A Familiar's Fate Ch. 01

This is a multi-part story with a slow build-up. I hope you enjoy this story of gradual submission and feminization. If you're looking for sex scenes, move on.

Chapter 1: Icarus Wings

Normally meeting a young lady who you would be proud to introduce to your mother is a source of joy. Yet nothing about this was normal. I'm not your typical young man. This is not your typical relationship. I did not have a typical upbringing. And my mother is anything but typical.

Yet it all seems like fate, inescapable fate. Whether it is a good fate or a bad fate, I'm not sure. All I know is I can't imagine being without her. Goddess she is beautiful.

I noticed her the moment she walked into the office that first day. To be honest, every guy noticed her. She is the type that turns heads wherever she goes.

She was a new Account Manager, and apparently a star recruit from the city's top MBA program. We were about the same age, but I was just an entry level clerk who had been toiling away a couple years here since college.

She wore the simplest of clothing but everything suggested more. A white blouse with the top buttons undone giving just a hint of skin above those breasts pressing against the white satin. A tailored black suit jacket. A black thigh-high skirt. High enough to show off those amazing legs, but not so short to be considered risqué or slutty. The black open-toed platform shoes gave her a wonderful arch and highlighted her manicured toes. Yet they were not so high as to be uncomfortable for a woman on the go.

Her manner suggested she knew what effect she was having and relished the attention.

Over the proceeding weeks, I fantasized about her. Well, to be honest, all women were just a fantasy for me. Yet Karen, as I would learn her name from office chatter, remained special. Not that I would dare approach her. She belonged on a pedestal. Her smouldering beauty would no doubt burn me if I got too close.

And beyond doubt, I could have gone indefinitely without speaking to her.

Working in the clerks, bookkeeping and admin area, most of my direct colleagues were women. I mainly kept to myself, generally keeping conversations within the office restricted to my work duties.

I never dared to ask any of the ladies out for a date. Company policy suggested that office romances were frowned upon. Yet truthfully, it didn't seem to be enforced. Hardly a week went by without one of the ladies in my department being in some tryst or another with the guys from sales and account management.

I never even mustered the courage to ask any of them out. My fear of rejection was practically a phobia.

Socially and physically, I fit in well with the ladies. At 5 foot, 6 inches, I was about their average height, perhaps even on the shorter side. And weighing only 125 lbs., my slender frame was the envy of some of my female colleagues. I allowed my hair to grow out to shoulder length, and I was always mindful of my skin and hands.

While the girls felt comfortable around me, there was never any hint of attraction. I was clearly locked in the 'friend zone'.

Indeed I was treated like one of the girls. I was party to their gossip. I heard them relate their latest sexual adventures. We talked about fashion, or the latest romance film, and just general office gossip.

More than once, I would be sitting with them as they called men a bunch of jerks, or childish, or some such insult. I would be sitting amongst them, nodding along with their tales of woe. And when men in general were insulted they wouldn't pause to except me. They didn't even think of me that way. I was simply one of the girls.

It was hard to argue with their assessment of guys though. The men in the office routinely treated me like dirt, calling me a sissy or a weakling. It didn't help that I was regularly bailed out from their harassment by the ladies coming to my defense.

One lady in particular, Joanne, had become a fast friend. Her comfort with people was the polar opposite of me. Even she joked about her being the office slut.

One day I asked her how many of the guys from the office she had dated.

She paused for a moment, as if she was making a mental calculation, then responded. "I think all of them. At least the ones that are single, and a few of them who were not." She responded with a laugh, almost proud of her promiscuity.

"Well, except for me."

She paused to look at me, genuinely confused. "Yes, but... uhm, you don't count." She seemed more confused, as if I was trying to trick her out of her perfect record.

"... And besides Chris, I did offer to go with you to the gay bar, and introduce you to my friend from college."

I cringed at the memory. She had indeed tried to set me up with her gay friend from college. "I told you, I'm not gay Joanne."

She nodded, "Yes, that's what you say. But I just think you're nervous, which is a shame because Derek is really cute."

I shook my head and walked back to my desk. I was never going to win this argument. Not unless she saw me dating a woman.

The classic chicken and egg scenario. The ladies thought I was gay because I never dated anyone. I could never get a date with any of my lady friends because they thought I was gay.

* * *

Over the weeks and months at the office, I watched intently as other guys made passes at Karen. She gave none of them the time of day. And some of them were the strong athletic types that were accustomed to winning the girl. Others were the handsome upper management type who clearly had money and were going places, by virtue of parentage if not merit.

With my slight build, shy manner, and complete lack of experience with the ladies, I could never compete with those guys. Therefore, I was resigned to observing, and fantasizing from afar.

One time, I watched as Phil, one of the young executives chatted up Karen. He was about 10 years her senior, but was still quite handsome. He was over 6', with a strong muscular frame. I had heard many of the office ladies remark how handsome he was.

As I watched Karen being wooed from the far end of the office, Joanne snuck up from behind. "Dream on, he's out of your league."

"Yeah, I know," I responded with a sigh of disappointment.

Then I paused. "Did you say 'HE is out of my league'?"

She nodded, and gave me a puzzled look. Who else would she be referring to?

I shook my head, and returned to staring. Joanne was playing that gay card again. I didn't have the patience or heart to fight her this time. And truthfully, he was out of my league. If Karen wasn't responding to his charm, as it appeared to be the case, then what hope did a thin, weak boy working as a junior clerk have with her?

Yet a few months after Karen had started with the company, fate intervened.

* * *

Mrs. Simmons, my manager summoned me to her office Monday morning. I shuffled over to her office, with my head down like an errant schoolboy. I thought I had been doing a good job, and she was always pleasant with me. Yet, to be called to her office scared me.

Mrs. Simmons, a woman in her mid-fifties, but still attractive in her business suits, was seated at her desk. She asked me to shut the door, and take a seat.

Sitting down. This was not some simple task or duty assignment. Not a good sign. I'm going to be fired, or at least reprimanded. What did I do wrong?

I fidgeted nervously in my seat, as she casually smiled at me, a normal work day. A smile is a good sign.

She quickly got to the point. "Chris, I have chosen you to work on a new project in major accounts. Ms. Townsend needs an assistant for a project she is working on. It will be for at least 4 months. Hopefully longer, if the program is successful."

Wow, this was an excellent opportunity. Certainly better than being fired or reprimanded. The only thing that brought a lump to my throat was Ms. Townsend, Karen. Ms. Karen Townsend. I would be working side by side with the goddess I had been fantasizing about for months.

Perhaps this could be a good thing. Perhaps she'll like me. Yeah right, as if she would be attracted to meek little ol' me, when she had already shot down the hot shot executives.

"She needs some sales research assistance for the project she is managing. You're good with our sales tracking reports and accounting software. And it will require some flexibility in your hours."

Work flexibility was a euphemism for unpaid overtime. Yet, I would be spending that time in her orbit. I'll take it.

Perhaps, I should have been insulted that Mrs. Simmons simply assumed that I would take it. Yet I wasn't going to argue.

After being informed of my new duties, I shuffled over to her office to introduce myself. I nervously lowered my gaze to her feet. I didn't have the willpower to look her in the eyes, and I was afraid I may be caught staring at those gorgeous breasts. Meanwhile, I could feel her eyes upon me, observing me.

"So, you must be Chris." She continued to scrutinize me.

She knew my name. My skin flushed, and my little penis stiffened in response. Numerous fantasies rolling around in my head. Of course she had been told the name of her assistant. Don't get ahead of yourself, I inwardly chastised myself.

"Uhh, yeah... that's me." I looked up into her eyes, and then quickly averted them.

She must have been thinking, what dumb luck to be partnered with such a wimp.

Her voice did not reveal any contempt. "First things first. I need some caffeine. Let's go over to Rossinni's and layout a game plan."

I nodded. Coffee sounded good. Actually, coffee sounded bad. I was already bouncing off the walls within my mind. The last thing I needed was caffeine. And I would have to talk with her, and make coherent sentences. I didn't know if I could do it.

I followed her across the street to the local café, not saying a word. 'Just one foot in front of the other. Just don't say something stupid, or be caught staring at her.'

Without asking, she placed the order; 1 coffee, black, and a camomile tea. I didn't interrupt her, or attempt to pay. Yet, I was startled when she grabbed the coffee, and left the tea for me. The contrast between the strong black coffee, and the fragrant, soothing tea was clear.

I could feel her eyes staring at me, waiting to see how I would react.

I didn't want to make a big deal of it. After all, it was just tea. I said nothing, and sat down at the table.

She smiled.

What did that mean? Was this simply a test? Was I comfortable following her directions? Was I going to have a problem serving a woman? How comfortable was I doing something, or playing the role, which many considered feminine? Whatever it was, she had won. She was in charge.

She first provided an overview of the project. Her manner and pace suggested that questions were not welcome. At least this allowed me to sit with her, and not be tongue tied.

She then provided specific direction of what she expected me to complete. It was at least more interesting than my usual tasks of filing and data entry. Yet, it was also apparent that it was a lot of work. The expectation was that I would need to work late and on weekends. She simply assumed that I had no family or social life that would interfere with her needs.

Part of me wanted to object. What was I getting out of this work? Certainly not overtime pay, and no doubt she would get all the credit as Account Manager. And since when did people assume that I didn't have a social life? I could be dating a different woman every week.

Yeah right. Even I thought the idea was ridiculous, which is why I didn't say anything. She was a beautiful woman who was accustomed to people doing things just to please her. And she was right to assume I would struggle for her pleasure, or even a nod of approval. Even now, my penis was fully erect at the thought of being with her.

She smiled at me, as I nodded in agreement with each of the tasks she assigned to me. That was all I needed.

When we returned to the office, she asked me to wait in her office for a moment. She then walked out, and I could see her speaking with my manager. Was she already asking for me to be replaced? What did I do wrong? I couldn't imagine any problems from the little that I said. Perhaps I should have spoken up.

She didn't seem upset or frustrated as she walked back to her office where I stood waiting.

"Ok Chris, I've just cleared it with Mrs. Simmons. You are going to be seated out here." She pointed to a secretary desk outside her office.

I was utterly caught off guard. On the one hand, I was relieved that she had not demanded my removal from the project as I had just thought for no reason. Yet, it was odd that I was not consulted on the move. It would be difficult to concentrate while constantly being in her presence.

"Oh, ok. When?" was all I could muster.

She looked at me with a fierce gaze, as if I had questioned her authority. "Now... Go!" She pointed out the door at the empty desk.

"Yes ma'am." I scurried out of her office.

An hour later, I was at my desk outside her office, diligently pulling some numbers for the project. She smiled at me as she walked back from a meeting.

It didn't go unnoticed that I earned a smile each time I submitted to her. Yet even with the awareness that I was being manipulated, I found myself craving her approval, her smile.

In the days that followed, she tightened the noose. She proceeded to give me a variety of mundane tasks; fetching coffee, picking up her dry cleaning, and making dinner reservations. None of these were part of my job description. Any hesitation or objection on my part resulted in a stern look of disapproval or a frown of disappointment. I quickly relented.

Each time that I acquiesced, I received that glowing smile. She smiles, bell rings, and I salivate like Pavlov's dog.

What I didn't know how to react to was her casual touching, or her intimate proximity. I would regularly feel her breasts pressed into my back as she stood behind me. She would lean over me to point out something on the computer. This would place her gorgeous breasts directly beside my face, and her tight thighs within inches, and sometimes touching, my hand.

'Look straight ahead. Eyes on the computer. Don't move your hand. Concentrate on her words. She is giving instructions about the work. Don't look at those breasts. Ignore those toned thighs and elegant long legs. Keep your hand and eyes away from the pert round ass. Think about the work.'

With every moment she was in my presence, I was in a constant state of arousal. I was worried, or perhaps hoping, she would see the erection in my pants. Yet that never seemed to happen. Alas, my cursed small size barely made an impression in the front of my pants.

I would fantasize for a moment that she was flirting with me. Yet then, she would request that I book a table at one fancy restaurant or another, and confirm the details with whichever man she was seeing for lunch or dinner. She appeared to have a long list of men.

It wasn't all romantic evenings. In fact, most probably weren't. Yet if she was meeting another woman, she made the confirmation herself.

For some reason, she wanted me to know about all the rich powerful men in her life. I could fantasize about her, and she would tease me incessantly without words, but I could never have her.

* * *

On Friday evening, I found myself at her home. I could barely afford rent in the city, and she owned a beautiful Victorian home in the heart of the city.

She drove us there together from the office in her red sportscar. Don't ask me what type, I never was good with cars or machines.

She walked a few steps ahead into her home, dropping her laptop and bag in the living room.

I had dreamed countless times about going home with her. However, a work project with her firmly in control was not one of them.

She showed me the kitchen and asked me to bring her some of the white wine she had in the fridge. "And there's plenty of tea, juice, or sparkling water. Help yourself Chris. We'll work in the living room. I'm just going to change."

Juice? I'm the same age as her. Why would I drink juice rather than wine. And did she think I was her maid? Her assistant, yes. Her maid, no.

I was about to object but she was already gone up the stairs. Despite myself, or perhaps because of my true nature, I was aroused by her domineering manner. I quickly relented.

I found a wine glass, poured it for her. I selected some cranberry juice for myself.

I made my way to the living room, glasses in hand. I set them down, and made myself comfortable on the floor, so I could open up my laptop on the coffee table.

She was not long changing, and strolled down the stairs and into the room like a model. I was dumbstruck by her appearance. She wore a cami pajama set in red satin with lace trimming and a matching robe. Her sandals were comfortable, but still maintained enough heel to give her steps a sensuous click.

She truly is a goddess, and I averted my eyes so that I would not be caught staring at this vision of beauty.

Acting as if this was perfectly normal, she sat down on the couch behind me and retrieved the wine I had poured for her. From this vantage point, she looked down at me kneeling by her feet. She smiled.

"I have an extra robe, if you would like to be more comfortable." Was she teasing me? As if I could be comfortable in my underwear and a red satin robe.

"Uhmm, no thanks." I could barely muster any words. My penis stiffened in response, heightening my tension.

She was looking down at me, scrutinizing me and my clothes, debating whether to push me further. No acknowledgement from her of what I thought was my apparent arousal.

I attempted to turn away, and direct my gaze at the computer screen.

She quickly regained my attention. "How about we order in? There's a good sushi place that delivers."

"Oh, ok." I turned back to look at her, and she was already dialing the restaurant. Apparently, it wasn't a question. She wanted sushi.

I was surprised when she spoke Japanese to place the order.

I was staring at her with wide eyes. "Wow, I didn't know you spoke Japanese."

She smiled. She liked to catch me off guard. "Actually, it was Cantonese. I know the owners, they're not Japanese, but are from Hong Kong. I studied in Hong Kong myself for 8 months, so I picked up the basics. I'm hardly fluent."

She was trying to be casual, but it didn't work. She was still a goddess, beautiful and brilliant.

She crossed her legs, which returned my gaze to those toned thighs directly in front of me. Her one foot dangled above the ground like a Christmas ornament enticing a cat to play. I resisted the urge to place it in my hands and begin massaging it.

Perhaps sensing my thoughts, she asked. "Would you mind?"

I looked up to her, literally and figuratively. Was I being admonished for staring at her feet? A guy with a foot fetish. Creepy.

Instead she was smiling at me, encouraging me. "Give my foot a massage."

Was that a request or an order? It didn't matter, I was going to do it. I was permitted to touch her, to worship at the altar of Karen.

I gently set to work, massaging her foot. She sat back, releasing her foot to my attention. She moaned. She had moaned from my touch. I looked up from her foot and into her eyes. She smiled.

She was watching me intently, but did not say a word. She moaned again, and smiled once more. She re-crossed her legs, switching feet. I didn't miss a beat, continuing to massage the other foot.

We were interrupted by the doorbell.

"Damn," she muttered. Before I could react, she had stood up, retrieved her wallet, and was walking to the door.

I was staring at her legs and that tight ass as she walked.

I had been so lost in caring for her feet, that I had blocked out everything else.

Looking at my hands which had just cared for her feet, I thought they should be washed before eating. I scurried off to find a washroom.

Upon my return, a sushi platter had been laid out on the coffee table in front of her. My laptop was closed and pushed to the side.

I went to sit down beside her. She stared at me. Apparently, I had committed some faux pas.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable here?" She pointed to the floor in front of her.

I shifted nervously. "I'm ok," I mumbled, trying to avoid her gaze.

There was an empty plate with chopsticks waiting on the table in front of her. I would have to reach across to retrieve it.

"Are you sure?" She continued to stare at me. She was testing me.

I looked her in the eyes for a moment, but quickly lost that war of wills. I looked down at her feet.

"You... you really want me on my knees, don't you?"

She smiled once more. "Yes, yes I do."

Was there any point in fighting her? I looked into her eyes again, and then once more down to her feet. Down to my place on the floor, at her feet.

Goddess she knew exactly how to manipulate me. My entire body was flushed, my little penis was erect, and I shifted nervously. I knew even then I could never refuse her anything. I slipped off the couch onto my knees, and crawled to my place at her feet.

She ruffled my hair affectionately, "Good boy. Good boy."

I should have been insulted. I should have gotten up and walked out the door. I should have done a lot of things. What I did do was smile at her, happy to receive her praise.

We proceeded to have our dinner, and idly chat. I asked about her time in Hong Kong, and various other experiences. We acted as though it was perfectly normal for me to be kneeling at her feet, looking up to her. It was almost like two lady friends socializing over some wine, except I was drinking cranberry juice and only she had the wine.

I generally kept my eyes lowered, fearing that I would be caught staring at her. Wearing only her robe and pajama set, her toned legs were on full display. Well manicured hands reached past me for the sushi. Her ample breasts pressed against the satin fabric, showing her nipples. And then there were those piercing eyes and bold lips. I was totally lost.

She kept her eyes on me, leaving me in a constant state of agitation.

As we chatted, I learned that she had been raised by her mother. Her father had passed away when she was quite young, so she didn't have much memory of him. They had struggled initially, but her mother was a strong and successful businesswoman. This allowed Karen, along with her excellent grades, to attend the top universities.

When it came to me, I told her that I was raised by my mother, and had a sister 2 years younger than me. She asked about my father, but I confessed that I didn't know anything about him, even who he was.

"So, no male figures?"

"No, not really."

"Not really?"

"Yes, I guess you could say that mother has a servant, Alexi-.... Alex. I grew up with him."

I could see that she caught the quick change of name. Fortunately, she let me get away with it this time.

"So you grew up in a woman-led household, and your only male role model was, or is, a servant."

"Yeah, that's about right," I said. She didn't know the half of it, but I wasn't ready to go down that rabbit hole.

"Yes, that is about right." She observed.

I looked down, attempting to avoid her gaze. I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise that she was pleased I was brought up in a woman-led household.

A moment of dread hit me, as I considered what it would be like if she learned the full story. Better to allow her a minor victory in her steady campaign to subjugate me.

With dinner over, she asked me, "Do you mind cleaning up? I have some emails I need to check."

It wasn't really a question. I simply nodded and got to work.

"Are you sure you don't want to change into something more comfortable?"

A dress shirt and pants weren't exactly the most comfortable items to wear when cleaning and kneeling on the floor. Yet now, more than ever, I knew what she meant.

"I'm fine." I had the dishes in hand and promptly headed off to the kitchen.

I returned from washing the dishes to wipe the table, and earned a smile. Domestic service, just like my mother's beloved Alexis. Another check mark in my favour with Karen, reinforced by that radiant smile.

I brought the wine bottle out to refill her glass, and set down my glass of cranberry juice.

She thanked me for the wine refill, and told me to leave the bottle. Karen was sitting back comfortably on the sofa, with one leg curled under her and the other dangling just above the ground.

I couldn't help staring at it. She noticed, and smiled.

Kneeling down in front of her once more, I had to resist reaching out to touch her foot, to caress it.

She tussled my hair again. "Good boy. Your mother trained you well." Karen was clearly inspired by my mother without ever knowing her.

I beamed with pride at having pleased her. Was the praise for cleaning, pouring her wine without being asked, or kneeling at her feet? All of the above? Whatever the reason, I was happy. Mother had indeed trained me well.

* * *

We feigned working on the project for a while. Yet truthfully, we weren't accomplishing much. At best,, we had brought each other up to speed on the work we had done over the course of the week.

It was hard for me to concentrate with her being half naked and her foot brushing against me.

When she finished the wine bottle, I took that as my cue to leave.

"It's getting pretty late Karen. I should get going. We can resume tomorrow. What time should I come by?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't be silly Chris. You live across town. At this time of night, it will take you an hour to get home. And I don't think it's safe."

Everything she said was true.

"I've got a spare bedroom. Stay here."

Once again I had a lump in my throat Stay here? My various fantasies of being with her danced in my head. Spare bedroom? I suppose sleeping with her was never in the cards.

"I wasn't expecting to stay overnight. I don't have a change of clothes."

Once more she dismissed my worries out of hand. "Don't worry about that Chris. I'm sure we'll find something appropriate for you to wear."

Appropriate? I suspected what she meant by that, and that's what made me nervous.

She stood up, and started walking towards the stairs. She paused to look back at me, "Come!"

There was no need for her to say more. I promptly rose to my feet and followed. Anything else would not be appreciated. As we walked up the stairs, I enjoyed the contour of her ass and those long legs. Being a few steps behind put my face within inches of her round cheeks. I fantasized about leaning forward and kissing them.

At the top of the stairs she paused and looked back at me. Perhaps she sensed my thoughts as I stood looking up to her with her ass nearly in my face.

I looked away nervously, expecting to be admonished for my lustful thoughts.

Instead, she had a wicked grin, and chortled lightly. I wasn't sure what that meant.

Yet, there was no moment to ask. She continued down the hall with me close behind.

We passed a bathroom along the way which I was free to use. Apparently, she had a private bathroom off of her room.

She opened the door to her room, the master bedroom. Or as she referred to it with a slight laugh, The Mistress Bedroom. It featured a 4-poster, king-sized bed with a dark mahogany frame. The bed cover was a patterned grey colour. The floor was hardwood with a large Persian rug covering much of the open floor space.

The furniture may well have been antiques with their elegant hardwood finishing.

Everything about the room suggested strength and refinement with the solid colours, and straight lines. One could almost say masculine décor, except it reflected her elegance.

The spare room she directed me to was quite the opposite. The wall was covered with a pink shaded wallpaper with floral designs. The dresser and matching side table were painted with a glossy pink. The double bed had a simple metal headboard & baseboard, except for the red & white ribbon which wrapped around the bar. The bedspread set was a light beige with pink hearts.

I stood in the doorway dumbstruck. It looked like a teenage girl's room, or perhaps for someone even younger. I wondered if it had been her room when she was young. It was hard to picture Karen as ever being sweet and girly.

She walked into the room and stood by the bed. "You should be comfortable here for the night."

Was she serious? Was she really ignoring that this was clearly a girl's room. Not just a room decorated with a woman's tastes. That I could understand and tolerate. Yet this was a girl's room with bright pinks and hearts.

At the same time a little part of me was exhilarated. A little part of me had risen up and hardened at the thought of staying in her pink room.

"Perhaps I could just sleep on the couch. I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense. This bed is in perfect shape. I was expecting my cousin to spend the summer with me, but then she had other plans."

"So, this was never your room."

"Oh no. I grew up in another house. Actually a series of places as my mother's business improved."

I guess that was a relief. I would not be interfering with her childhood memories.

"Why would you think it was my room?"

"I don't know. I just figured because it's a girl's room."

She shook her head. "No, that was never me." Meaning the girly girl.

That I could believe. "Regardless, it's your room tonight. There are some pajamas in the drawer, help yourself. And you are welcome to any of the clothes in the morning."

She moved to exit the room, where I was still standing.

"Oh, uhm, you do have some spare clothing? Something left behind by a boyfriend perhaps?"

"Oh no. I don't have a boyfriend. And I don't let men sleepover. They are far too needy in the morning."

"What about me?"

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, and tussled my hair. "Don't be silly."

I blushed. What was silly? The thought of me being her boyfriend, or thinking of me as a man. "So I guess there is no chance that you could ever like me. Like, like me, like me."

What was I, a teenage girl all of a sudden? 'Like me, like me?' Geesh. She must think I'm a total dork.

It seemed to endear me to her. She kissed my cheek again. "I do like you. And that's why I want you to stay over."

She was smiling at me. I blushed and looked down.

She moved past me to the door. Discussion over. "It's time to get some sleep." She looked back at me. "And do help yourself to the pajamas and clothing."

I simply nodded. Out of a million questions, I had nothing to say. I couldn't even re-ask the question she had avoided, "what clothes I could wear?"

"Good night sweetie," she said affectionately.

I was stunned. Before I could say anything, she had closed the door, and was walking down the hallway to her room. Leaving me in the pink room.

Her sweetie in the pink room. The boy who had knelt at her feet the entire evening. The one she wanted to stay, and received her kisses and smiles. Yet also the one called silly for thinking he would ever be man enough to share her bed.

Unfortunately, I knew all too well what this all meant. My mother had trained me well.

I should have walked out then, headed home. So what if it takes over an hour? I was a man. I was independent, working, and taking care of myself. Granted, I wasn't going anywhere in my clerical job, and my place was a dump. Yet, I still had control of my life.

Yet then there was her. Goddess, she is beautiful. I swear, my heart skips a beat in her presence. Part of me knew I could never refuse her anything. Part of me wondered why I should offer any resistance. I knew better than anyone, perhaps even more than her, what was coming.

I opened the closet and the drawers to confirm what I already suspected. They were all women's clothing. Yet they would all fit me. I had an eye for this type of thing, and just knew. Damn my short and lean physique. This wardrobe, meant for a woman, would fit me perfectly, better than my own clothes in many cases.

I debated wearing one of the pajama sets but decided against it. I wasn't ready for that. I undressed to my underwear and figured that would be enough for bed.

I climbed into bed, wondering what I was doing. Like the mythical Icarus, I had flown too close to the sun, and now I was being consumed by Karen's radiance. If I wasn't going to run off home, I'd have to wear something else tomorrow.