Body Image

"Sit down Mona. We have to talk."

He had heard those two tiny sentences more than a few times in the last several weeks. Every time he did he felt a strange queasiness in the pit of his stomach. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not refuse. He walked over to the couch across from the chair where Kathleen was already sitting and sat down.

He sat at the very edge of the couch, crossed one smooth leg over the other and folded his hands over his crossed knees. He pointed the toes of his dangling foot toward the floor and leaned forward expectantly. It seemed perfectly natural and comfortable to Michael to sit like this.

Kathleen was watching him very carefully.

"You look very pretty today, Mona."

Michael felt himself blushing. He looked down at the short green jersey dress he was wearing and absent-mindedly smoothed out a few non-existent wrinkles. He noted his pale slender hand with its perfectly shaped oval nails coated with silver polish. His feet, naked inside a pair of high-heeled strappy sandals, were decorated with ten adorable little silver toenails. Michael looked up shyly from under his thick lashes, but not enough to meet her eyes.

"Thank you ma'am," he said.

"I do believe green is your color. It really brings out your eyes."

Kathleen enjoyed seeing Michael's shyness. How different he was now from the brash impudent son-of-a-bitch who thought he could have an affair with her and then just dump her when her emotional involvement became too much for him. He thought all he had to do was declare that he was returning to his wife and she would just vanish into thin air. Michael thought he was in control of the situation. He was wrong. All he had to do was take one look in the mirror to see just how wrong he'd been.

***

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

He'd actually had the nerve to tell her right after they made love. Kathleen thought he might be joking at first. But the look on his face told her he was only too serious. He was already out of bed and beginning to get dressed. Kathleen realized he was going back to the office. He was going back to the office as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She gathered the sheet at her breasts to cover herself and stared at him in a state of shock. They had met at her townhouse during lunch hour as they often did. Michael had taken a cab from Wall Street. Kathleen rode the subway from the office where she practiced psychotherapeutic hypnotherapy. The townhouse was their little love-nest. The place where they could come together and consummate their forbidden love until the day it could be made legitimate.

At least that is the way Kathleen had seen it.

"Please don't be angry sweetheart," he continued. He was standing in his underwear and shirtsleeves, fastening his cufflinks. "It's better for everyone this way. Especially you."

The condescension in his tone was unbearable. Kathleen was speechless. His sudden change of heart had come on so suddenly. Up to that point, Michael had been promising her that he would leave his wife and that they would have a future together. Kathleen had put her life on hold for sixteen long months waiting. And now, just like that, Michael was telling her they were through.

"Try to understand. These things happen. In a month or so, you'll meet someone new and forget all about me. You'll see."

He was crouching down, fixing his hair in the bureau mirror. Kathleen finally found her voice.

"You bastard."

Michael turned towards her.

"I'm sorry Kathleen," he said. "I really love my wife. I can't leave her. I hope someday you'll come to understand."

Oh she understood all right. She understood only too well.

Kathleen had no desire to say the usual things one said in these situations. The ease and callousness with which Michael had proposed breaking off their affair told Kathleen all she needed to know. Michael retreated into the bathroom to finish dressing and when he came out he found Kathleen downstairs in her robe and slippers. Michael looked at her questioningly.

"I've canceled my clients for this afternoon," she said simply.

There was an awkward silence that Kathleen did not rescue him from. She had made their whole relationship easy for the selfish son-of-a-bitch. She wasn't going to make this part easy.

"Oh," Michael said. He looked at his watch. "I really should be getting back."

"How about one last drink before you go. For old time's sake?"

"Look Kathleen, I think its best..."

Kathleen cut him off. "Don't worry Michael. I have no intention of creating a scene. I just want fifteen minutes to change your mind..."

"Kathleen I'm not going to change my mind."

"Maybe not, Michael. But after everything I've been through for you, I think you owe me at least that much. I could have caused a lot of trouble. I still can. But I haven't. I've tried to do the right thing in a very difficult situation. I think you can at least show me the same consideration."

Michael couldn't argue with that. He sat down at the edge of the couch that he would one day soon get to know all too well and waited as Kathleen returned with a pair of drinks that already seemed to have been prepared. As she approached, her robe opened a little with each step and Michael found his gaze traveling from the tips of her slender toes to the cool white inside of her thighs. He was going to miss that body. Damn, he was going to miss sex with Kathleen. He had never met anyone who was so empathetic in bed. She seem to know everything he wanted without him having to say a word. Was he making a mistake? Did he really want to stop seeing her?

He had to stop thinking like this. He loved his wife. He wanted to save his marriage. Christine had given him an ultimatum. Her—or me. Michael had made his choice. It was difficult but it was final. It was—

He saw the side of Kathleen's breasts in the "v" of her robe, felt her warmth, smelled her sweet scent—

Kathleen handed him a glass and smiled. Michael looked up with a start and took the drink. He looked into Kathleen's irresistibly bright blue eyes and sheepishly returned Kathleen's smile. She didn't seem upset anymore. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, after all.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay Mona."

"What did you say?"

"Michael..."

That's a pretty robe, Michael thought as he sipped his drink. It looked so soft and silky. And he loved the vibrant colors so much better than his drab suit. It must feel so good next to the skin. He especially liked the way it fell open as Kathleen sat across from him, knees crossed, one long, smooth leg exposed. Michael didn't realize it but he was sitting that way, too.

Michael shook his head, confused. What in the world was he thinking? He had to get out of here. He had to get back to the office. He wanted to call his wife and tell her the affair was over.

"Kathleen, listen..."

He started to get up and then sank back down onto the couch. He was looking at Kathleen's feet. They looked so sexy in those open-toed slippers with the slender high heels. The slippers were totally impractical and had no other purpose but to make Kathleen's feet and legs look pretty. Michael wondered what he would look like in those slippers. Would he be able to walk in them? How would his shaved legs look? He pictured his toes, painted, tapping the air like Kathleen's.

"You don't really want to leave me, do you Mona?"

"Huh?" he said, still staring at Kathleen's toes.

Kathleen repeated her question.

"No," Michael heard himself saying. "I really don't want to leave."

Kathleen smiled. Her ex-lover was sitting across from her, legs crossed, tapping his foot, dreaming of what it would be like to be wearing a woman's robe and slippers.

And that was only the beginning.

"Hey wait a minute...I didn't mean...Kathleen?"

Michael felt very disoriented. He suddenly realized the way he was sitting, what he was thinking.

"Don't be alarmed Mona. It's perfectly okay."

"What—what have you done to me?" Michael said, looking dazed.

Kathleen wanted Michael to know exactly what was going to happen to him. It would be his last chance to know his fate. Once she started his deep re-conditioning, he would only have partial occasional glimpses back to the person he used to be. She had brought him up just to the level of awareness where he had enough of his own mind to understand but not enough to resist her.

"I suspected that you wouldn't have the balls to leave your wife," Kathleen explained. "So I planned for this day."

Michael looked down at his glass. "My drink..."

"You were stupid to take that drink, of course. It contains a very powerful psychotropic drug. I use it in my practice for extraordinary cases. I won't bore you with the details, Mona. You wouldn't understand them, and besides, you'll forget them soon anyway."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What honey?"

"You know."

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"Mona...dammit..." Michael suddenly pictured himself in a pair of black lace panties. He could feel himself growing aroused. "You're calling me..."

"Mona."

"Please stop," Michael whispered, unable to shake the image of himself in a yellow sundress and white platform sandals.

"It's your new name. Don't you like it? I know for a fact that you do. It was the name of your first real girlfriend. How do I know that? You have no secrets from me, Mona, none."

Kathleen saw the flash of panic pass across Michael's face.

"That name has a special erotic significance for you. Now, every time you hear it, you will find yourself falling deeper into trance. And since it's your name, you'll hear it all the time, even if that is the only thing people know about you. Ingenious isn't it, Mona? You're name itself will become your bondage."

Michael imagined his legs in a pair of black fishnet thigh-highs. He slurred his words. "You bitch..."

"There's no need to be unpleasant, Mona. It won't help matters any. The important thing is that the drug enhances your powers of suggestibility, and, in your case, trainability. Take another sip."

Michael found himself bringing the glass to his lips. He tried to stop himself, but it was no use. To his horror, he took a sip of the drugged drink.

"See? You will find that you've become extraordinarily cooperative. I'm afraid you aren't going back to your wife, Mona. Ever."

"You can't do this," Michael sputtered. But he couldn't stop the images from coming, images that kept him at the peak of arousal. "I'll make you...pay for this... you can't..."

"Enough Mona," Kathleen said. "I'm tired of hearing you talk. From here on out, you'll just listen."

Michael sat rigid, unable to move or talk.

Kathleen cocked her head to one side, enjoying the look of helpless bewilderment on his face.

"Perhaps you're wondering about these new desires you suddenly have," she continued after a moment's pause. "Well, Mona, this may come as something of a shock to you..."

Kathleen laughed.

"I guess you are having a lot of shocks about now. But the fact is that these desires aren't new or sudden. You've fantasized about becoming a woman for some time now."

Kathleen could read the internal struggle on Michael's face. He tried to protest but he could make nothing but a few inarticulate sounds.

"Oh hush, Mona and just listen," Kathleen said. "You see, on some level, your desire to be a girl has been there all you're life. Remember when you asked me to put you under hypnosis to help you stop smoking? I did more than just help you kick that disgusting two-pack-a-day habit, honey. I took a look into your sexual subconscious. I was quite surprised at what I found."

He had given up trying to fight. And now Kathleen saw the fear in his eyes.

"Don't get all upset, Mona. It would have surfaced eventually anyway. If not now, then in five years, ten years, and who knows how it would have affected your life. I just hastened along the inevitable. Besides, better now while you'll still look good in a string bikini."

Kathleen had gotten up off the couch and now stood over him. She reached down, squeezed his cheeks together so that his lips puckered, and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

"You are going to look so adorable darling," she said. "But first, we have to talk."

Michael didn't remember much of what happened next. He didn't remember, for instance, standing completely naked in the middle of Kathleen's living room while his ex-mistress sipped her drink and watched with mild amusement. He didn't remember being ordered into the shower to shave off his body hair or the hypnotic prompt that caused him to feel sexually excited by the feel of a pair of silky panties. He didn't remember being told what small genitals he had or that his legs were very pretty in a girly way. He didn't remember painting his toenails and fingernails "peek-a-boo" red while watching a rerun of "Friends" and sipping a Slim-Fast or being put to bet that night in Kathleen's guest room wearing a frilly baby-doll nightie. What Michael did remember was the shock of being called downstairs the next morning and finding his wife Christine in the living room of Kathleen's townhouse.

Christine's jaw dropped.

Michael wanted to tell her he could explain everything. But, of course, he couldn't explain a thing. He was naked except for red satin panties and a pair of cute red open-toed pumps with little bows on each instep. His body was completely smooth, his nails were painted, and his cock bulged obscenely inside the cool material of his panties, the pink head actually poking out above the waistband.

"What is the meaning of this?" Christine demanded, having somewhat recovered from her initial shock. "Michael , what's going on here?"

She was wearing a smart navy blue business suit with matching pumps. Her long dark hair was pulled back from a small, delicate face with a creamy smooth complexion and just a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her tiny nose. That pretty face now looked extremely angry.

Michael tried hard to speak, to tell Christine the truth, but all he could do was stutter incoherently.

"Michael, I want an explanation right now.

"Please don't frighten him," Kathleen said. "It was very difficult for him to admit his desires but its what he needed. He never felt you could accept him for what he was. He came to me with his little secret."

"What in god's name is she talking about, Michael? Is this true?"

"He likes to be called Mona now," Kathleen said. "Isn't that a cute name? I think its suits him, don't you?"

Michael knew there was something wrong with what Kathleen had said, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out exactly what it was. He wasn't completely sure why he was dressed the way he was, but, on the other hand, he didn't understand why it was wrong, or why Christine was making so big a deal out of it. It felt okay to be like this; in a way it felt perfectly right. But Christine's reaction was making him feel very uncertain. He opened his mouth to say that none of this was his idea and the he really didn't want to be here but something stopped him. He did want to be here, didn't he? This was his idea. No. No, that wasn't quite it. He couldn't find the words. He was so confused and frustrated. What did these women want from him? Michael could feel the tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Michael, answer me. Stop crying for crissakes. Is this what you want?"

Kathleen watched Michael and his wife with great interest. Michael was trying not to cry anymore but he wasn't having much success. His smooth white shoulders were shaking and his bottom lip was trembling. Kathleen thought how pretty his mouth would look with lipstick. The next time she put him under she would have to instill in him a love for making up his face.

"Can't you tell he likes himself like this?" Kathleen said.

Michael's wife kept her eyes on her husband but directed her question to Kathleen.

"What have you done to him?"

"I've just allowed him to be what he is. Haven't I darling?"

Michael found himself nodding "yes."

"This is absurd," Christine said, impatiently. "Come on Michael. Let's go."

"If you don't mind me saying so, you can be a little intolerant. I'm afraid he doesn't want to go anywhere. Michael loves wearing panties and heels, don't you?"

"Yes," Michael said.

"And he thinks his little toes look so pretty painted like that. Isn't that right, love?"

"Yes."

"Michael," Christine said, hardly believing what she was seeing or hearing. "I'm going to give you one last chance. Are you coming with me or not?"

Michael could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks once again. This time he didn't try to stop them and Christine didn't ask him to. Not that he could have anyway. Michael knew that what he was about to say was going to cost him his marriage, his job, his entire life. But he couldn't stop the words from coming. He wasn't sure if what he said next was true or not. He wasn't even sure what made him say it. He only knew that he had to say what he said next no matter what.

"I like the way I look wearing heels and panties. I think my toes look so pretty painted."

His wife was shaking her head in disbelief but Michael didn't stop.

"I like being called Mona. I want—I want to be a girl," he heard himself say.

"Fine," Christine said. "I give up. I hope you're happy." She turned to Kathleen. "I hope you're both happy. You're welcome to the little faggot."

"I'm so proud of you Mona," Kathleen said, the moment the door slammed behind his wife. She put her arms around the bare shoulders of her weeping sissy. "Come on honey, it'll be okay. Let's share a pint of chocolate Haagen Daz and I'll take you shopping at Sak's. You can continue your diet tomorrow. Okay?"

Michael sniffed and nodded.

"That's a good girl," Kathleen said. "Everything's going to be fine from now on. You'll see. You just leave everything up to me."

***

"Do you...do you like my hair like this?"

It was a month after the confrontation with his wife and Michael was running a hand through the body wave of his long henna-colored hair. It was an unconscious and totally feminine gesture that Michael had developed quite on his own. Kathleen knew it was important to reinforce his positive self-image. She was aware of how he appeared to himself: the lush curls framing his delicate face, large silver hoops dangling from his ears.

"It's beautiful darling," Kathleen said and smiled. "But what I think I like best of all is the way you fill out the top of your dress. I wish I had breasts that size."

Oh, god, no you don't, Michael wanted to say, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. The breasts Kathleen had given him were just too large. They nearly spilled out the low-cut top of his dress and nearly everything else that he wore. It had taken a lot of time to get used to them. They always seemed to be in the way somehow and the strange weight of them kind of threw off his center of gravity. Somewhere, in the dim recesses of what was left of his mind, Michael remembered thinking of large breasts as a positive thing. But now, for the life of him, he couldn't remember why. They were just so inconvenient and they made him feel so conspicuous. The way men stared at them...it wasn't sexy at all. It was just embarrassing and demeaning!

Of course, the high-heels that he always wore didn't help his balance either, or the troublesome extra layers of fat that now softened and rounded out his upper thighs and buttocks. But somehow he couldn't give up the high-heels no matter how uncomfortable they were and he couldn't lose the weight no matter how much he dieted. He had always been considered a thin person; at least it had seemed that way to him. It was almost impossible for him to believe now when life was a constant struggle with his weight. Had he been mistaken all that time? How he longed for those days again! Kathleen tried to tell him he wasn't fat but he could tell that she was just being nice. No matter what she said Michael was always extremely self-conscious of how tightly his dresses fit over his ass and the way his bangled wrists brushed his thighs and the way he was kind of forced to rock his hips when he walked.