may hate her, but you'll never leave her."
What follows is her story.
I had just passed Dallas when my troubles began. A few miles north of the city, in a town which was fast becoming a big city suburb, my car overheated. Perhaps it was caused by the transmission, which had been slipping badly since I crossed the U.S- Mexico border. At any rate, I had to pull over. Luckily, I spotted a small motel a half mile up the highway. With steam trailing ominously behind, I pulled into the parking lot of the Paradise View motel. The engine shook violently as I turned the key off.
Save for a half dozen cars, the motel's parking lot was empty on this sunny March afternoon. The motel appeared to have formerly been a chain, like a Best Western or La Quinta, but no more. I guessed that it had about 30 or 40 units, a restaurant, and a small pool. From the motel, which was seated atop a gentle rise, I could view rolling prairies to the north, while far to the south I could just make out the Dallas skyline.
Warm, tired, hungry and very thirsty, I entered into the restaurant, which also served as a bar for the motel's patrons.
I sat down at the bar and ordered a hamburger and French fries and a beer.
The waitress was a young Mexican-American girl with long wavy black hair and expressive brown eyes. Her name tag identified her as "Sara". She wore a yellow blouse and navy blue skirt. Tall for a hispanic girl, at about 5'6", thin, with her full lips painted bright red, Sara was simply, undeniably beautiful. I was stunned.
As I downed a couple of beers, we conversed about the weather, the traffic, and other typical small talk subjects. But after I had finished a couple more beers, I began to spill out my life story. I told her I was returning from spending the winter on the Yucatan coast; how I had left Des Moines for Mexico on my 20th birthday, seeking an escape from Midwestern boredom; how I was now returning to Iowa, hoping that I could get my old job back at the bank there in my hometown.
More beers continued to loosen my tongue. I told Sara how I was alone, nearly broke, and now had serious car troubles to boot. How there seemed to be no one in this world who cared about me. How no one even knew where I was on this particular day, nor cared.
"So", she asked in between waiting on the customers who came and left while I rambled on, "why go back to Des Moines?"
Why indeed, I wondered as Sara set a stiff rum and coke be before me.
"On the house," she said.
Feeling dizzy, I moved to a booth. I recall Sara gently stroking my face as I enjoyed another drink, again on the house. That's all I can remember, until..
SMACK! Stunned, I opened my eyes. A young, tall blond woman stood before me, pointing a handgun directly at my head. Frantically I tried to block her hand as she swung at my face again. SMACK! My hands were somehow secured behind my back.
"What is it? What's going on," I yelled at her, frightened.
"You can have all my money! Go ahead and take my wallet!"
"I'm not robbing you, IDIOT", she replied in a stern voice, before slapping me yet again.
"I'm arresting you!"
"What? Why? I don't understand?"
"RAPE, you pervert! You raped Sara," she yelled, glancing towards her left.
Looking there, I saw Sara huddled in a dim corner of the restaurant. Her yellow blouse was torn, its buttons ripped off, and her hair was messed. There were blood stains on her blouse and on her right cheek. Half undressed, wearing no skirt or panties, she appeared to have been crying. Sara turned away from me, as if she did not want me to see her.
"No..no way.I couldn't have.," I muttered as I again turned towards the blond woman and the gun pointed at me.
"I wouldn't do that," I said, looking down towards the floor.
"You could, and you did, and you'll pay big time for it, idiot. My uncle is the sheriff here. You know, idiot, that this is Texas, not some liberal little yankee state. You'll rot in a filthy Texas prison. I guarantee it. You'll be an old man before you ever again walk a street as a free man."
"No., please." I turned to Sara.
"Please, I'm sorry. I must have been drunk. I can't remember anything. I'm sorry, very sorry." Sara turned away. The room was dark. I couldn't see for sure, but she appeared to be grimacing. Or grinning.
The blond continued, "Don't even try moving. I've already called the police. You're history, asshole." Then she slapped my face again. I couldn't help it.the alcohol, the stress, the violence. I vomited all over myself. I was so frightened I actually began to shiver uncontrollably, and then I began to cry.
"Please," I begged.
"I'll do anything if you'll leave the police out of this. Anything at all. You can have all of my money and my car."
"IDIOT! Your car is a piece of junk, and I already have the little money you had."
"But please, please.," I begged, sniveling.
At this point Sara spoke up.
"Amanda," she said, "maybe we should hold off on this. He was really drunk and all. Maybe he didn't really mean to hurt me."
"What! That pervert raped you!"
"I know. But., wait., I don't know what to do. Maybe he could make it up to me somehow, but without going to prison. I just know he'd be dead within a year or two behind those bars, and then I'd kind of feel bad, you know., sort of responsible for his death. Do you know what I mean, Amanda?"
Just then we saw a police car pull into the parking lot. Luckily, the parking area was well lit while the restaurant was quite dark, which made it impossible for the officer to see into the restaurant window.
"Please! Listen to her. Please!" I beseeched the young blond woman to spare me from the hell of Texas incarceration.
"OK.OK.", she said hesitantly, "so., you will work for me.., do exactly what I ask., with no complaints? None at all. And you'll do anything that Sara asks.., no questions asked?"
"Yes, I will! I promise! Please!!!"
"OK. Sara, you win, for now. Take that creep out the back door and lock him in room #17. Then come right back. We'll report the rape to the officer, but hold off for now on turning the idiot over to the police.
With that, Sara, wearing only her torn blouse over her bra, led me to a vacant motel room, pushed me into it, then locked the door and left. Alone in the dark room, still shaking uncontrollably, I collapsed onto the bed, my hands still bound. I could feel the sticky vomit and, maybe, semen, which covered my legs and groin. Exhausted and poisoned by alcohol, I again slipped from consciousness.
Amanda, seated on the couch, wearing a baby blue cotton robe and slippers, gently brushed Sara's long black hair, while Sara sat demurely on a blanket spread over the floor. Sara sipped herbal tea, as a dreamy Patsy Cline song played on the stereo.
"Amanda, you should have been an actress," said Sara.
"My gosh, he's absolutely convinced that he raped me. Heck, you nearly had me convinced. Though I could barely keep from laughing."
"Serves him right, Sara. He shouldn't drink so much. It's his fault, not ours. When I saw him passed out in the restaurant, well..., Sara..., I don't much like men anyhow, particularly drunken men."
"By the way, Mandy, what did John want?"
"Oh, he was just bored. He just wanted to talk. You know, Sara, he still wants to get into your pants. I told him you were in bed. But what timing! That idiot really believed John had come to arrest him for rape."
"All men want to get into my pants, Mandy. That's the curse beautiful girls like us must carry. But believe me, no man will get into mine, unless I want it."
"Oh by the way, did you soak your blouse? If you don't, that hamburger blood we used will set into the fabric."
"True", Sara replied, "and I'll also need to sew on new buttons."
"No, Sara, the idiot can sew on the buttons. He's our slave now." Both girls laughed.
"Mandy, I hope you know what you're doing with that guy. You're always getting into mischief. What if he's insane, or dangerous?"
"Worry, worry, worry," chided Amanda.
"It's all you do, Sara. I'm a big girl now; I can take care of any man. Besides, he's no bigger than I am. I could probably whip him, even without a gun."
"True," Sara purred while Amanda gently massaged her neck, "but I don't really like the idea of having a guy around here."
"I understand that, and I think I can take care of that problem too. You know, Sara, I just enjoy manipulating males. I really do. And when you showed me that guy, passed out in our restaurant, I saw an opportunity too good to let pass. Besides, we do need another worker here, now that Pam quit. Just play along with me on this, Sara. I promise you, it'll be fun." Amanda leaned forward and kissed Sara's neck.
Bright sunshine fell upon my eyes, causing pain. I looked around. I was in a sparsely furnished motel room. I struggled to get up. I tried to open the door, but it was locked from outside the room. Just as well, I reasoned, as the only clothing in the room was the t-shirt I wore. After drinking a glass of water I laid down on the bed. Strange visions flitted through my mind; a beautiful hispanic girl, a gun, threats, a sunny Mexican beach. I drifted back to sleep.
Startled, I jumped off the bed. A young blond girl has just slapped my face, and was now pointing a gun at me. After a few moments it begins to come back: the car trouble, the alcohol, the.. rape.
"What's your name, idiot," she demanded.
"Well, Michael, I knew that. Sara told me your whole life story, which of course you relayed to her during your drunken stupor, before you raped her. Believe me, Michael, were it not for Sara's intervention, you'd be behind bars right now.
"So here's the situation, idiot. We have informed the police of the rape, but have not yet specifically identified you as the perpetrator. Sara was required to submit to a doctor's examination, so your semen's DNA is now a police record. Your car was impounded. If you are identified as having raped Sara, you're looking at twenty years in prison. Twenty years of hell on earth, Michael. Welcome to Texas, kid."
Amanda paused, staring at me with the pistol aimed directly at my heart. I felt as if I would vomit again.
"Anyway, for Sara's sake, I'm willing to give you a chance. You work here for three to six months, then maybe we'll let you be on your way and all of this will be but a bad memory of yours. I'm shorthanded here. And Sara just feels bad about what happened. Since she gave you the drinks, she feels partly responsible for what you did. I told her that was pure BS, and any cop would tell her the same thing. But Sara's just too damn nice. Besides, she thinks that if you've knocked her up, you'll need to support the kid for the next twenty years, which is hard to do if you're behind bars."
"Tell Sara I'm sorry. Tell her I appreciate."
"Shut Up, Michael. Don't interrupt me, ever!"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Michael, this is the South. Say 'Yes, MA'AM'."
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
"That's better. Now remember, I know who you are. I have your drivers license. If you leave here, or try anything foolish, the Texas Rangers will be all over you."
"Now, clean yourself up. You're clothes were impounded with your car.
Here's a blouse and slacks which our maid, Pam, left behind when she quit. They should fit you. And you can wear my slippers. And clean up this room. When you finish, come to the restaurant." At that, she backed slowly out of the room, always holding the gun pointed at me.
I couldn't help it. I ran to the toilet and threw up. Now that the alcohol had worn off, I saw how bleak my predicament was. If my semen was taken from Sara's vagina, and was DNA matched to me, then no jury in the world would set me free. Plus there were witnesses, last night's restaurant patrons, all who would identify me as being out-of-control drunk.
As I showered, my thoughts returned to Sara. So beautiful! I felt intense gratitude to her for sparing me from the law. And even though I couldn't remember screwing her, I nonetheless felt a tad bit of manly pride. After all, here was I, Mr. Michael Nobody, and I had just had sex with possibly the prettiest girl in Texas.
"Jesus," I muttered as I pulled on the slacks. A bit baggy in the hips, and a zipper on the side where it would do a man no good, but otherwise a fairly decent fit.
Unlike the lavender slacks, the blouse was white and not readily distinguishable from a guy's shirt, except for a few small, embroidered flowers on the collar. I fumbled with the buttons, which were on the wrong side, then put on Amanda's sandals. Feeling odd, I walked to the mirror. Luckily, the clothes fit OK, as I was 5'8" and thin by nature. The long hair I had grown over the winter, which until now had given me the appearance of a hippie, combined with the clothes to give me an effeminate appearance. Feeling embarrassed, I left the room and walked to the restaurant. It was getting dark. I must have slept all day.
Sara stared at me as I entered the restaurant. We both blushed; me from my situation and appearance, and she, apparently, from seeing a guy wearing a maid's clothes.
"Sara," I said hesitantly as I approached the counter, "I'm really sorry for what I did. I don't know what could have gotten into me. I blacked out., I don't remember anything."
Sara said nothing. She looked embarrassed by the situation. Amanda entered the room.
"Pervert! Leave Sara alone, will you? Just stand still and shut up!"
"What about it, Sara, do you think Michael can do Pam's job until we hire a new girl," asked Amanda.
"I.., I suppose so.."
"OK, Michael, your job will be to clean rooms, make beds, wash linen.
Nothing too complicated."
"Yes, ma'am, I'll do my best. I promise."
"You'll start tomorrow morning. Sara will give you dinner, then you will return to your room. Your workday starts at six a.m."
"Yes ma'am, thank you. But, maybe I could go out tonight to buy some clothes. Just some jeans and a workshirt?"
"What do you think, Sara, can Michael wear Pam's clothes while he works here? They seem to fit him," said Amanda.
"I don't know, Mandy. He looks a bit odd dressed like that. He might make our guests uncomfortable. People around here don't much like queer guys."
"True. That's true.., but, let me think..". Amanda was quiet for some moments, pondering the situation.
"I know! Michael can dress 100% as a female. That way, customers won't be offended, as they will just assume he's a girl."
"Wha..", I started to protest.
"Shut up, idiot! I won't tell you that again!" said Amanda.
After a moment of silence, Sara responded.
"But Mandy, he's a guy. He should wear guy's clothes, not girl's clothes."
"No, Sara. I've decided. While he works here, Michael will be 100% maid.
That means he'll wear lingerie, makeup, everything. Maybe once he knows how it feels to be a girl, he'll empathize with us, instead of raping us."
"But Mandy.," Sara tried to interrupt.
"No. That's it, Sara. I've decided. Our guests expect our hotel maids to be female. Really, Sara, have you ever seen a male motel maid anywhere in Texas?"
Amanda continued to describe to Sara the benefits of having me work as a woman. But this discussion was strictly between Amanda and Sara. Clearly, my thoughts on this matter were not a factor.
"Sara, you will take the pervert to Mervyns and buy him the basics. He had $500 in his wallet. Use it. I'll cover the restaurant for you and will also find Pam's other uniforms for Michael to wear.
"Now remember, Sara, if tomorrow morning he doesn't look like a female, then this deal is off. I'll call the authorities and you'll file charges against him. Understand?"
"Oh, and one more thing. Michael, you'll be wearing Pam's clothes and wearing her name tags. So, dear pervert, from this point on your name is Pamela. Got it? Now, say your name."
"Pamela," I said hesitantly.
"Good girl," Amanda said condescendingly, as if I were a dog that had just rolled over, "now, return to your room this minute and shave off all your body hair. All of it. Everywhere. There's a shaving kit in the room. And don't even think of asking me any questions."
Angry but silent, I left the restaurant and returned to my room.
"Wow, Mandy, you're really gonna make him dress like a girl," asked Sara.
"Sure. Why not? Let's humiliate the idiot."
"But he really didn't do anything to deserve all this."
"So? I need a maid around here, and now I have one. Sara, you love me, don't you?"
"Then play along with this. As you know, unlike you, I don't much like guys. I'll enjoy this. But we've gotta play good cop- bad cop now, and you're the good cop, Sara. Just play along. Believe me, he's harmless." Amanda leaned towards Sara and kissed her.
"Oh, OK Mandy. I'll do my best," Sara replied with an air of resignation.
I had barely finished shaving and showering when I heard a knock on the door.
"C'mon, Pamela, let's get going. I don't want to be up all night with you." It was Sara. Hurriedly I donned the lavender slacks and white blouse, then opened the door.
"Hurry up, Pamela," said Sara, as she grabbed Amanda's sandals and grasped my hand, then pulled me out into the night.
"I don't know why I got stuck with this job, but I did. Now please don't embarrass me."
I slipped on the sandals as Sara drove south, towards the city.
"Sara, I'm really sorry for what I did last night," I said, trying again to apologize.
"Oh, just drop it. It's too late. You did what you did, now you have to live with the consequences. Just don't cross Mandy, cause she will have you arrested, you know."
"OK, but really, Sara, you surely don't expect me to., you know."
"You know., wear girl clothes."
"Haven't you noticed? You already are wearing girl's clothes."
"But please, Sara!"
"No, Pamela, no. My job depends upon Amanda's happiness. So, we will both do just what Mandy wants."
"Sara, my name is Michael."
"No. Your name is Pamela, because Amanda says it is. Hey, it's not my fault that you raped me. You shouldn't drink so much. But believe me, Pam, you do not want to end up in the Dallas County Jail, especially now that you have no body hair. The men there will., you know."
Sara pulled her car into the parking lot of a Mervyn's clothing store.
"Let's get this done, Pamela, and again, please don't try to embarrass me, OK? I don't want these people to think I like, well., a pansy."
I followed Sara into the store. Don't embarrass her? Gosh, what about me?
Sara led me directly to the lingerie department. A cute high school girl approached; she had dark hair, a shapely build, and deep blue eyes. Her name tag read "Jennifer". Jennifer stared at me as if I were a lunatic.
"May I help you," she asked Sara as she stared at the embroidery on my blouse.
"Yes, please," Sara said, then turned towards me, "He needs to buy some new clothes."
"Ah., women's clothes?"
"Yes. Women's clothes."
"These clothes are for him?" Jennifer said.
"Yes," Sara replied, rolling her eyes so as to convey to the clerk how ridiculous she thinks I am.
"Yes, he wants to wear girl's clothes. Maybe you can help him pick some out?"
"He really wants to buy lingerie?" Jennifer continued to address her questions to Sara, as if she were a mother shopping for her young daughter.
"Well, OK, I suppose., you know.," Jennifer grinned as she looked me over.
"May I ask your name, sir?"
"Pamela," I replied.
"Yes., Pamela." Again I noticed Sara rolling her eyes. Clearly she was not enjoying this shopping trip.
"Here," Sara said to Jennifer, "I have a list of things he needs."
Jennifer took the list and read from it aloud.
"Let's see., hum., several pairs of lacy panties., two panty girdles.. Several feminine bras., several sexy skirts with matching blouses., maybe one or two pretty dresses. high heels. lots of pantyhose. a purse. makeup, including bright red lipstick and nail polish. perfume, slips. a sexy nightgown. and anything else a young lady would love to wear. Wow, Pamela, that's quite a list!"
"Yes, it is," I said, flustered. Apparently Amanda had drawn up a full shopping list for me.
"I noticed it says you want to purchase "sexy" clothes, sir" said Jennifer.
"Do you mean sexy in a guy way, like Bruce Willis, or in a girl way, like, say, Brittney Spears?"
"Well," I stammered, "in a Brittney Spears way."
"So you want to dress like Brittney Spears, the teen pop diva?"
"Jesus!" she said, "I've never done this before. This isn't a sexual thing, like, you know, you're not gonna get excited and, you know, do what guys do, you know.?"
Seeing that the shopping trip was stalled, Sara spoke up.
"No, it's not like that. Believe me. Pamela will behave or else. He just doesn't feel he fits in as a guy so he wants to be a girl. I know it's stupid. But heck, if he prefers to wear short skirts, that's his problem."
But wearing girls clothes won't make you a girl, Pamela. There's more to it than that, you know," Jennifer said, still unsure of my motivations.
"Please, Miss, just let her buy some clothes, OK?" Sara said, exasperated.
"Pamela's not a real guy. Not a guy like you and I think of guys. Pamela is a girl. Think of her as just another girl."
"Oh., OK., I suppose you're right." Jennifer then turned toward me.
"Well, come on, girl, let's find some pretty lingerie for you to enjoy." Apparently it eased her mind, and her confusion, to refer to me as a girl, and as "her" rather than "him".
Jennifer beckoned me to follow her. We went to a large area filled with an enormous assortment of women's panties.
"So, Pamela, "you're a big fan of Brittney Spears?"
"Yes," I lied, "I have all her videos and CD's."
"Well, you're not alone. A whole lot of young girls like to imitate her in dress and style and makeup. Now that I understand who Pamela admires," Jennifer continued, turning to address Sara, "it'll be easy to select several outfits for her. She may need to shop in the Juniors section, though."
"Yes, I suppose so," Sara replied, again rolling her eyes.
"Pamela acts like a teenage girl, so she should dress like a teenage girl." Jennifer was busily holding up panties for me to inspect, then selecting for me only those that were flowery and feminine.
"You know, Pamela, you seem just a tad too old to be so into the Brittney Spears scene. How old are you," Jennifer asked.
"Well, I guess that's Brittney's age, too. But you know, I'm eighteen, and I grew out of that stage several years ago. I mean, it's none of my business, but none of the girls at my high school are into her music and style."
"So? Maybe Pamela prefers to act like a middle school girl," Sara interjected, apparently annoyed by Jennifer's meddling.
"That's her problem, isn't it?"
"OK, OK!," Jennifer said, "What about bra size, Pamela? What size are your breasts?" She giggled at her joke.
"I don't know." I looked to Sara for help.
"Jesus, do I need to hold your hand all the time, Pamela?, Sara said with obvious exasperation.
"I would really like to get this over with!"
"But Sara, I don't know what size bra to buy."
"OK, fairy, OK. Jennifer, please select her size 36B, underwire, and pick out the most feminine bras you have. And anything you can give her for padding, until Pamela's able to grow, or buy, her own tities. Then, Pamela, you and I will go into the dressing room to get you fitted. I mean, really! You're not my daughter. I shouldn't have to dress you."
"So are you two, like, a couple? Or girlfriends?," Jennifer asked as she began to select my brassieres.
"No Way!," Sara exclaimed, "I'm not into dating sissies."
"I'm, well., I'm her cousin," I blurted out, hoping to end Sara's increasingly negative tone.
"Yes," Sara said, "Pamela's my sweet adorable gringo cousin. Like, our whole familia is just so proud of little Pammy," Sara mocked.
"Well, you sure should be. It probably takes real courage for Pamela to be herself," said Jennifer.
"Yes, it takes real courage for my cousin to buy himself panties and bras.
Yea. Real manly courage."
Strange, I thought, how Jennifer was now supportive of me while Sara was becoming ever more rude. Maybe, I thought, Sara was angry about the rape. Or maybe she just wanted to go home instead of spending her evening with me at her employer's behest. Perhaps, I reasoned, Sara was not actually angry with me at all, but was pissed at Amanda and simply was taking it out on me. I hoped this was the case, as I was truly smitten with the young lady.
Between them, Jennifer and Sara had soon gathered a pile of girl's intimates, including bras, panties, slips, half-slips, pantyhose of various hues, and even a couple of frilly nighties. Sara then sent Jennifer to select some outfits for me, "nice, teenage, colorful and feminine," she said, "and absolutely no slacks."
"Amanda says she wears the pants at the Paradise View," Sara whispered to me as she pulled me towards the ladies dressing room.
"Now strip," Sara ordered, "and let's hurry!"
"In front of you," I protested.
"Yes, dear cousin. After all, I've seen what's in your pants, remember?"
Soon, with Sara's help, I was wearing pantyhose, lacy rose colored panties with matching brassier, and a sheer slip. I felt totally foolish as Sara stuffed the bra's cups with several old pairs of pantyhose which Jennifer had provided for that purpose. I couldn't help but gaze at my reflection in the full length mirror as, under Sara's guidance, my body morphed from male to that of a slender, half-dressed girl.
"It's a good thing, my dear cousin, that God made you fairly petite. Just think how ridiculous you'd look if you were stocky and muscular."
"I don't consider myself to be petite, Sara," I protested meekly.
"C'mon Pamela, you certainly are petite! Jesus, I didn't mean that as a put down. Actually, you look rather sexy in lingerie."
"Sexy? You mean like a sexy guy," I asked hopefully.
"Don't be silly. Don't be a silly sissy," Sara added, laughing.
"Pamela," Jennifer called from outside the dressing room, "come out and let me see how you look." Before I could resist, Sara grabbed the front of my slip and pulled me out of the security and privacy of the dressing room.
"Wow," Jennifer exclaimed. I stood still, frozen with anxiety and, I admit, shame. Jennifer had gathered two other girls, also clerks, to help her. They giggled as Jennifer approached me, touched my forearm in a sisterly manner, and addressed her friends.
"So, what do you think? Can we get Pamela looking like Brittany Spears?"
"He already does," said her friend Katie.
"I don't think I should be out hear wearing only underwear. May I go back into the dressing room, Sara?"
"Not underwear, Pamela. Lingerie! Your lingerie. Now ask again, correctly."
Red faced I said, "Please, Sara, I shouldn't be out here wearing only my lingerie. May I please go back into the ladies dressing room? Please?"
"Oh, don't worry, boy," said Katie.
"It's almost closing time. There's hardly any customers in the store."
"OK, Pamela, but take the clothes with you and finish dressing. I've got to get going!"
The girls had soon handed me all I needed to complete my "outfit", as Katie called it, and I returned to the safety of the women's dressing room. With difficulty, I began to dress. Why, I wondered, do females choose to dress as they do? It all seems so difficult, with layers of underwear, zippers inaccessibly located in back or on the side, buttons reversed. While I worked at dressing, I could overhear Sara fielding questions posed by the three high school girls, none of whom, apparently, had ever encountered a male in female clothing. Sara took my lie about being her cousin and ran with it.
"Has your cousin always liked girl things," Jennifer asked.
"Oh yes! That cousin of mine.., you can't imagine! I remember once when we were just kids, I think Pamela was in the fourth grade, and his mom brought him to visit. His mom and mine went shopping, leaving Pamela with me. I was in my room with my girlfriends when this boy comes into my room and begs to wear my clothes.
"I'm a girl, too," he said, "just like you are!" I was just soooo embarrassed, as you can imagine. We tried to kick him out of my room, but he started crying. Well, before long my girlfriends had Pamela all cutied up. They put my easter dress on him, pink with lace everywhere, and put my black patent leather shoes on his feet. They put bright red lipstick on him. Then we all walked to the shopping center. He stood out like crazy, wearing an easter dress in mid-summer, but we couldn't stop him. He even bought Barbie doll clothes that day, telling my friends that he had a Barbie doll at home. It was really embarrassing."
"What about high school? Did Pamela go to high school," I heard Katie ask.
"Yes. He was a boy then. I attended the same school, although I didn't tell anyone that he was my cousin. I remember once Pamela nearly got expelled because he snuck into the girl's locker room after school, and somehow got dressed in a cheerleader's uniform. I guess a cheerleader had left her uniform out."
"He didn't," exclaimed Jennifer.
"It's true! So there he was, wearing a short pleated skirt which barely began to cover his shaved legs, when the entire girls track team enters the locker room. They laughed and taunted him, and even took all his boy clothes. He had to walk home, three or four miles, wearing the cheerleader outfit. Things like that.., well, you girls are in high school. I'm sure you can guess how girls teased him after that."
"So," I heard the third girl ask, "Pamela must be gay?"
"Well, he should be," said Sara.
"No girl would want a guy that steals her clothes so as to play dress up."
"That's true," the girl added.
"I wouldn't want to ever see my boyfriend wearing panties!"
"You said it," Sara continued, "but no, I doubt that he's gay. Although I did hear a rumor at school., well, maybe I shouldn't repeat rumors."
"C'mon, tell us," giggled Katie.
"OK, I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Anyway, after that cheerleading incident, I heard that some jocks had a girl "donate" a short dress. Then, after gym class, the final hour of the school day, those jocks cornered Pamela and made her put on the dress. And then they made him suck a boy's penis."
"Right in front of everybody," asked Katie in awe.
"Yes! Not only in front of the jocks, but the jocks also invited their girlfriends to the big "event". So there was my sissy cousin, wearing a short dress, kneeling on the floor sucking a penis, right in high school! But I didn't really see it happen, you know. I heard it from friends who heard it from others that supposedly were there. They could be exaggerating or lying."
"Wow," said Katie.
"Right inside school," added Jennifer.
"What a sissy," exclaimed the other girl.
"Yes, believe me, I was really embarrassed to be his cousin during high school. I never admitted to anyone that we were related, nor did I ever speak to him when at school. Luckily, with him being gringo-looking and me being Hispanic, few people ever put two plus two together."
By now I had finished dressing. I looked in the full length mirror and saw a girl, a skinny teenaged girl, wearing a pleated green and red plaid skirt which ended at least two inches above her knees, and a simple white blouse. My maroon shoes had one inch heels and were open-toed.. I truly believe that, had it been possible at that very moment, I would have fled out the back door rather than face Sara and the three high school girls looking as I did. But of course there is no back door in a ladies dressing room, and besides, the consequences to me had I fled would have been devastating.
"Oh, Pamela," gushed Jennifer as she and her two coworkers stared at the feminine male emerging from the dressing room.
"You do look pretty!"
"Pretty, yes, but rather immature. Maybe he ought to dress more like a girl his own age instead of dressing like a middle-school girl."
"Katie!" protested Jennifer.
"Please! Don't be a bitch. Pamela is our customer, and if he wants to dress like a young girl, that's his right."
"Well, even Brittany Spears doesn't dress like that anymore. She dresses like a hot babe," said Katie.
"He looks like an eighth grader in that skirt."
"Except for the pantyhose," giggled the other clerk.
"He's wearing pantyhose. In eighth grade a girl can't wear pantyhose."
"Boys aren't allowed to wear pantyhose in eighth grade either, are they," snickered Sara.
"Girls, let's not refer to Pamela as he or him. I'm sure he would prefer we use feminine pronouns. Isn't that right," asked Jennifer.
"Yes. Thank you," I responded, then turned to Sara and said, "Please, we must get going."
"Es verdad, senorita," Sara responded.
"Now get all your pretties together and let's check out."
"Oh, but wait just a minute. Pamela needs makeup to look her cutest.
Please?" Jennifer asked Sara, again acting as if I was a little girl and Sara was my mother.
"Oh, OK, but we must hurry."
Within a minute the schoolgirls had me seated and, while Katie and Jennifer were busy applying makeup to my face, the other girl, Ashley, applied red polish to my fingernails. As Jennifer applied eyeliner, Katie took a tube of red lipstick from her purse and had me pucker.
"Well, Pamela," she said after finishing, "I'll let you keep my lipstick. I don't think I'll want to use it again. After all, there's no telling what your lips have touched." The girls giggled at the implications of Katie's joke.
I began gathering up my purchases when Ashley interrupted.
"Hey. I have a digital camera in my purse. Let's take a few photographs of him.
Great idea! Can we," Katie asked. She wasn't addressing me; her question was posed to Sara. These girls apparently realized that Sara was in full control of me.
"But wait.," I began to object before Jennifer cut in.
"Oh yes! Then we could show Pamela off to all our friends at school. Without photographs, they will never believe us. They surely wouldn't believe how feminine he is."
"Please! Pretty please," they giggled, imploring Sara.
"Oh, OK. I suppose a few more minutes won't matter," Sara said without even glancing at me.
"But wait," I protested, "I can't have photos of me looking like this!"
"Well, you should have though of that before, you know.. Now give these nice young ladies a few minutes of your time. After all, they have been very helpful to you."
"But please, Sara."
"No. You let them take a few photos. Or, if you prefer, I'll drive back and you can get home on your own. Though, of course, Amanda might not be very pleased."
With that, it was settled. The girls didn't even wait for my response; instead they began to discuss proper poses.
The first photo wasn't bad, as I just sat in a chair, demurely, with my knees together and hands clasped upon my lap. A couple more in similar vein followed. But then Katie, the meanest of the girls, became more demanding. I was required to pose standing, knees together, hands clasped behind my back, gazing down, as if I were a little girl being scolded. A closeup was taken of the girls touching up my makeup. Jennifer asked me to pout "like Marilyn Monroe". For another shot, they tied the tails of my blouse in a bow so that my navel showed, had me don a high school sweater, unbuttoned, so that I was dressed very much like Brittany Spears in her famous music video. At this, the girls had me sing Brittney's song, "I'm not so innocent". All the while Sara sat quietly on a chair at the other side of the lingerie department, paging through a magazine, disinterested in what was happening to me. What, I wondered, did Sara think of this. Sara, the beautiful young Hispanic woman of my dreams. Did she enjoy seeing me be humiliated? Or rather, was she saddened to see the man who maybe had fathered her child being treated like a Barbie doll? I couldn't help but hope that the latter was true.
Finally, Ashley announced that there was only enough memory left for two or three more photos. The girls had a little pow-wow to decide the final poses. I couldn't quite hear the discussion, only occasional giggling. I saw Sara glance at her watch.
Addressing Sara, Katie asked, "We still have a problem. How can we prove to our friends at school that your cousin is not just a real girl, rather than a sissy?"
"Yes., and?" Sara said, as if she were barely listening.
"Well, maybe you would let us take a photo of his, you know, vagina area?"
"I don't understand," I interjected, although none of the females cared what I thought.
"Go on," Sara said to Katie, while glaring sternly at me as if to say "shut up!".
"Well, she could, you know, pull her panties down so that, you know, Pamela's "thing" shows in the photo. That way, our friends at school will have to believe us. Oh, ma'am, it'll be so neat! Please let us take a photo."
"No," I said, "that could be against the law." The girls continued to ignore me. Sara, to my dismay, sided with Katie, simply saying "Go for it".
More of my protests went ignored as the girls pulled me into the dressing room. Luckily, Sara didn't join us to witness my degradation. The three young girls giggled as they discussed "the shot". Even they were blushing at this point.
Soon Katie had pulled my pantyhose and panties down to a spot about an inch or two above my knees. They had me lift up my skirt and the half-slip beneath it, at which point my bare midriff and my groin were clearly visible.
"Wow. So that's your vagina, Pamela. It sure looks funny on a girl," Ashley said.
"It almost looks like a normal penis. I thought it would look somehow more, you know, feminine."
"Oh, Ashley," exclaimed Katie, "just what would a feminine penis look like? Maybe you expected it to be pink with lacy ruffles," she laughed.
"What do you think, Jennifer?"
Jennifer, who had been quietly staring at my crotch till now, responded in a near- whisper, as if she were engaged in something naughty.
"I don't know, Katie. I've never actually seen a real man's private parts. Although I have seen pictures, you know, in some movies."
"What! You've never seen a guy's dick before? You can't call that thing a real man's penis, Jen. It's a sissy dick."
"His penis is smaller than my boyfriend's," said Ashley.
"And so are her balls."
"Please," I begged the girls, "let's finish this."
"OK, sissy-boy," said Katie.
"Just stand there. Hold your skirt up with one hand, and cradle your baby penis in your other hand." There followed a bright flash, then another.
Unfortunately, the presence of pretty females and the handling of my cock had a natural result. I began to harden.
"Look," Jennifer exclaimed, "it's growing!"
"That means the sissy-boy is getting turned on. I guess that wearing girls clothes does that to you, right, Pamela?"
"No. No, ma'am," I replied to Katie. It's just that.." My words fumbled.
"You know. Ah. I.."
"Does that mean she's going to ejaculate," Jennifer asked Ashley.
"Ejaculate? Jennifer, you talk like a school sex-education movie," Ashley responded, giggling.
"I think he'd come if he rubs it. Isn't that how it works, sissy? Oh, go ahead, sissy, jack off. We won't tell on you," Katie said.
By this time my penis was erect and throbbing. There was a bright flash as Ashley took the final photo. I desperately wanted to come, and the only way it would happen was by going solo. I began to rub it, back and forth.
"So, Pamela is masturbating," asked Jennifer, as I closed my eyes and proceeded with the task at hand.
"Yes," said Katie, "the sissy is rubbing his tiny penis."
It took only a few moments. A black, depthless sense of shame filled my soul as I exploded. The girls were clearly shocked, even the "experienced" Katie, by what I had done. As shame and loneliness engulfed me, I began to quietly weep. Most of the semen had shot out and fell to the floor, narrowly missing Ashley, although the final few spurts soiled my panties and pantyhose, which were still down around my knees.
"Look," whispered Jennifer, "she's crying, just like a little girl."
"You mean, like a sissy boy," Katie added.
"Hey," Jennifer said to me, ignoring Katie's cutting remark, "I'm sorry we made you sad, Pamela. I didn't mean to hurt you. Now stop crying or you'll ruin your mascara."
Unsteady and drained, I could barely remain standing. Jennifer took a tissue and very carefully wiped tears from my face. I let my skirt fall, covering my maleness. Jennifer gently ran her fingers through my hair, cooing, "It's all OK, Pamela. You're a nice girl. And pretty," as if I were a baby.
"Jesus, Jennifer," said Katie, "your "nice girl" just jerked off in the ladies dressing room! That's not nice and it's not girlish."
"C'mon, let's get the sissy boy out of here before we all get in trouble," said Ashley.
"Make him wipe up that nasty stuff first," Katie said.
"We sure can't leave it all over the floor. He can lick it up. He'd probably like it."
"No, please. I'll clean it up," I pleaded, then wiggled out of my panties and pulled up my pantyhose. On my knees, I used my panties to wipe my cum off the floor as the girls watched.
"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that," I said to no one in particular.
"I really think you two should quit referring to Pamela as "he" or as "sissy-boy". Pamela's a girl, almost like us," Jennifer said.
"A sissy-girl," Katie laughed.
After I cleaned up my mess I exited the dressing room. Sara had been looking over some shoes across the aisle, unaware of what had happened.
"Are you finished," she said, exasperated, as I approached her.
"Now get your pretties and let's check out."
"Yes, Sara," I replied obediently.
A section of the floor of the ladies room was still shiny wet as the three pretty schoolgirls chatted.
"So that's what it looks like when a guy comes," Jennifer asked innocently.
"Yes, Jen," Katie answered, "except that usually the guy isn't wearing panties."
"Or a bra," giggled Ashley.
"Or high heels, or lipstick," Katie continued, laughing with Ashley.
"Now, don't be so hard on Pamela," Jennifer countered.
"Just let her be a girl, too. But tell me, was Pamela's penis big, small, or medium? I just wonder, you know."
"Oh, your sissy-boy has a small penis, believe me," Ashley lied. My boyfriend Jimmy's is much larger. Maybe that's why the sissy wants to be a girl, he's too small to be a real man."
"You're right, Ashley, but let's keep this to ourselves. I don't want to get fired over this," Katie said.
I followed Sara as she quickly walked across the store to the checkout area. A middle-aged woman watched me suspiciously as I set on the counter the large amount of feminine items I was purchasing. Did she suspect my true gender, or merely careful because I wore clothes I was purchasing? Silently she scanned the sales receipts of the items I had removed from the clothing I wore, then scanned all the other items. The final item was my soiled panties. I tried to explain that I had spilled water on them, which was why I had removed the sales receipt. Sara paid cash, over $600, and we left the store. Outside in the darkness I felt free, as if a great anxiety had lifted. As Sara backed from her parking place the three schoolgirls, Jennifer, Katie and Ashley, stepped outside and waved to me. I waved back. I'm sure they thought I was simply happy to now own so many new clothes, girl clothes, but actually I was just overjoyed to be finished with the shopping. And maybe, maybe I was experiencing a bit of post-sex giddiness. Jennifer even threw me a kiss as Sara drove off.
"Looks like you've made some new girlfriends, Pamela. You're a real prima-donna, aren't you?" She laughed sarcastically.
"Maybe you'd like to go back to school, only as a girl this time?"
"It's not like I'm enjoying this, Sara. I kinda got the impression from Amanda that my options were limited."
"Oh, you could have tried your luck with the law, Pamela. I would guess that's what all of the men I know would have done. They wouldn't don a dress just to get out of trouble."
I was silent. Sara was right. I couldn't picture any of the guys I knew succumbing so easily to Amanda's twisted notions.
"But Sara, it all happened so fast. I was hung over, scared, and far from home. But maybe you are right. This is, well, wrong. It's like I've surrendered my manhood. Maybe I should have said no to Amanda. I should have resisted more."
"You don't know Mandy, Pamela. If you now disobey her you'll end up even worse off then had you just surrendered to the police right away. Amanda is vindictive. She loves being the boss. That's why Pam, the real Pamela, quit. She couldn't take Amanda's constant orders. Mandy doesn't ride me, though. I believe she actually is in love with me. She's bi, or maybe lesbian. But, believe me, if you don't do exactly as she says, she'll make damn sure that I report the rape to the police, immediately."
"And I will, Pamela. My allegiance is to Amanda, 100%. Not to you. You do understand?"
"Yes, I suppose so." I was thankful the darkness obscured Sara's view of the effeminate being I had become.
"It's not that I hate you, or even dislike you. I don't, Pamela, not really. Maybe I should, considering that you raped me. Mandy thinks I should hate you, that's for sure. But I don't. I know how drunk you were. Gosh, I gave you those rum and cokes, several of them on the house. That's what got you to where you are now. And it's not like I was a virgin until I met you."
"I appreciate that you don't hate me, Sara. But what should I do now? I suppose I could just leave and if the law catches up with me, well, so be it," I said softly.
"Oh, Pamela. I'm a woman, a pretty woman. I very much enjoy being female. So really, to me, your punishment doesn't seem like such a big deal. To me, being a girl is enjoyable, not punishment. That said, I do understand that, to men, the idea of being feminine is, maybe, worse than death."
"So, you think I should just, what, act like a woman," I asked.
"Hey, it's too late now for you to stake out some macho high ground. You've seen yourself in a mirror. My gosh, Pamela, once you wiggled into those pantyhose, you crossed the border."
"My suggestion to you," Sara continued after a long pause, "is to simply accept your punishment. If you work hard, Mandy will eventually forgive you and then you can be back on your way to Iowa."
"Accept my punishment like a man," I said dryly.
"No," Sara laughed, "not exactly like a man."
Sara turned the vehicle into the Paradise View's parking lot, my new prison, and parked. We sat together in darkness. Sara seemed to be thinking.
"Look, Pamela," she said as she gently grasped my hand, "whatever path you take is OK with me. Que sera, sera. I'm not angry with you anymore. As a matter of fact, I rather like you. I'll accept you as a guy or as a girl," she whispered as she leaned towards me and gently kissed my cheek.
"Your problem is with Amanda, and with the State of Texas, neither of which should be taken lightly."
"You know, Sara," I said solemnly, "you could be carrying our child."
"Yes, Pamela, in which case we'd better hope for a daughter.
She'll have two mothers to teach her how to be a girl!"
I followed Sara to Amanda's house, which was about a block west of the hotel, away from the highway noise. Unused to walking in heels, I had difficulty keeping up. My heart throbbed with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
Sara entered without knocking. Odd, I thought, Sara must live with Amanda.
"Mandy!" Sara called, "We're back. And Pamela looks ravishing!"
Amanda entered the room, wrapped in a large towel, her hair wet, apparently having just stepped from the shower.
"Yes, I see, Sara," she said as she slowly walked around me, studying my appearance carefully.
"Very well, although a tad juvenile, don't you think? What's next, diapers?"
I didn't respond. Amanda was obviously speaking to Sara, not me.
"Well, it's what Pamela wanted," she replied defensively.
"He asked the sales clerk for a Brittany Spears look. I think he looks cute."
"So, maybe Pamela should join the Mickey Mouse Club, too," Amanda said derisively.
"Now take your clothes off," Amanda said, looking directly at me.
"What," I responded, "right here?"
Amanda's slap stung my right cheek.
"Don't question me, ever, you pervert.
And from now on, you will address me only as "Mistress Amanda". Do you understand?"
"Yes., yes I."
"What did I tell you? Now try again!"
"Yes," I said, stunned, "Mistress Amanda. I understand."
"That's better. Now undress."
As I undressed, Amanda continued.
"And, Pamela, you will also always address Sara as "Mistress Sara". Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said as I struggled to remove my pantyhose.
"Oh, Mandy, I don't want to be called Mistress," Sara interjected.
"I understand, dear," Amanda said compassionately, but Pamela must come to know her position here. It's for the best, honey."
"OK, Mandy, whatever you say."
"If Pamela wants to stay out of prison, she must fit in around here. She must help us out. And to do that she must be a girl, Sara. A subservient girl. You know I never hire any males. In fact, Pamela should address all her coworkers as Mistress, just so she doesn't begin to think of herself as equal to anyone."
"So, Pamela, do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress Amanda," I replied while gently folding my pantyhose and setting them atop my skirt and blouse.
Sara told Amanda about our shopping trip, about Jennifer, Katie, and Ashly.
About how nicely I cooperated and even seemed to enjoy shopping for pretty clothes, "just like real girls do". She mentioned the photos. By this time I was naked except for my bra, and was having difficulty reaching the clasps at my back. I turned red with embarrassment as Sara described the private photos the girls took of my "vagina".
"Are you saying that Pamela posed for pictures with that thing showing?" Amanda asked, incredulously, while pointing at my penis.
"Well, yes, I guess so," Sara replied, somewhat flustered.
"I didn't actually see it.; it's what the girls wanted, Mandy."
"Show me, Pamela, how did you pose?"
"Well, ma'am, I mean Mistress, Mistress Amanda (I was trembling), they had me set my balls and penis in the palm of my hand, like this", I said while reaching for my cock.
"And then they took photographs?"
"Yes, mistress Amanda." Sara was gazing at me, standing naked except for my stuffed bra, as I withered under Amanda's interrogation.
"OK, Pamela, allow me to explain things to you once again. This is Texas.
There are more men imprisoned here than in all of China. So, now there's clear evidence that you raped Sara, and there's also clear evidence that you are a pervert who exposes himself to schoolgirls. Do you have any idea how many years you'll rot in prison for this?"
"But I only did it because I thought you were forcing me."
Amanda glared at me.
"Mistress Amanda, I mean."
"That's better, Pamela, I'm Mistress to you."
She turned to Sara.
"What do you think, should we just call the police right now and get this over with?"
"Please," I said softly, "please, Mistress Sara." I stood in the middle of the room, nearly naked. Sara sat to my left in a chair. Amanda was seated on the sofa, directly in from of me, wearing only a towel.
"Let's give Pamela a chance, Mandy. After all, we do need a maid around here."
Amanda stood up. The towel fell to the floor. Her skin was soft; her breasts, while not large, were perfectly formed, as was her ass. Slowly she walked around me. She was taller than I had thought. Without my heels, she appeared to be taller than me.
"Pamela has potential. She has no big muscles. Little fat. Rather pretty, in fact. Maybe, if you're a good girl, we can get you some nice titties, just like mine. Wouldn't that be nice, sissy?"
"Yes, Mistress Amanda", I lied.
"But before that, we'll need to get your hair and nails professionally done. You have little facial hair, but you'll need some electrolysis, nevertheless."
She discussed my feminization with Sara even as she probed my body.
"Firm, but still a tad small for a girl," she said while feeling my ass.
"Baby soft," she laughed when feeling my biceps.
"Very feminine," she said as she ran her hand along my shaved thighs and legs.
Given that a very pretty, naked girl was touching me all over, the natural problem recurred. My penis, which was still cradled in my hand, hardened.
"Oh look, Sara," Amanda said sarcastically when she noticed my "problem", "Pamela is getting aroused. Tell us, Pamela, what thoughts are you thinking? Why are you so excited?"
"How pretty you are, Mistress," I said honestly.
"Need I remind you that you're a girl," Amanda said.
"Now tell me again, what are you thinking? What is it that so excites you?"
"I,.. I don't understand." I replied.
"Sara, maybe you can help Pamela find a proper answer. As a very beautiful girl, Sara, what excites you?"
"Oh, I get it! Men! Men doing things to me, that turns me on," Sara laughed.
"Right", said Amanda.
"Now Pamela, describe what you're thinking. What thoughts are turning you on so? And don't stop until I tell you to stop, or else we end this now and I hire a real woman tomorrow." She sat back down on the couch, naked, and waited for me to talk. It took me a few moments to grasp what was expected of me. How, I wondered, would this nightmare end?
"Oh," I said, "Mistress Amanda."
"Yes, and Mistress Sara," I continued, blushing deeply at the humiliation of having Sara, with whom I was so enamored, watching and listening.
"I was thinking of how I would, well, enjoy having a man., a man hold me., and kiss me all over," I found myself thinking of what girls used to enjoy in high school, and used that as my guide, "and he would play with my titties, and with my ass. He would forcibly kiss me. His tongue would probe my mouth. He would taste my lipstick.."
"And what would your boyfriend look like, dear," Amanda asked.
"Oh, Mistresses, I suppose., I mean I know my boyfriend would be strong.
Muscular. His arms would not be like mine. They would be thick, strong, dangerous."
"And what would he do to you, dear," Amanda asked, smiling.
"He would, well, violate me, Mistress Amanda.."
"Be more specific, Pamela! What exactly would you do to your boyfriend?"
"I would take it., his erect penis., into my mouth, Mistress Amanda and Mistress Sara. I would lick it all over., and then I would take it into my mouth., and suck my..., boyfriend's cock, for a long time I would suck it., and then my boyfriend would ejaculate. I would please him that way, Mistresses."
"And would you swallow his cum," Amanda asked. I glanced towards Sara. She was watching me, wide-eyed, clearly astonished.
"Yes, Mistresses, I would swallow his cum because., because it would make my boyfriend happy. Girls do that, to make their boyfriends happy.."
I was still holding my erect penis and was stuttering on when Sara interrupted.
"Mandy, Pamela has to work tomorrow. Maybe she should call it a day."
"Oh Sara, you're so protective of your new sissy friend, aren't you? But OK, you're right. Pamela, go back to your room. Then you can jack off while you imagine yourself getting screwed by your boyfriend."
"Yes Mistress. May I get dressed, then?"
"No. Just leave, immediately!"
"Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress," I replied, then quickly picked my clothes up and stepped out the door, still naked, still hard. Luckily the porch light was off and no neighbors were outside. I donned my blouse and skirt, slipped on my high heels, and swiftly returned to my room. Exhausted and shamed, I lay down and slept.
Thankfully my situation improved somewhat after Sunday evening's low point.
Monday morning Sara stopped by my room, told me to not worry as Amanda had left for a couple of days to visit relatives. She said that Amanda would ease up on me once I proved to her that I was a good worker. Sara helped me dress properly, and taught me a bit about applying makeup.
"You've got a lot to learn, Pamela," she said.
"Being a girl takes a lot of skill."
Soon I was smartly dressed in the former maid's uniform, a one piece dress, almost like a nurses uniform, colored gray with pink pinstripes. I had assumed that as a maid I would be allowed to wear the slacks I had worn yesterday. However, Sara said that Amanda thought it more appropriate that I wear the maid's dress while on duty. Which, of course, meant I also wore pantyhose, something I found to be most uncomfortable.
Sara also suggested I wear a panty girdle, as it would hide the effect of any "excitement" like that of the previous evening. I blushed at her comment.
Sara and I went to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast.
"Maybe it's a good thing Amanda had to leave, Pamela. It'll take some of the pressure off you while you adjust to your new situation.
"Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied, "you can't imagine how relieved I am that Mistress Amanda isn't here."
"But she did leave me detailed instructions which I'm required to follow, Pamela."
"I understand, Mistress Sara. Am I required to use "Mistress" if Amanda is not present?"
"Yes, Pamela. I know you must feel silly having to say "Mistress" over and over, like you're some type of slave girl. But Amanda insists, and she's the boss. Anyway," Sara continued, smiling so beautifully, "I'm beginning to enjoy it." She reached her hand and gently patted my shoulder.
"It gives me a feeling of power that I've never had before."
"At my expense, Mistress," I noted sadly.
"True," but Amanda is right. It's really all your fault.
Yes, Mistress Sara, I suppose it is," I replied.
After finishing a dainty breakfast ("Amanda's orders," Sara said, "she says all girls your age are dieting, and you should too!), Sara took me around and introduced me, one by one, to the other workers.
First was Tanya, a young Russian immigrant working the front desk. She was very pretty, slim with long dark hair and green eyes, and a sensuous foreign accent. Because she worked at the front desk, Tanya dressed nicely.
Mary was a 30-something married woman who worked in the kitchen and also cleaned rooms. I also met Amy, a petite, young high school girl. Sara mentioned that Amy and two other girls from a nearby high school worked part-time, doing most anything asked of them.
Given my situation, each introduction was most uncomfortable for me, and I noticed my coworkers were also a bit embarrassed during the introductions. Following Amanda's instructions, Sara introduced me as the "new girl" and mentioned how appreciative I was to be the motel's full-time maid. Each of my coworkers was told that if they needed anything, I would respond immediately. Each was also told that, as a maid, I was required to address each of my coworkers as "Mistress". Then Sara would mention that I was fairly new to the "sisterhood of females" and I would greatly appreciate any tips they might be able to offer as to how I might become more feminine.
Although these introductions were humiliating, I was thankful Sara did not mention the rape. Sara told me that it must be kept secret; I must never mention it to anyone. If word of the rape got out, Amanda would have no choice but to get the police involved.
My coworkers were either too surprised, or stunned, to ask any questions.
Only Amy, the high school girl, was bold (or naive) enough to say anything.
"I don't understand, Sara, what do you mean by sisterhood?" she asked.
"Is Pamela your sister?"
"No, Amy," Sara laughed, "Pamela is not my sister! Pam, maybe you should explain yourself to Amy."
"Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied hesitantly.
"Well, you see, Mistress Amy, I am, well, sort of male, but I'm now becoming like you, a girl like you, maybe.."
"Becoming a girl?"
"Yes, yes, but maybe not just like you. You are more girl than I am, of course. I mean, anatomically, I'm still not really., female, but I've just decided to dress like girls, do you understand?"
"Oh, I get it! You're one of those sissy boys that like to wear dresses. I see! Well that's really neat, Pamela. And you're kinda cute."
"Thank you, Mistress Amy," I said.
"Let's go, Pamela, time you got to work, girl," said Sara.
"Yes, Mistress," I said, then turned and said "Bye, Mistress Amy."
It was Mary, middle-aged mother of two daughters, who was assigned to teach me how to be a motel maid. We started in Room 211, a second floor room with two beds.
"Yes, Mistress Mary, I see," I said as she showed me how to make a perfect bed. Mary watched while I struggled to do the same.
"I wonder what Pam, the real Pam, I mean, will say when she finds out that a guy is wearing her dresses and using her name?" I didn't respond.
"Although Pam rarely wore the dresses. She preferred slacks. Apparently Pam wasn't as feminine as you," Mary said sarcastically.
"Mistress Amanda prefers I wear dresses, Mistress Mary," I said, avoiding her gaze.
"And does Amanda prefer you wear high heels, mascara, and nail polish? Most motel maids don't, you know."
"But, I prefer to look my best, Mistress," I replied, stealing a quick glance at her.
Mary rolled her eyes, exasperated.
"Well, you look more like a hooker than a maid. Let me warn you, sissy, and I'll warn you only once. My husband drops me off and picks me up here, every day. He knows all the workers here, and he flirts with them all. He'll probably flirt with you, too. But if you so much as glance at him, or say anything more than "Hello"; if you should wink at him, or ever so slightly raise your skirt, or lick your lips., whatever., I will find out, sissy, and I'll scratch that pretty face of yours so badly that no guy will ever want you!"
Stunned by Mary's outburst, I tried to apologize, but she left me to finish the room on my own.
Amanda returned on Friday morning. Other than the exchange with Mary, the week was uneventful. Except for Sara, all the employees were wary of me, a suspicion which was, I believe, prolonged by my addressing them as "Mistress". All the women, including Sara, were uneasy with being in a dominant position.
I worked hard. Sara explained that the motel housed mostly businessmen during the week, and generally had few guests staying on weekend nights. Cleaning each room was not easy, but it was solo work. I enjoyed being alone, as my newfound gender confusion made me eager to withdraw. In addition to cleaning the rooms and making beds, I also washed the towels and linen, cleaned common areas, swept sidewalks, emptied trash, and at times cleaned the kitchen and washed dishes. By day's end I was exhausted. There was no television in my room, although Sara loaned me magazines (Cosmo, Seventeen, Glamour) and Tanya lent me romance novels when she finished reading them. I would have chosen other entertainment, had I a choice. Reading such sources did give me greater insight into women's thoughts. Also, each evening Sara required me to "do my nails," which to females apparently means removing fingernail polish, shaping and filing the nails, and applying a new coat of polish. Sara forbid me to lock my room, which meant I had to stay in female attire at all times. Amanda had even required that I sleep wearing my pink, lacy nightgown, and the staff was allowed to peek into my room unannounced at any time to see how I was dressed.
It was just before noon on Friday when Sara found me cleaning Room 217.
"Pamela," she said, "Amanda's back, and she wants to see you in the office, right now."
Distraught over once again confronting Amanda, I nonetheless sat still as Sara quickly brushed my hair and helped me "freshen up" my lipstick.
Nervously I entered Amanda's office. She was seated at the desk, working on the computer. Amanda ignored my presence, instead addressing Sara.
"Would you please do me a favor, honey? I've made a doctor's appointment for Pamela for this afternoon. Could you drive her there, please? I'm really behind on paying bills."
Oh, sure Mandy," Sara replied as Amanda handed her a slip of paper.
"But," I blurted out, "but Mistress.."
Amanda quickly cut me off, saying, "That is all! Now please get Pamela changed into something pretty, and be on your way. Thank you, Sara."
Sara grasped my hand and led me from the room.
"Come on, Pamela, don't get Mandy angry again. It's probably just a physical, maybe required for insurance or something."
We went to my room where Sara selected a rose-colored dress.
"This will match your shoes, Pamela. You must match your outfit and your accessories, now that you're a girl," she scolded. The dress was short and stylish. Too stylish, as it had come from the Juniors department, and so short that the hem extended only midway between my groin and my knees. Quickly Sara touched up my makeup again, and we were off.
"Mistress Sara, I can't do this. Please, please, let's not do this. You could talk with Amanda, reason with her. Tell her how I've worked hard all week. I would feel so foolish in a doctor's office." Traffic was light as Sara drove towards the city.
"Pamela! I'm not your mother! If you think you could have changed Amanda's mind, you should have done it before we left. I surely cannot. I know Mandy. But if this upsets you so much, I'll pull over right now and let you out. But be willing to accept the consequences. And quit whining!"
"I'm sorry, Mistress. But I just don't know what to do anymore."
"Well, I'd suggest you just get this over with. Quit complaining. Act like a man with a spine, Pamela."
"Yes, Mistress," I replied uneasily as Sara pulled the car into a nondescript suburban office complex.
"Grab your purse, Pamela, and let's go. Amanda will be upset if you miss your appointment!"
I followed Sara into the building. We went to Room 11. The sign on the door listed several physicians. Sara double-checked the paper Amanda had given her.
"OK, Pamela, your appointment is with Doctor Jenson." I nervously took a seat in the waiting room while Sara went to the front desk. I was unable to overhear the brief conversation Sara had with the receptionist. I felt a grave sense of apprehension. Until now, my punishment had been confined to the Paradise View and my trip to Mervyns. I had come to feel secure at the motel; it was like a large closet where I could hide from the world. But here I had no such security. I was a man, and while I had been largely able to hide that fact from guests at the motel, here it was impossible to maintain my disguise. One thing I had come to realize during the past week: it was far better if others viewed me as a woman rather than as a man dressed as a woman.
"You're in luck, Pamela, the nurse is ready for you," Sara said as she approached me, then whispered, "and Pamela, I told them that you are my niece, since you need a relative accompanying you. And Amanda is your mom. So from now on call me "auntie", and drop the mistress stuff. Got it?"
I was shocked. How could Sara be my aunt? She was only a year older than I.
She grasped my hand and led me through a door to an examination room.
A nurse was already waiting there. She was a young woman about my age, wore no wedding ring and was somewhat overweight, with a cheerful, girlish demeanor. She wore a pale pink nurses uniform, with slacks. In fact, I realized with considerable embarrassment, so far I was the only person wearing a dress or skirt.
"Good afternoon, Pamela, my name is Janet," she said as she sat at a small desk. Sara sat in the only other chair in the room.
"Please have a seat on the examining table." I did as told, and thus I was sitting up much higher than either Janet or Sara. Sara continued talking, occasionally writing notes on a printout which lay on the desk.
"So," Janet continued, "your mother, Amanda, set up this appointment for you. She mentioned that you were too shy to make the appointment for yourself."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
"Well, Pamela, you shouldn't be embarrassed. Not at all. I'd like to thank your aunt for coming here with you," Janet said, nodding towards Sara, who was watching this in what seemed disbelief.
"The process is simple. First, I must ask you a few mandatory questions, then we measure and record your statistics - height, weight, and so on - and then Doctor Jenkins will visit with you. Do you have any questions?"
"No, ma'am," I said, although in fact I had many but was afraid to ask.
"Great! Then let's get started," she said, smiling. Janet's first questions were innocuous: name, address, prior illnesses, and so on.
"Now," she continued, turning to the next page of the questionnaire, "we have a few more, ah, personal questions to ask you. Let's see., Pamela.., at what age did you first menstruate?"
"I'm sorry?" I replied, confused.
"Your period, Pamela. When did you have your first period?"
"Well., I haven't had a., period, ma'am." I blushed with embarrassment.
"I realize these questions may be embarrassing, Pamela," Janet said, noticing my reddened face, "particularly to a girl with your, ah., history, for lack of a better word. But it's required I ask these questions of all patients. Just answer honestly, dear."
I glanced towards Sara for help, but she just sat, staring, apparently amazed at what I would do.
"Oh, yes ma'am. I 'm sorry, ma'am. No, I haven't had a period, yet."
"So you haven't menstruated?"
"Have you had any children, Pamela?"
"Do I have children," I asked, unsure of the question.
"Have you given birth, Pamela. Are you a mother?"
"And are you pregnant, Pamela?"
"No ma'am," I replied softly, "I'm not pregnant."
"But maybe someday, my dear niece," Sara joked, apparently trying to relieve my tension.
"One never knows," Janet laughed.
"Science can do wonders these days." Now, let's see, next question: Pamela, are you sexually active?"
"Why, no., no I'm not."
"You don't have a boyfriend, Pamela?"
"Have you had intercourse within the past three months?"
"Do you mean., like, with a man?"
"Yes, silly girl! With a man." Janet giggled.
"I mean, Pamela, has a man had intercourse with you. I mean, has a man taken you like a woman?"
"No ma'am," I replied, ever more embarrassed.
"Final question, Pamela. Do you masturbate, and if so, how often?"
"But," I stammered, wishing I were dead, "why do you need to know that?"
"Oh Pamela, you are shy, aren't you! It's important so that when Doctor Jenkins examines your vagina, she will properly be able to measure it."
"But, you know., I don't really have a vagina."
"As I said earlier, Pamela, these are important questions which must be asked of all our patients. I realize they may not exactly apply to you, given your, ah, plumbing, but please understand, you are the first girl with your., situation., that's ever been here. We surely can't change all our forms just for you, can we?"
Sara spoke up, "Pamela masturbates. Almost every day. She told me so. End of discussion."
"Thank you, " said Janet, grateful to end this line of questioning. Now Pamela, I'll give you an initial physical and then we'll get your height and weight. Now take your clothes off, please."
"My dress, ma'am," I asked hopefully.
"Yes miss, your dress. Also your bra, panties, pantyhose., everything."
"May I wear a gown, ma'am? Please."
"Later, Pamela, but not yet. Now hurry. I have other patients to attend to."
Sara was frowning at me, as if to add her "Hurry up" to Janet's. While I began undressing, Sara chatted with the nurse. I reached back and, with some difficulty, was able to undo the buttons to my dress, then carefully slipped it off me. Next I removed my lacy white slip. The girls chatted as if I were not present, but I couldn't help but notice that they were both watching me, a young man, standing before them wearing a bra, panty girdle, and pantyhose.
"So, does your niece do her own shopping," asked Janet.
Oh sure, she enjoys it just like any other girl. You know, she bought that cute dress just last Monday at Mervyns' Juniors department."
"The Juniors department? I wish I could shop there," Janet added.
Before long I was completely, utterly naked, crowded in the tiny examination room with two young ladies.
"Very good, Pamela," Janet said. Her voice wavered; clearly she was a bit flustered to see my male anatomy.
"My, you do keep your fingernails and toenails looking pretty. You are a pretty girl, you know," she continued, apparently trying to put me at ease.
Carefully she checked my arms for needle tracks, my body for rashes, my ears and my eyes.
"At this point, I would normally check your vagina, Pamela, but I see you have a slight problem in that area," she said, giggling nervously.
"Yes ma'am," I agreed as she used her gloved hand to raise and lower my penis and balls. I doubt she even knew what she was looking for. Having been so tightly constricted by the girdle, my private parts had shrunk to a miniscule size.
"Very good, Pamela, now say goodbye to your aunt." Janet turned to Sara and said, "Pamela should be finished here within another thirty minutes. You may sit in the waiting room, and I'll send her out when we're done."
"Pamela," Janet continued, "please slip your shoes on and follow me."
"But ma'am, I can't go out like this!"
"Oh, miss, don't be so shy. We only employ women here, and all our patients are female, so you should feel comfortable. After all, you are a girl deep inside. That is why you are here, isn't it? Now come on, Pamela. I've got to treat you just like every other girl!"
Thus it was that I followed Janet into the hallway, naked except for my high heels, my nails all painted bright red, my face made up and my hair styled, looking almost female except for my flat chest and flaccid cock. Sara, looking astonished, followed us out the door, then turned and walked to the waiting room.
The scale was set right in the middle of the hallway, central to the office and to the six or seven examination rooms. Janet had me stand on the scale as she carefully measured my weight. I tried to cover my genitals with my hands. Two other nurses approached; they wore uniforms identical to Janet's.
"Hi!" said Janet to the two nurses.
"Pamela, I'd like to introduce you to Kim and Mary. On a later visit one of them may be assisting you."
"Hello Kim. Hello Mary," I said weakly. Kim was a very pretty, petite, oriental girl, while Mary was blond and tall. They were young, maybe younger than me. Both were smiling at me or at my predicament.
"Hi, Pamela," exclaimed Kim.
"It's so very nice to meet you. My, your shoes are so pretty! Where did you get them?"
"Thank you, Kim," I stuttered.
"I bought my shoes at Mervyns."
Janet had me step off the scale, and then had Kim and Mary help her take my measurements. It was impossible to be modest, as I was required to put my arms above my head ("like a ballerina," said Mary), while the girls used a tape measure to carefully measure my waist, hips, underarms, thighs, and even leg length. As this was going on all the other employees, even the receptionist, "just happened" to walk by. Janet introduced me to each, even as I stood with arms above my head, hands together. Each woman smiled at me. I suspected that later on they would be laughing at me as they told their friends or husbands about the sissy patient.
When the three nurses finished measuring me, a middle aged woman approached.
"Hello. I'm doctor Jenkins. You must be Pamela. Follow me, please."
My high heels clicked loudly as I minced along.
"Most women don't wear high heels when they come here. Maybe on your next visit you should wear something more comfortable."
"Yes ma'am," I replied.
The doctor, Janet, and I entered a larger room. It had an examination table, but also had rows of bright lights and a large amount of expensive-looking camera equipment. First I laid face down on the table, as doctor Jenkins pinched my ass cheeks. Then they had me lie face up, while the doctor pinched and probed my breast area.
"Pamela, your mother says you want to have your breasts surgically enhanced, and would also like fuller, more feminine hips. So, have you considered what size breasts you would like, young lady?"
I was shocked. Sara had thought I would just get a routine physical! I tried to conceal my surprise and my embarrassment.
"Well., no., no I haven't, ma'am. My mother said that., maybe., you could help me., decide."
"Tell me, Pamela, did you attend high school as a girl?"
"Why no, ma'am, I didn't," I replied.
"Oh. That's too bad. A girl's locker room is the best place to observe the spectrum of female breasts. So tell me, miss, other than your breasts, have you ever inspected, closely, first person, any female's breasts?"
"No, doctor, no., I guess I haven't," I replied. I couldn't but suspect that the stern doctor was just pointing out that I was not manly enough to have been intimate with a girl.
The doctor whispered something to Janet. She left, and soon returned with Kim and Mary. Then all three nurses removed their blouses and bras.
"I'm sure you realize the importance of making a correct decision, young lady. If, for example, you choose very large breasts, you'll find that your back will suffer and you'll be forced to wear firm brassieres at all times.
On the other hand, if you choose very small breasts, you may psychologically feel inadequately female. And of course, young lady, you must remember that as you age your breasts will sag. That's an unfortunate fact for all of us women."
"Now, Kim wears a B cup, Mary has a C cup, and Janet has a D cup. Notice the difference in the size of each girl's breasts. Now, in your minds eye, when you picture yourself getting undressed in the evening, which breast size do you see in the mirror, Kim's, or Mary's, or Janet's?"
I was dumbfounded. I'd never imagined myself with breasts, after all. I responded that I saw Janet's breasts in my mirror, mostly because she'd been nice to me.
"Just as I guessed, young lady, you want large breasts. I suppose that's understandable. OK, girls, thank you very much for helping this young lady chose her new breasts." Next, while the nurses dressed, Doctor Jenkins gave me a shot. She told me what it was, but the medical name meant nothing to me, then she left me to the care of the three nurses.
"May I dress now, ma'am," I asked (pleaded) Janet.
"Not yet, young lady," she scolded.
"You are just so modest, Pamela.
Really." Next I was required to pose under the bright lights in various positions, while Janet took a series of photographs. For example, I was required to stand straight, with legs together and hands clasped behind my back; for another shot I had to squat; and for several I had to lie down on a pink blanket, first on my side, then on my back, and then on my belly with my head held by my forearm.
"Why are these necessary," I protested.
"Don't fuss, Miss," Mary said sternly, "you'll find out later. If you like, we'll get your aunt in here to hold your hand during the photo session."
"Oh no, ma'am, please don't. It's OK. I won't complain," I replied. The last thing I wanted now was Sara witnessing my degradation.
"Just imagine yourself at a beach, wearing a skimpy bikini, showing your body off to all the boys," Mary said with a sarcastic giggle.
"Could I at least wear panties to cover up my., you know., my "thing"?"
"No, Pamela, you can't cover up your little wee-wee. Now hush up and let us finish."
"OK, young lady, that's it for today. You may go back and get dressed, then tell your aunt to see the receptionist to schedule your next appointment," said Janet. With the photo session finally over and I still naked except for my maroon high heels, I slipped out the door and into the hallway. It was empty except for the receptionist, who had just exited the ladies room. She stared at me as I minced down the hallway in my heels. When I opened the door to the small examination room I was surprised to see it occupied: Dr. Jenkins was there with a middle-aged woman and her daughter, a thin girl of high school age. The girl stared at me, smiling, while her overweight mother scowled.
"Please, young lady," Dr. Jenkins said sternly, "get dressed! You absolutely cannot walk naked around here. Take your clothes and dress in the ladies room."
I apologized profusely to them as I entered the tiny examination room and gathered up my dress, bra, panties, slip and pantyhose. As I grasped my purse my bra fell to the floor, and when I bent down to pick it up I couldn't help but give the woman and her daughter an unwanted, up close look at my hairless ass.
"Look, mom," the girl whispered, "that boy wears a dress exactly like the one you bought me for my birthday. That's so cute!"
"No," the mother said aloud, "that boy is disgusting."
The ladies room was down the hall. Luckily it was vacant. I entered a stall and hurriedly dressed. An enormous sense of relief came over me when, fully dressed at last, I stepped before the full-length mirror and straightened my hair. True, I still looked ridiculous wearing a girl's dress, but at least I was no longer naked. I hurried to the waiting room and was immensely relieved to see Sara there, still waiting for me. More and more I was becoming dependant upon this beautiful girl who, it seemed, tried her best to smooth the hard edges of my punishment.
By the time we were seated safely in Sara's car, I felt as if I had been twisted and torn; emotionally I had broken from my moorings. Desperately I grasped Sara's hand, put my head to her breast, and started to cry. I could smell the scent of her clothes, her perfume, her body, as I closed my eyes, weeping softly.
After a few minutes I gained a semblance of control.
"Oh, Sara, I said between sniffles, "I can't do this anymore. I simply can't. You can't imagine how humiliating it was. It's horrible. Maybe I should just run away."
"It's OK, Pamela. It'll get better." She gently hugged me as my head cradled upon her breast.
"If you leave now it'll be worse, I'm sure. Amanda has many incriminating photos of you, and she has your drivers license, so she knows your home address. Not only will you be imprisoned, but your family and friends in Iowa will receive all those photos. But then, I don't know., maybe they will accept the sight of you in lingerie and dresses."
"She would do that?"
"Yes, Pamela, you know she will."
"What can I do, Sara. What?"
"Just relax, Pamela. The nurse told me that, at this very moment, you have more female hormones coursing through your bloodsteam than does any real woman. In one sense, you're now more female than I am. Once the hormones take hold you'll feel less anxious about being, well., feminine. Then things will feel better to you."
"You mean that shot the doctor gave my was hormones?"
"Female hormones, Pamela. Now stop crying. Oh, by the way, the receptionist mentioned to me that you have sexy legs."
"I suppose that's a compliment, Sara. I don't know. I'm really confused." I was silent for awhile as Sara drove back to the hotel. Why, I wondered, did I cry so easily. Was it the hormones? I felt confined, trapped in my new existence.
"Mistress," I whispered as I wiped my tears with a tissue Sara had handed me, "I've fallen very much in love with you." I saw Sara briefly smile, but she said nothing.
As they did each afternoon, Janet, Kim and Mary met at the building's snack bar for break This day they were joined by Joyce, the receptionist.
"I had no idea," Joyce said as she set her coke onto the table, "I just assumed it was just another girl. Then his aunt whispered that Pamela was "sort of a boy". Well, really! A boy in a short sexy dress. I just tried not to stare, but Jesus."
"You should have been with me in the exam room," Janet said.
"I tried to be professional. But when he wiggled out of his panty girdle, and I saw that small, withered cock, it was too much!"
"So you made the boy prance around the clinic, naked," Kim said with a hint of anger.
"He was completely humiliated, Janet, in front of everyone!"
"No, Kim, he wasn't entirely naked. I allowed the boy to wear his pretty high heels," Janet laughed.
Mary added, "Serves him right. We women have it bad enough as it is, what with the lack of available guys in this city. I don't like the idea of having to compete against pretty boys in dresses."
C'mon now, dear little girl," Sara said after parking her car, "I know you've had a difficult day. But you've got to stop by the office and check in with Amanda."
Tanya and Amanda were working on the books as we entered.
"Hi, Mandy. Hi Tanya," Sara said.
"Everything went fine."
"Good," replied Amanda.
"So, Pamela, you got fitted for your new titties?"
"Yes, Mistress Amanda," I replied. Tanya gave me a weird look as she left the office.
"Tell me, and be truthful," Amanda asked as we sat in the lobby, "would you like real breasts? It won't be that expensive."
"You ask me to be honest, Mistress. No. I am a man, Mistress Amanda. Yes, maybe I deserve punishment for what I did to Mistress Sara, that's true. But no, I won't allow my body to be changed. No."
"But Pamela," Amanda countered, trying to sound reasonable, "after another week of wearing dresses you'll wish you had breasts. Your clothes will fit better, and you'll feel more., complete."
"No, Mistress, no.."
"OK, Pamela, I anticipated such an initial reaction. It's your choice."
"Thank you, Mistress," I replied, greatly relieved.
"You're welcome, young lady. Tonight., no - all weekend - you won't be allowed to wear a bra. Maybe on Monday you'll see things differently."
"Sara," she continued, "
"I've printed out your and Pamela's instructions for the weekend. I demand they be followed religiously. If Pamela resists, or does not follow my instructions, even for two minutes, then I want you to contact the police immediately and report the rape. If not, you're fired, Sara. Now please take her to her room."
Sara took the two pages of instructions and we left. I was proud to have finally stood up to Amanda, however meekly. Once outside Sara grabbed my hand and yanked me towards my room.
"Pamela, damn it anyhow, now you've got me in trouble again. If I lose my job, I also lose my home. This is serious. You must follow Amanda's instructions. Understand?"
"Yes, Mistress, I'm sorry. I've caused you enough trouble already, haven't I? I'll follow her stupid rules. After all, nothing could be worse than what I went through this afternoon!"
Sara and I entered my room. Thee boxes had been set upon the floor, one labeled "Friday". One "Saturday", and one "Sunday". Sara sat down in the chair at my makeup desk as I sat upon the edge of my bed. I felt drained. She scanned Sara's instructions, then turned to me. She looked sad.
"What is it, Mistress," I asked.
"Amanda., I'm sorry, Pamela, but I don't quite know how to say this. Amanda would like you to "experience" a real girlhood. That way, she says, you'll better appreciate her offer of real female breasts. She says, "Girls anticipate puberty. Pamela should be allowed to experience and enjoy the same feeling"."
"I don't understand, Mistress," I said, perplexed.
"Bottom line, Pamela, is that tonight you will dress and act like a baby girl. If and only if you accomplish that with perfection, then you'll be allowed on Saturday to dress and act as a six year old girl. If and only if you prove successful at that, then on Sunday you'll dress and act as a pre-pubescent, seventh grade girl."
"Pamela, I cannot get fired because of you. I simply can't."
"Yes, Mistress Sara," I replied softly.
She continued reading Amanda's instructions: "And for the rest of this weekend, or longer if you fail at any level, you will refer to Amanda as "mommy" and to your coworkers as "auntie".
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Hey there, with a little luck and your total cooperation, this will be over by Monday," Sara said, trying to cheer me up.
"Now don't be so sad. Shower and dress in whatever's in the "Friday" box. I'll be back in twenty minutes."
Sara deftly applied a touch of blush onto my cheeks. I lay upon a pink blanket set upon the floor at the far end of the lobby, directly in front of the television. I wore pink booties, a pink empire style nightgown with a matching baby's bonnet tied securely under my chin. The skirt of my nightgown barely extended below my waist, such that the diaper I wore was visible to all.
"Coochie coo, Baby Pamela," Sara laughed in a sing-song voice.
"My, Amanda's new baby is so special, isn't she, Tanya?" I sucked a pacifier as Tanya looked down at me.
Two hours must have passed, although time was difficult to judge. I hadn't eaten all day and was becoming ill with hunger. Having read Amanda's instructions, I knew what was required.
"Waa., waa., waaa.," I began to cry. Sara, who had been tending the front desk, came over to me, as did Tanya and also Emily, one of the part-time schoolgirls.
"Well, what's wrong with the little bitty baby girl," Emily said, laughing.
Tanya, with her large Russian eyes, watched silently.
"Emily," said Sara, "maybe baby is hungry. Her bottle is in the diaper bag.
Would you warm it in the microwave, then feed baby Pamela?"
"Sure," exclaimed Emily, "I love taking care of babies."
Soon I was lying upon my side in fetal position, sucking the warm milk from the bottle. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself as a man, far away in Mexico.
Another hour must have passed. As was custom on Friday evenings, the staff gathered in the lobby to pick up their paycheck and to enjoy some wine, snacks, and girl talk. I had been trying, extremely, to hold it in, but couldn't. My face flushed as I felt my warm urine flow into my diaper. The women, who were seated in a semicircle around me, had till now largely ignored me. But my reddened face and sigh gave away my situation.
"Oh look, everyone," Emily laughed, "baby Pamela is doing wee-wee. Oh, this is so much fun having a baby like her here!"
Again, per my instructions, I began to cry.
"Yes indeed, baby Pamela wet her diaper," Amanda said sternly. Who wants to change her diaper?" A chorus of "no" filled the room.
Eventually they decided to draw straws, and Mary drew the short one. Taunted by her coworkers, disgusted with me, she rolled me onto my back and removed the drenched diaper, then wiped me and powdered my groin and ass, and carefully put a new diaper onto me. While Mary did this, Amanda took a number of photos, just as she had been doing all night.
Tanya asked her why she was taking them.
"Well, someday my baby girl will grow into a woman. Someday, maybe she and her husband will enjoy looking over her baby pictures."
I felt a sensuous kiss upon my cheek. I could smell the scent of perfume mixed with baby powder. I opened my eyes to Sara, wearing a low cut blouse, kneeling down to kiss me as I slept upon the pink blanket.
"Dear Pamela," she said softly, "I went out for the evening. I didn't realize you were still on the floor, dear baby." She kissed me again. I could detect alcohol on her breath.
"But it's after midnight now, and Mandy says you passed your first test. So go to your room now, Pammy. You're now six years old!" She kissed me once again, a lingering kiss.
"Thank you, Auntie Sara," I said. Sara left, and I gathered my bottle, pacifier, and blanket and then went to my room and slept soundly.
"Wake up, girl!" I opened my eyes to daylight. Kimberly, the high school girl, stood in the open door to my room.
"It's already past nine. I've been waiting all morning to play with my six year old niece," she giggled.
"Your mommy wants you dressed and in the lobby, right away!" She looked at me, still wearing my diaper and bonnet, with obvious amusement, then turned and left.
Apprehensively I entered the lobby. The staff had gathered there for morning coffee. All conversation ceased as I entered. I wore a frilly, pastel blue party dress. It had short sleeves which puffed out; the bodice was decorated with lace, but was flat. Not a hint of breasts. The pleated skirt of my dress flared out over several layers of taffeta . My pink, lacy rumba panties were not entirely covered by the short skirt. Dainty white ankle stockings, patent leather shoes, and a tiny pink purse completed my ensemble.
Taking dainty steps I entered the lobby. I stared down at the floor, far too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, and approached Amanda.
"Mommy," I said in the best sing-song little girl voice I could muster, "may I stay in my room, please?"
"No, silly girl. Sit down and watch TV. Mommy's busy."
"Yes, mommy," I replied.
The women all laughed as I sat down on the floor, cross legged, and watched cartoons. They talked about how pretty and feminine I was. Then their discussion shifted to the differences between men and women. I shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't know," Mary said in response to Amy's statement that "little boys" do make "cute girls".
"I was raised in east Texas. Men aren't allowed to be sissies over there. I never knew even one guy who acted at all feminine. Even the gays act macho there."
"What? Gay guys in Lufkin? You must be kidding," Amanda interjected, jokingly.
"Not many! But seriously, all the guys are masculine. All of them. Why, even the girls in Lufkin are more masculine than that sissy on the floor.
The women laughed, while I continued to focus on Sesame Street, pretending not to hear.
"Things here in the city are just different," Mary continued.
"Oh Mary. Pamela is just one person. Not all guys in Dallas wear dresses, do they?"
"No., it's just that after seeing that., she-she boy over there, happily wearing a little girl's dress., I just don't know. It's just dispiriting. Now every time I meet a guy I'll have to wonder, is this man like Pamela? Is this man wearing panties under those jeans? Does he wear nighties to bed. Is he admiring me because he believes I'm sexy, or is he simply admiring my skirt or my high heels?"
"Oh Mary, don't be so insecure," said Amanda.
"We may prefer guys act like guys and not like girls. But it's not a big deal."
The two teens, Kimberly and Emily, bored by the discussion, asked my "mommy" if they could do my hair and makeup.
"Hi auntie Kimberly! Hi auntie Emily," I said as they approached. They giggled.
"Stand up, baby Pammy," said Emily, "and show us your pretty dress!" I meekly stood. Emily had me turn around while she inspected my outfit. I could hear the taffeta of my slip rustle.
"Oh, Pammy, you are such a sweet girl," Emily gushed.
"Tell auntie, don't you just love your party dress?"
"Yes, auntie, I do. I think it's very pretty," I replied, well aware that Amanda was likely monitoring my performance.
"Tell us, Pammy, are you a pretty little girl?"
"Yes, aunty Emily and auntie Kimberly," I replied, blushing, "I'm a pretty girl, wearing a pretty dress." Kimberly just laughed.
"Indeed you are," said Emily, "but we are going to put real makeup on you, just like big girls wear. Won't that be fun!"
"Yes, auntie Emily."
While Kimberly retrieved her purse, where she kept lipstick and blusher, Emily had me practice curtsies. Emily then had me sit upon the carpeted floor, and while she knelt at my left and styled my hair, Kimberly knelt at my right and applied lipstick.
Soon I had pigtails, tied with pink ribbons, and bright pink lipstick adorned my lips. Sara remained unusually silent. Didn't she have feelings for me? Wasn't she hurt to see the girls humiliate me? Eventually the staff drifted back to their tasks, leaving me alone, a little girl watching children's television.
At lunch, Sara tied a pink bib on me.
"Pamela, your mommy says you must wear this. She wants your dress to stay clean." As I sat at the table, I could smell the coffee which the women were enjoying. Oh, what I would have done for a cup of coffee. But that was impossible, as I was just a six year old girl.
"It is very much unusual, is it not, all this," I overhead Tanya ask in her broken English.
"What's unusual, Tanya," said Sara.
"This Pamela. A young man be a little girl. In my land men are very powerful. They control. Women, we do most work and we raise children. Always weary at end of day. Our men drink and go to discos, and hit women who ask for their help. So why would he (Tanya looked at me, seated demurely) wish to be woman? I do not yet understand America well at all. It is often confused."
"I understand you, Tanya," said Sara.
"Mexican men, including those here in the U.S., are a lot like men in your country. Mexican men think they are total masters of the universe."
"So why then does Pamela act like a girl?"
"Hard to say," Amanda said.
"Men think they are so muscular, so tough.
Always ready to fight. Ever eager to fuck. Yet look at that "man" sitting there." I looked down and nibbled my cookie, as if I were unaware she was referring to me.
"Dressed like a little girl, ribbons in his hair, wearing pink lipstick. Ha! Maybe that macho image men project is just pure bullshit. Maybe all men are like Pamela, just better at hiding their yearnings. Yes, ladies, we females are the supersex. I suspect Pamela has simply realized that fact, and succumbed to it."
"So, if you can't beat em, then join em," laughed Mary.
"Well, whatever Pamela's reasons are, she better be very careful," said Kerri.
"My cousin works at a county jail in Houston. She once told me about a "tranny" who was arrested for not paying an outstanding traffic ticket. The cops stuck him in a holding cell, still wearing his dress and high heels. The jailers thought it was really funny putting him in with a bunch of riff-raff. But by morning that poor tranny had been abused, beaten, and raped, repeatedly. No, it's not a perfect world for sissies like her, not at all."
"But why didn't the police help," asked Tanya.
"Tanya, don't be nave," Kerri said.
"Police aren't here to help anyone that's different. Nearly all of them are republican racists. They hate all poor people. Hell, republicans hate anyone who's not an "upright" fundamentalist warmonger. In fact, there's a banner in the police department right here in this town which says "Black, Brown, or Gay? Throw Them Away!" I've seen it myself, it's posted on the door that leads to the drunk tank."
"Very true, Kerri. With the republicans in control here, nobody will ever accuse Texas of having compassionate government," Amanda said, then cruelly added, "but maybe Pamela would enjoy being jail raped."
Wait, now," Mary resumed, "you all are just making light of Tanya's concerns. But it's not just her. I'm also confused by the sissy. Look, there's a male that's what - 18 years old, at least - and he dresses and acts like a five year old girl. It's sick!" The women continued to talk as if I were not there, or rather, as if my feelings mattered not at all. I tried to pretend like their words didn't matter, but I felt tears forming in my eyes as I stared down at my plate, unwilling to look at any of them.
"Oh, Mary, Pamela is six years old, not five," Amanda joked. Kerry and Kimberly laughed in an attempt to lighten the conversation.
"Look girls," Amanda said earnestly, "since Pam quit, we have been having problems here. I've tried to hire a maid, without success. Something's gotta give. Who here would enjoy cleaning 30 rooms a day in addition to your regular duties?"
"Yes," Amanda continued after a moment of silence, "I suppose Pamela is sick. Mentally screwed up. But she is harmless; her psychologist assured me of that. And she's working for little more than room and board, plus the chance to transition to womanhood. The shrink pointed out that it's impossible to just be born a woman. Girlhood must always precede womanhood. Maybe this weekend we can help Michael., I mean Pamela, purge her masculinity and wholly embrace femininity, by allowing her to symbolically grow into a mature woman."
"I haven't seen much masculinity to purge," said Amy dryly.
"True," Amanda continued, "but if all goes well, by Monday we'll have a maid with fewer gender hang-ups. But Mary, you're right, I shouldn't impose this reeducation task upon my staff without your consent. So, if any of you are bothered by Pamela's "issues", then she's gone, immediately."
All were silent.
"OK," Amanda concluded, "Pamela stays for now. But if any of you change your mind, for any reason whatsoever, she's out of here."
"So will Pamela always be a girl," Amy asked.
"I suppose that's ultimately up to her," said Amanda.
"Yes mommy," I replied.
"Pamela, do you like being a girl?"
"Yes, mommy, very much so," I lied.
"Would you like to grow up to be a female, like us?"
"Yes mommy, I would."
Amanda, with a smirk, then had me address each of my "aunties" and thank them for allowing me to wear such "pretty clothes".
After I finished this, Amanda addressed me again: "Pamela, would you stand up so we can see your pigtails and makeup?"
Yes, mommy," I replied. I stood up and turned away so that they could see my hair better.
"My, my, such a dainty little girl," Mary said sarcastically.
"Wasn't Emily teaching you how little girls curtsy? Go ahead, sweetie, curtsey for us."
"Pamela," Amanda said sternly, "you heard auntie Mary! Now show us how pretty girls curtsy!"
"Yes mommy," I replied, then gently grasped the hem of my dress with my fingers, and bobbed down and up.
"Look everyone," Emily exclaimed, "Pammy curtsies just like Shirley Temple.
Isn't she sweet!"
"Very nice, Pamela. Now tell us, do you enjoy being a girl," asked Amanda.
"Yes mommy, I do. Very much."
"Well, Pamela, six year old girls don't dirty their panties. Tell mommy, are your panties clean?"
I hesitated, too embarrassed to answer.
"Ah, ha," Mary exclaimed, "the little girl's silence speaks volumes. Either she's not wearing panties, or she's dirtied them."
"No., no., I didn't," I protested.
"You baby," Mary scolded.
"Maybe she needs to wear diapers again," Emily laughed.
"Pamela, show your panties to auntie Sara," Amanda commanded.
"But mommy," I cried, frightened of where this was headed.
"Do it young lady, or else!"
I walked towards Sara. She rolled her eyes in an expression of disbelief and disgust.
"Auntie Sara," I said in a near-whisper, "will you., will you., please.."
"OK! OK! Bend over, Pamela."
Sara remained seated as I turned away from her and bent over so that my ass, which was covered by pink rumba panties, was nearly at the height of Sara's breasts. I felt her stretch the backside of my panties.
"They don't look dirty," she pronounced.
"I smell something nasty," Mary said, "what could it possibly be?"
"Seems we need a second opinion here," Amanda said.
"Pamela, remove your panties and give then to Sara, so that she can inspect them close up."
"Right here? But., Mommy, please!"
"Do it, Pammy. I'm ordering you to remove your panties!"
I looked around the table. All the women were staring at me. Even ever-bubbly Amy stared silently in disbelief at what I was willing to do.
"Please, mommy," I begged in a little girl's sing-song voice, hoping maybe Amanda would reconsider, "please don't make me do that!"
Amanda was silent. She sternly gazed at me. Once again I gave in to her demands. Amanda was much stronger than I. No, not physically, but psychologically. The thought raced through my mind that, even had I not faced prison time, I would still succumb to her will. But why? Was it the female hormones, or was it something else, a fundamental weakness in me?
Still facing away from the table, I reached under my skirt and carefully lowered my panties. Red-faced, I turned to face Sara, then handed my lacy panties to the woman I desired.
Sara took them from me, holding them between her thumb and index finger, as if they were some type of toxic waste.
"They're dry," she pronounced. From the tone of her voice, it was clear she wasn't enjoying this.
"Very good," Amanda said, "but maybe she's dirtied her behind. After all, Mary smells something. Bend down again, Pamela, so Sara can inspect you."
It was futile to protest. I raised my skirt and leaned forward again, my naked hairless ass shown to the women. I did cup my right hand over my genitals to maintain a tad of dignity.
"She looks clean," Sara said after a glance at my ass.
"I don't know, Sara. As they say, looks can be deceptive. Mary may be right. Here, take this napkin and rub it between my little girl's cheeks."
"No way," Sara said.
"C'mon," said Mary, "After all, I had to change her diaper yesterday."
"Do it Sara. Please," added Amanda.
"Jesus," Sara exclaimed, after which I felt her rubbing the napkin between the cheeks of my ass. After a few moments of silence, she said, "Yes, Amanda, the napkin has a brown stain. Pamela is a bit dirty. Just a bit."
"I knew it! My gosh, Pamela. Now you go to your room and fetch your diaper bag. Right away!"
"But mommy, please!" I begged Amanda. The stress and humiliation made tears fill my eyes.
"Do it, Pamela, or I'll spank you right here in front of everybody. And take your panties with you. Tonight you'll have to hand wash them, you naughty girl."
Sara handed me the pink panties and I fled the restaurant.
"You're gonna make him wear diapers again," Amy asked, astonished.
"Yes Amy. I suppose you all think I'm being mean. But Pamela's psychologist says this is good for her. She asked my to push Pamela to the limit, so that Pamela will be forced to choose once and for all. Maybe she'll choose to return to the comfortable life of a male. If she doesn't, then we will all know how important this is to her."
"Well, that thing is no real male," Mary said.
"I agree. Pamela could never be a real man, could she," added Tanya.
"Probably not," Amanda said with a grin.
"So where on earth does she get those clothes in grown-up sizes," Emily asked.
"Well, I know a woman who owns a costume shop in Fort Worth. Apparently Amanda is not the only quirky guy in town," Amanda said with a laugh.
I grabbed the large pink diaper bag from my closet, and quickly left.
Without panties, I could feel my cock and balls swinging as I walked to the restaurant.
"Very good, baby daughter," Amanda said as I entered.
"Now ask Auntie Sara to put a diaper on you."
"But mommy," I pleaded.
"Do it, cry baby!"
Apprehensively I approached beautiful Sara, holding the diaper bag in front of my crotch. With my eyes downcast, I said, "Auntie Sara, would you please put a clean diaper on me?"
"Why do you need a diaper, Pamela? You're six years old!"
"Yes, auntie Sara, but I..., well., I do not keep myself clean. Mommy says I'm a nasty baby girl."
Sara's exasperation flared.
"No, I will NOT put a diaper on you. NO! NO! NO! Now just get away from me! GO AWAY!"
"OK, Sara, calm down, will you," Amanda said.
"You don't have to diaper her. I will. Unless there are any other volunteers?"
"Oh! We will, we will, giggled Amy and Emily. Please Amanda!"
"OK, go ahead and diaper my daughter."
Enthusiastically the two petite teenagers had me lie down on the pink blanket, on my stomach. The lifted the skirt of my party dress so that my ass was shown.
"Naughty little girl," giggled Amy, "you dirtied your panties and now you must wear diapers again. Well, what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"
"I'm sorry, auntie Amy, very sorry. But please don't force me to wear diapers! Please don't!"
"Your mommy says you must," Emily said, giggling. I felt baby powder sprinkled on my ass. Emily playfully slapped my cheeks a few times to spread the powder.
"Now turn onto your back, Baby Pamela." I did as told, but covered my eyes with my hands.
"Gosh, Amy," Emily said with mock surprise, "look at baby Pamela's little treasure. It's so cute!" Amy sprinkled more powder onto me and onto my exposed, shrunken genitals. Then the two girls, one on each side, fastened the diaper on with safety pins.
"All done. Now stand up, baby Pamela, and show us your baby diaper!"
Humiliated, I stood up. The bulky diaper pushed out the hem of my party dress, and thus was partly visible at all times.
"Here, young lady," Mary said to me, "since you act like a baby, you can have your baby bottle back." Mary handed the bottle, filled with warm milk, to me. I took the bottle and looked to Amanda for guidance.
"Go ahead, daughter," Amanda said, "and be sure to thank all your aunties."
Thank you, auntie Amy and auntie Emily, for putting the diaper on me," I said to them as Emily grinned maliciously. Then I went to Mary and said "Thank you, auntie Mary, for my bottle."
"Now little girl," Mary said mockingly, "try not to dirty your diaper like you did yesterday. Maybe we'll have to ask Emily and Amy to potty train you. Would you like that?"
"No, auntie Mary! I promise not to be naughty!"
"Well, if you do," said Mary, "I'll take you to the park where all little girls your age play, and we'll let them see your diaper. Do you understand, little girl?"
"Yes, auntie. I promise to be good. Please don't make me go anywhere dressed like this, please don't.." I groveled before Mary, whom everybody knew despised me, praying that Amanda would not force me to go out in public in a dress and diaper.
"Why Mary, that's such a nice offer," Amanda said.
"We'll see how my daughter does. Maybe Pamela can go with you and show off her diaper. But, let's all get back to work now. Pamela, sit on your blanket and finish your bottle like a good baby girl."
"Yes mommy," I replied, then sat down cross-legged in front of the television and sucked warm milk from my bottle.
Later in the day Emily and Amy, both off work by then, stopped by with several of their schoolmates.
"Look everyone," Emily said to her friends, "this is baby Pamela, my six year old niece!"
"Hi auntie Emily! Hi auntie Amy!" I used the most girlish voice I could muster. The group of teenage girls had me stand up as they oohed and ahhed over my cute party dress. Amy even brought me a doll, a baby girl doll, to play with. She said it was her kid sister's, who had outgrown it.
"Now you can play mommy, little girl," said one of Emily's friends, a tall redhead with clear skin and flawless makeup.
After a half hour of mocking me and watching me as I played with my new doll, the girls tired of the situation.
"Let's go find some guys," Emily said to the others.
"Good idea," replied the redhead.
"Let's find some real guys, guys that don't wear pastel party dresses and diapers."
Before leaving, several of the girls hugged me and said goodbye.
Sunday's attire was much better: a simple red shift, sleeveless, with hem just above my knees. A white, long sleeve blouse, very frilly; white knee high stockings, and the same black patent leather shoes I had worn with yesterday's outfit. But my dress was clearly a girl's dress, as there was no looseness in the chest area. No titties on me today, I realized as I dressed.
Again I was required to stay in the lobby where "mommy" and "auntie Sara" could watch over me. Amy brought her Barbi doll collection for me to play with.
"I used to really enjoy this when I was younger," the pretty teenager said to me.
"You'll enjoy it too, Pammy. But let me fill you in on a secret: Ken has nothing between his legs. Maybe he's a he-she too, kinda like you!"
"Thank you, auntie," I replied with forced enthusiasm. From mid-morning until mid-afternoon I stayed in the lobby, where I was required to sit on the lobby floor and play with Amy's dolls. Amy helped me at this, showing me how to choose Barbi's outfits and matching accessories. I was also required to read several magazines Amy had brought in, including "seventeen" and Cosmo Girl". Amy couldn't stop giggling as she had me take the quizzes which apparently are a staple in such publications, and which focus solely upon clothes and boys.
About two in the afternoon my "mommy" sent me to the restaurant to see Sara. Feeling foolish, I quietly entered the restaurant carrying my small red purse in one hand, and a fully dressed Barbi doll in the other. Sara, Amy and Emily were seated at a table.
"Pammy dear, come sit with us. We must have a girl talk," said Sara.
"Yes, auntie Sara," I said as I gently sat at the table. I set my purse in my lap, and the Barbi doll upon the table. The high school girls grinned at me, while Sara had an air of seriousness.
"Pamela, your mommy asked us to explain to you what it means to become a woman."
"Yes.," I replied quizzically.
"That's right," Amy added.
"Since you're a girl and of that special age, you must know certain things."
"I don't understand, auntie Amy, what things?"
"Woman things, Pamela. Female matters!"
"You mean like, makeup? Dresses?"
"No, that's not what Amy means," said Sara.
"Look at you," Sara continued as she reached over and touched my chest, "you have no breasts. Now look at me; I have female breasts. Do you understand now?"
"Yes," I replied, embarrassed.
"We'll explain to you a few of the things all girls must know when they come of age. For example, women have periods. Amy has generously volunteered to teach you about your menstrual cycle. Isn't that nice of her?"
"Yes, I suppose so," I said softly.
"And Emily will explain to your how your body will change is you mature into a woman.
"Yes, auntie," I replied glumly. The idea that I, who just days ago was a typical 20 year old male, would be instructed on such topics by girls who were several years my junior, was almost more than I could comprehend.
"And, young lady, I will cover two difficult subjects: sex and pregnancy.
All fertile young girls must understand the consequences of sex."
And so it went. I endured the next two hours with great difficulty. Emily, the pretty brunette girl with impish impulses, gleefully explained how my breasts and nipples would develop, my hips and ass would become curved and sexy, while my lips, too, would become full and sensuous. She used the Barbi doll to illustrate, removing Barbi's prom dress to show her tits. Arching her back slightly, she smiled and said, "Yes, Pamela, maybe someday you'll have a beautiful female body just like mine, and you'll drive the boys crazy, just like I do!"
Amy giggled ceaselessly while she told me how I would soon began to bleed monthly, and how I should use the various feminine hygiene products to get me through my periods.
Sara went into great detail about sex, explaining how a man could impregnate me, and how I could "service" my partner (alas, she assumed a male partner) without going "all the way". I fidgeted with the Barbi doll, bit my lower lip and stared at a spot on the floor as Sara explained oral sex and anal sex, from a female perspective.
"But," I countered to Sara, whom I desired so very much, "I don't like men, not in that way. Really, I don't!"
"Oh, Pamela," Sara said knowingly, "that really doesn't matter. If you look sexy the men will desire you, and then you must know how to make them happy. Whether or not you desire them is irrelevant. The world doesn't revolve around women's pleasure, you know. But believe me, Pammy, giving pleasure to a man, particularly to your very own man, will make you feel unbelievably fulfilled. You'll see." The two teens giggled at Sara's words, directed as they were at me, a male of sorts. I could only hope that someday Sara might choose to please me, the male me, in just such a manner.
The lesson ended with all of us seated at a table in the empty restaurant.
The three females discussed the boys in their lives, and how they "serviced" the boys, even at times when they were most fertile and also when it was their "time of the month". I noticed Sara casually slip off one of her high heels and, with her legs crossed, look down to inspect the red nail polish on her toenails. She did this unconsciously. Sexy feminine mannerisms came naturally to Sara, while I struggled to fit into even a generic female mold. As the girls talked, I stared at Sara's naked foot and imagined myself fondling it, smelling it, licking it.
After I had been instructed in the process and the joys of becoming a woman ("you are a flower opening up to the morning sun," Amy said), Sara ordered me to accompany Amy and Emily to the store. She refused to say why. Thus, still clutching my little red purse and the Barbi doll, I sat in the back seat of Amy's small car. Emily had taken the front, without even asking me where I'd like to sit. Anxious as to where I was being taken, I nonetheless remained silent. After just five or ten minutes Amy pulled into the parking lot of a large Walgreen's drug store. I prayed they would allow me to remain in the car.
"Well, come on little girl," Emily commanded after opening the car door, "get out!"
"But why, auntie Emily," I said, cowering in the back seat.
"I don't want to go in there. Not like this. Please, auntie Emily!"
"Pamela. Your mommy said you must," Amy said in an apologetic tone.
"Please, auntie.," I implored, but the girls just turned away and walked into the drugstore. Reluctantly I too exited the car and walked towards the store.
Apprehensively I followed the girls into the store. I felt like a fool: less than a man, for sure, and even less than a woman. Dressed as I was, in a young girl's red shift, with my hair in pigtails, wearing girl's flats and knee-high stockings, it was clear I was neither man nor woman. Surely I was too large to pass as a young girl, and I was too flat to be a woman, which meant any casual observer could likely easily deduce my true sex. I realized that my situation was now much worse than during my previous shopping trip with Sara, for then I was a man acting as a somewhat passable woman. Now I was a man posing as a young girl, which was worse than just odd.
Once inside, Emily said to me "Go find your tampons, Pammy," then she and Amy went to the counter and greeted another girl. I stood frozen for a few moments before I scurried over to an aisle labeled "feminine products".
"Tammy," Emily said to her friend who worked as a cashier in the store, "you won't believe this! See that person walking down that aisle?"
"Yeah," Tammy replied, "you mean that girl in the red dress? What about her?" Tammy was a petite brunette, her hair cut short and styled.
"It's not a her, Tammy, it's a pansy guy in a girl's dress. Can you believe it? A guy dressed like a ten year old girl!"
"Is she a friend of yours?"
"No way," Emily said.
"He works with us, and our boss paid us to take him here. The boss feels sorry for him."
"It's really weird," Amy added soberly.
"So what's he doing here," Tammy asked.
"Get this. He's here to buy tampons. For himself!" Emily said.
"Yes, it's true," Amy said.
"He's got this flaky idea that he needs to have his first period so that he'll feel more like a woman or something. It's really kinda sad."
"I've got to see this for myself," Tammy laughed.
Before me was an entire aisle devoted to "personal feminine hygiene". I had little clue of what I was supposed to purchase. Suddenly I felt a touch upon my shoulder, startling me. In my confusion I hadn't heard anyone approach.
"Hi, miss," said a girl's voice, "May I help you?" I turned to see the girl who had been behind the counter. Her name tag said "Tammy".
"No., yes., well maybe.," I stammered, red faced, as the brunette's eyes studied me closely.
"I need tampons."
"Oh? Tampons., are these for your mother?"
"No., not really. They're for me.."
"Oh. I'm sorry, " Tammy said, "I didn't realize. You don't look, you know., developed enough to need tampons. So, you're menstruating," she asked as she reached for a blue box from the shelf and handed them to me.
"Well., no, not really..."
"You mean this will be your first period? You're growing up then, aren't you?"
"Yes, I suppose so," I said as I took the box of Tampax tampons she handed to me.
"Here," she continued, "you should also purchase these." Tammy handed me a larger box labeled Kotex.
"And do you understand how to use these, miss?" Tammy seemed pleasant. Her voice wasn't mocking or sarcastic. Maybe she simply thought I was a young girl, just large for my age. I couldn't tell.
"No, but thank you. I believe I understand how they work," I replied sheepishly.
I followed Tammy to the front counter. Only then did I realize I had no money. Amy was nowhere in sight. I approached Emily, who was busy conversing with another young girl who had just entered the store. With trepidation I approached her to borrow some money.
"Sure thing, Pammy dear," she replied in a voice so loud that everyone in the front of the store could hear.
"After all, sissy boys do need their tampons, don't they, Pamela? And look! Kotex napkins, too. Why, our little boy is all ready for his first period now, isn't she?" All eyes turned towards me as my face blushed beet red. But I realized there was nothing I could do but accept Emily's abuse.
"Thank you, Miss Emily," I said as she handed me a ten dollar bill. Tammy rung up my purchase, smiling at me. As I picked up the items to leave, Tammy said, "Thank you very much, miss. Please come back the next time you need anything."
"Don't worry, Tammy," Emily said, rolling her eyes, "I'm sure the sissy boy will be back once a month!" Emily quickly walked out as I hurried along after her, clutching my purse and the bag containing my tampons and napkins.
Amy was waiting in the car. She apologized to me, an act of kindness which touched me deeply, saying she couldn't stay inside to witness such a pathetic scene. She appeared to be miffed with Emily.
"Hey, don't get snotty with me," Emily said as the car pulled into the street.
"You're not siding with the sissy, are you?"
"Emily, don't! Amanda said we must treat him like a female."
"Well, Amy, Pamela may not be a man, but he's not female, either," Emily stated with finality, "He's just a sissy-boy pantywaist." When we arrived at the motel I quickly retreated to my room and collapsed on the bed. I was unable to control my emotions. Was it because of the female hormones? I began to weep.
Sara and Amanda entered. Sara sat onto the bed, her body touching mine as I lay, still crying.
"Pamela," said Amanda.
"Yes, mommy," I replied.
"We all thought you made a beautiful baby girl. Really. Would you like to remain a baby girl, Pamela? I can arrange it for you." Amanda said as Sara gently caressed my neck and shoulders.
"No, please no."
"Well, would you like to be a little girl? You look very pretty in a party dress, Pamela."
"No, please mommy, no."
"Then would you prefer to be a pre-teen, as you are now. That way, you could still help us around the motel, and also play with your dolls and such."
"No, mommy, I don't want that either."
"Well, Pamela, tell me," Amanda said sternly, "just what do you want?"
"Please, mommy, could I go back to, you know, being a., woman?"
"Explain yourself. What exactly are you asking?"
"Please, mistress, allow me to return to being a woman again, like I was until this weekend. Please don't force me to be a little girl. It's too humiliating. You can't imagine! Even prison would be better." I broke down crying again, as Sara comforted me, softly telling me not to cry, that things would be OK.
"Stop your crying, sissy," Amanda shouted, "or I'll call the police right now. So tell me, Pamela, why do you want to be a woman?"
"Please," I said through my sobs, "If I can have breasts, female breasts, and can dress like a grown woman, people maybe won't ridicule me. Maybe I can fit in. I'll try so hard to fit in as a female. And I'll work for you as a maid. I promise. Please."
"What do you think, Sara? Should the little girl be allowed to grow up?"
"I think so, Mandy. I realize what Michael did was wrong, even evil. But still, to make a young man wear a little girl's party dress and play with dolls, in full view of everyone., well, I can just imagine what Pamela's going through. Then to have his diaper changed by two teenaged girls, right in front of all of us, well, if Pamela were a real man, he'd probably kill himself rather than do such things. Yes, Mandy, let him try to be a young lady again. I'll help her adjust to womanhood. She can work as a maid - she's a good maid, you know - and maybe in a month or two she'll have been punished enough and can be allowed to leave as a man. Or as a woman."
"OK," Amanda said after a few moments of thought, "starting tomorrow you are a woman again. So act like a woman, or else!" Amanda left the room.
I remained silent, still lying on the bed with Sara sitting beside me. I was ashamed of my weakness. What did beautiful Sara think of me now? How could she ever consider me a man? How could she love me?
"Now, now, Pamela," Sara said softly as she ran her fingers gently through my hair, "relax a bit. This weekend has stressed you out. Things will be better, you'll see. You may come to enjoy being a woman. Now get some sleep, girl, you've got to work tomorrow."
And things did get better, to some extent. I awoke the next morning and realized I was, once again, a young woman. Not a baby or a young girl. After I showered I carefully selected a white, lacy underwire bra from my collection and skillfully put it on. I noticed my hands tremble slightly as I removed my silicone breast forms from their box and slipped them into the cups of my bra . I felt a rush of relief to have tits once again. My weekend ordeal past, I studied my reflection in the mirror, particularly my side profile, admiring the very breasts I had despised before the past weekend. I put my legs together and tucked my penis down and under, making it appear I had a real vagina. I truly reveled in my reflection. I was proud of my feminine appearance. Yes, I realized Amanda's punishment had affected me deeply; now I was joyful at being allowed to wear women's clothing.
I slipped back into my routine: being the motel's only maid kept me busy all day, sometimes into the evening. Other tasks were gradually assigned to me, such as washing linen and cleaning the restaurant. Then one other task was added to my daily schedule: each day I was required to walk to Amanda's house and clean it thoroughly, and also wash Amanda's and Sara's clothes. I was ordered to very gently hand wash their lingerie and pantyhose. It was degrading, to be sure, but I found myself oddly excited as I handled Sara's underclothes.
I also noticed that the other workers tended to accept me now, no longer gawking at me or whispering amongst themselves as I passed. No, now they more or less treated me like, well., a maid. Occasionally I was even invited to join them at breaks, during which the discussion would generally focus on typical female concerns: guys, relationships, kids, and clothes. It was almost as if they were nearly oblivious to the fact that a penis lurked within my panties. And I became more comfortable with the lowly status of my new life, even as I became ever more enamored with beautiful Sara.
Each morning I was required to report to the office and take several pills, as the manager (usually Amanda) watched. I didn't ask what they were. Amanda said they were vitamins, but I suspect they were female hormones. I didn't really want to know, so I didn't press the question. I was also required to take voice lessons twice each day, during which I studied and mimicked the way women talked. Since I only interacted with females now, I had many role models to mimic.
Several uneventful weeks passed. Then, one Friday afternoon at break, with the entire staff gathered, as was tradition, to receive their paychecks and to gossip, Amanda ordered me to join them. Maybe, I hoped, Amanda had a paycheck for me, too. Were I able to get some money saved up, it might be possible to change my situation.
The all female staff and I were enjoying coffee and cookies as we listened to Kimberly describe the cheerleading she would perform at tonight's high school football game, when Amanda entered the restaurant with the paychecks and what appeared to be a photo album. Each worker received a paycheck, and then Amanda addressed me.
"Pamela, while I don't have a paycheck for you, since you're still paying off the money I spent on your pretty clothes, I do have something special, something you will cherish. C'mon girls, gather round! Pamela will surely like to show you her photos."
"I don't understand, mistress, what photos," I asked.
"Your photos, Pamela, and may I say they are very lovely!" She set the album on the table in front of where I sat. The photo album had a cover title: "Patient file: Pamela Garcia". All my coworkers watched as, instructed by Amanda, I opened to the first page.
I was horrified! My face turned beet red. There before me in plain view for all to see was a large, full-color, glossy photograph of me, standing with arms at my side, wearing nothing save for maroon high heels. It was a photo taken in the doctor's office.
There was a long, awkward silence as I and the entire staff stared at the photo of a hairless male standing modestly, his penis and balls hanging, but looking oh so odd against the smooth body with painted nails. My makeup was clearly visible in the photo.
The next page had another glossy photo of me, this time in a Marilyn Monroe pose, with hands clasped behind my head and back arched, which made my flat chest and penis even more noticeable then in the previous photo.
"My, our little maid does look cute, doesn't she," Amanda said, "although unfortunately she's a bit flat for a girl."
"Too flat for a girl; too small for a man," Emily added maliciously. The women laughed as Amanda turned the page.
There I was again. At least it looked like me. These were the same photos as were on the previous page, except that in these photos I had female breasts. Perky, young breasts fitting for a young lady. Also my hips were wider, fuller. Yet my revealed penis remained as before, visible, but now looking even more out of place.
"Cup Size B" was noted beneath the photos.
Wow, Pamela, you really look feminine now," Ashley said with awe, "is it really you?"
"Let's just say it's Pamela as she desires to be," Amanda said.
"Or maybe this is Pamela's great desire," she added as she turned the page again.
This photo was even more amazing. Again I stood naked, arms at my side, but now I possessed large breasts which hung heavily. These were not perky breasts at all; no, I had the breasts of a full-figured woman. My hips, too, were larger. I resembled those Aztec fertility figurines of ages past. These photos were noted "Cup Size D".
"Wow, Pamela, you're a real woman in these photos," Sara exclaimed.
"Except for that tiny thing between your legs," added Emily.
"If you choose those tits, Pamela, you'll never be able to go bra-less," Amanda said in a mocking voice.
And so it went. There must have been 40 photos in all. Some were side shots, titties and penis both showing clearly. One was a rear shot, showing me with an enlarged female ass but with my nuts and cock still visibly dangling. In some I posed demurely; in others I posed seductively. I was utterly humiliated as Amanda slowly turned the pages. After their initial shock the women started to add comments like "nice buns, girl" and "the guys will really like feeling those tits" and "what's on the next page, a pregnant Pamela?".
As the photos were shown and comments made, I sat silently, unable to proclaim my masculinity and far too ashamed to tout my obvious femininity.
"Pamela," Amanda said after the final photo was shown, "I'm so happy to see that you are seriously considering enhancing your female attributes. Just think, one day you'll be able to feel your breasts jiggle as you mince through the mall, searching for the perfect bra. But for now, let's leave your photo album here in the restaurant so us girls can browse through it when we wish.
"Yes," added Amy, "I'd like to show my boyfriend your photos."
"Why," Emily asked, "you think he would like to buy some titties, too?"
"Shut up, Emily! My boyfriend is a real man. He's not a sissy. He's not at all like Pamela."
"Enough, girls, no fighting," Amanda interrupted.
"Let's all get back to work now."
Everyone left the restaurant except for me. Alone, I opened the album and stared at a photograph. I couldn't deny it., these photos were erotic. As a man, I would definitely be turned on by them. Yes, I realized with sadness, no more was I a sexually attractive male, but rather, at least in these photos, I had become sexually attractive to males. I slowly rose from my chair, straightened my skirt, and resumed my work as a female motel maid.
Later, as I was cleaning the restaurant, Sara informed me that Amanda had asked her to take me out tonight to have a little fun.
"But mistress," I protested to her, "I can't go out. Not dressed like this!"
"Silly," Sara giggled, " of course you can't go out dressed like that.
You've got to get something pretty on. How about that short red dress we bought at Mervyns? Clean up, dress and meet me at the house at eight. Remember, Amanda has ordered it. Besides, Pamela, maybe you'll enjoy it!"
After I finished cleaning, I took the restaurant keys to the front desk.
Heather, a part-time employee, was there reading a magazine. Heather was a single mom, maybe 30 years old, with sandy brown hair and full figured, but not quite fat. Because she worked only sporadically, I hadn't actually met Heather before.
"Here are the restaurant keys, mistress," I said as I set them on the counter.
"Thanks, sweetheart. I'm Heather. Now introduce yourself." I had hoped to get back to my room and relax, and was not eager to meet Heather.
"I'm Pamela, Mistress Heather. The new maid."
"Pamela, is it? Nice to meet you. How old are you, Pamela?"
"Twenty years old. Odd, the last time I worked here, I could swear you were just a little baby girl. In fact, you wore diapers and was sucking a pacifier like a slutty twenty year old might suck a guys dick."
I turned red.
"Yes., that was me, Mistress."
"So, young lady, now that you are twenty years old, how do you use that great skill of yours?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't understand."
"Oh don't play shy or stupid. Do you suck dicks?"
"No! No mistress, I don't."
"You don't? Well, then I guess you satisfy your young men.., how? Not that I can't guess."
"But I don't satisfy any men. I don't like men," I said adamantly, getting upset by Heather's insinuations.
"Go into the office, Pamela," she said, pointing to the Amanda's office.
"I believe, Pamela, you are instructed to address me properly and to also follow my instructions. Isn't that correct, young lady?"
"Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry," I said, resigned to my strange fate.
"Indeed it is right. Amanda made your status very clear to all of us. Now move it." Heather followed me into the small office.
"Take off your dress, Pamela."
My hands shook as I reached to my back and undid the buttons, then let the dress fall to the floor, stepped over it, then reached down to pick it up.
"Now your slip. Remove it!" I did as Heather ordered, leaving me wearing only my bra, panties, pantyhose and shoes.
"Everything else, girl."
"But Mistress Heather, I must meet Sara soon."
"Sara, Sara, Sara. Seems our little girl has a gleam in her eye for the Mexican beauty. OK, you may leave your bra on - I know you'd be lost without your titties - but everything else comes off."
I carefully removed my pantyhose, taking care not to run them, then removed my pink panties. I stood before Heather while she looked me over as if I were a horse she were purchasing.
"So, the truth at last! You know, sissy, I looked through your photo shots, and decided I just had to see you for myself. You are a disgrace to men, you know." Heather reached over and fondled my cock and balls, which responded.
"So," she exclaimed, "sissy maid does respond to a real woman's touch. Maybe you're not all girl yet, sweetheart. Unfortunately, you're not very big down there, are you," she said while continuing to fondle me, "but considering the packaging, it's more than I expected. Now put your panties back on, young lady, and get out of here. Maybe some night I'll come by your room." She winked at me and left the room.
Back in my room I quickly stripped out of my clothes yet again, proceeded to shave my entire body, apply lotion, reapply nail polish, and then sat down and began applying makeup. Screw everyone, I thought to myself, tonight it'll be just Sara and me. Sara knows I'm a man, a real man. After all, I mused, the reason for my current predicament is that I forced my manliness upon her. And Sara seemed to truly like me. More than anyone, Sara could see through my feminine faade. Sara, I realized, was the last remaining link to my waning masculinity.
Even as I very carefully used a pencil to highlight my eyes, then put Mascara on my naturally long lashes, I thought of how maybe, after our date, I would gently make love to the beautiful Hispanic girl. I selected matching rose-colored bra and panties, and donned a brand new pair of ultra sheer pantyhose. Next came the slinky red dress which Sara had asked me to wear on our date. After checking the mirror (Foxy Lady!, I said to myself), I forced my feet into a pair of open toed shoes with one inch heels, grabbed my purse, and left for Amanda's house. It was 7:45 p.m. on a Friday night.
"Hi, Pammy dear," Sara said happily as she opened the front door, "come on in and have a seat. I'm almost ready." She wore a lacy white bra with small pink flowers embroidered on it, a short white half slip with lace hem, and pantyhose. I sat on the couch and tried to focus on the television show, while Sara went to her room to finish dressing. But I was too nervous. This was all so very weird, I thought: I'm so excited I feel like a junior high boy on his first date. I felt as if the clothes I wore simply didn't matter; if Sara wanted me to be pretty, well then I would be as pretty as I possibly could be. All I knew was that I was infatuated with Sara.
Utterly! Yes it was odd that she would like me like this, dressed as a chick, but she did like me! Probably Sara preferred I not wear a dress. But, I reasoned, if Amanda ordered that I wear a dress, then Sara would accept me in a dress.
After about ten minutes Sara entered the room, looking stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair fell gently upon a yellow blouse. She wore short pink culottes and pink high heels. Because her heels were much higher than mine, she was now as tall or taller than I. Her makeup was flawless.
"Stand up, Pamela, and let me see how you look," Sara said.
"Yes, very nice indeed," She said as she walked a circle around me, "but let me touch up your makeup a bit. You are getting much better at it, you know," she said as she applied a touch of blusher, then used a small lipstick brush to carefully outline my lips, "but it takes a lot of practice to master the finer techniques. But don't worry, Pamela, you do make a fine young lady."
"Thank you, mistress," I replied with real pride, "I tried to look my very best for you."
And you succeeded," she said laughing.
"Now grab your purse and lets go out for a real fling!"
"Mistress Sara," I said hopefully as we drove south towards the city, "I could take you to a movie, or to dinner. That is, if you would like to.."
"Why thank you, Pamela," Sara answered sincerely, "maybe some other night we could do that. But tonight we're going to Deep Ellum. There's a singles club there. We're going to meet a friend of mine there. You'll like it. Don't worry."
"Please, Pamela, drop the "Mistress" for tonight. It gives me the creeps.
After all, you're an anglo male, well, sort of male, and I'm a Mexican girl. You shouldn't address me as if I were your queen, should you?"
"No, probably not, but Amanda requires."
"Look around, Pamela. No Amanda in sight! Get it?"
Sara just sighed as she pulled her car into a crowded parking lot. Across the street was a warehouse which had been converted into a nightclub. Large neon signs flickered. Young twenty-somethings were milling around.
"Now remember," Sara said as she held my hand and led me towards the club, "act like a girl. This isn't a gay bar. You could get seriously hurt if the guys here realize you're not female."
"Well, then let's not go in," I said, frightened.
"Don't be scared, silly girl. Just be yourself. You've worn skirts now for more than a month. Plus you're taking all those female hormones. Come on, after a drink you'll calm down."
It was dark and crowded inside. A band was playing jazzy variations of 80's pop music. I followed Sara to a small table. She ordered two bloody Marys, then left for the ladies room. As I sat sipping my drink, I felt that everyone was staring at me, questioning my sex, although in fact I was ignored by everyone. After all, the night was young and I was not, by any means, pretty. I continued sipping my drink, apprehensively.
I was on my second drink when at last Sara returned, accompanied by another young Hispanic girl. She was shorter than Sara, at about 5 foot 2, and had a full bosom, narrow waist, and very curvy hips. She was pretty, although not as pretty as Sara. Her skirt was very short, so short that I feared her panties would show were to bend down even slightly.
"Pamela, meet my friend Josie," said Sara. Josie bent down and lightly kissed my cheek, then sat in the chair next to me.
"Pamela! Why you really are pretty," Josie exclaimed.
"You anglo boys make the cutest girls!" Then Sara and Josie resumed their conversation, ignoring me. From what I could overhear, it was clear Josie was mostly interested in guys, and to her, I wasn't really a guy at all. Sara, too, talked mostly of guys, but not of me. As I started on my third bloody Mary, I realized that the evening was not progressing as I had hoped.
Later, while Josie was talking on hell cell phone, I caught Sara's attention.
"Sara," I whispered, "I need to use the rest room."
"OK," she said.
"But Sara, you don't understand. I need to go really bad."
"Well how can I go to the bathroom now," I said with a tone of exasperation.
"Just go, Pamela. I won't just up and leave you if you leave the table for a few minutes, silly."
"No, Sara," I said, my whisper getting ever louder, "I mean, I'm dressed like a girl. I can't use the men's room."
"Oh, I get it. Jesus, Pamela, just use the ladies room! Didn't I tell you to act like a girl? So act like one." Josie finished her phone conversation and began relaying the latest to Sara. Ignored again by the two young ladies, I got up and slowly wended my way towards the ladies room. The club was crowded, and I was a bit wobbly from the alcohol.
Upon entering the ladies room, I realized I had now transgressed dangerously to the other side. While I had used, and cleaned, the women's rest rooms at the Paradise View, that was different as I was always alone in them. Not so tonight. There were several girls in line waiting for a free stall. I took my place in line, and looked around the forbidden territory. There were large mirrors behind each sink, and full length mirrors near the exit. Young ladies were studying their faces in the mirrors, touching up their lipstick or powdering their faces. Suddenly I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a girl with orange and blue hair styled in a page- boy cut. She wore a t-shirt and jean skirt.
"Hi," she said, "would you have a spare tampon? I left mine at home, and the dispensing machine is empty."
"Ah.., yes, I believe I do," I said as I fumbled through my purse. Sara had instructed me to always carry a couple of tampons in my purse, saying "you're a girl now, you might begin to bleed at any time." Now I realized that Sara was not making fun of me, but was looking ahead at my future safety. My hands trembled as I took the slender item from my purse and handed it to the girl.
"Thank you," she said in what I though was an odd way. I noticed she was scrutinizing my face. Had she realized my secret? Luckily a stall was vacated, so I quickly slipped into it, closed the door, carefully pulled down my pantyhose and panties, raised the skirt of my dress and sat down to pee, girl style. I shuddered a sigh of relief.
"That was John," Josie said as she put the cell phone back into her purse.
"The guys will be here in a few minutes."
"Great," exclaimed Sara.
"Maybe we can dance a bit, then go to my place.
Amanda is out of town for the weekend."
"But there's one problem, Sara. They're with Roger, and you know Roger will want to leave right away if John and Mike pair up with us, unless he hooks up with a girl, too. I was thinking of introducing Roger to my cousin Juana, but she's already got a date tonight. Well, let's hope Roger picks up a barfly here. Otherwise, the guys will surely leave with him. You know how they stick together on Friday nights."
"Yeah," Sara said in a concerned tone of voice, "If Roger leaves, it's adios to John and Mike."
"But.," Sara continued after a thinking for a few moments, "maybe, just maybe, Roger and Pamela can hook up. That would solve our problem, Josie."
"Pamela! That's a real laugh, Sara. Pamela's a guy."
"Yes, she is, I suppose," Sara continued, thinking aloud, "but she looks a lot like a girl, doesn't she?"
"Si, Pamela es un muy bonita, por el hombre," Josie laughed.
"After all, that's a real sexy dress he's wearing. But Roger will be trying real hard to get that dress off of her. What happens when he feels Pamela up, Sara? Things could get real messy."
"Oh, Josie. Pamela's not stupid. She can say she's on her period or something. Most girls don't have sex with a guy on their first night out, you know."
"Es loco, Sara. But Pamela's your friend. Do what you want."
"Pamela's not my friend, Josie. I just work with her."
Does he even like guys? I mean, I know he's wearing a dress and all. But I've read in Cosmo about straight guys who like to play dress up."
"Well.," Sara paused, then continued, "No, I guess not. He's not really gay, Josie. But I really want to spend some time with Mike. Pamela will play along with this for one night, if I ask her to. Believe me, she'll do anything I ask. Just don't you mention it to the guys, OK?"
"Not a chance, chica, not a chance! I want no part of this."
I remained in the stall for what seemed to be a long time, as I was not anxious to be seen leaving the ladies room, and I worried that the girl I had given my tampon to would be waiting. I just sat in there and contemplated fate's twists. I was hoping the room might empty so that I could leave unnoticed. But it just seemed to get busier. I felt like an eavesdropping lowlife, or a peeping tom. I overheard the women coming and going, mostly talking about the "three B's": bitches, boyfriends, and babies. Finally, fearful that Sara might leave without me, I pulled up my panties and pantyhose, carefully tucking my penis down under, and exited. To my surprise, nobody paid me any notice.
My heart sunk as I approached our table. Josie and Sara were nowhere to be seen. How would I get home? I didn't have cab fare. Then I noticed Sara's purse sitting on her chair. A guy was at the table; he wore jeans and a casual shirt, had dark hair, and was at least six inches taller than me and 60 pounds heavier. Fearfully I approached the table. Had the girls told him about me, and if so, what could I do? I couldn't defend myself in the clothes I wore.
Luckily he was clueless. Once I sat down he politely introduced himself as Roger, and in turn I introduced myself as Pamela. He said my friends were on the dance floor and he was just holding the table for them. After buying me a drink he continued his banter. I avoided conversation and let him talk on.
"Hi! I see you two have met," Sara said as she and Josie and their boyfriends returned to the table. I was stunned by Sara's attitude, acting as if everything was perfectly normal. I gave Sara a cold stare, as if to say "get me out of this!", but she didn't even notice. Josie seemed to be avoiding my gaze. And so another hour or more passed, Sara in a state of semi-bliss spent mostly on the dance floor, Josie wholly focused on her boyfriend, while Roger spent half the time trying to hustle me, and the other half circulating through the club trying to pick up a girl. I was hoping Roger would be successful at it, as that would solve my immediate problem, but alas he wasn't. Meanwhile I unwisely kept drinking.
About eleven p.m., with everyone sitting around the table listening to Josie's boyfriend describe a recent trip to Mexico, Roger unexpectedly put his arm around me and pulled me towards him, then kissed me firmly on the mouth. He held me in that position for at least a full minute. I could hear the table talk continue as if nothing was happening. Rather than resist, which would have drawn more attention, I succumbed to his advance and passively allowed him to continue. After the kiss he announced to Sara, "It's your turn to watch the table. Pamela and I are going to dance now." Sara and Josie just watched silently as I was led off to the dance floor.
It was a slow, romantic dance. After the dance, Sara announced it was time to leave. The guys wandered off to the bar for a final beer, leaving "us girls" at the table.
"Sara," I pleaded, "I've got to get away from Roger. He'll kill me if he finds out about me. Please take me home."
"No way, Pamela. Don't be so scared all the time. Relax and enjoy things, will you? Roger seems to like you."
"No, Sara. Roger likes a girl named Pamela, but that's not me!"
"Whatever. Josie and I are bringing our boyfriends over to the house, probably to spend the night. You and Roger can come, too."
"But I can't spend the night with Roger! Don't you get it!" I was becoming frantic.
"Pamela," Josie said, "listen to me. You're right, you can't spend the night with Roger without him discovering your little secret. The only sure way to get rid of him is to, you know, make him happy. Get him off.. Do that, and he'll calm down and then you'll be able to go home and everyone will be happy."
"What? I can't do that, Josie! This is all just crazy!" I looked towards Sara for help.
"Pamela," Sara said in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice, "that's what girls do. Don't be so melodramatic."
I sat in the front seat with Roger on the way to Amanda's house. Josie and her boyfriend were making out in the back seat. Mike had left with Sara in her car, planning to meet us there after stopping for beer and pizza. I tried to convey to Roger that I wasn't interested in sex. For example, I put my knees firmly together, and put my hands on my lap. I also explained to him that it was "my time of the month". But he was oblivious to both body language and words.
Roger parked in Amanda's driveway and we all waited in the car for Sara to arrive. Roger gently draped his right arm around my shoulder, leaned over, and began kissing my face and neck.
"OK, Pamela," he said after I explained why I had to leave, "I understand you need to get up early for work, but c'mon, let's have a little fun before you leave."
"But I'm on my period, Roger. Really!"
"So, there are other ways to have fun, girl," he said as his hands roamed towards my breasts and my "pussy". I was horrified. What could I do? If this kept up much longer, Roger would surely feel my "secret". I looked in the mirror and saw Josie and John making out; clearly Josie would be of no help. And Sara was nowhere around. It was only me; I had to be resourceful, I had to do something, I realized, and very soon. Josie had been right.
In order to stop his wandering hands I began to kiss him, on the mouth, while gently moving his arms to less threatening positions.
"Oh, Roger," I whispered softly, hesitantly, "let me take you, you know., in my mouth. I can suck you, Roger. It'll feel almost as good." I moved my trembling hands to his crotch and grasped his zipper, slowly pulling it down.
"Please, Roger. Please."
"Oh yes, yes, that's so nice. You're so nice," he said as I unsnapped his jeans. The full moon's glow combined with light from a nearby street lamp to illuminated everything fairly well. With difficulty I was able to lower his trousers to his feet. Roger wore no underwear. There it was, erect, a large male cock, my ultimate disgrace. I noticed the car seemed very silent; were Josie and John watching us? It didn't matter. I was a girl now, I told myself; a girl, just as Sara had said.
I had never seen an erect male cock before, other than my own. It looked threateningly large when viewed from this angle. I tried to put my mind into a female mode, which, maybe because of the hormones, wasn't very difficult. Roger kissed my lips repeatedly and then guided my head down towards his lap. I shimmied my ass over on the car seat. I was both repulsed and fascinated. I desired to satisfy Roger. Not because I liked him, or because I was sexually attractive to him. No, it was different than that. I simply felt that doing so would complement this feminine role I had assumed. Satisfying this man, in a female manner, would enhance my female persona, rather like adding another pair of high heels or a lacy bra to my wardrobe, but more so.
I began by licking it, like a lollipop. It quivered as my tongue circled the head and caressed its underside. Soon Roger's cock was covered with saliva, my saliva. His male member glistened in the dim light. Then, at Roger's insistence, I took it into my mouth and sucked it, and sucked it, and sucked it even more. A couple of times I ceased my sucking and returned to licking, so as to better catch my breath, only to again return to sucking. I was amazed at how much of his penis I was able to take into my mouth.
"Oh, that's it, girl, that feels right. Good girl! Pamela, that feels so very good. More, girl, more, more, more."
Roger's words became ever more emphatic and louder as I continued to service him. Clearly Josie now knew exactly what I was doing. I felt a surge of humiliation well up within me as I realized what Josie must have been thinking at that moment.
After what seemed to me a very long time, Roger's entire body tensed, his penis became rock hard and it stopped quivering. Instinctively I tried to move my head away, but Roger's hands were clasped behind it, making movement impossible. He uttered a long groan and then I could feel his semen shoot into my throat. I tried desperately not to choke. Then just as suddenly it was over. His body relaxed. I too relaxed a bit. Roger's erect member still filled my mouth, but I had managed to swallow most of his cum and so I was able to breath again. Roger's hands gently patted the back of my head.
"Wow! Watching you two is better than seeing an X rated movie." It was Sara's voice. With horror, I realized she had been watching Roger and I through the passenger side window.
"Hey Sara," Roger responded in an unsettled voice.
"I didn't see you there.
Say, your friend really gives good blow jobs. I think I'm in love with her."
"Yes., I didn't realize Pamela had such skills," Sara said as I sat up. She and her boyfriend stared at me through the open window. My short skirt had ridden up, fully exposing my panties. My hair was a mess, and drops of Roger's cum ran down my chin. Tears welled up in my eyes. I had tried to make myself so pretty tonight, for Sara, for my beautiful Sara. If I were pretty, I thought she would show her love for me. But instead she watched as I, wearing the red dress she had selected for me, sucked a man's cock. I was devastated. I mumbled a few incomprehensible words as I exited Roger's car. Sara tried to help me freshen up, but after a few moments I left and quickly walked back to the motel, a purse in one hand and heels in the other.
"Pamela really took your advice to heart, Josie," Sara said as she took plates from the kitchen cabinet. The guys were watching television and drinking beer in the basement, while the girls heated the pizza.
"Did he ever! Gosh, I never expected that. At least, not right in front of us!"
"I didn't really mean to watch it, Josie. Mike and I just happened to walk up when passion was peaking. We couldn't interrupt, could we? It was kind of embarrassing to see her like that. Pamela was crying."
"It wasn't rape, Sara. I overheard Pamela beg Roger for his cock to suck."
"Yea, but was that because Pamela wanted to do it, or was it to keep Roger from feeling her up and discovering her cock?"
"So what's the difference, Sara? Hell, if he wants to dress like some hot little tart, then he can't complain when real men treat him like a slut."
"True, Josie, but it's more complicated then that. You don't know the whole story behind Pamela's transformation. It's Amanda's secret. Anyway, I think Pamela likes me, a lot."
"You mean in a guy way?"
"Yea, in a guy way. That's why I felt so sorry for him there. I don't think Pamela wanted me to see that big cock in her mouth, or to see her swallowing a man's cum. I bet that's why she cried and ran away."
"Sure, Sara. Whatever. Did you ever think, Sara, that if he wants you to fall for him, then maybe he should wear pants and tennis shoes instead of a red dress and high heels? All I know is that those two lovebirds turned John on so much that now he wants me to suck him, and I refuse to do that.
Totally, exhausted, I entered my room and closed the door. In the mirror I saw a disheveled young lady, her short dress wrinkled and stained, her makeup smudged. With a feeling of detached disbelief, I only half-realized that the girl in the mirror was me. Still nearly drunk, I lay down on my bed and wept as I imagined Sara and her boyfriend at this very moment making legitimate, consensual, male-female love. Was there any chance for such love in my future?
"Fuck it, Roger, that was really gross," John said between swigs from his beer, "really gross."
"Maybe," Roger laughed, "but it felt sooooo good. Sara's friend is a true cock sucker."
"Yea, maybe I'll have to try her out some night," John said. She's not that cute, and she's too skinny, but her tongue makes up for those problems."
"No you don't," Roger said.
"You better stick with Josie, cause I've got dibs on that Pamela chick."
I awoke Saturday morning feeling somehow unclean, physically and spiritually. But what's done is done, I reasoned. My existence, no matter how humiliating, is better than being slowly ground into madness by the so-called Texas justice system. I'll just be careful to avoid situations such as last night's. And Sara? She remains a tantalizing conundrum in angel's form. One would expect she'd have been totally disgusted by what she witnessed. But after I had satisfied Roger, it was Sara who, seeing me crying as I left the car, hugged me so very tenderly, and even helped to straighten my hair and dress. So what were Sara's feelings towards me? I had no idea; too many mixed signals. I showered, shaved my body, applied makeup, donned my maid's uniform and went to work.
It was much later, nearly seven p.m., when Roger entered the office of the Paradise View. Kimberly was working at the front desk. Actually, because the motel had few guests, Kimberly was just sitting in the lobby, watching television as she applied purple nail polish onto her fingernails.
"Hey," Roger said, "you work here?" He wore jeans (torn at one knee) and a Dallas Mavericks t-shirt.
"Yes," Kimberly replied, not even looking up from her nails, "how can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Pamela. She said she works here."
"Yea. Pamela. Skinny girl, light brown hair."
"Oh," Kimberly said, grinning, "Pamela. I know who you mean., Pamela. Why? Are you related to her?"
"No, she's just a friend."
"A friend? You mean, like a girlfriend?"
"Yea," Roger said, somewhat taken aback by Kimberly's insolence, "I suppose so. Like a girlfriend."
"Oh," Kimberly replied, getting up while blowing upon her nails, "I didn't know Pamela had a boyfriend. What's your name, hunk?"
"OK, Roger, follow me and we'll find your girlfriend," Kimberly said with a giggle.
"Oh, Pamela," Kimberly called out in a sing-song mocking tone of voice as she entered the restaurant. I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, as Mary was putting away dishes.
"Your BOYFRIEND is here to see you! I didn't know you had such a handsome BOYFRIEND!"
I blushed and quickly rose to my feet, carefully straitening my skirt.
"Hey, girl," Roger said, "sorry to interrupt you. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by and say hi. And see if you wanted to go out again tonight."
"Ahhh.," I stammered, caught off guard, "I don't think so, Roger, I have to work.." Mary and Kimberly watched me, grinning at my predicament.
"Go ahead, Pamela," Mary said, "you can finish here tomorrow."
"Well,., OK, I guess," I said, not knowing how to get out of this jam.
"Great! I'll pick you up at 8:30," Roger said, then came over and kissed me on the mouth, turned and left. I stood there, embarrassed and dumbfounded.
"My, Pamela, aren't you the social butterfly," exclaimed Kimberly, giggling again.
"Attracting guys like flies," Mary added.
With ease I undid the buttons at the back of my dress and let it glide to the floor. Followed by my white slip. Carefully I removed my pantyhose, first off my left leg, then my right. I stood and gazed at my reflection in the large, full-length mirror which Amanda had placed in my room. I saw what appeared to be a girl wearing only a bra and panties.
I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. It was past 7:30; time to start preparing for my "date" with Roger. Clearly things were spinning out of control. I realized as I gazed at my image that my sexual identity had flip-flopped. But how? All this seemed to happen far too easily, without any real resistance on my part. How could a man, a real man, change so radically during the course of just a couple of months? I wondered, was I ever a "real man"? Or had I always carried seeds of femininity just beneath my macho surface? The question haunted me.
Yesterday evening, as I dolled myself up, at least I was able to believe it was to attract Sara. Sure, I was making myself look like a sexy girl, but I did it for a very male purpose: to attract and bed Sara.
Tonight I had no such illusion. Tonight, any attempt I made to be pretty was undeniably for the purpose of attracting a man (Roger), rather than a beautiful woman (Sara). Reluctantly I set about my task: I showered, shaved my body, and sat down to apply my makeup. My eyes scanned the small table cluttered with items only a female would own: many containers of fingernail polish in various hues of red and pink, blusher, tow bottles of Covergirl foundation, several Covergirl compacts, several tubes of Maybelline mascara, eyebrow pencils, small bottles of perfume, hairspray, lip gloss, lipliner, earrings, bracelets, and even two unopened tampons. Each day I came to feel more and more normal, almost natural, as I sat down in front of my mirror to make my face pretty.
After skillfully using a pencil to outline my eyes, I deftly used a small brush to paint on lipstick and liner. I wondered where this was all leading. What if, a year from now, I was still a female maid? Eventually, turning back into my male self could become even more difficult than remaining in dresses! I was disgusted by the thought of me being on a date with a male. Yet I was also anxious, trembling, strangely excited. Why?
The impromptu party had temporarily split along gender lines, with the guys in the basement playing pool, drinking beer, and watching an auto race on television, while upstairs the girls chatted in the living room while sipping sweet wine, with a romance flick on the television. I was upstairs with the girls.
My date with Roger had actually transpired much better than I had expected.
I had dressed conservatively in a knee-length pale blue skirt and loose short-sleeve sweater. He picked me up on time, was polite, even opened the car door for me, and took me to see a nice movie. He made no unwanted advances like last night's. And being with Roger had its advantages: for one thing, we looked like a normal couple. When next to Roger, who was considerably larger than me, I appeared to be a typical, fairly plain young lady. In fact, I noticed many of the unattached young women in the lobby eyeing me with a bit of jealousy. I felt fairly comfortable as a girl; for the first time in a long time, I was in a place where everyone accepted my sex without a second thought. Yet I wasn't what they thought I was.
After the movie I asked Roger to take me home, but he insisted, in his chauvinistic manner, that we stop by Amanda's house first. He laughed off my protests, thinking Sara and I were typical friends, and that she would be happy if we stopped by.
"Why, Roger., and Pamela!" Sara seemed to be very surprised and a tad embarrassed as she opened the door to see me standing next to Roger.
"Hi, Sara! Didn't Mike mention that I might stop by?"
"Yes, Roger., I guess he did., I'm just surprised to see you two together again," Sara responded as she looked me over carefully.
"Hey, I know a good thing when I see one, Sara," Roger laughed as he reached over and patted my ass.
"Well, OK, come in. The guys are downstairs, Roger."
I followed Sara into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," I said once we were alone, "I tried to get Roger to take me home, but he insisted on coming here."
"Well, Pamela, it's too late now. I sure hope you know what you're doing," she said with a hint of doubt in her voice, as she led me into the living room.
"Neither Josie nor I have mentioned your "pussy problem", so act like a girl, please!"
Josie was there, as were several other young women of about my age. All were pretty. All were casually dressed in jeans or slacks, and wore only minimal makeup. Only I wore a skirt and pantyhose.
"Everyone, this is Pamela. She works at the hotel. She's hanging out with Roger tonight," Sara said to introduce me.
"Pamela!" Josie exclaimed, "You mean you're with Roger again?"
"Yes Josie. Roger insisted I go out with him tonight. I didn't really have a choice."
"Ha! Roger's always forcing Pamela to do this or that. Well, I don't buy it, girl," Josie said in a bitter tone. She had been drinking and appeared upset.
"Say, Pamela," Josie continued, " I've already told everyone here how you sucked Roger's cock last night. Maybe you'd like to tell them also."
I blushed as all the girls fidgeted uneasily.
"No? OK then, have a drink. You're not the first GIRL to suck a guy's cock, you know."
Sara handed me a glass of wine, which I gratefully accepted. I had no idea why Josie seemed to be angry with me. Last night she had no problem with me, so why tonight? The tension dissipated as the girls returned to the topic they had been discussing before my arrival: Maria's pregnancy, her physician examinations, how it felt to be carrying a child, and so on. Oddly, I didn't really feel uneasy with the conversation.
An hour or so later the guys took off to a nearby sports bar, promising to return in an hour. After they left I saw my opportunity and announced to the five young ladies that I would be going home.
"Oh, you don't need to go, Pamela," Maria said to me.
"We didn't mean to embarrass you. Isn't that right, Josie?" Maria was a pretty latino girl with a heavy Spanish accent. She was about seven months along with her pregnancy. She gave a pleading look to Josie, clearly trying to be peacemaker between us.
"Gosh no! Just because Pamela sucks Roger's cock right there in front of everyone, which gets John all horny so that he now demands that I suck him, well, I mean, I shouldn't be angry, should I? Noooo. But maybe I don't want to suck John. It's all Pamela's fault that John and I are fighting over this." Clearly Josie was more than tipsy now.
"Josie, that's not very nice," Cathy scolded. Cathy was a tall, slender blond girl with deep blue eyes. She wore bright red lipstick.
"What is this? Everone's turning on me because I won't suck my boyfriend? Well, maybe Pamela would like to suck John's cock. Go ahead, Pamela, I don't care!"
"I'm sorry, Josie, I didn't mean to turn your boyfriend on, " I said apologetically. I was sincerely sorry, but unfortunately chose my words poorly. I looked towards Sara and saw a pained expression on her face as things spun out of control.
"So, Pamela, you think you turn on John, do you? No way! He doesn't like you! He doesn't think you're sexy, even when you wear your short red dress."
"I'm sorry, Josie," I repeated.
"Well, it hurts," Josie said, now with tears in her eyes.
"You turn on my boyfriend, and you're not even a real girl. How's that supposed to make me feel?"
I blushed as I repeatedly told Josie how sorry I was.
"That's right, Cathy," Josie continued, "Pamela's a boy, not a girl. A boy who wears dresses, makeup and high heels! A boy who works as a maid!"
"What? Is that so," asked Jerri, a petite brunette wearing tight jeans which showed off her figure well.
"I thought you acted a bit odd, you know." Jerri was grinning, ignoring Josie's suffering.
"Ahh., yes, but., really., I can't help it., please don't tell Roger about this," I pleaded to the girls.
"He could hurt me. And I don't want him to feel bad. Roger has no idea about., me. He thinks I'm on my period," I said, my thoughts a jumble of worries.
"Well, Pamela, if you're a guy, you are supposed to be able to take care of yourself. Guys do that, don't they? Guys don't hide behind a group of girls for protection, do they," Jerri asked rhetorically. I glanced towards Sara, who was staring at the floor, clearly uneasy. I began to wimper; both Josie and I were crying now.
"Please," I begged, "just don't tell Roger."
"Pamela, I'm not sure I believe you. Why don't you show us," Cathy asked.
"If you do, I promise not to tell Roger."
"Me, too," added Jerri.
"Show you what," I asked.
"Your penis, stupid," Cathy said, "Or your vagina. Whatever you have."
"Yes, Pamela, yes!"
Sara was still avoiding looking at me. Josie was still pouting. Maria had moved away form us.
"You mean right here?"
"Yes, Pamela," Jerri laughed, "right here. Right now. Whatever you have, it's nothing any of us haven't seen before, you know. Quit acting so innocent and take your clothes off."
"This is fun, kind of like being in a strip club," added Cathy.
"And if I do you won't tell Roger or any of the men?"
"Gosh, Pamela. Roger, Roger, Roger," said Cathy.
"We won't tell anyone. I promise. But hurry or they'll come back and see for themselves whatever pretty Pamela has under her skirt."
I saw no other reasonable course of action. I tried to hurry, but the couple of drinks made it difficult to undress. I fumbled with the buttons on my blouse, and as always, I had difficulty removing my pantyhose. The girls watched me wide-eyed, except Sara and Maria, who had slipped into the kitchen.
"Look, painted toenails," Cathy exclaimed jokingly, "now that's what I like to see on a guy!"
"Hurry girl," Jerri said.
"If the guys catch you half-dressed, you might just have six cocks to suck instead of one."
"Yea," Josie added petulantly, "I bet Pamela would really like that."
Soon I was naked except for my matching, rose colored bra and panties.
"May I stop now," I asked Cathy, thinking the bulge in my panties would be telling enough.
"What? Pamela, so far you look like a skinny girl. Maybe you are just a skinny girl, in which case Josie needn't feel so bad. Off with the panties, Pamela." I slipped out of my panties. The girls in the room stared silently as I stood there before them with shrunken jewels.
"So it's true, you are a boy. Sort of," said Jerri after a minute's silence.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, "I suppose I am a boy, although I don't really feel much like one when I'm, you know, looking like a girl. I didn't feel like a boy last night with Roger." My lame excuses tumbled out as the girls stared at my hairless body and my manicured, painted nails.
"No, I suppose you didn't feel like a boy," Josie said, still sounding upset, "when Roger came in your mouth, did you?"
"I'm sorry, Josie. Really sorry. I only did it because Roger was demanding sex and I couldn't give him sex, like he wanted it."
"You could have just said no," Josie said.
"Real girls say no all the time."
"Did you swallow his semen," asked Jerri.
"Yes ma'am. I had to. He held my head so I couldn't pull away."
Josie approached me and took my limp penis.
"Sissy," she said.
"You'll never be a real girl, never ever, cause you got this., thing!" She let it go, then gave it a quick slap.
"Just stay away from John, or else!"
"Josie, calm down. Give him a break. After all, he looks like a girl, so he'll act like one," said Cathy.
Jerri approached me and took my penis and balls into her hand, inspecting them as if she were a doctor.
"I've never seen a guy who wears skirts and bras before. But your cock looks so normal, except it's so petite and hairless. Almost pretty."
"So, Pamela has a feminine cock," laughed Cathy.
"Yea, that's what I mean," Jerri said "But Pamela had better get her pretty clothes back on now. The guys should be back any minute."
"Here, have a cup of tea," Sara said to Maria as the two sat at the kitchen table.
"Thank you, Sara. I'll wait in here for awhile. Manuel would be angry with me if I were to see Pamela naked."
"I understand, Maria, I'll wait here with you. I don't care to join the others in humiliating Pamela. She's not really a bad person."
"Maybe not, Sara, but I don't understand him. Why would a guy want to be a girl? And a maid? A man, working as a female maid? No, no, I just don't understand. Manuel would never do it. I wouldn't think any man would ever do that. Doesn't Pamela know what people must think of him? He must disgrace his familia."
"All true, Maria. But Pamela is a really a good maid. She helps out a lot, and never complains. She's actually rather sweet. And she's got a really bad crush on me."
"No, Maria, it's true. She once told me she loved me. Plus, I can tell by the way she looks at me. Not with a masculine lust, not like that at all. She just acts as if she'd like to cuddle up with me and play kissie-face."
"That would be like two girls getting it on, it seems to me," Maria said disapprovingly.
"True. I would never do anything with Pamela. Guys in dresses don't turn me on," Sara laughed.
"A couple of days ago, when she was down in the laundry room washing my clothes,."
"What? He washes your clothes, too?"
"Of course. Pamela cleans the house, washes clothes, scrubs the toilets. I tell you, Maria, it's a pleasure having her around."
"I bet. Now I see why you like him so much."
"Anyway, a couple of weeks ago Pamela was here doing her chores. I just happened to walk past the laundry room. Pamela didn't notice me. She was standing next to the sink getting ready to hand wash my lingerie. She really does a good job at it; I've noticed my lingerie and pantyhose last a lot longer now, under Pamela's care. It was so, well, weird. She took a pair of my dirty panties, they were pink ones with white lace flowers embroidered on them, and she held them up to her face. And she held them there, and just breathed in slowly, several times. I don't know; maybe she could smell my sweat, or maybe, well, who knows what she could smell. But her eyes closed, as if she were in a distant paradise. And then, the really odd thing, she reached under her skirt and began to rub herself."
"You mean, he started to masturbate?"
"Yea, Maria, he did. His penis was inside his panties so it didn't stick out or anything, but what else could he have been doing? I guess the smell and feel of my dirty panties excited her. Then, while still rubbing herself with the one hand, she took another pair of my panties in her other hand and held that pair up to her face and breathed in. Her hand trembled, so he must have been excited. By this time I was really getting embarrassed just watching, so I made a slight noise. Wow, was he ever surprised! Pamela blushed beet red. He said he was just "rearranging" his panties, as they were a little tight. I felt kinda sorry for him., or her., whatever she is. It's gotta be humiliating to be a man and get caught doing something like that."
"My, that's weird, Sara. And it's gross, too. But, you know, me being pregnant and still working full time, it's very hard on me. From what you say, Pamela is a fem, but he's harmless. Maybe I could borrow him some day, and he could help out around the house. I get so tired of picking up after Manuel, washing his clothes, cooking, shopping, and so on. It's all so hard to do with this baby in my belly. It would be kind of ironic if I could get a guy to clean up after Manuel, and cook for him. And shop for me."
"It shouldn't be a problem at all, Maria. I'm sure Pamela will be happy to help you. I can send her by on the weekends, when the motel is not busy, and once or twice during the week. All you'll have to do is treat her like a girl. Try not to refer to her as male, or to use masculine words like him or he, as they hurt his feelings a bit. And treat her just like a maid; tell her exactly what to do, and she'll do it for you. Plus, if you occasionally complement her on, say, her hair, or her dress, or her nails, that'll make her feel more, ., womanly."
"Believe me, Sara," Maria laughed as she patted her bulging belly, "I know what it's really like to be a woman, and it's not about playing dress up!"
"Don't we real girls know it," Sara agreed with a smile.
"You know, it would be a good education for Pamela if you used her throughout the next few months, even after the baby is born. You'll need the help, Maria. And it will let Pamela experience, through you, a bit of what motherhood is really all about. Just tell Manuel that Pamela is a girlfriend who's helping you out."
"I'll give it a try, Sara. It'll feel odd having an anglo boy as a girlfriend," Maria laughed, "but if she's as sweet as you say, I can put up with it. But I guess I'll have to keep my dirty panties away from him," Maria said, giggling.
I was slipping on my shoes when the guys returned, scuttling my hope for an easy exit. Roger, who had clearly been drinking, approached me, put his arm around me, and kissed me hard upon the mouth. I didn't resist. I knew the girls were watching, and could only imagine what they were thinking. I prayed that Josie would be able to control her anger until after I was able to leave.
"Please, Roger," I whispered to him after the kiss, "I've got to go home right now, I really do!"
"No problem, girl," he said, "but let's go into the kitchen first. I'm hungry." While the others sat around watching the Letterman Show, I followed Roger into the kitchen, expecting to make him a sandwich and then head home.
"So, Pamela, are you off your period yet," Roger asked as soon as the kitchen door closed.
"Why no, Roger. No. I can't do., that. No."
"You don't like me," he asked.
"No Roger, that's not it," I replied honestly. I did like him, sort of.
"OK then, do me like last night."
"What? Here? No way, Roger," I said, surprised he was suddenly acting so crude and forward.
"Why not? We're alone. It won't take only a couple of minutes."
"If you're too shy, Pamela, I'll ask Sara if we can use her bedroom."
"No! Please don't do that, Roger," I said frantically. I definitely did not want to have sex in Sara's bed with a male. Not only would Sara know, but just the thought of doing it in the bedroom of the girl I loved, well, it was just far too twisted to comprehend.
"OK., if we hurry, Roger," I continued.
"I suppose., maybe. Gosh, this is embarrassing, Roger!"
"C'mon Pamela, it'll make me happy."
I glanced behind me, and after assuring myself that both doors into the kitchen were closed, I knelt down in front of Roger, lowered the zipper on his jeans, then undid the button on his pants. Again he wore no underwear. His large thick penis was already hard and throbbing. I couldn't believe this! What in the world was I doing here? How in the world did it come to this? Is this how real women live, always forced into pleasing males?
Roger put his hands behind my head and guided me to his prick, which I took into my mouth. My eyes closed as I began to suck and as Roger pumped in and out, in and out. Clearly he was extremely horny tonight. It didn't take long. Soon I felt his body tense like steel, and I knew what was coming. I was repulsed but also pleased that I would finish this before being discovered.
Roger emitted a muffled groan and plunged his cock forward while simultaneously pulling my head towards him. I nearly choked as his cock rammed into my mouth and throat. I could feel his cum pumping into my feminized body. I continued kneeling before Roger, still wearing my sweater and skirt, as the last few drops of semen coated my throat. I swallowed again and again. Finally Roger loosened his grip on my head and I withdrew from my union with his member.
"Jesus," Roger half-whispered, "that felt like heaven, Pamela."
"Thank you," I replied, not knowing just how to respond to such a complement. I noticed my red lipstick had smeared onto Roger's cock.
"Hey, you two ought to be in the movies," I heard Jerri say. I turned my head to see both Jerri and Cathy standing just a few feet behind me. Apparently they had entered through the back kitchen door during our sex act and witnessed at least some of my debauchery. Immensely embarrassed and flustered and liberated by alcohol, I quickly took Roger's penis into my hands and stuffed it back into his pants, which I zipped up.
"Roger," I stammered, "why didn't you say something?"
"Cause you suck so good, honey," he replied nonchalantly.
Instantly, without thinking, I slapped Roger's face. It was a reflex action. Immediately I realized how foolish I must have looked to Jeri and Cathy, not because Roger didn't deserve it, but because I slapped him just like a girl would. A man, a real man, might have punched him, or shoved him, but I slapped him. An effeminate, sissy slap. Cathy giggled. Humiliated by my lack of any trace of manliness, I grabbed the straps of my purse, which was set upon the table, and ran out of the kitchen, out the back door of the house, and continued running until I reached my room. Even as I ran I could taste Roger's cum and feel it coat my mouth. Only after I closed the door to my room did I realize I was sobbing, just like a girl.
Sunday was warm and sunny. I had slept well despite last night's events. By eleven I had finished cleaning rooms as the motel had only a few guests. I then returned to my room, freshened my makeup, touched up my lipstick, brushed my hair, and walked to Sara's to do my daily maid work there.
It took Sara a few minutes to open her door. She obviously had been asleep.
Sara's long, dark hair, as fine as silk, was mussed yet so beautiful. She wore only a short, pastel blue teddy, with matching panties. Her soft, young breasts were clearly visible through the semi-transparent nightie. Her fingernails and toe nails were painted bright red, but other than that she was all natural, all female. I couldn't help but stare at Sara, stunned, even overwhelmed by her beauty and her natural femininity.
"Well, what are you staring at, Pamela? Haven't you ever seen a girl before," she asked rhetorically, smiling, then put her arms around me and warmly embraced me and gently kissed my lips. I noticed the kiss had transferred a touch of my lipstick onto Sara's lips, adding to the sexiness of her smile.
"Come in, Pamela! I just woke up. You'll have to excuse my look."
"Excuse the way you look, Mistress! Why, never before have I seen a sight so very beautiful!"
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Pamela," Sara laughed, then she took my hand and led me to her bedroom. It was messy, with lingerie and the outfit she wore last night scattered about, and a pair of men's boxer shorts and t-shirt also thrown onto the floor.
"Forgive me for being so giddy, Pamela, and for making such a mess for you to clean, but last night was, well, something special. Mike and I, well., let's just say it was a night I'll never forget."
"Mistress Sara," I replied glumly, "I don't mind cleaning up after you."
"That's nice of you, Pamela. You really are so very nice. Tell me, were you a nice boy before, you know., your "change"?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so, but I was a man, Mistress, not a boy. I mean, I am a man, Mistress, I suppose."
Sara began laughing, not a mean laugh, but a joyful, giddy laugh.
"Pamela," she said, "you're not really a man anymore. I mean, look at yourself. You are pretty! Even rather sexy. And I mean that in a nice way."
"But I am a man. Really! I mean, I like you like a man. I love you like a man would love you. And I could make love to you like a man, Mistress."
"Perhaps you could," she said thoughtfully, "but for this morning you've been promoted from a mere maid to a chambermaid!"
"I don't understand," I said, perplexed.
"Silly girl! Chambermaid! That just means you'll need to help me clean up a bit, OK? After that, you can clean my bedroom. The sheets are a bit dirty, Pamela, because Mike fucked me five times last night!" Pamela spoke and acted as if she were aglow. She was clearly in love, but not with me.
"Oh, and you must clean Mike's underwear, too. Hand wash them, but separately from my lingerie."
"Tell me, Pamela, before you became a girl., I mean, when you were a boy.., or man., gee, just describing you is so difficult! Anyway, back before you wore skirts, did you ever make love to a woman five times in one night?"
"No Mistress," I replied sadly.
"You have made love to a woman, haven't you?"
"Well, ah., I, well yes, of course.," I replied, flustered.
"Don't you remember, Sara, I made love to you."
"Oh., yes., I forgot." She paused, then continued, "but other than that one time?"
I blushed and remained silent.
"I'm sorry, Pamela. I didn't realize you were a., virgin. But that's OK, Pamela. I was just wondering how it felt to a man, making love and all., whether it feels as marvelous to Mike as it does to me. But anyway, Pammy dear, I can see I'm embarrassing you again. You're so demure! Now go ahead and take off your clothes."
My eyes opened wide with surprise.
"Your uniform, silly girl. Take it off. You'll have to help me bathe, and you don't want to get it all wet, do you?"
"I suppose not," I said sheepishly.
"Take all your clothes off, Pamela. You really do have a pretty body, you know."
"Oh, well, yes, I suppose you should leave your bra on, honey. Amanda could return, and if she were to catch you without your titties, she'd be pissed.
She paid a lot for those silicone inserts, you know, because she wanted you to feel more womanly. Amanda does care for you, really."
"Yes, Mistress," I replied as I slipped out of my dress and began removing my pantyhose. Then I removed my slip, leaving me wearing only a bra and a panty girdle.
"Oh Pamela! I don't know how you can stand wearing panty girdles! Go ahead and take it off, Don't be so shy, girl!"
Slowly, under Sara's gaze, I removed the tight-fitting pink panty girdle, leaving me naked except for my bra. In one sense I was excited to be nearly naked while alone with Sara, yet I felt incredibly embarrassed.
"Now, don't you feel better, Pamela, without all those clothes? You know, real girls don't always dress up. Anyway, my dear chambermaid, come and massage my shoulders," Sara said as she slipped out of her teddy and sat upon the small stool.
I did as asked. Standing behind her, I gently rubbed her bare shoulders and neck. I gently kissed the nape of her neck. As I massaged, I looked down at Sara's beautiful, firm ass. My cock began to harden.
"Oh, that does feel nice, Pamela, " Sara said.
"Now I want you to massage my pussy."
"But how, Mistress?"
"With your tongue, you silly little chambermaid."
I did as commanded. Sara lay on her bed with her legs off the edge, so that her pussy was right there, open, at the edge of the bed. I knelt down before her, like a subject before his goddess, with my mouth at the same height as her vagina, and slowly, gently, put my mouth to her crotch. My tongue explored and caressed her female mysteries.
"Yes, dear Pamela, that does feel so very nice. Clean it out, my baby. I know you don't mind the cum which Mike deposited there. Jerri told me how much you seemed to enjoy swallowing Roger's cum! Oh, Pamela, what we girls must do to make our men happy." Sara droned on in an increasingly excited tone of voice.
"Keep at it, Pamela, don't stop unless I say to stop. That's it, right there, lick right there. Go ahead, girl, keep at it."
"Maybe you'll like being a girl, Pamela. You gotta admit that you've had more sex in your couple of months as a girl then you had in 21 years as a boy. And believe me, Pammy, it's really enjoyable. Not just the sex, but everything. Dressing up, looking pretty, the feeling of sisterhood, even motherhood. You'll love it, Pamela., oh, yes, stay at it., right like that., keep it up, little girl.." I could feel her entire body shiver while as her juices flowed around my tongue and mouth.
After some moments of silence, she continued, "By the way, Pamela, we girls had a talk with Roger last night. We discussed you and your., deficiencies., as a girl. We showed him your photo album, you know, from the doctor's office, but we tried to cover up your little., thing, so Roger wouldn't actually have to see it. Anyway, Roger said you look rather sexy in those photos! Roger likes you. He's willing to try to overlook your penis., he called it your "problem"., as long as, in his words, he never has to "see it, suck it, or get stuck by it". I just wanted you to know that he likes you., strictly as a female, that is. We, all of us girls, have vowed not to ever tell any of the other guys about you." As she talked, Sara's lovely legs held my head in place, and she was even able to guide me a bit just by shifting her thigh muscles slightly.
"Roger's looking forward to the time you finish your electrolysis and get your real titties. Your tongue feels so fine, honey, so gentle, much different from the overpowering sensation of a real man's prick, you understand. You eat me like a girl does, Pamela, and I like that. I like that a lot!"
My cock had been rubbing against the blankets which hung from Sara's bed, causing me to become ever more excited as Sara went through cycles of orgasm. Suddenly Sara trembled violently and grasped my head with her hands and pulled me tightly against her as she climaxed yet again. At the same time I, too, reached the precipice of orgasm; my cock began to pulse and was only a touch away from coming. I held still, very careful not to let my throbbing member touch anything, fearful lest I shoot cum onto Sara's bed and carpet, angering her. Luckily I had stopped just in time; I felt the orgasm fade, the throbbing ebb. I had just experienced a dry orgasm, something that happens on occasion.
Sara's legs finally loosened, and I collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. For several minutes Sara lay motionless on her bed, while I too lay motionless, on the floor, staring up at the ceiling fan slowly rotating, my mind devoid of all thought.
"Oh, Pamela, that did feel good, so good," Sara said, breaking the silence.
"Now, dear Pamela, make love to me. Make love to me like a man makes love to the woman he loves."
"Yes, sis, you heard me. You're still a man, so prove it to me. I know you've been infatuated with me since the moment you first saw me. Come and show me what you feel for me. I'm a woman, treat me like one! Please Pammy."
Incredulous about my good fortune, I got up from the floor and climbed onto Sara's bed. She spread her legs, and I lowered myself onto her. I noticed tiny drops of sweat on her brow; I could smell, almost taste, her youthful fertility.
"That's it, Pammy. You know, last night Jerri and Cathy were telling Roger how feminine your cock looks. They said it was more clit than cock. I didn't say anything, but I know better. You're still a male, and you desire me. So come now, Pamela, and fuck me. I've been horny all morning!"
I kissed Sara's neck, then her breasts. I tried. God, how I tried! But my dry orgasm had sapped me; my cock remained flaccid. I rubbed it against Sara, hoping and praying it would harden, but it didn't. I don't know if it was the female hormones, or a born lack of manhood, but having almost come once, I simply could not get hard again.
"What's wrong, Pamela? I thought you loved me. You love me like a man, you said it yourself," Sara sounded hurt as she grasped my shrunken penis, "but this is how you prove it? Pamela! I've never had a man do this to me. Never!"
"Jesus, Pamela, Jerri was right. You're not a man anymore, not at all! Cathy and Jerri said you were hard as you sucked Roger's cock, but for me, a real woman, your dick gets softer than a girl's breast. Why, it's so damn tiny, Pamela," she muttered as she held it in her hand.
"Damn," she said loudly, with total disgust. I had never seen Sara so upset; clearly, she considered my failure as an affront to her sexuality.
"I'm sorry, Mistress. Maybe later., just give me an hour., please.."
"What? I should wait an hour so that tiny pink prick might, just might, get excited over me? You sissy! You fairy!"
We were both uncomfortably silent for what seemed an eternity. I wondered what thoughts were going through the beautiful girl's mind. I continued trying to awaken my sleeping manhood, unsuccessfully.
"No, Pamela, you're a girl. You apparently are accepting that as a fact, and I should have accepted it, too. You're my chambermaid. I shouldn't have expected anything more from you. Now go run me a bath like a good little maid." I was crying as I got off my dear Sara. Any male ego I had left was now shattered.
"Sara sat up on her bed and stared at me with contempt. I felt incredibly emasculated and humiliated as I stood beside Sara's bed, wearing only my bra, with my soft, shrunken cock hanging limply, a sad relic of lost manhood. Sara just stared silently at my useless member.
"Please, Mistress," I finally got the courage to ask, "may I put my panties back on?"
"Why Pamela! Are you ashamed to let me see that useless little thing hanging between your legs?"
"Yes Mistress. It's embarrassing."
"I suppose it is. Yes., I suppose it is... Oh, go ahead! Put your panty girdle back on. And here, put my nightgown on, too. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, would I," Sara said as she tossed me her lacy blue teddy.
"Gee, Pamela, do you realize that you act like a young schoolgirl?"
"Yes, Mistress," I replied as I first pulled on my panty girdle and then slipped into her nightgown. As I donned Sara's teddy, I felt a strange sense of warmth, of comfort, an almost mystical sense of well-being.
"Very good, Pamela, massage gently," Sara said as I worked conditioner into her hair. I knelt by the tub, wearing Sara's short nightgown, while she sat in the bubble bath I had poured for her.
"You do make an outstanding chambermaid, Pamela. I'll definitely make use of your services more often, now that I see just how good you are." From the tone of her voice I could tell that her anger towards me had ebbed.
"Awhile back, Amanda bought you a very pretty French maid's outfit. You know the kind: black frilly dress with short hemline and frilly white apron, and white bonnet., it's really something! At the time, I asked her to not make you wear it because, well, I thought you might be embarrassed to be seen in it."
"I understand, Mistress."
"But I was wrong, Pamela, and Amanda was right. I suppose you should wear it. After all, it'll make you look very sexy."
"Yes, Mistress, I suppose so," I said as I gently dried Sara, now standing, with a fluffy towel.
"Oh, and by the way, Pamela, I promised Mike that you would go by his apartment once or twice a week to tidy it up. You can vacuum, do the dishes, wash his clothes. Just do all the wifely duties., except sex, that is."
"Yes, Mistress," I replied apprehensively, "but I believe I would feel., well., uncomfortable, cleaning your boyfriend's apartment, as if I were his, you know., wife.."
"Yes," Sara laughed, "particularly when dressed as a French maid!"
"But," she continued after a few moments, in a serious tone of voice, "just remember, Pamela, you are not allowed to flirt with my boyfriend. Never! Understood?"
"Yes, Mistress," I replied, shame-faced.
"And if ever comes on to you, you leave his place immediately. No playing the helpless little girl like you do with Roger."
"Yes, Mistress, I understand," I replied. I realized that the relationship between Sara and myself had irrevocably changed. No more did she see me as male, or even potentially male. I felt very, very sad.
"Yes, Pamela, you'll soon get used to being female. In fact, I bet you'll never go back. You're a Texan now. The boy from Iowa is no more. Ahora, Pamela es la senorita de Tejas."
As I write this, bitter cold has long since settled upon northern Iowa. I look out the window and see snow swirl and blow under cold gray skies. Soon, six months will have passed since I crossed the ever-muddy Red River, out of Texas and into Oklahoma, heading north. I have not been back, and have no plans to do so.
Yet my thoughts have often returned to those few days I spent in north Texas, and to Pamela. In ways I did not understand at the time, immersing myself in Pamela's story disturbed my life view. No longer is my world black and white, male and female. I regret the loss of certainty once held.
I've ended Pamela's story with his confrontation with Sara, even though that occurred several months before I happened upon the hotel. That event was a watershed for Pamela; it seemed a reasonable place to stop. Maybe someday I'll put to paper the rest of Pamela's unusual story.
Several days ago, as I finished writing this, I telephoned the Paradise View. Sara answered, and we talked for just a few minutes. She's engaged now, to Mike, with a nice wedding planned for the 21st of May. Amanda took the news badly, but in Sara's words, "she'll just have to live with it". Maria had a beautiful baby boy, and is now truly happy. Josie and John are still together, although their relationship remains rocky. The schoolgirls all still work part time; in fact, she said, Emily was lying by the pool as we spoke, in her swimsuit, getting a nice tan.
And Pamela? Sara said she couldn't talk, as she was at the beauty shop.
Amanda bought a used car a few months ago for Pamela to use, so now she gets out into the world much more often than before. And Pamela now earns a paycheck, just minimum wage with a little withheld for room and board, but enough so that she frequently goes out shopping. The beauty shop has become a weekly ritual for Pamela, "just like it is for my mother", said Sara with a little laugh.
Roger joined the army not long after I interviewed him. Mike heard that he was badly wounded recently and may be coming home soon, news which upset Pamela considerably.
"Soon she may need to learn a new female skill," said Sara, "and become a nurse."
I asked Sara if Pamela ever talks of returning home to Iowa.
"As a matter of fact," Sara said, "I asked her about that just last week. It seems that with money in her purse and access to a car, she could go back now. But Pamela just responded in a rather sad voice: "there's no road home anymore, Sara, there's just no road home".
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