My Dream Solution Ch. 01

He positioned my wig, being careful not to mess up his work on my face. He used bobby pins to keep it firmly in place and a brush to do the final touch-up. Then he took out the gold stud in my right earlobe and put in one of the dangly earrings we'd purchased today. A necklace and bracelet followed and he instructed me to put on my pumps.

"Now, walk over to the mirror. And remember, you're a woman. A beautiful, desirable, sexy, woman, who can have any man she wants. Walk over slowly. You're not just putting on a show; you *are* the show."

He needn't have cautioned me to walk slowly. I had to do that to keep from falling in the heels. Other than trying these on at the store, I'd never worn high heels and I realized that walking in them wasn't an innate skill—at least not for me.

I tried to walk in as feminine a way as possible. I'm afraid I wasn't very good yet. But I made it over to the mirror and when I saw my reflection in the mirror, I was stunned—really stunned. It didn't look like a reflection of me. It was a woman in the mirror. She moved her arms and legs, her whole body, in perfect sync with me, but she was a woman and I was a man. Every inch of her was woman. She had slender, well-shaped calves and thighs, smooth, hairless skin, a sweet little crotch with no unsightly bulge, a slim waist, nicely rounded B-cup breasts, and an inviting cleavage. She had full red lips, dark eyelashes, and a milky-smooth complexion. This couldn't be me.

Then I remembered what Alex had been telling me throughout the day, sometimes explicitly but more often by implication. I've got to feel like a woman. So I looked at myself in the mirror—I admired myself. I silenced the voice in my head that was saying, "This isn't me." I generated another voice that said, "This *is* me; I'm a beautiful, sexy woman."

I smiled, and the woman in the mirror smiled back at me, and I was her.

Alex gave me a few minutes to take this all in, to appreciate the amazing transformation. Then he told me to put on my blouse and skirt and pose again in front of the mirror. I picked up my blouse gently and slipped it on, slowly buttoning up. Looking in the mirror again, I saw what a terrific job Alex had done creating the illusion of cleavage. No one would think that this was a paint job. It looked for all the world like natural cleavage. Trompe l'oeil! Who knew Alex was an artist?

I bent over from my waist to pick up my skirt. I could feel how, in these heels, this made my butt stick out. I'd seen women do this and figured it was a uniquely feminine way of bending over. I pulled up my skirt, zipped and hooked it, and smoothed out my blouse.

The look was complete. It had been complete woman even before the blouse and skirt, of course, but now I looked like a woman who could walk down the street and be noticed, not as a crossdressing man, but as a very attractive woman. Well, that is, if I could walk in these shoes.

"You'll get the hang of it quickly," Alex said as he saw me take a few wobbly steps. "What time does Todd get home?"

"About 8:00 today." Looking at the clock for the first time, I realized that this was in only about a half hour. "Oh, I'd better get out of this stuff."

"Are you kidding?!" Alex was appalled. "You're not taking a thing off until Todd sees you."

"I don't know. Dressing isn't part of our lives."

"Well, it's going to be in Arkansas. You'd better get used to him seeing you in women's clothing."

Alex was right, of course. There was no reason to put off letting Todd see Ronda. If he couldn't tolerate me as Ronda, then we'd need to have another plan for Arkansas. Best to find out now.

"Let's go into the living room and I can start showing you some of those thousand things you need to learn. I want to be here when Todd gets home—I want to see the look on his face—I think I deserve that—but I'll leave then. And you can get out of these yucky women's clothes as quickly as you two want then."

Alex said "yucky women's clothes" with a feigned disdain that I suspected was intended to mock me. He knew that I'd never been into crossdressing and he knew the reason I was willing to try it now. I felt as if he might simply be teasing me about what he thought might be my revulsion at his fetish—though it never revolted me; it just didn't excite me. But he also might have been suggesting, by exaggerating my rejection of women's clothes, that I wasn't so confident anymore about my dislike for them. I didn't know what Alex was implying and I decided it didn't really matter.

In the living room, I began to learn some of those thousand things that Alex kept referring to. I couldn't believe how much there was to learn. Women do everything differently: sitting, standing, and walking—all had to be relearned with subtle and not-so-subtle shifts from how I did them normally. And talking like a woman wasn't just about the pitch of your voice. Alex said I needed to learn new cadences, inflections, and even word choices and sentence structures. Men and women interrupt differently, too.

There was way more than I could learn tonight, even if we had all night to work on it. Alex reassured me that this was okay. It's a process; perfection is out of reach, but it's important to come as close as possible.

And he explained why even seemingly trivial aspects of female behavior are crucial to the female impersonator—the man who doesn't just want to wear women's clothes but wants to pass as a woman. What you have to avoid is anything, even something minor, that will be a yellow flag—anything that will make anyone think, "hmmm, that wasn't quite right." Because once you're subject to heightened scrutiny, you're in trouble.

We spent the half hour that we had mostly talking about the range of activities I needed to develop a "Ronda way" of engaging in. Alex demonstrated some things and I tried to imitate him. It was frustrating but, even in critiquing me, Alex was positive and supportive.

Time passed quickly and I was surprised when I heard the garage door open for Todd's car.

"Just sit there like a proper lady, Ronda," Alex said. "I'll meet Alex at the door and introduce him to you."

Alex left for the front door, and I waited anxiously. What would Todd think? Would he be disappointed by what he saw as a failed attempt to become a woman in order to give us cover in Arkansas? Would he think I was too successful and be turned off—or worse, disgusted—by seeing me as a woman? By the time I heard the front door open, my heart was pounding and my hands were trembling. "Dear me," I thought to myself, trying to lighten my mood, "I fear I might need some smelling salts." But the truth was that I was really scared.

[To be continued ...]