by Lana B.

The day started out as any normal beginning- of- the week Monday always had. I reported to my job of three years as an assistant manager at Goodwin's Bookstore, a medium-sized retail bookstore in downtown Minneapolis appealing to the more eclectic of tastes as opposed to the larger chains such as Waldenbooks or BJ Dalton's. It had been rather slow for the first hour or so. I was unpacking boxes of newly-arrived books when at about 10:00 am, in walked a fortyish woman impeccably attired in a handsome black business suit; the hem of the dress reached down to the middle of her knees, revealing long, curvacious beige nylon-clad legs. She also was rather large-bussomed, a fact which her tight white blouse did not fail to accentuate; she must have been at least a 36D. She was an attractive, if not beautiful, woman: she had that Scandinavian look so many of the girls from the Minneapolis-St. Paul area also had, and she wore bright red lipstick. She had thin highly-arched eyebrows, long dark eyelashes, a smooth, well made-up face, and she wore a thin string of pearls around her neck and golden-hoop earrings that fell about an inch and a half below her ears. She had rather long, dark blond, curly hair that gently fell to the top of her shoulders and bounced a bit as she walked toward me. She was impressive. As she approached, I detected a nice scent which revealed a hint of vanilla; I had never smelled a perfume like that before, but I definitely liked it. What was most startling of all, however, was her size. She wore what must have been three or four inch high heels, which made her look like very tall.. While at six feet tall and 170 pounds I'm no slouch, she towered over me. She must have been at least six and a half feet tall in those heels and when she reached the counter, I found myself looking up into big, blue eyes that I could not look away from. I managed a "Can I help you," to which she replied, in a deep-throated voice, "I certainly hope so." She introduced herself as Alaina, and offered me her hand, which I proceeded to shake. She had a rather firm grip, and I noticed that her fingers sported long red fingernails that ended about an inch beyond her fingertips. I said my name was Lon, but everyone called me Lonnie. She said, "OK then Lonnie, I've been looking all over town for a book by Dr. William Tyler called Gender Dichotomy, and if you have it, you could certainly save me some additional shoe leather." I told her that it did not seem familiar to me offhand, but that I could run it through the computer and see if it came up. She said "Let's do it," and I initiated a search. After about ten minutes, I found the book, listed under an obscure publishing house called Scandinavia Press, and noticed it had been out of print for seven years. I told her, and she seemed genuinely dismayed. I said I could try to special order a copy, which turned her frown into a nice smile. "Could you," she said, and then "What do you think the chances are of getting it." I told her I didn't know but that nothing ventured, nothing gained. She nodded her assent, wrote her phone number on a slip of paper, and said that she hoped to hear from me soon. She thanked me for my efforts and she turned and walked toward the door. I watched this pleasant Amazonian woman depart and wondered about what a roll in the hay with her would be like. I reflected, again, that while she was not what anyone would think of as beautiful, she certainly was attractive. As the door swung shut, I began the usual Monday morning inventory. That afternoon, I placed the order for Gender Dichotomy.

Weeks passed, and I found myself thinking about Alaina from time to time. A month and a half after our encounter, Gender Dichotomy arrived. I immediately telephoned Alaina to give her the good news. The phone rang four times, and was picked up. I heard "Hello," in that distinctly husky voice, and I said, Hi, Alaina, this is Lonnie from the bookstore. Good news- Gender Dichotomy just arrived." She answered, "That's great!" I said, "When can you come in to pick it up?" She responded that there was a problem with that, since her car had broken down three days ago, and the news was bad- she would need a new transmission which would tie up her car at the mechanic's for another week. She then said, "I know that this is asking a big favor, but do you suppose that you can drop it off at my house after work today?" I thought for awhile, and asked her where she lived. It turned out that she lived only about ten or so minutes out of the way, so I said, "Sure, why not." She gave me the precise directions to her house and I said that I'd see her at around 5:30. She profusely thanked me, and we exchanged goodbyes. I looked at the book in my hands and thumbed through it. It seemed to be about the differences and similarities in the genders, what would happen if the differences were somehow filtered out, what would happen if the differences were joined together in one of the genders, and so forth. I thought, "Interesting," put the book down and got back to work.

I punched out at 5:00, got in my car, and began my trip to Alaina's. About a half hour later, I pulled up to a big white colonial on what looked to be a one acre plot. I got out of my car, walked to the door, and rang the doorbell. Alaina answered the door a few seconds later, smiled, and invited me in. I handed her the book, and she told me that she could not thank me enough. I said it was all part of the world-class service provided by the good folks at Goodwin's Bookstore, and she chuckled. She then walked to her purse, took out $25.00, and handed it to me to settle up for the book. I thanked her and said I hoped to see her again at the store. She said, "You can't possibly leave just yet, let me at least offer you a drink." I said OK, and she asked me what's my pleasure, and I said, "I don't know, why don't you surprise me," which evoked an even bigger chuckle. She told me to make myself comfortable, and she walked to the kitchen. I sat down on the couch and again began to thumb through Gender Dichotomy. I noticed now that it also had a section with drawings which seemed to depict people with both masculine and feminine gender characteristics- one of the drawings was of someone with a penis and breasts, another one had an obvious male head attached to a body adorned in a tight dress on an obviously female body. Captions under both drawings mentioned "gender uniformity." I heard Alaina enter the room and I put the book back down on the coffee table. She saw me do this, and said, "Interesting stuff, isn't it?" I said, "I don't about that, weird would seem a better characterization." She then handed me a drink which appeared blue-tinged, in a martini glass. I asked her what it was, and she said it was one of her own concoctions, try it , you'll like it. I took a sip and told her it tasted good, something like a mint-laced martini. She then asked me to tell her about myself. I told her I was 40, single, not presently seeing anyone, and that both of my parents had died several years ago, my father from a heart attack, my mother from cancer. I told her how I lived alone in a nice 7-room house about 10 minutes away from here. I told her how I really didn't have any good friends, that I did not make friends easily, I guess. I normally don't tell a relative stranger this much about myself, but I seemed, for some unknown reason, talkative. Alaina said that this all sounded perfect, and why don't I finish my drink. I didn't know what she meant by that, but it didn't seem important and I took another sip of the mint-martini. I asked Alaina to tell me something about herself. She said, in vagaries, everything is not as it seems, things can be deceiving and you never can tell, as I took two more sips from the glass. I felt a little lightheaded, and asked her what she meant. She said that it all would be clear soon, and why don't I finish my drink. I took the last two sips, finishing the drink, and now my lightheadedness graduated to real wooziness; I don't think I could have stood up on a bet. You look very faint, Alaina said. I tried to respond, but was unable to. I wanted to tell Alaina that I did, indeed, feel faint, but I could not articulate the thought. What was wrong with me? This had never happened before. Alaina said that maybe it would help if I lied down for awhile, and she approached me. I tried to move, but could not; every muscle in my body seemed paralyzed. Why couldn't I move or talk? Did I suffer a stroke? Had Alaina drugged me? If so, then why? As I pondered these thoughts, Alaina reached down and lifted me up with ease, exerting hardly any effort. Man, this broad was strong, I thought; I wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley. She carried me into what was obviously her bedroom, and gently deposited me on the large king-sized bed. She said that I would probably feel better after getting some rest, and that maybe it would help if I took off my shoes and jacket. That's easy for you to say, I thought, you could still move. As if reading my thoughts, she said, "Here, let me give you a hand." She slipped off my jacket and shoes, and said I still looked uncomfortable, and why don't we remove some more of these nasty clothes. I tried to protest, but could not convert my thoughts to words. I watched as she unbuttoned my shirt and unzipped my pants, and then removed both garments. She said, "You won't be needing these anymore. With time, you will wonder how you ever wore them in the first place. How can cotton and polyester compare to silk and nylon? They can't. Believe me, I know; I've been there." What the hell was she talking about, I thought. I next watched her remove my socks, leaving me with nothing on but my briefs. She looked down at me and said, "You will do nicely. You are a little tall for most tastes, but that is what the purchaser required. I don't foresee any complaints at all." More ramblings, I thought. Alaina then bent down, slid her large right hand under my briefs, and began to stroke my manhood. "This is the least I can do for you," she said, "considering what you have done for me." What the hell was she talking about now, I thought, all I did was get some book for her. As I considered that thought, I noticed that I was becoming aroused; whatever it was that affected the rest of my body obviously had had no effect on my penis. I was now completely hard. I watched as Alaina removed her hand and slipped off my briefs. She said, "Well, Lonnie, is that a flagpole between your legs, or are you just glad to see me?" Very funny, I thought. "I guess we're going to have to do something about that, now aren't we?" she said. I watched as she began to remove her clothes, until she was completely naked, as was I. I noted that she had a magnificent body, just as I had suspected. Her breasts were large and firm, her skin creamy smooth. She approached me, bent down, and kissed me passionately; I was powerless to stop her advancing tongue as it passed my lips and teeth and wrapped itself around and caressed my own tongue. Alaina now laid down on top of me and I felt her vagina engulf my hard member. She thrusted and thrusted for what seemed like an eternity, until, finally, I exploded my seed into her. I was exhausted. I again tried to move, but I found I was still paralyzed. I watched Alaina walk to the bathroom and heard the shower start. She returned 10 minutes later wearing a silk bathrobe and brandishing a syringe. I now knew, for sure, that I was in big trouble. She approached me and said that I should always remember this encounter with her, as it was the last of a kind for me, and now there is no turning back. I'm not quite sure what she meant by that, but I could not take my eyes off that syringe which , at least for now, was my primary concern. Alaina said, "This is going to hurt you more than it will me," and I helplessly watched as she plunged the needle into my hip. She said, "You are about to embark on a new adventure, honey, one that you will never forget. I hope that you will have fond memories of me." I began to feel drowsy. I thought of Alaina, on top of me, thrusting, thrusting, and this thought entered my mind: Was I just raped? My drowsiness increased by the second and, as I considered this rather curious thought, everything went black.

When I woke up, I had what felt like the biggest hangover of my life. I tried to move, but found that my arms and legs were tightly bound to the corner posts of the gurney I realized I was lying in. I looked around, and I seemed to be in some sort of medical surroundings. An operating room? Had I been in an accident? I now began to notice a sensation of soreness in my groin and, to a lesser extent, on my chest. Where the hell was I and what had happened to me? I looked down at myself and saw that from the neck down, I was covered by a heavy (lead?) blanket. I started screaming for help, and abruptly stopped. My voice! It sounded a few octaves higher than my normal voice, somewhat husky, something like Suzanne Pleshette's voice. What the hell was going on? A minute later, a man in a white medical outfit walked in. I asked him what was happening, and I was again startled by the foreign, higher-pitched voice that came out of my mouth. He said he would explain everything if I promised not to say a word until he was finished. I said OK, I just wanted to know what was going on. He stated, "My name is Dr. William Tyler and you were placed in my care by Alaina." That jogged my memory and I said, "Alaina, that bitch who drugged me." And I thought to myself, Dr. William Tyler, wasn't he the author of that book I brought to Alaina? Dr. Tyler then stated, "Ah, yes, Alaina. Tell me. Did she fuck you? Word has it that she fucks all of her finds before she turns them over. Was she as good as I hear she is?" I didn't answer the question, but I thought back to Alaina, on top of me, thrusting. I considered that, oh yes, I had been fucked by Alaina, in more ways than one. Thankfully, Dr. Tyler did not press me for an answer. He continued, "You know Alaina was one of my first transformations about 10 years ago. Before I converted him, he was a 6 foot, 3 inch tall Danish soccer star. After the treatments transformed him into a female, she quickly got with the program and began working as a finder for the syndicate. You know, she is now the most successful finder operative for the syndicate and commands a finder's fee of 15 percent, 5 percent over the usual fee. No matter what your requirements are, Alaina always fulfills the customer's needs. She keeps our clientele happy and is worth every penny of her fee." Did he just say that he changed Alaina from a man into a woman, I thought. How could he have done that? Then I remembered that show I had seen on HBO about men who had undergone surgical sex changes. At this, I thought, oh, great, another indignity; it turns out that I was fucked by someone who was not even a real woman. Then I thought, even more alarmingly, does this bastard plan to change me like that? "But enough of this," Dr. Tyler stated. You said you want to know what has happened to you, and you certainly have the right to know. You are on a ship called The Copenhagen. I like to think of it as a sort of floating M.A.S.H. You see, I, too, am affiliated with the syndicate I previously mentioned. The function of this syndicate is to provide subjects, or partners if you will, to our clientele, who, I might add, pay handsomely for the service." At this, I thought about Dr. Tyler's use of the word "partners." I considered that perhaps he meant business partners, as I was not willing to entertain alternative interpretations. Dr. Tyler continued: "Our clientele are, for the most part, bisexual men in Europe, mostly throughout Scandinavia, who, primarily for business reasons, are in no position to have their vice divulged. So what our syndicate does is find appropriate male subjects, usually unwilling, I'm afraid to say, and we surgically, chemically, and cosmetically modify them to appear as a woman. Most of this function is mine, as I am a sexual reassignment surgeon, a very good one I may add. When I complete the reassignment process, the subject is then delivered to the customer, who now has the best of all worlds. He has a genetic male who, for all intents and purposes, physically appears to be a real woman. In one fell swoop, the customer satisfies his vice without compromising his position in the business community." As I absorbed this information, I tried to avoid thinking about where I fit into this picture. "What does this all mean to you, you may ask?" he queried, as if reading my mind. Well, you see, Lonnie, you are one of the unwilling subjects I referred to who was found by Alaina to fulfill a syndicate contract, and you are in the final stages of your transformation." After hearing this last sentence, I was about to unleash a stream of obscenities, but Dr. Tyler held up his hand and said, "Now remember your promise. You will let me finish before you speak. If you interrupt, I will simply walk out and leave you by yourself to wonder what has specifically been done to you. Now I know that you want the details; I know I would if I were in your shoes. Do I have your agreement, then?" I reluctantly nodded my assent, and held in my anger; I wanted to know exactly what had been done to me. "Good," the doctor said, "but first I have to perform a short examination of you. This will not take long. When I finish, I will give you the whole skinny." With that, Dr. Tyler went to a small metal table in the far corner of the room and began going through what looked to be medical implements. He selected two, and returned to the foot of the table to which I was attached, and lifted the lower portion of the blanket off my legs, exposing me from the hips down. Due to the upward pitch of the table, I could not really see my exposed lower half too well, but I did not like the look of those instruments he was holding, which I could see all too well. He said, "You may be interested to know that you are in what we refer to as a medical recovery chamber; all actual surgery is performed in an operating theater located in another section of the ship." Great, I thought, information I could not have done without. Just as I pondered that thought, I felt a sharp pain in my groin, exclaiming "Ouch, goddammit, that hurt!" Dr. Tyler then said that the worst part was over, that he would be done soon. I then watched as he grabbed the other instrument, lowered his head, and disappeared from my view. Soon thereafter, I felt another sensation in my groin, which, in contrast to the first one, was not at all unpleasurable. This continued for another minute or two, and I actually thought, wow, this is not that bad, I hope he keeps it up. At that thought, I became embarrassed, and told myself to shut the hell up, stupid, this whole process is, in fact, humiliating, what the hell am I doing enjoying myself! Just then the sensation subsided and I saw Dr. Tyler raise himself up and walk back to the metal table, returning the instruments. He then walked back towards me, and proudly exclaimed, "Another perfect result!" He was starting to annoy me with his cheerfulness. I now noticed that he held in his hand a large syringe, which he apparently retrieved from the same table he got the instruments from, and I said, "Now hold it, what the hell is that for?" He said to relax, it was only some estrogen, although an accelerated type which he had personally engineered, and that I already had received 23 of these injections; that this was the next to last one, that the 25th injection would complete the reassignment process. I expressed shock at being told that I had received 23 of these injections, to which the doctor stated, "Well, after all, you have been at sea on this facility for 15 weeks, although you were heavily sedated and could not have known that." I said, "What! 15 weeks! I'm sure that I'll be missed; they're probably looking for me right now." To this, Dr. Tyler chuckled, and said, "Now let's not delude ourselves, OK? We know your history, which is one of the reasons you were selected. You have no family to speak of. Alaina disposed of your car and all your personal effects. It will just be assumed that you uprooted yourself and relocated. Possibly your bank may be concerned, but only because they will be left holding your mortgage. Any search or inquiries will be superficial at best." I hated to admit it, but this rang all too true. As I considered this, I felt the point of the syringe enter my hip and heard Dr. Tyler say, "Now hold still, we don't want the needle to break as that can be a nasty experience." I held still and endured this latest humiliation.

I watched Dr. Tyler return the syringe to the metal table, and I said, "OK, doc, I've put up with all of this up to now (as if I had a choice), now please, let's have the details you promised me, alright?" He then looked at his watch, and told me he had to attend to another subject, that I was not his only patient, you know, there were currently 8 other conversions on the ship in one stage or another of the transformation process. He said that he only needed to administer an injection to a sedated subject, that he would return in about 15 minutes. "I'll tell you what though," he said. "Why don't I remove that blanket, that should answer some of your questions for the time being." He then activated some motor which moved the table to an even level, and then he removed the blanket. I watched him as he departed the "recovery chamber." I hesitantly looked down at my exposed, naked body, and nearly fainted as I took it all in. I was completely hairless, and on my chest were two not so small breasts sporting nipples that looked like pencil erasers and aureoles the size of silver dollars. The breasts were large enough to obscure my view of anything below them and I had to wiggle them to one side to see further down. What I didn't see was a penis or testicles, because they were not there. In their place was the same equipment that any female would find there, a vulva, clit, and what appeared to be a vagina. I couldn't believe what I saw! Looking further down, I saw smooth, hairless legs, and toenails that had been polished bright red. I now looked up and around at my still bound hands and saw that I had on all my fingers long bright red nails; they each had to be at least an inch beyond my fingertips and they were all immaculately manicured into a contoured oval shape that any female hand model would have been proud of. I felt woozy and mustered all my effort not to faint.

Dr. Tyler returned, as promised, 15 minutes later. He noticed my shocked state and said, "Now, now, don't be so upset, you'll get used to it, like anything else. More than half of the world's population are girls, you know, and from all accounts, most of them actually like it." The shock of my new appearance prevented me from responding, and Dr. Tyler continued: "OK, let me now tell you exactly what was done to you All of the hair on your body, other than on your head and your eyebrows and eyelashes, of course, was permanently removed using advanced electrolysis treatments which I developed. Your Adam's apple was surgically shaved down and your vocal cords were tightened to raise the pitch of your voice, again, with methods I perfected. Your breasts were enhanced to a size 36C by a combination of special, safe implants I developed, and estrogen treatments. Your only maintenance requirements are, incidentally, estrogen booster shots at 6 month intervals. You had some minor plastic surgery on your face to give you a smaller nose and an oval contour at the chinline; you also had a bit of liposuction around the waistline to reduce you waist and build out your hips, giving you that hourglass shape that women so desire. A touch of collagen was injected into your lips to make them look full, another desirable feature these days. I cannot take the credit for your lovely eyebrows, lashes, and pierced ears; that was the responsibility of our renowned cosmetology department. They are also responsible for the fingernail treatments you received; as I understand it, your fingernails were treated with a special gelatinous substance that aceelerated their growth and rendered them virtually unbreakable-they cannot be cut but can only filed with a special steel-alloy nail file you will be given; and, last but not least, you underwent full sex reassignment surgery on your genitals and are nearly healed. Your penis and testicles were surgically removed and in their place, I fashioned a functional vagina. You could have sex and orgasms just like a real woman, although not children, as, " I am good, but not that good," Dr. Tyler told me. Also, he said my weight was down to about 135, primarily from my intravenous, though nutritious, diet over the past 15 weeks. My mind was reeling from all this; I was speechless. Dr. Tyler said that he would now untie me, that I should get up very slowly, and that I would find an efficiency flat with clothes, food, and other amenities right through an inner door he pointed out to me. With that, he untied me and walked through the outer door, locking it behind him.

I arose slowly, as Dr. Tyler advised; he was right, I was lightheaded. I slowly walked to the door he showed me, opened it and entered. I saw 3 rooms. There was a small kitchenette with miniature refrigerator and hotplate; there was a small "sitting room" with 2 chairs and a coffee table; and there was a bedroom, about 12' by 12', with a full-size bed. I walked over to a wall mirror and glanced at the strange reflection. I looked at the face, and I saw me, and then I saw someone who looked like me but was, unbelievably, a feminine version of me. I continued to look at my face; it was, essentially, a woman's face. Not a classically beautiful woman, but a woman nonetheless who was not unattractive. The face was hairless and smooth-looking. The nose was half the size of what I remembered it to be and had a slight "ski-slope" look. The face appeared oval-shaped, with the chin ending in somewhat of a point. The lips looked fuller than before. The eyebrows were thinner and were arched over eyes that had longer-than-remembered lashes. Like I said, not beautiful, but not as bad as the faces of some real women I had seen. Behind it all, however, I could still see myself; My semblance was definitely still there, but now framed by long brown hair which fell to about an inch above my shoulders, the result of not having had a haircut for 4 or 5 months. I then glanced at my ample breasts, and, as if in a trance, I raised my hands, cupping them from underneath. Ouch! I accidentally poked one with a thumbnail. I would have to be careful about that in the future. How the hell did women grasp and hold things with long nails? I then carefully rubbed the right nipple between thumb and forefinger; the nipple became erect and I got a flush of pleasure I had not before experienced. I also felt some itching and a sensation of dampness from between my legs as I fondled the nipple, and my gaze turned downward. What I saw was what I had seen on any woman when I looked at that place- a pussy. I reached down and touched my new lips and the clitoris, and I felt yet a new pleasurable sensation. I carefully and slowly inserted my right long-nailed forefinger into my new vagina, and I felt a pleasurable sensation not unlike what I experienced when Dr. Tyler had probed me with that last instrument. I again felt faint with shock, and I walked to the bed and sat down on its edge, trying to collect myself.

How had this happened! What would become of me? Could I escape? Could these changes be reversed? Could I make Alaina and Dr. Tyler pay for what they had done to me? A lot of questions and no answers, at least not for now. A chill then ran through me, and I thought, sure, you're not wearing any clothes, idiot, of course you're cold. I got up, walked to the closet and opened it. I saw 3 dresses hanging in there, which were presumably my size; what the hell was my size, anyhow? I looked down and saw one pair of black leather high-heeled shoes with what looked to have 3 inch heels. I walked towards a small dresser and again passed the mirror; I could not help looking into it again, and I still found my new appearance shocking. I shook my head in disbelief and felt my hair swing. I moved toward the dresser, and now felt my breasts sway. Could I make any movement without feeling some strange new sensation? I opened the dresser drawer and gazed upon 2 bras, 2 pair of panties, and 2 pair of pantyhose. That was all she wrote. I opened the other drawer and saw cosmetics and the like: lipstick, makeup, nail polish, a nail file (the one Dr. Tyler referred to?), an eyebrow pencil, comb and brush, and a pair of earrings. Having seen the latter, I raised my hands to my earlobes and felt where my ears had been pierced. Had they missed anything? It certainly didn't seem that way.

As cold as I was, I felt even more grubby. I walked out to the main room, and found in the far corner a small bathroom containing a toilet, sink and shower stall. I grabbed a bar of soap from the sink, stepped under the shower, and turned it on. I let the warm water cascade over my body, soaped up every pore I could physically reach as well as my hair, and took the longest shower of my life. The spraying water felt titillating on my breasts, which I tried to ignore; I just wanted to get clean. I finally rinsed, turned the shower off, grabbed a towel, and dried off. I now headed back to the "flat," feeling clean. I looked at my reflection in the mirror again, still not believing what I saw. No doubt about it, I was no longer a man. I looked like any other decent looking woman I had ever seen. My figure was slim looking, yet well-rounded. If I had to guess, I'd say 36x24x34. These bastards would pay for this, as soon as I got my chance.

I again felt chilly. I needed clothes on me. Where were a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt when you really needed them? I walked over to the closet and again gazed at the dresses. On the one hand. I couldn't believe that I was actually considering putting one of those things on, yet on the other hand, I rationalized that it was either a dress or nudity. Simply put, there was just nothing else to wear. I looked at the dresses and tried to decide which one to choose. Suddenly, I became enraged. Look what they've reduced me to, I angrily thought. You're comparing dresses and thinking about which one you'd look the best in, like some bimbo or something! I then snatched the nearest one, which was a nice floral print, and which, much to my dismay, was the one I had just about decided was the most flattering before my anger materialized. While I was considering how to put the thing on, I remembered the stuff in the dresser drawer, things that were supposed to be worn underneath the dress. I put the dress down and walked to the dresser and opened the drawer, gazing at the sheer undergarments. I felt a flush of embarrassment, thinking again about what I've been reduced to. It's only underwear, for Christ's sake, I rationalized. Besides, what else can I do, its not like I had a pair of jockey shorts available. I picked up one of the bras, which felt that it was made of just cotton. I tried getting it on, but my breasts kept slipping out. After about 10 minutes of this nonsense, I kneeled down at the bed, propped up my breasts on it, and finally captured them in the bra. My damn nails kept impeding my efforts to secure the clasps, but after what must have been 20 failed attempts, I finally succeeded. Victory at last, I thought. My breasts actually felt more secure, and did not wiggle nearly as much now when I walked. I also didn't feel such a heavy weight on my chest as before- it was much more comfortable now. Man, these bras are really helpful. OK, what now, I thought. I guess the panties. I grabbed a pair of pink silk bikini panties and hoisted them up my legs. That wasn't too hard, I thought. I guess the pantyhose are next. I picked up a pair, and considered how I'd get them on. I thought back to watching some of my former girlfriends as they dressed and recalled how they balled them up, and unrolled them up their legs. I picked up a pair of the beige nylons, and rolled each leg. I took care not to cause a run with my nails. I carefully worked the right leg up, and then the left. I then pulled up the panty hose over my waist, where it grabbed hold nicely. OK, the underwear is on- it only took about 20 minutes, 19 and a half longer than it took to put on briefs and tee-shirt, I thought, sarcastically. I've got to discover some way to reverse this whole thing, I thought, if only to be able to dress in a reasonable period of time. I walked toward the closet, and stopped when I caught my reflection in the mirror. I couldn't believe how my legs now looked- sexy was the first word that came to mind. Not only that, the sensation of the nylons against my smooth legs as I walked was yet another new pleasurable sensation I enjoyed more than I cared to admit. What is it with this woman thing, anyhow, I thought, is everything centered around establishing and maintaining pleasurable sensations? I unconsciously took another few steps just to feel the nylons on my legs again. Man, that feels good, I thought! I then realized what I had done, and embarrassment once again washed over me. OK, cut the shit, I thought, I'm just trying to keep warm. I walked to the bed and picked up the floral print dress, looking at it. It wasn't bad looking, at that . I stepped into it, and worked the zipper in the back until it was firmly zipped up, nearly spraining my arm. The dress hugged my body, fitting like the proverbial glove. I noticed that the hem fell to the middle of my knees. I stole another glance in the mirror, and couldn't believe how good (sexy?) the dress looked with the bra and nylons accentuating my new curves. If there was anything at all incongruous, it was my face. There were traces of my former male self there, although there were also traces of my new persona. Someone could look at me now and possibly think that I was a man with breasts dressed in woman's clothing. That was even more perverted than what had been done to me. I thought that if I was going to have to wear a dress, I was better off, at least for the moment, actually looking the part. I walked over to the cosmetics drawer and opened it. I reached for the makeup and grabbed it. I walked to the mirror, looked at my oval face, and began applying the makeup, which made my face look smooth and finished. I next used the eyebrow pencil, accentuating the arcs above my eyes; then came the finishing touch, red lipstick. I didn't seem to have any difficulty applying the cosmetics, which puzzled me since I had never done this before. I gazed at my reflection again, and I was now satisfied that no one would mistake me for some kind of freak- I looked, definitely, like a woman. I brushed my hair, making it look more orderly; looking at my hair, I reflected that it did not just look like hair that had simply grown long and had been left unattended, that it appeared to have been worked on (styled?) to look rather fashionable. Was this the work of the "renowned cosmetology department" Dr. Tyler mentioned. Who the hell knows, I thought, I had been sedated for nearly 4 months. I gazed at my face's reflection and tried to take in the full picture. Yes, I thought, there could be no mistaking me for a man now. I walked back to the table to return the brush and saw the gold-hooped earrings in the drawer. "Why not," I decided, and I put them on my ears, with a little effort. They pleasantly tugged at my earlobes, and I could not resist the temptation of walking back to the mirror to see how they looked. Not bad, I thought, and then I became angry at myself, thinking, look at me, for pete's sake, primping and admiring myself like some high school girl preparing for a date with the captain of the football team. I then turned around, took a few steps, and stubbed my toe against the base of the bed- shit, that hurt! Shoes, I thought, and grabbed the black high-heels from the closet. I sat on the bed, and placed the shoes on my nylon-encased feet. I attempted to stand in the 3 inch heels, took 2 steps, and promptly fell like a sack of wheat, lightly spraining my right ankle. I began to sob uncontrollably. After about a minute or so, I once again felt embarrassed about what a woos I was acting like. What the hell am I crying about, for God's sake, I had fallen before, hadn't I? I then thought that it must be all those hormones I had been injected with that caused me to cry, and this made me feel better. None of this is my fault, I told myself, so don't let it play with my head. I needed to be strong or else they would win. I still had a man's brain, I thought. There was no way they could change that, and I would use it to think my way out of this jam and to figure out a way to strike back at my tormentors and make them suffer like they have made me suffer. For now, I was trapped in this state, I knew, and there was nothing I could presently do to change it. I could only try to use it to my advantage, wait for an opening, and then lower the boom. With renewed determination, I stood up and practiced walking (slowly) for about 15 minutes, and I finally mastered it; I discovered that the key was to take small, deliberate steps and to concentrate on what I was doing. I then noticed that a small segment of the nail polish on the fingernail of my right forefinger had chipped, and I wondered whether it had been deposited in my vagina when I had explored myself a half- hour ago. This thought made me chuckle and blush simultaneously. I kept looking at the flawed nail and it began to bother me. I compared it to my other 9 perfect nails, and considered whether I should repair the flaw. I tried to fight this thought off and tell myself to just forget about it, that it was no big deal, but after about another 10 seconds of examining the defect, I had an irresistible impulse to fix it and found myself walking to the table and grabbing the bottle of nail polish. I also saw a bottle of nail polish remover there which I had not seen before, and I figured it would look better if I removed all the polish from the nail and then just applied a fresh coat. So I picked up the remover, applied some of it on a tissue, and swabbed off all of the polish on the nail. I then picked up the nail polish, unscrewed the cap, and applied a new coat. I watched as it dried, and I noticed, much to my dismay, that it was a different shade of red than the polish on the other 9 nails! Man, I can't win, I thought. As I kept looking at my hands, I found that the shade-disparity bothered me as much as the chip had. The next thing I knew, I was removing the polish from the other nails and applying a fresh coat on each. Interestingly, I did this without any problem, as if I had been doing it for years. When I finished, I held out my hands in front of me as the polish dried and admired my handiwork. They did look good, I thought, that could not be denied, but I can sure do without that smell. A small price to pay, I reflected. Wait a minute! Just 5 minutes ago I'm thinking that at least I still have a man's brain which I would use to somehow think my way out of this dilemma, and here I am painting and admiring my nails like a bored housewife with too much time on her hands! I shuddered at a mental image which popped into my mind of being swallowed up by my conversion and losing all trace of my former self. I again rationalized that it was the hormones that were making me act this way and that I needed to be mentally strong to fight their effect. I nonetheless still felt disgusted at myself for the way I'd been acting, and I stood up and walked away from the table. I once again caught my reflection in the mirror as I passed, and it irresistibly made me stop in my tracks. Looking at my reflection, I saw a tall, thin, attractive woman. The legs, especially, were accentuated by the sheer nylons and the high-heels, and they looked, what, sexy? I guess that was the word for it, as much as I tried to fend off that conclusion. The facts were, however, the facts. I again promised myself that this was only a temporary setback I had suffered, that I was really a man, and that I would do everything in my power to reverse these changes and to take revenge against those who had perpetrated them. For now, though, I would play along with the game, for what other choice did I have? The bastards had, after all, made me into a woman, for the most part. The only available clothes were women's clothes, and the only alternative would be to traipse around naked, which was no alternative at all. No, I would play along with this little game of theirs, and I would carefully plot my revenge. There would be hell to pay for these indignities and humiliations the scum brought down on me, and I wouldn't want to be in their shoes when payback time arrived. For the time being, I'd play along and look for my opening, and then I'd pounce.

I contemplated my revenge for another hour or so, and I heard the outer door unlock. Dr. Tyler walked into the flat, gazed at me, and cut loose a wolf whistle. Cut the crap, I said, it was either this or nudity and freezing. You would have done the same in my place, I told him. You're right, he said. I'll try to be more considerate. I do have to say, however, that you're a real looker, all dolled up like that. I'm proud of my work. Yeah, yeah, I said, how humble of you. OK, I added, what's next in your grand scheme. Dr. Tyler replied that what was next was that he would deliver me to the client, Sven Thurmond, from whom he would receive the pre-arranged very handsome fee of $275,000.00. He would administer the 25th hormone shot tomorrow, and then Mr. Thurmond would take delivery. Take delivery, I thought, what the hell was I, a new Oldsmobile or something? Dr. Tyler also stated that from now on, I would answer to the name Lana. He added that if I played my cards right, I could become Mrs. Lana Thurmond. With that he said, "Goodbye, Lana. See you tomorrow."

I rustled up some canned chili on the hotplate, and hit the sack early; I was really tired. I woke up around 9:30 the next morning, put on one of the other dresses (a brown checkered job), and brewed some coffee. Dr. Holland arrived about 15 minutes later, and said it was time for the last hormone shot. I said OK, and he proceeded to jab me in the hip with the syringe. Thinking that at least now there were no more shots to endure, I became woozy, and promptly blacked out.

I awoke and found myself in new surroundings. I was in a large king-sized bed in an enormous bedroom. I got up out of bed and found myself buck-naked. What the hell is it with these people that I'm always waking up naked, couldn't they at least put a cheap robe on me, I thought. I got up and walked to a large walk-in closet and opened it. I gazed upon an array of at least 25 dresses. On the floor of the closet were at least 15 pairs of leather high-heel shoes in a variety of different colors, all of which looked to have 4 inch heels. There was a large dresser which, after inspection, was revealed to contain a huge selection of bras, pantyhose, panties, and slips. Cosmetics, nail polish, brushes, and jewelry were everywhere. I heard approaching footsteps. I ran back to the closet, spotted a white silk robe, and quickly put it over my naked body. Just as I closed the robe, in walked a huge, imposing figure of a man. He was ruggedly handsome, and bore a striking resemblance to Robert Mitchum when he was about 45 years old or so, although this huge man's hair was a bit darker than the actor's. "Hello, Lana," he said in a deep, resonant tone, "I am glad to meet you. I am Sven Thurmond, your new partner," he said, with just a trace of an accent. I looked up at this man, who must have been at least seven feet tall. Although I was six feet tall in stocking feet, he made me look absolutely tiny in comparison. "I paid a small fortune for you, and I hope you do not disappoint me. I ask that you dress yourself up- there is plenty to choose from, as you can see. Do your best to make yourself pretty. By the looks of you that will not be difficult. Dinner is downstairs in the dining room, in 1 hour. I will see you then." With that , Sven departed.

I reflected. I guess that Dr. Tyler had slipped me a mickey and "delivered" me to his client, Sven, from whom he received his "handsome fee." Nothing to do now but to continue to play along and wait for my chance. What other choice did I have? I guess I should dress; I surely can't appear at dinner in this robe.

I looked through the large selection of underwear and settled on a nice cotton bra that held me up nicely, a pair of pink silk panties, nude pantyhose, and a half-slip. Hey, this was starting to become second nature. Next, I inspected the closet, and settled on a pink, silk dress that revealed just a little cleavage and which settled to the top of my knees, nicely showcasing my legs. I did my makeup and hair, which, surprisingly, were really not too much in a state of disrepair; had Dr. Tyler's associates spruced me up before turning me over to this man? I found a nice pair of white leather 4 inch high heels that fit me perfectly, as had all the other clothes I now wore. Sven obviously had been told all about my size and measurements. I looked at my hands and realized that my red nail polish really didn't match the pink dress I wore, and I noted that I still had 20 minutes to spare before dinner, time enough to do my nails, I thought. So I sat down at the vanity and went to work; all the needed implements and products were there, I saw, including that special steel-alloy nail file. I removed the old polish, did a little shaping, and applied a new coat of pink polish. I looked at my hands as the nails were drying and thought they looked really good in pink polish; I had not used this color before, but would, undoubtedly, use it again in the future. I reflected that I "made myself pretty," as requested by this Sven, because I had to play along with the game at this point. I was still at a serious disadvantage- I didn't even know where the hell I was, geographically. I would gather in the facts about my new circumstances, fashion a plan of escape, and get the hell out of here. No way was I going to be this giant's "partner," which I equated to being his slave. I looked at the clock on the dresser and saw that the hour had passed. I headed downstairs to dinner.

.

Sven was sitting at the table, waiting. He saw me approach, and stood up. "You look very nice, Lana," he said. "Thank you," I replied, and smiled. I noted that even with my 4 inch heels, I craned my neck at an extreme angle just to look in his face; this was one tall man. I saw that there were 2 settings at the table, and Sven held out a chair for me at one of them and said, "Please, sit." I did, and then so did he, at the other setting. He then poured 2 glasses of white wine and handed me one, which I accepted and tasted. It was very good. I saw that he also sampled his, and seemed to enjoy it. He said, "I will cut to the chase, as I am sure you wish to know what you are in for. I have been told that you are already aware of the so-called syndicate and the service they provide to men like me. To fill in some of the holes, as you can see, I am a rather large man, seven feet, two inches tall and 265 pounds to be precise, and I requested a large American man who was at least 6 feet tall; I believe you fit that bill. I know what you have been through, and I apologize for that. But that is not my fault or responsibility. I simply "placed my order," paid the rather large fee, and took delivery of you. I did not personally choose you, nor did I have anything to do with your abduction or change; that was all done by the syndicate. So, if you must be mad for what has been done to you, please do not direct your anger at me, for it will be misplaced." I took another sip of wine, and considered that he appeared to be sincere and that what he said actually made some sense. Sven continued: "All that I asked for was a suitable partner. You were provided. Let me say, however, that I find you stunning and that I am very pleased with you as the provided subject." I somehow felt oddly flattered by what Sven had said so far, and I had to gain control of my thoughts and remember that my mission was simply to discover what my circumstances were with this Sven for the purpose of effectuating my abrupt departure. Sven then said, "I only ask that you give this arrangement a chance. I must tell you that under the terms of the contract I made with the syndicate, if you do not work out, for any reason, I have the option to return you within 2 years of delivery, in which case I will be provided with a replacement subject within 1 year of the return. I am extremely pleased with what I have received, and I hope that this does not happen, but that will be up to you. I must also tell you that if you are returned, the syndicate then will surgically and chemically alter your mind to completely erase all memories of your prior persona. Essentially you will be turned into a mindless puppet who will do whatever she is told to do by her next partner. And your next partner may not be as pleasant and civil as me." This was starting to sound ominous, I thought; or was it only a bluff to frighten me into cooperating? He then said, "So I believe it is in both of our interests to make this arrangement work, would you not agree?" I answered, "It would appear so," for lack of a better reply on such short notice. "Good," Sven said. "I'll go check dinner," he added, and walked to the kitchen.

I took another sip of wine and reflected on what Sven had told me. Was it bullshit designed to influence me to go along with him, or was it true? If it were true, I was certainly in a precarious position; being changed into my present physical state was not nearly as bad as being altered into some "mindless puppet."

As displeased as I was with what had physically been done to my body, at least I still had my mind and could think for myself. I concluded that at this point, I could not tell whether or not Sven was lying, and that I would just have to keep playing along until I had more facts to work with. Just then, Sven returned with 2 plates each holding a helping of grilled chicken breast, a baked potato, and some corn. Sven put the plates on the table and said, "I hope this came out alright. I am not much of a cook, but I did the best I can."

To this, I said, "I'm sure it's OK." I tested the food, and told him it tasted fine. He told me he was sure I could do much better, and I felt myself blush. "Let me give you some more facts," he told me, between bites. "You are in Nogenhagen, a small suburb of about 20,000 located about 15 miles from Copenhagen, which, I am sure you know, is in Denmark. This is a large 12 room house on a one and a half acre plot.

I hope you don't think about trying to escape, for where would you go? You presently have no official Danish identification, and you have no independent means of support. You would not last a day outside this house." This did not sound encouraging, I thought. Sven continued: "In any event, there is no need for you to leave this house. I am a copyright attorney in a large law firm in Copenhagen, and I am paid very well. All your needs will be attended to. I am willing to spend whatever it takes to make and keep you happy. I will do whatever is required to make our partnership work. I only ask that you do your share and meet me half-way. What do you say?" While awaiting my response, he refilled my wine glass. A real gentleman, I thought; or is he just trying to get me drunk to compromise my judgment? I took another sip of wine, and reflected. He sounded like he was being reasonable, and was just asking that I be, too. What other choice did I have? The phrase "mindless puppet" entered my mind, and I shuddered. I took a few sips of wine in an attempt to calm myself down. "Well?," Sven pressed. "I don't see why not," I heard escaping my mouth. Had I actually said that? Just as I was contemplating the possible consequences of what I had just uttered, I saw a large smile form on Sven's mouth, and he said, "I was hoping for a bit more enthusiasm, but I am nonetheless happy with your response." You know, I thought, he seemed to be a nice guy, and he was sort of handsome when he smiled. He arose, walked to me and said "You really look beautiful." This somehow strangely flattered me, and I thanked him. He took my hands in his, engulfing them, and looked deeply into my eyes. He gently tugged at my arms and nudged me up. My legs nearly buckled and he moved his lips slowly towards mine. I wanted to resist, finding myself unable to do so. He lowered his mouth on mine, and gently kissed me. I did not retreat. He then slipped his tongue between my lips and teeth, and, surprising myself, I accepted the eager tongue. We deeply kissed for a few minutes, and he then lifted me up as if gravity were nonexistent, and took me into his bedroom on the main floor. My feelings were in a state of turmoil, but I did not protest. He deposited me on the bed and proceeded to disrobe me, and then himself. He again told me that I was beautiful, and weirdly, I felt complimented by this. Before I could sort out my thoughts, he was all over me. He was kissing my lips and then my breasts. I was on fire and could not think straight! My crotch became moist and , much to my horror, longed for penetration. He was then on top of me and I felt him enter me. He began to thrust, and I felt waves of pleasure overtake me; I almost passed out from excitement. He continued thrusting and I experienced an orgasm that felt like a tidal wave. I collapsed in his arms, and drifted off into a deep sleep.

I awoke and found myself with my head nestled on Sven's chest. His arms were wrapped around me; I saw that he still slept. How had this happened? I could not remember. I felt that I had a slight hangover; I could sure use a few Advils. I tried to mentally shake the cobwebs out, and concentrated. Then it all came back. Holy shit, I thought, I had actually slept with this man! What was I thinking? I'm supposed to be evaluating my circumstances to formulate an escape plan, and a few hours after I am "delivered" to this man, he is in my pants. I thought back to dinner, and the wine. I had just had 2 glasses, for Christ's sake!

Maybe he drugged me, a popular pastime of these people. Or maybe my tolerance for alcohol is lower than it had been before these bastards kidnapped me; the weight loss I've experienced certainly doesn't increase your tolerance for alcohol, I reasoned. Just then I felt Sven stir. Oh, oh, I thought. I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but I was locked in place by his strong arms; Houdini could not have escaped this trap. I saw his eyes open, he looked at me, and he said, "Good morning, stranger." "Hi," I managed. "That was great, last night," he said. "Yeah," I agreed; I could think of no other response. "You know," he said, looking in my eyes, "You look gorgeous in the morning when you wake up." I could not look away from his large eyes, which I now noticed for the first time were smoky gray; I felt nearly hypnotized. "You look too good for words to describe," he unmercifully continued. By this time, I was entranced by his words; I was putty. He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me. I could not think, just do. A few minutes later, he had his way with me, again. Perhaps it is unfair to characterize it like that, as it was as enjoyable for me as it was for him. Sven got out of bed, and headed to the bathroom. I heard the shower. Five minutes later, he returned, still drying himself. "I have to go to work now," he said, "for it is, unfortunately, Monday." I at least now knew what day it was; big deal, I thought, more useless information. I watched as he dressed in a nice gray pinstriped suit with red silk tie. He walked to the bed and said, I should be home by 6:00 tonight. It would be nice if you had dinner ready then. Bye, sweetheart, I will see you later." He bent down and kissed me goodbye. I watched as he departed. I was finally alone.

I thought about escape. I then thought about some of the things Sven had said: I had no identification and no means of support. Also, I considered, I was in a strange country. Where would I go? Even if I did have a destination, how would I get there? All these thoughts were starting to give me a headache. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke, and gazed at the clock radio on the nighttable. Jesus, it was 11:00. I got up and took a nice warm shower, which reinvigorated me. I dried off, and wrapped the towel around me from the top of my breasts to the top of my knees. I headed upstairs to "my room." I sat at the vanity, gazing in the mirror. Even with no makeup, there could be no mistaking me for a man, now. I glowed. Then I thought about how people commented how a woman "glowed" when in love. I quickly expelled that stupid thought from my mind, and looked at my reflection again. I reflexively grabbed some makeup, and got to work. Ten minutes later, I was made-up, and it was time for some underwear, I guess. I undid the wrap-around towel and gazed at myself in a wall mirror. I was truly stunning, I reflected. Stop admiring yourself, idiot, I thought , and just get dressed. I put on a nice white cotton bra, matching silk bikini panties, and nude pantyhose, all in record time. I walked to the closet, peered at the selection for a minute or two, and settled on a nice cotton sky blue party dress that fell to the middle of my knees. Dark blue leather 4 inch heels rounded out the outfit, and I headed back downstairs.

I heard a noise on the porch, and looked out the window. The mailman. I waited a minute and he was gone. I opened the door, went to the mailbox, and retrieved the sole letter that had been delivered. I saw that it was addressed to "Lana Thurmond." What is this, some sort of joke, I thought? I then looked at the return address, and saw only "Alaina." My heart began to race. I returned to the house, opened the letter, and began to read: "Dear Lana: It has been about four months now since we last talked (and touched!), and I am sure you think of me from time to time. I know I think of you often, as you were the nicest and most considerate of all my finds. At first I almost felt sorrow and remorse for what I did to you, or at least what I precipitated, but then I thought, and I am sure you will agree, what you have received is truly a gift. Without my intervention, you would have never known the joys of womanhood: the feel of silk and nylons against your smooth skin, the fit of that pretty dress on your rounded body, which I'm sure you are experiencing this very moment as you are reading this letter. Think about this and tell me if I lie! You know it is true, so give this arrangement a chance and I guarantee you that after a few short months, you will ask yourself- How did I possibly endure my drab existence before that day when Alaina walked into the bookstore? I will always have fond memories of you, Lana, and I hope yours of me are fond as well. Alaina."

I put the letter down and reflected. Could Alaina be right? She certainly made some valid points. The feel of silk and nylons, the fit of my dress. I did not know what to think anymore. I sat down in the comfortable living-room chair, and thought, and thought. After a while, I looked at the wall clock and realized it was 4:30! Sven would be home soon. I remembered that he had mentioned something about me preparing a nice dinner, and I thought that that was the least I could do. I headed into the kitchen.

Sven returned at 6:15. He kissed me on the cheek, and said that he had missed me. He then handed me some flowers, and I blushed and thanked him. He went to the bathroom to wash, and I put the flowers in water. I felt, what, exhilarated? Could Alaina be right about all this? Is it all worth fighting, especially, I thought, when the chance of prevailing was so unsure, or, even, remote? And don't forget the consequences of failure; as a "mindless puppet," I would lose the ability to think for myself. That did not sound like something to shoot for. What was my plan now?

Well, my short-term plan was to feed Sven the salad and pasta I had prepared for his dinner. He boasted about how great it tasted and about what a good cook I was, which made me blush, but feel good. It was nice to be appreciated, I thought. After dinner, we retired to the living room and watched the news on television. He told me about his day, and we chatted about this and that. A movie came on, and we watched it together. He put his arm around me and we began necking. Fifteen minutes later, we were in the bedroom, on the bed, disrobed, and in each others arms.

To make a long story short, I soon forgot about exacting my revenge and settled into the role of Sven's significant other. I found that I began to actually enjoy the benefits of being his "woman." He brought home the bacon, and I cooked it. I kept the house clean and did the food shopping and laundry, but this was only right, since he brought the paycheck home. I still had several hours a day free to myself, and I used it to shop for clothes and keep my twice-a-week appointments at the beauty parlor and nail salon. I had also just received my first estrogen booster shot. Sven liked me to maintain the most feminine appearance possible, and, after all, who was I to argue with him, especially when he was so generously paying for it all.

Three more months had passed. I now wore long, blond hair that cascaded about 3 inches below my shoulders. I wore impeccable makeup that brought out the smooth, silky look of my complexion. My highly arched eyebrows accented my large doe-like hazel eyes. My lips were full and pink, and my long, expertly manicured nails matched my lips exactly. I was especially proud that my nails, which exceeded my fingertips by an inch and a half, were entirely natural, not acrylic "falsies." I received many compliments about my nails from Sven and others, which usually made me blush but which I nonetheless appreciated greatly. I wore the most expensive dresses, always showing off the attributes Sven so liked: tits and legs. He said he loved my big tits and shapely, long legs, and who was I to deprive the world of these "magnificent features." I looked at myself in the vanity mirror as I touched up my lipstick, and thought that I looked as good as some of the models I had seen in Cosmo. In any event, Sven could not seem to keep his hands off my body, and that was good enough for me. In actuality, I pretty much had him wrapped around my finger.

When I thought that nothing could be better, Sven returned from work that day with a present: a beautiful diamond engagement ring. I of course accepted his proposal, telling him that he had made me the happiest girl in the world. To think, I owe this all to Alaina, who, just 7 months earlier, I would have killed without hesitation. As Alaina had said, you never can tell.