A Proper Job

It was an easy life. I had drifted through university doing just enough to be awarded a 3rd class degree. I had a nice apartment. No proper job, just a bit of bar work. All possible because of a generous allowance from my uncle. But then something unexpected happened. Unexpected for me and, I guess, for him as well.

He died.

He was relatively young. And as it soon transpired, too young to have got round to making a will.

So his wife inherited everything.

And she and I had history. She made no attempt to appear to like me and was only as polite as convention required. And I had been pretty dismissive, not just of her but of women in general. Not just privately, but on social media too.

So I was not surprised that the allowance suddenly stopped.

I soon had to give up my apartment and look for some cheap lodgings. And try to get a proper job, But with poor academic qualifications and without a steady employment record, I got into debt.

Life was now very hard.

Then I got a letter from my late uncle's widow. It seemed that she was making me a very generous offer. But there were strings attached.

She said that she was moving out of the comfortable apartment that had been their family home. They owned a cottage in the countryside some distance away that they had used as a holiday home. She had decided to move in there permanently. The apartment would be sold.

Unless, that is, I wanted to take it over. It would come with a sum of money that would pay off my debts and pay the bills for a while. I would still need to get a proper job, but I would be able to move out of a semi-slum into a more than decent apartment.

But in return I would have to publicly disavow all the misogynous things I had posted online and visit her at the apartment to make a personal apology to her.

By the time I had read this far I was already convinced that this was what I had to do. I couldn't go on living as I was and I was getting pretty desperate.

I carried on reading the letter.

"If you want to take up this generous offer, you must reply within two weeks or the apartment will be put up for sale. The offending material you have put online must be removed immediately. And you must come and stay here at the apartment with me for a weekend."

"And when you leave after the weekend, you will do so wearing a skirt as a public acknowledgement of your past misdemeanours and your determination to change your ways."

This was a bit off-putting. Why would I need to spend a whole weekend saying sorry? And wearing a skirt in public would be rather embarrassing to say the least.

But did I really have a choice?

Perhaps not surprisingly, I sent a letter by return accepting her offer. And immediately started taking down my offensive posts and instead posted a statement that I had changed my views and would not be posting that sort of material again.

A few days later the postman delivered a small package from Aunt Alice. It included a fabric tape measure and quite a long list of measurements that I was required to make of various parts of my body. There were diagrams and instructions of how the measurements should be taken.

I could understand why my waist measurement would be needed in order to ensure a skirt would fit me. And perhaps some of the leg measurements would help getting the right length of skirt.

And I suppose that it made sense to have a pair of women's shoes if I was going to be wearing a skirt.

But I was beginning to wonder about what else I was going to be expected to wear.

Nevertheless, I sent off all the measurements as requested.

A week or so later the invitation came. I was to arrive on the Friday afternoon. It was only a short walk from the railway station to the apartment. I did not need to bring a change of clothes - everything would be provided for me.

I was a little apprehensive during the train journey. I wondered what was in store for me. What would I be made to wear? And what would I be made to do?

I got off the train and left the railway station. Now I was starting to get rather more anxious. My heart was thumping. I consciously tried to relax, to reduce my pulse rate. But the thought kept returning.

On my return to the railway station I would be wearing a skirt. And probably girls' shoes.

And who knows what else?

Eventually I turned a corner and saw my future home. I immediately recognised the apartment block, even though it had been some time since I visited it.

I stopped for a moment. Did I really want to go through with this humiliation? Well, no I didn't really.

But I wanted the apartment.

But I didn't just WANT it. In reality I NEEDED the apartment and the security it would bring.

I started walking again.

I told myself I had decided.

But, at the back of my mind, I knew that I didn't actually have a choice.

I arrived at the main door of the block and rang the bell of the apartment. Aunt Alice told me to come on up. "My housekeeper, Mrs Roberts, will help you get ready."

The remote lock buzzed open and I went across to the lift. The apartment was on the third floor. I wasn't certain that my legs were steady enough to take the stairs in my present nervous state.

I rang the doorbell and the door was opened by a middle-aged lady who I presumed was Mrs Roberts. She wore a rubber apron and rubber gloves, and her hair was wrapped in a sort of turban.

She didn't speak but indicated that I was to follow her. We went into a bedroom and she closed the door.

"Take all your clothes off," she ordered. "Leave them on the bed and then follow me into the bathroom."

I started to get undressed. "Come on, hurry up," she called from the bathroom. "I haven't got all day."

A few moments later I stepped into the bathroom. Naked, with my hands clasped in front of me to conceal my maleness. She handed me a plastic shower cap. "Put this on. Make sure you tuck all your hair in."

Of course, I needed two hands to do this.

I glanced at her and saw the hint of a contemptuous smile on her face as she looked at my body. Admittedly I wasn't Adonis. I wasn't well-muscled. Nor slim-waisted.

"Now stand still with your legs apart. I'm going to cover your body with hair-removing cream."

She started at the back, using a small plastic spreader to apply the cream. She worked from my ankles up to my bottom. She covered the cheeks of my bottom, then in the crack between them. The spreader touched my bum-hole, then the crotch area behind my balls. Then my back up to my neck and then the backs and sides of my arms.

Then she moved round to the front and started on my feet. She spread the cream up my legs and then applied a generous amount to my pubic area.

This wasn't in the least arousing. There was nothing titillating about it. Apart from the facts that there was nothing sexually attractive about Mrs Roberts and that she was wearing rubber gloves to avoid touching me directly, the cream was quite cool and it felt as though my balls were shrinking.

She stood up and coated my stomach and chest. She told me to keep my mouth closed as she coated my cheeks and sideburns, chin, neck and upper lip. Then she told me to lift my arms and she applied the cream to my underarms.

"Now put the palms of your hands on your head and stand still until I come back," she said as she put the cap back on the tube of cream and washed her gloved hands. "The cream needs a few minutes to act. If you feel a burning or tingling sensation, call me. I'll just be in the bedroom getting things ready."

I noticed that the large tube of cream was now nearly empty. She left me standing there.

I stood still for what seemed ages. I began to start wondering if she would ever come back. But eventually she did. She rubbed a small area of my arm and seemed satisfied that the cream was working. "We'll leave it just a few more minutes," she said, and left me alone again.

When she returned she had removed her apron and gloves. She was wearing a sort of smock. She turned on the shower and held her hand under the flow until she was satisfied with the temperature.

"OK. Wash the cream off," she instructed. "Rub your arms, legs and other bits gently to help release the hairs."

I had never been very hairy, but I was surprised how much hair flowed across the white base of the shower to the waste outlet.

"Make sure the hair has been removed from your bottom and the parts between your legs," she said, "or we will have to treat them again."

It was rather embarrassing to have her watch me rubbing these parts, but she stood there until she was satisfied that the hair removal process had been successful.

"Now use the shower-gel," she said. "It will help remoisturise your skin." I did as I was told. The shower-gel did seem to have a nourishing effect. Not just like ordinary soap.

I also noticed that it was strongly scented. And not with a masculine perfume.

She handed me a towel as I stepped out of the shower. "It's better to pat your skin dry rather than rub vigorously," she said. "It needs to be treated a little more tenderly after using the hair removing cream."

Back in the bedroom Mrs Roberts handed me a pair of pink knickers to put on. Although these were particularly feminine articles I was glad to put them on to cover my nakedness.

And as I pulled them up round my bottom and bits they felt very nice. Comfortable and comforting. Cool and soft, gently supporting my now hairless balls and sliding on the smooth skin of my bottom. I felt a slight tingling in my cock and desperately hoped that I would not become visibly aroused.

Glancing round the room, I saw that there was no sign of my male clothes, but that a dress and some other items of female underwear were laid out on the bed.

"I'm afraid you're not quite the right shape to fit into the dress properly, so we will need to augment your bust and diminish your waist," she said.

She picked up a silicone breast form from a box and sprayed it with adhesive. "Stand still," she said. She carefully positioned it on my chest and told me to hold it in place. Then she sprayed the other breast form and positioned that too.

It was rather strange standing there wearing nothing but a pair of pink knickers and holding two falsie boobies in place. After a short while she picked up a white bra.

When I let go the breast forms to put my arms into the bra, I realised just how heavy my falsie boobies were. It was quite a relief when my bra was properly fastened and adjusted, so that the weight of them was distributed onto my shoulders and back.

"Now you'll need to pull your knickers down to your hips to put this belt on," she said, handing me a suspender-belt. It was essentially two pieces of material with hook-and-eye fastenings at the front and joined with a series of long laces at the back.

"Fasten the front and hold the belt in position," she instructed. She pulled the laces until all the slack had been taken up and the suspender-belt was tight enough to stay in position.

"Now reach behind you," she instructed. She put the laces into my hands. "You need to do this part for yourself. Hold your stomach in and pull the laces fairly tight."

"The belt should be comfortable to wear, and you obviously need to be able to breathe and to bend forwards, but tight enough to pull in that flabby stomach of yours and give you a bit of a waist."

When I had done this to her satisfaction, she told me to tie the laces behind my back, then to thread the suspenders down inside my knickers and then to pull my knickers back up.

She told me to sit on the bed and inspected my nails. "It's good that they are neatly trimmed. You need to be careful not to snag your stockings when putting them on.

She took one of a pair of stockings from a new pack and showed me how to put my thumbs into the tops and to gather the nylon up with my fingers until my thumbs reached the toe of the stocking.

"Now put your foot in and carefully spread the stocking up your leg. That's right. Now fasten the stocking to your suspenders. There are two clasps at the front and one at the back. Make sure that the clasps are fitted properly so that they do not accidentally come undone."

I then put on the second stocking.

I noticed that when I was reaching down to put my feet into each stocking, my arms came into contact with my large boobies.

She helped me slip my feet into a pair of shoes. "Stand up. Make sure you can walk in these," she said.

The shoes had heels about two inches high. I realised that they made me a little taller. But this was not the main sensation of wearing them. My legs felt a different shape. And my bum seemed to be sticking out more.

And as I took a few steps across the bedroom floor I could feel my stockings pulling against my taut suspenders. And brushing against each other with a faint swishing sound.

My bra straps gripped my body and supported my boobs as they bounced a little.

And my silky knickers caressed the hairless cheeks of my bottom.

My cock had started to stiffen as I put my bra on, but by now I had a throbbing erection.

Despite being in the presence of Mrs Roberts, I could not suppress my body's arousal caused by the sensation of my female underwear, my boobies and my heels.

There was a sort of smirk on Mrs Roberts' face. She knew that I was powerless to resist the stimulation caused by what I was wearing. However, she made no remark.

She handed me a short slip, or what I now know is called a chemise. It matched my pink knickers but was too short to cover them, so it did nothing to conceal the outline of my hard cock inside them.

I slipped my shoes off as she helped me into my dress. It was red with long sleeves and a long back zip. "You'll have to practise reaching behind your back," she said. "You need to be able to fasten your bra as well as the back zip of a dress."

Once I had mastered this I put my shoes back on. Mrs Roberts now let me look in the mirror. I saw that I was still wearing the shower cap, and took it off.

The bodice of my dress clung to a pair of large tits. The skirt flared out from the waist, but it was obvious that there was something poking up under the front of the skirt. The hem line was about eight inches above the knee, so probably only just concealed my stocking-tops. But it revealed a pair of quite shapely legs.

There was nothing that I could see in my reflection that caused any diminution in the size of my erection.

"OK," said Mrs Roberts. "Let's go and see what your aunt thinks." I followed her out of the bedroom, along a short corridor, into the living room.

Although I was very nervous, my erection was still very firm. My cock and balls were gently supported by my silky knickers. I realised that the removal of my pubic hair resulted in a much more intimate contact between my underwear and my bits.

But now I was in the room. Aunt Alice was sitting on the settee looking me up and down. I was very aware of what she was looking at. My bust. My stockinged legs.

And the way that my skirt was not hanging as it should at the front.

Under her gaze, the latter problem began to subside.

"Hmm," she said eventually. "Not too bad. We need to sort out your hair though. Come along."

She got up and I suddenly realised that I was to accompany her out of the apartment.

"Don't worry," she said. "It's only a block away. A friend of mine has a salon. She normally closes earlier on Fridays, but she'll be staying open just for you today."

As we were approaching the door of the apartment block she said quietly, "Now take my arm and walk slowly. Take ladylike steps. Try to look confident, but don't make eye contact with anyone in the street. Especially boys. They'll probably be watching your boobs and legs anyway."

It was summer and still warm. Not necessary to wear a coat, although I would have felt much less vulnerable to have a coat over my short dress. There was a slight breeze and I could feel my skirt being blown around slightly.

The streets weren't very busy, but we did pass a few people. There were women and girls in skirts and nylons. I realised that under their skirts they would probably be wearing tights, not stockings, in common with all the girls I had ever dated.

If a breeze lifted their skirts a little, it would only mean that they would show a bit more nyloned leg. And in an extreme case, if their skirts lifted high enough to show their crotch, it would be no more revealing than a swimming costume.

But in my case, it wouldn't need much skirt lifting to show that I was wearing stockings.

Forbidden fruit.

Shiny dark stocking-tops.

Taut suspenders over hairless bare thighs.

And if anyone should get a view of my bulging pink knickers, the viewer would be in no doubt that they were looking at a sissy boy in girls' clothes.

And although the breeze was not gusting much, my skirt was rather shorter than most of the skirts we passed.

I guessed that no respectable woman would go out in public wearing stockings with such a short skirt.

Only a tart or a sissy.

It was quite a relief when we arrived at the salon. As we entered, the salon owner put the closed sign on the door. She looked at my hair critically, obviously working out what could be done with it. Then she put a towel over my shoulders and led me to a chair. I had to lean back so that my neck rested in a special basin.

She ran water through a spray-head to adjust the temperature then started washing my hair. I had never had my hair washed like this before. It was quite relaxing feeling her fingers gently but firmly massaging my soapy scalp. After washing my hair, and before drying it, she set to work with scissors and various clips and lotions etc.

As my back was still turned to the mirror I couldn't see exactly what she was doing. Then before drying my hair she said "I need to trim your eyebrows a little."

I closed my eyes as she used a small electric trimmer. Then she used an eyebrow pencil. She picked up a lipstick and told me to present my lips in the way that she moved her own mouth.

After applying lipstick, she brushed some powder onto my cheeks. "We'll just stay with simple makeup," she said.

Then she dried my hair, brushed it, did some finishing touches with the scissors, and finally allowed me to turn around and see the results in the mirror.

I was amazed. I was looking at the reflection of a pretty girl. A girl with a distinctly feminine hairstyle. A style that no boy would choose.

Unless he was a sissy boy.

"Thank you, Susan," said Aunt Alice. "That's much more suitable." She turned to me. "Don't you think you look pretty now?".

I felt myself blush at the thought of being pretty. "Yes," I murmured. "Thank you."

It was still light and still quite warm as we walked back to the apartment. I was still feeling pretty. Pretty hair. Pretty face. Pretty legs. Pretty skirt.

What if people could see my pretty knickers as well? I felt a tingling sensation in my cock at this thought.

But before there was any chance of this happening we were back at the apartment block. And as soon as we were inside the apartment Aunt Alice said,

"There's just one thing to remember. When you are sitting down, remember to keep your legs together."

I realised that I hadn't thought of this when I was having my hair washed. As I had been leaning back my skirt had probably ridden up as well. The bulge in my knickers was probably on display.

Seeing my dismay, Aunt Alice added, "Don't worry. Susan knew your little secret anyway."

Mrs Roberts had gone, but she had left a meal ready for us. I found I was quite hungry.

After we had eaten, my aunt showed me some papers about the flat, but to be honest I was thinking more about what I was wearing than what she was showing me. Seeing that I was not really paying proper attention, she said,

"I guess you are probably feeling tired. Perhaps it would be good to have an early night. Before you go I want to see what you have put on social media." She opened her laptop computer. Once it was up and running she told me to log into my facebook account.

I did so.

"Right," she said. "There are a few things that you need to do before getting into bed. Firstly hang up your dress when you take it off. Don't leave lying around to get creased. Secondly remove your make-up. You'll find some wipes on the dressing table for this. Thirdly you must hand wash your knickers and stockings in the wash-basin and then hang them up to dry overnight. There is a hanger in the bathroom for this. Now go and have a good night's sleep and I will see you bright and early tomorrow. Closely shaved. Properly dressed. Make-up on."

I went to my room and took off my dress. I hung it up in the wardrobe. I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror.

A pretty boy. With tits and pretty underwear. It was soon apparent that there was something else I needed to do. Something Aunt Alice hadn't mentioned.

And after I had done this I felt very tired. But nevertheless I managed to follow all her instructions.

The one about washing my knickers was by this time clearly essential.

On the bed there was a shortie nightie with matching knickers. I put these on. And as I snuggled into bed the knickers felt very comforting as they encased my now shrivelled cock.

I woke next day wondering where I was. And why did I have large falsies attached to my chest. Then I remembered.

My hand reached for my cock. And it was ready for my hand. Hard, but encased in soft knickers.

I sat on the edge of the bed. One hand holding my cock through my knickers. the other hand cupping my breast through my nightie.

I made it to the bathroom before gushing into my knickers. The cum soaked through onto my hand.

I licked it. A curious taste. But I wanted more. I stepped out of my knickers and licked the cream off them. I squeezed the last drops from my cock onto the sodden knickers, then licked these as well.

I washed my knickers. While they were soaking in the warm suds, I took down the knickers and stockings that I had washed the night before and took them into the bedroom. I took off my nightie and put it onto the bed. Then I returned to the bathroom. I looked at my boobies. They were firmly attached. They had taken on my body heat and were now warm to the touch.

I liked them. I liked that they were attached to me. Part of me. And quite large. If only they were real...

I got ready to shave my face. It was only then that I realised that the lady in the salon had not just trimmed my eyebrows. She had removed them completely.

The shower cap had been laid out ready for me, so I put this on before stepping into the shower. I didn't want to spoil my pretty hair.

Once I had dried myself, I went back into the bedroom. I put on my bra and managed to fasten it behind my back. I was pleased with myself. I could put on my own bra!

I put on my suspender-belt and tightened the laces, tying these behind my back as well!

I put my knickers on and threaded the suspenders down through them. I realised the necessity of having my knickers outside my suspenders ready for when I needed to sit down to pee.

I carefully put my stockings on, then my mini-slip.

Then I sat down at the dressing table and picked up an eyebrow pencil. I tried to reproduce the brow shape that I had had yesterday.

Then I put on lipstick. I found this rather difficult to do and decided only to put on a minimum.

Then I went to the wardrobe. As well as the red dress I had worn yesterday, there was a blue one. I looked to see if it was any longer than the red one, but it seemed to be the same length. So I decided to try it on. The back zip was a real problem, but eventually I managed to fasten it. I was pleased with the way it looked. The skirt was a little more flared than the other dress and it was made of a different material that seemed to float about a bit more.

I slipped my shoes on and followed the scent of the coffee.

I really liked the feeling of walking about in a dress, with all the sensations provided by my underwear. My cock was slightly enlarged, but not erect. It was beginning to feel more natural to be dressed like this.

Also, of course, it wasn't very long since I had gushed so copiously. I could still taste it in my mouth.

"I'm pleased you tried on a new dress," said Aunt Alice, "but you should have put on the other shoes as well."

She continued, "You haven't done a bad job with your eyebrows, but you're not wearing enough lipstick. You'll have to have another attempt after breakfast."

After a croissant and a coffee, my aunt supervised me re-doing my lipstick. Then I changed into the other pair of shoes. These had three inch heels and changed the shape of my legs and bum even more.

"Let me see you turn around," said Aunt Alice. I did a twirl and realised that the skirt of this dress flared outwards much more than the red one did. So there was an even higher risk of flashing my stocking-tops.

But even as I realised this my aunt was speaking. "That's fine. Come on, we are going to the shops."

My heart started pounding. Out in public again.

High heels.

Short floaty skirt.

Sexy stockings. Like a tart or a sissy.

But I wasn't a tart.

I clung onto my aunt's arm as I got used to walking in high heels. We went past the beauty salon where I'd had my hair done. A little further on was a small ladies' outfitters. We went inside. It seemed like a treasure trove. Skirts and dresses, blouses and jumpers, nightwear.

And, of course, underwear. "This is a nice little shop," said Aunt Alice. "All the clothes you are wearing came from here." The manageress was watching us with a friendly smile on her face.

I guessed she was about my age, perhaps a year or two older. She had a good figure and her clothes fitted very well. I guess you'd expect that for the manageress of a shop selling ladieswear.

I found her rather attractive, although, of course, I was very aware that I was not presenting as a macho male at that moment.

Aunt Alice turned to me and made a gesture to indicate that we should go towards her.

"Hello, Pauline," said my aunt. "This is my nephew I told you about. He has turned over a new leaf and this is how he likes to dress nowadays."

I was shocked to hear her say this. No attempt to disguise my true gender.

This is my nephew who likes wearing a frock.

I was very relieved that there was no-one else in the shop at that moment. "Well, he looks very presentable," replied the manageress. "Did you tell him about the job?"

Aunt Alice shook her head. She turned to me. "Pauline is looking for a shop assistant," she said. "I know that you are looking for a job, and this location would be very convenient for you as it is only a short walk from the apartment,"

Pauline spoke. "Yes, dear," she said. "To start with, I need someone to help keep the shop clean and tidy. A bit of dusting and vacuuming before we open. Making sure all the racks of clothes are neat and orderly. That we have sufficient stock laid out on display. And every so often to help with stocktaking."

She looked inquiringly at me. I didn't know what to say. It certainly had not been the sort of job I had in mind.

"Think about it and let me know next week," said Pauline.

"There is another thing to mention," she went on. "Recently I have had a few male customers coming in. It would seem that each of them has partners with similar body measurements to their own, judging by the sizes of garments that they select as gifts for them."

She glanced meaningfully at me. I understood what she meant.

"You could perhaps help them with their selections? They might be more comfortable with someone like yourself assisting them. Someone like you in a short skirt like you're wearing now."

"Yes," said my aunt with a smile. "And having someone like you here might encourage the ladies to buy things for their partners. Or nephews, perhaps."

The two ladies smiled broadly, eyes twinkling.

"Thank you for the offer," I murmured. "I'll let you know in a day or two."

I needed time to think about this. Maybe there would be some other job offers waiting for me back at my lodgings.

We walked further into town and looked at other shops. Gradually I became more confident in my heels. And slightly less apprehensive about anyone seeing up my skirt. Nevertheless I kept looking at my reflection in shop windows to reassure myself that my underwear was not on display.

We went to an Italian restaurant for lunch. My aunt told me that when I sat down I should have smoothed my skirt under my backside to avoid creases. I partly got up in order to do this.

"And keep your knees together," she quietly reminded me.

When we got back to the apartment, Mrs Roberts was there. The two ladies went into the kitchen. I could hear them talking, but not what was said. They came back into the room. Mrs Roberts left us alone.

"Right," said Aunt Alice. "You have made good progress, so you can go home now. Think seriously about Pauline's job offer. It may be the best opportunity that you have."

Mrs Roberts came back into the room. She handed me a shopping bag and a small handbag. "The shopping bag contains your other dress, shoes and nightwear and some spare underwear. In your handbag you will find your keys, money, credit cards, phone and train ticket. Don't lose your handbag! You need to keep your personal things in it as you have no pockets."

"Goodbye," said my aunt. "Ring me on Monday morning."

That was it. I was dismissed.

I tried to follow Aunt Alice's advice and look confident. In reality I was extremely nervous as I set off from the apartment. Walking in public in a skirt and stockings. For the first time on my own. I wished I'd thought to change into my other shoes with lower heels.

I was conscious of my tits bouncing gently as I walked. The click of my heels. And the slight swishing sound as my nylons rubbed together.

I reached the railway station without incident and didn't have to wait long for a train. It was too early for the train to be really crowded. I was able to find a single seat. There were enough passengers that I didn't stand out. I looked out of the train window. Nobody bothered me.

I realised that during the discussion about the job offer, I hadn't really understood how much income it would provide me with.

But right now my income was zero.

I took a taxi to my lodgings. Although it wasn't a long distance, it was a part of town I didn't really want to walk through early on a Saturday evening.

Not wearing a skirt and heels.

I was quite relieved to step inside my lodgings and shut the door.

Something was different. I realised that the room was tidier than I had left it. Somebody must have been in. I took my red dress out of the shopping bag and opened the wardrobe to hang it up. I got a bit of a shock. There wasn't much in the wardrobe. All my male clothes had disappeared. A short raincoat was hanging there.

And at the bottom there was a pair of fluffy pink mule slippers instead of a pile of sneakers and shoes. The chest of drawers was also almost empty.

I realised that Mrs Roberts must have taken my keys and come to my lodgings during the morning.

In the bathroom was some ladies shaving foam, perfumed shower gel, feminine deodorant and so on. Some make-up removal pads.

And a pack of Tampax.

There were no letters offering me a job interview.

I turned on my laptop. I couldn't log into my facebook account. It seemed that the password had been changed.

My profile picture had also been changed. It was captioned "Beauty at the Salon". It was a photo of someone having their hair washed. Someone in a red dress. The person was sitting leaning right back. The face wasn't visible, partly obscured by the hairdresser.

The person's legs were apart. Their skirt was up near their crotch, revealing a glimpse of pink knickers. Their stocking-tops were on full display, as well as their taut suspenders and bare thighs.

I knew the person in the photo was me.

Aunt Alice must have taken it in the salon.

Not enough of my knickers were showing to give a clear impression of a bulge.

But I knew. They were the same knickers that I was wearing now.

And the outline of twin peaks were my boobies straining at the tightfitting bodice of my dress. The profile picture had also given rise to a number of comments. Most were either appreciative or of the "I thought you weren't posting this stuff any more" variety.

But one said "Is this the new you?"

And an answer had been posted in my name. "Yes."

I remembered that I had gone to bed leaving Aunt Alice logged into my account.

I nibbled at a light snack. I didn't have much appetite. I was wondering what I was going to do.

Eventually I got ready for bed. I took off my bra and examined my falsies. They were firmly attached to my chest. I guessed some sort of medical adhesive had been used. I was going to have tits for the next few days at least. And I only had female clothes to wear.

Although I liked wearing them, it was a bit of a daunting prospect. I was a little sad.

I turned back the duvet and was surprised to see a large cock dildo on the sheet. There was a note with it.

"If you are in need of a comforter, suck this."

I picked it up and put it to my lips, then parted my lips and took the bulbous end into my mouth. My other hand stroked my rapidly hardening cock through my knickers. I pulled my knickers down to my thighs. I pulled back my foreskin, licked my fingers and used them to moisten the end of my knob.

I licked the fingers of one hand again and fondled the head of my cock as I simultaneously used my mouth and lips on the dildo. I tried to imagine what I already knew to be impossible; that I was sucking my own cock.

Just before climaxing, I put the dildo down on the bed so that I could use my hand to collect the gushing cum. Then I smeared the cream on the end of the dildo and spent a few moments removing it again by licking and sucking.

It wasn't much later that I drifted off to sleep. Sucking my comforter.

I was a bit disoriented when I woke up the next morning. Then the memories flooded back. I was back in my lodgings. I had tits. I was wearing a nightie and knickers.

And I had gone to sleep sucking a dildo.

I found the dildo on my pillow. I took hold of it and reached down under the duvet. My cock was already stiffening. I stroked it through my knickers with the end of the dildo. Cock to cock.

Very soon I had to rush to the bathroom to avoid making a sticky mess.

Half an hour or so later I was shaved, showered and dressed. I had put on a little make-up. But what was I going to do now?

I knew that some shopping was necessary. There was hardly any food in the fridge. It was Sunday and still early enough that there would not be too many people about. I put the raincoat on, even though it was a bright sunny day. At least the raincoat was an inch or so longer than my dress.

But as I walked along to the local mini-market, I knew I was still showing a lot of leg. There weren't many people about. But I felt as if the few that were had me under observation.

Looking at my legs.

Or my large bust.

And this definitely did not feel such a safe area as the place where the apartment was located.

The male assistant in the store stared at me. I could see that he was trying to work out whether he knew me. I had been in the store quite often. But not with tits and a short skirt. I bought a few items and left as quickly as possible without speaking more than a mumbled "Thanks."

As I made my way back to my lodgings I could only think of problems. There were several people in the area with whom I had had business. People who had known me in boy mode. And probably many more who knew me by sight. It would only be a matter of time before someone made the connection.

And what would happen when this happened? Probably the word would get round pretty quickly.

I couldn't immediately go back to boy mode. I didn't have any male clothes.

And even if I had, I couldn't hide the shape of my large bust.

And my nyloned legs were very noticeable in my short skirts. If I wanted to get a longer dress I would need to know my dress size.

And I didn't.

And I didn't have a job. And how could I go to a job interview in a skirt?

By the time I got back inside my lodgings I was feeling very sorry for myself. I rang Aunt Alice and asked if I could come back to the apartment.

"Very well," she replied. "I'll get Mrs Roberts to drive over on Monday morning and pick you up." She rang off.

I felt a little relieved after this and managed to eat a little lunch.

I sat and watched television to pass the time. There wasn't much on that was interesting.

I picked up the cock dildo. It seemed as if this was my only friend and companion at the present. I examined it carefully. It had balls, but no pubic hair. Rather like me just now. There was no foreskin covering its shiny pink end.

I put it to my lips and licked it. Then I put the knob-end in my mouth and pleasured it with my tongue. I didn't have any desire to suck a real man's cock. In fact that idea seemed rather disgusting. I just wished the dildo was my own cock.

Of course, at this stage my own cock was as hard and nearly as large as the dildo. My left hand was fondling it through my silky knickers while my right hand was holding the dildo to my lips.

My skirt was up round my waist. I could see the shape of my cock in my knickers. My sissy cock. And my pale hairless thighs above my dark shiny shocking-tops.

Sissy thighs. A sissy boy in a skirt and girls' underwear.

And a sissy cock that loved the sensation.

Maybe sucking a sissy cock would be nice.

Even if it wasn't mine...

I had to rush to the bathroom. A short while later I was sitting in front of the television again. My sissy cock now tiny and tucked inside the comforting silkiness of my knickers. My sissy balls now feeling drained.

By evening time I was starting to feel hungry again. I realised that I could use my phone to order a pizza delivery. I wouldn't have to venture outside the lodgings. The young man who delivered it gave me a good looking over. I took my time counting the money from my purse. I thought I could detect an erection in his trousers as he ogled my bust and legs.

I didn't fancy him at all. But it was exciting to know that he was turned on by the sight of my sexy body. When I turned round after closing the door, I saw that the dildo was on the chair. It would have been in plain view from the doorway. I wondered if he had seen it. Now my sissy cock was hard again.

I sat at the table to eat the pizza. My erection was lifting the front of my skirt. But I didn't touch it. Not until I had finished eating.

When I opened my eyes on Monday morning, the dildo was the first thing I saw. I remembered how I'd left it on view when the pizza was delivered. Had the delivery boy seen it? And if he had, what would he have thought I had been doing with it?

Or was it just the sight of my large bust and pretty legs that had caused his erection? I picked up the dildo and kissed it.

Now it was me that had a large swelling that needed attention...

I shaved, showered and dressed. Put on a little make-up. Had a little breakfast (there wasn't much in the fridge anyway). Then I started gathering together my few belongings while I waited for Mrs Roberts. I tried to put the dildo in my handbag, but it was too big. I couldn't carry a handbag with a cock sticking out from one side of the top, could I? So it went into a bag of underwear.

It seemed to take ages for Mrs Roberts to arrive, but in fact it was only just after 10am when she turned up. We loaded the car together. She advised me to write a letter giving notice that I was leaving the flat.

"You can drop it off at the agency along with the keys. If you do it now you won't have to come back later."

She drove me round to the letting office. I struggled to get out of the car without spreading my legs. I realised that this was a manoeuvre I needed to practice if I wanted to avoid displaying my bulging knickers to anyone watching.

I suddenly remembered that the office was upstairs. And that I was wearing my highest heels. And that my skirt was very short.

Still, I was here now. Get it over with. Going up the stairs was not too bad. I could place the soles of my shoes on the steps. Fortunately there was a hand-rail to steady myself.

I handed over the letter and the keys without saying anything, then headed back to the stairs.

I very soon realised that going down the stairs was much more difficult than climbing them. I needed to turn my feet sideways a little so that I could safely transfer my weight onto each step.

And after I had started to descend, a lady entered from the street. She waited for me as I negotiated the narrow staircase. There was a sort of twisted smile on her face. Was she just amused at my evident inexperience with high heels on stairs?

Or had she been looking up my skirt?

I realised that at the very least she would notice I was wearing stockings. But could she also see that I was a boy in a miniskirt?

But nothing was said and I was very relieved to be back again sitting in the car.

I must have still been looking a little disconcerted when we arrived at the apartment, because Aunt Alice told me not to look so sorry for myself. She led me into the lounge while Mrs Roberts carried the things in from the car.

"My husband was actually rather fond of you and asked me to look after you," she said. "I decided the best thing I could do for you was to make you change your ways."

"Your Uncle liked to put a dress on sometimes and he was a much gentler personality when he did so. So I decided to do the same for you. And besides," she went on with a bit of a smirk on her face, "he paid a lot of money for those silicone falsies, so it's good that they are not going to waste!"

She told me that there were some more of his "things" stored in the apartment. I could look through them later and see if there was anything that fitted.

She told me I would be using the bedroom I had before for the time being. "I'll be moving out at the end of the month," she said. "Then you can move into the other bedroom if you like. However, I do want you to keep the apartment in good order, so during the rest of this week I want you to work with Mrs Roberts. She will show you how to do the housekeeping properly."

"First, though, let's go along to Pauline's and make the arrangements for you to start your job."

So once again I found myself walking out in public, arm in arm with my Aunt. But this seemed a much safer area than where I'd been living. A bit more up-market.

And, of course, an area where nobody knew me as my male self.

Or, more accurately (I realised), as my former self.

We entered the dress shop. Pauline welcomed me and said I looked very pretty. "And what do we call you?" she asked. It might seem strange, but I hadn't actually thought about this, and didn't know what to say.

"How about Didi?" suggested Aunt Alice. She turned to Pauline. "After all, that's his bra size." The ladies smiled.

"Well, I think Didi is a very nice name," said Pauline. "Not in the least boyish," she looked at my Aunt as if to give her a gentle reproof for referring to me as a male.

I began to like Pauline. She was on my side. We agreed that I would start work the following week. I would receive an hourly pay rate, with a commission on sales that I made. "We'll review that later," said Pauline. "When you've settled in and got used to the way of working."

We left the shop and stopped for a light lunch at a café near the beauty salon. I remembered to smooth my skirt under my bottom as I sat down. And to keep my knees together.

Then we continued on our way back to the apartment.

"Now you can't wear your best frock to do housework in," said my Aunt. "I got your uncle a maid's outfit for doing that. He was a little shorter than you, but I'm pretty sure it will fit you OK."

She handed me a carrier bag that had obviously been conveniently placed beforehand.

"Go to your bedroom and get changed. Put black stockings on - they look better with the black dress. Call out if you are having difficulties and I'll get Mrs Roberts to come and help you."

In my room, I took off my dress and hung it up in the wardrobe. There was a pack of black stockings in the bag. I took off my tan stockings and started putting the black ones on. This took a little time because there were back seams that I realised needed to be kept straight as I was pulling them up my legs.

When I reached the maid's dress out of the bag I could see immediately that it was very short. It was black, with built in white petticoats. I unfastened the back zip and carefully stepped into the dress, making sure that I didn't snag my stockings on the zip. It was quite tricky to fasten the zip behind my back, but eventually I managed.

The top part of the dress was very stretchy and clung to my boobies. The waist was elasticated. There must have been a few yards of material in the petticoats because they made the skirt of the dress stick out, giving the impression of a relatively narrow waist with large hips and bum.

The skirt was indeed extremely short. It only just concealed the front of my knickers, but left bare thighs, stocking-tops and taut suspenders in full view. As I examined my reflection in the mirror, I realised that the dress seemed to be slightly shorter at the back. Anyone standing behind me would probably soon know what colour my knickers were.

And I very soon discovered a major advantage of those voluminous petticoats holding my skirt away from my body. It made no difference to my outline if I had a huge erection. No-one would know from looking at me. Apart from the rapid breathing and flushed cheeks. But before I could even investigate just how huge it was, I heard a voice.

"Are you ready yet?"

I slipped my feet into the shoes with the lowest heels and stepped out of the room. Mrs Roberts was waiting. She looked me up and down. I thought I could see a hint of a little smirk as she looked at my exposed stocking-tops and bare thighs. My cock wasn't quite so hard now, but there was a little tingling sensation in the end of it.

I spent a couple of hours doing various household chores under Mrs Roberts's supervision. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I liked what I saw. There were times when I needed to bend forward when Mrs Roberts was behind me. I sensed that she would be looking at my knicker-clad bottom and tried to keep my thighs together to conceal the bulge of my balls in my underwear.

My aunt appeared a couple of times to see how we were getting on. She also took a good look at my long legs. On the first occasion she told me to "do a twirl" so she could get an all-round view of her maid. She seemed to approve. A faint smile played on her lips.

The duties of a maid seemed rather tedious. There were carpets to be hoovered, windows to be cleaned, and there seemed to be an endless supply of objects and furniture that needed dusting and/or polishing.

But there was nothing tedious about the uniform. Knowing that my upper thighs were exposed to view, displaying shiny black stocking-tops, taut suspenders and creamy hairless flesh. And (although I couldn't see it myself) a rear view of my bottom, also hairless, and clad in silky pink knickers.

Perhaps a real maid would have worn demure white knickers?

But then they would have not contrasted with the white of the petticoats. So (I reasoned to myself) the tedium of doing all this housework was a REASON to be able to wear such a sexy revealing outfit.

And there was something else I discovered. When you are doing housework, your upper arms often make contact with your bust. A frequent reminder that you now have large tits. And that you are wearing a bra.

Although I didn't have a throbbing hard-on all the time, my cock was more or less permanently at least semi-erect while I was carrying out my maid work.

But eventually Mrs Roberts told me it was time to go out shopping. "Go and change out of your maid's dress," she said. "It's not really suitable for wearing out in public. But keep those stockings on. They suit you."

That first week at my new home, the week before I started work, I spent some time each day in the maid's uniform, helping Mrs Roberts. Some of the time I went out shopping with my Aunt. "You need to get confident being out in public in a skirt," she said. She helped me choose a few more clothes. Back at the apartment she made me practise using make-up. She also gave me some advice. A couple of items stuck in my memory:

"When you buy stockings, always get at least two pairs the same. Then if you snag one stocking you don't have to throw the other one of the pair away."

and, rather more crucially...

"People in this area have only ever seen you in a dress, apart from the brief time it took you to get from the station to the apartment. So NEVER go out in public dressed as a boy. That would almost certainly get people thinking. And gossiping. And you probably wouldn't feel comfortable if this happened. Nor would you feel so safe."

As each day went by it felt more and more normal to be wearing dresses and stockings.

Normal and natural.

I don't mean that I didn't get sexually aroused any more. Oh no. It was necessary every morning and every bedtime (and sometimes in between) to deal with a very hard cock. To gush into a glass and then consume the contents. I got to enjoy the taste. And recycling is good for the planet, isn't it?

At bedtime this usually meant dipping the knob-end of my dildo into the glass as a way of transferring the cum to my mouth.

My dildo. My friend. Always hard. Even when I was soft.

But at least I now rarely got an erection when wearing a "normal" dress in public.

Of course, it was quite different when I was dressed as a maid.

The following Monday I was up early. Aunt Alice checked my appearance. And approved. I put on a light raincoat over my blue dress and set off on my own to start work at the dress shop. A little nervous.

On my own in public. In a skirt.

And also wondering what it would be like having a regular job for the first time.

And also for the first time going to work with tits and wearing a dress and stockings.

Fortunately at that hour, the only other people in the street were also on their way to work. They didn't seem to be interested in looking at me.

But I was aware of the click of my heels on the pavement. And how my boobies bounced a little. And the swish of my stockings rubbing together as I walked. And the way my suspenders pulled at my stocking tops with each step. And the way my knickers caressed the cheeks of my bottom and gently supported by cock and balls.

And as well as the stimulating feel of my underwear, I was vary aware of the absence of trousers.;

The knowledge that my skirt was open at the bottom so that my underwear would be visible to anyone able to look up it.

Of course, at the moment there wasn't anyone lying on the pavement waiting for me to give them a view up my skirt.

But nevertheless, a skirt is potentially a revealing garment in a way that trousers are not. Women get used to wearing them from a young age. But boys usually don't.

And if one is wearing stockings and suspenders, and if one has a semi-erect penis inside one's knickers, the potential risk of displaying one's underwear adds to the exhilaration...

But now I was nearly at the shop. I could see it. And I began to feel a little nervous. My semi-hard on diminished. My shrivelled cock nestled in my comforting knickers. Pauline was obviously looking out for me and she opened the door as I arrived. "Hello, dear," she said. "I'm glad you have made it in good time. Take your coat off and I'll show you what's where everything is."

Being used to bar work did at least give me some insight into how a business worked. I could operate a cash register and deal with credit cards. I understood about refilling shelf stocks and the need to make the place clean and tidy at the end of the day (or at least, before opening up again the next day). I was used to dealing with some suppliers and carrying out regular stock-taking and so on.

But the shop business was rather different. In the bar, customers knew what they wanted and wanted to be served quickly. In the shop, they needed more time to choose from a selection. And the shop assistant's objective was to explain how lovely the various items were, how they looked and how they felt to wear. And to encourage them to buy more things than they had originally intended.

There were just the two of us working in the shop, although Pauline told me that there were a few ladies who worked at home as dressmakers when required, making alterations or sometimes making dresses to measure.

To start with, Pauline dealt with all the customers and I observed, helping to fetch items from the stockroom when asked. And smiling. Trying to look friendly and encouraging. I soon realised that there were three types of customer. Most were women buying for themselves.

Then there were women buying items for someone else. Usually it was pretty obvious that the someone else was male. And that sharing this little secret with the sales assistants was part of the fun.

And then there were the male customers. Often they pretended they were buying things for their wife or girlfriend. But some were quite openly buying things for themselves.

Mostly underwear.

As time went by, I started to deal with the male customers, and also with some of the ladies buying things for their male partners.

I think that many of them knew, or at least suspected, that I was a male shop-girl. I never admitted it.

But didn't deny it either. I didn't mind if that's what they thought.

Especially if they felt comfortable enough to buy more stuff.

Encouraging more purchases of ladieswear for other men to wear meant more commission for me!

After a couple of weeks, my Aunt and Mrs Roberts announced they were moving out. On the last day I plucked up the courage to ask "Why did you want to make me a woman?"

The two ladies looked at each other and smiled. "Oh, you'll never be a woman," said my Aunt. "Just a sissy male who loves wearing skirts and feminine underwear."

"And it's no use you pretending otherwise. I've seen how hard your cock gets when you put your knickers on."

In the weeks after they had left, if I needed to do any housework or even just make myself a meal, I put on my maid's dress. When I sit down to eat a meal, the skirt is too short to be tucked under my bum. My scantily clad bottom touches the cool seat of the dining chair.

And for the first time I started to think about my Uncle. While Mrs Roberts was showing me how to do the housework, I had only been thinking about myself. What it felt like to be wearing such a short skirt and showing my underwear. How my Aunt and Mrs Roberts were enjoying seeing me wearing it.

But now it struck me how my Aunt had said she had bought the uniform for my uncle. And that the silicone boobies had been his...

Had my Uncle paraded in front of my Aunt as a sexy maid? AND in front of Mrs Roberts as well?

Whose idea had it all been?

My mind started racing through the various possibilities. What sort of relationship did my Uncle and Aunt have? And how did Mrs Roberts relate to either or both of them?

And I even started wondering about what might have happened to Mr Roberts. Eventually I got the back story from Pauline.

My uncle had owned several businesses. He was a majority shareholder in the dress shop. "I needed additional finance to get the business going, and for him it was a convenient place to obtain the things he liked to wear," she explained.

And a few months ago my Uncle had apparently made me a partner. I remembered that he had asked me to come to the apartment and sign some papers. I hadn't been interested in what they were, but now it transpires I now own 40% of the dress shop.

My Aunt and Mrs Roberts had been an item back in the day. Then they had each married to become "respectable" married women.

Mrs Roberts's marriage hadn't worked out and she had separated from her husband after a few years.

My Aunt and Uncle hadn't had any children of their own and he had looked on me as his nearest substitute for a son. And of course, my Aunt found out about my Uncle's preferences in clothing.

So after a time Mrs Roberts started to work as their "housekeeper"; an arrangement that seemed to be satisfactory to all concerned. And now, of course, the two ladies had acquired in me a sales assistant to help keep the business going successfully.

I was to a certain extent working for them as my Aunt now held my Uncle's remaining share of the business.

And the business seemed to be doing well. I was getting more and more of "my" type of customer. Presumably word got round about the new shop girl.

And when one of my customers got an obvious erection while handling some of our silky, frilly stock, I too felt a certain tingling. Fellow feeling, I suppose you could call it.

I was soon getting on very well with Pauline. Although I enjoyed the idea of being her "shop girl", in reality we were partners in the business.

She has taught me a lot more about being more feminine in my actions and mannerisms. How to be an attractive shop assistant. How to reassure and encourage nervous male customers...

And gradually we have become more than colleagues. And more than just "friends".

She has now moved into the apartment with me.

In the lead up to Halloween we put a discreet advert in the window "Halloween costumes available inside." I wore my maid's outfit to encourage sales. The dressmakers who worked at home had their busiest month ever.

And it was very stimulating to walk to the shop with a short raincoat covering the maid's outfit. With the petticoated skirt holding the coat away from my legs, it felt as though almost all of my lower body was on display.

And as Pauline and I walked arm-in-arm, I knew she realised how I felt. Whenever our eyes met she couldn't help smiling broadly.

Pauline likes me to wear my maid's outfit around the apartment. And she doesn't mind at all when my cock gets very hard.

But I'm not allowed to relieve the pressure myself. I'm now used to lying on my back while she takes the cowgirl position.

And we're planning to get married. Although from a legal standpoint I will be the husband, we'll both be dressed as brides. It will be a special day!