Friday, February 2, 2018

(another) Intervention

Dear Readers,

this is yet another variation on the theme where a powerful lady sees something more in the hero's casual cross-dressing and is determined to set things right for everyone. Although this particular one evolved from one of my Scenes from Family Life, it has been stripped of the father-son interaction, so it can be enjoyed by everyone ;)

Hope you like it!

Rosie.

Intervention




“Oh, hi, Erica Anna,” I said, surprised to see my wife’s assistant at the door, “Caroline’s not home.”
“I know,” she said, “I’ve come to speak to you.”
“Oh?” I said. Without waiting for an invitation, the tall, burly girl brushed past me, handing me her coat in the process. I had no choice but to trail after her, stopping only to hang her coat.
A frequent guest to our house, she made herself at home by the time I warily joined her in the living room. She sat on the good sofa, slouched slightly forward. She was wearing a black, short sleeved top that openly displayed her thick arms. The striking contrast of the pale skin against the black fabric captured my eyes for more than a moment and I found myself wandering, as so many times before, how much of that thickness was down to fat, and how much to muscles.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.
“Not right now,” she said.
“OK,” I said, “What is it you want to talk about?”
“I think you know,” she said, with a sly smile.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t, Erica Anna,” I said, trying to hide my exasperation as I pronounced her both names, like she had always insisted on. As if it was not enough that I had endure her presence when my wife was around, now this base, yet pretentious girl who to me was the most prominent symbol of the changes brought on by my wife’s career, was now invading my free time.
“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time preparing for a fancy dress party lately,” she said.
“Oh, that,” I muttered, seething inwardly. She was referring to the occasions when I was dressed as a woman while she was at our house, for some reason or other. Frankly, I was surprised that she had taken note of that at all, since she had always appeared to be so taken by Caroline.
“I have also noticed that Caroline and you have been fighting a lot, recently,” she added.

As her new career started to take off, Caroline was getting more aggressive at home, too, which I was not prepared for. The ferocity of our arguments kept escalating until the breaking point. What seemed to be yet another argument about some trivial thing made Caroline turn all her guns on me. From her closet, she pulled out a dress and would not relent until I put it on. After what seemed an eternity of screaming, slamming of doors and even some pushing and shoving, I finally relented and put on the dress over my underwear. It was a humiliating ordeal that had me in tears for most of the time, and I swore to myself I’d never go through something like that again. Not long after, though, I wore the dress again, and this time with all the trimmings, as Caroline made me cross-dress for her company’s Halloween party. I couldn’t decide what was more embarrassing, Caroline’s discrete yet persistent dropping of hints of my true identity, or that, without her aid, no one could realize I was not a woman. Ever since, all of our arguments ended with Caroline forcing me to put on her clothes. While she didn’t seem to be bothered about keeping my punishments private, at least she didn’t reveal the true reason behind my cross dressing, leaving me to explain to the bemused visitors to our house that I was practicing for a fancy dress party. Humiliating as it was, I still found it better than admitting that I was forced to wear dresses by my wife. Moreover, practicing for a fancy dress party had always seemed like a plausible cover up, especially as I could always count on a future public event I would have to attend as a woman, whether it was an actual fancy dress party or not. It certainly seemed to appease most people who only saw me from time to time, including my mother. While sceptical at first, once having seen pictures of me from the actual party, she agreed that it did indeed made sense to practice beforehand, and that I made a very convincing woman. Still, I was constantly worried that someone might see through this excuse. I had just never thought that my wife’s assistant had the intellect, or the interest, to figure it out.

“What goes on between my wife and I is none of your business,” I said dryly, taking care not to sound disrespectful, and at the same time wondering if Erica Anna indeed knew the true reason behind my cross dressing.
“That’s where you’re wrong, see,” she said, “It literally is my business.”
I let my anger get the best of me.
“I’m sorry, but I find it very difficult to believe that Caroline sent you here to snoop into our marriage,” I spat.
“She didn’t,” she said, “She didn’t have to. Caroline is not my boss.”
“Oh no?” I said angrily, “Who is, then?”
“Caroline is my co-worker,” she replied calmly, “My boss is the same as hers, the CEO of the company.”
“Really?” I said sarcastically, “And the CEO happened to tell you to come here tonight.”
“I realize this is upsetting to you,” she began.
“You’re my wife’s personal assistant,” I hissed at her, “Don’t let it get to your head. And don’t stick your nose where it fucking doesn’t belong.”
Retaining her calmness, she gave me an icy stare that quickly made me realize I had pushed too far. After waiting for another moment, she continued with the same restrained composure.
“Caroline has her position with its job description, and I have mine. My job,” she said, “Is to make sure that there are no obstacles which would prevent Caroline from focusing on her job. In other words, my job is to help Caroline to live, and function, up to her full potential, and it’s clear to me that this won’t happen until she is distracted by what’s going on in her marriage. So I’m here to make that stop.”
I swallowed hard.
“How?” I asked weakly.
“Be honest with me, Simon,” she said, with a kinder tone, “There is no fancy dress party, is there?”
I looked at her pleadingly.
“There will be one,” I said, “Eventually.”
“Simon, please,” she smiled, “Be honest with yourself. This has been going on for long enough.”
I took a deep, sighing breath. In a way, it made sense that Erica Anna would be the one to figure out the truth, despite not being the sharpest tool in the shed. For one thing, she was a frequent visitor to our house, so she had a lot of opportunities to pick up on what was going on. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t even be surprised it if turned out that it was Caroline who told her everything. Even though she Erica Anna was her assistant, her own claims notwithstanding, she did have a remarkable influence over my wife.
“Erica Anna, look…” I began, but she stopped me.
“You don’t have to explain,” she said, “I know your sort.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, flabbergasted, “My sort?”
“You’re kind of men,” she smiled, then added boastingly, “I’ve done my research. I’ve read about this, and I would like to say it up front that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a woman.”
With my mouth agape in astonishment, it took all of my concentration to keep from breaking out in a smile as a wave of relief swept over me. The fool girl didn’t know anything, after all. A sense of panic crept back up my spine nonetheless. Erica Anna was not the sort of person I would trust with such a notion. Still, my secret was safe, and all I had to do now was to humour Erica Anna before my wife came home and set things straight.
 “I realize that it might appear that way,” I said, trying to stop her, but she didn’t seem to hear me.
“And frankly, in your case it only makes perfect sense to be a woman, anyhow,” she said, matter-of-factly.
I looked at her bluntly.
“I beg your pardon?” I said.
“Oh come on, look at yourself,” she said, “You don’t look very macho, do you? You’re short and thin, and you’ve got these soft manners about you. You’ll fit in as a woman way better than you ever could as a man.”
“Well thank you for this… encouragement,” I said, not altogether without bitterness, “But I assure you that I in fact don’t want to become a woman.”
“Well, I can assure you that you do,” she said, “I’ve told you that I’ve read about it. A lot of men who became women didn’t know it was what they wanted until quite late in their lives. In fact, they had no idea about it until, by some chance or other, they dressed up as a woman for the first time. They realized they liked it, kept doing it until finally transitioning.”
I cringed inwardly at the emphasis she put on that word.
“Be that as it may,” I said again, but she didn’t listen this time either.
“That’s what’s happened with you,” she stated confidently.
“What, exactly?” I asked.
“At the Halloween party last year, when you dressed up as a woman,” she said, “That’s when you realized you liked it. Since then, you’ve been trying on Caroline’s clothes more and more. Now, you’re dressing up almost every other day. Meanwhile, your marriage suffers.”
Based on what she had seen, it was hard to argue with that logic.
“Before we discuss this further,” she said, before I could think of an effective counterargument to her reasoning, “I think it’s time you changed in proper clothes.”
I felt my heart skip a beat as I weighted my options. After what she had just said, putting on women’s clothes would play right into her way of seeing things and make it harder to argue it wasn’t accurate.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I said weakly.
“Well, I’m not leaving until you do,” she said.
On the other hand, she had seen me dressed up several times before. As far as she was concerned, I had been dressing up on my own accord and so dressing up one more time would in fact change nothing about her perception. Moreover, in the time it would take me to change, Caroline would surely be home already.
“If you insist…” I said, “But it might take a while.”
“I do,” she replied, “And I can give you a hand if you have any trouble.”
With the unspoken threat handing in the air, I hurried off to the bedroom. While Caroline has long since stopped telling me specifically which clothes she wanted me to wear, there was no doubt that she preferred me in gauzy dresses, full skirts and frilly blouses, so I dressed accordingly. But seeing how I wasn’t going to dress up on her demand this time, I thought I could try something different. Instead of a frilly dress, I opted for a smart charcoal grey skirt suit that had caught my attention a couple of days ago and I remembered wondering if I’d feel any less hopelessly dominated by my wife if I wore something like that instead of my frilly dresses. It did feel different, however, the pastel blue blouse that I paired it with, with its frilled bodice and by revealing my teal lace trimmed lingerie, did a lot to diminish the severity of the suit.
Erica Anna nodded in approval when I got back.
“Feels much better now, doesn’t it?” she said.
“I don’t know,” I said sheepishly.
“Simon,” she said, taking both of my arms in hers, “You have every right to be happy.”
The sincerity of her voice moved me almost to tears, and I felt a pang of guilt for not having been more honest with her from the beginning.
“But Caroline deserves to be happy, too,” she continued, and a sense of panic struck into me. Instinctively, I tried to pull my hands back in my lap, but they were immobilized by Erica Anna’s vicelike grip.
“What… what do you mean?” I asked, “Isn’t she happy?”
“Do the fights you’ve been having make it look like she’s happy?” she said, “It’s time you put a stop to it. And I’m here to make sure that you do.”
“By dressing up even more?” I asked, incredulously.
“Caroline needs stability in her life,” Erica Anna said, “Of course she owes you her support, but in the end, your home is where she turns to for support, too. It’s clear to me that the strain of your transition is already taking its toll, what with all the fights you’ve been having recently. Caroline deserves not having to deal with the uncertainty and the stress of living with a husband who is constantly flipping between a man and a woman. It’s time for you to finish your transition, Simon.”
“Or I could just stop dressing up altogether?” I feebly offered.
“Oh, Simon,” Erica Anna smiled at me, “You owe it, if not to yourself, then to those you share your life with, to be honest with yourself. It is not just to yourself that you’re lying, but to your wife as well. I’m here to help you in that feat of honesty, in becoming a woman.”
For all of the power and executive attitude it radiated, it did not help to wear my wife’s skirt suit for this conversation. I realized that holding out until Caroline got home would be much harder than I had thought.
“I know that you’ve read this is how it happens,” I said, warily, “But it’s not unheard of that some men dress up as women without actually wanting to become women. At least not the whole time. Just for fun, you know? Become a woman, maybe, but just temporarily?”
“I have heard of that,” Erica Anna replied, “But as I’ve said, Caroline can’t have temporary solutions, based on what’s fun or not in the whim of a moment. She needs permanent solutions.”
“Just for the sake of argument,” I said, “How can you be sure I’m not one of these men? That I don’t actually want to become a woman? You did say that my happiness was important, too.”
 “Well, I do have to give you the benefit of doubt, don’t I?” she said, “So here’s what I’ll do. Did you know that before they allow a man to undergo sex reassignment surgery, they have a test to make sure it’s what he really wants?”
Her words send a chill up my spine. Sex reassignment surgery? I wasn’t gently pulling against her, anymore, I was wildly bucking at her hands, trying to get away, but she kept her grip. Eventually, I had to accept that I was not going to get away from her and sat down again, this time right next to her.
“Do you know what the test is?” she asked me, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just been going on.
“No,” I replied, defeated.
“It’s really clever,” she quipped, “They make him live as a woman for a set period of time, like a year or so. This is what I’m going to do with you. You will live as a woman for a year, and then, if you’re certain it’s not what you want, you can go back to being a man.”
Although still too shocked to speak, I was relieved that at least she did not have the worst planned for me. A couple of moments passed and as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal, I realized that nothing had really changes. I still only needed to make Erica Anna think I was engaging in the conversation while waiting for Caroline to come home and put an end to this nonsense, although I couldn’t see as clearly how she would do that as before. At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder how Caroline and me would settle our arguments if I did dress like a woman the whole time.
“What about my work?” I asked carefully.
The only place I was safe from Caroline’s punishments was at work, which remained my sole sanctuary of my masculinity and independence, despite the fact that my salary was now transferred directly to Caroline’s account, to which I had no access to.
“What about it?” she replied.
“I can’t just show up as a woman, can I?” I said.
“Actually, I don’t see why you couldn’t,” she replied, “There are laws which prevent them from firing you over that, and even if they did, or you didn’t want to work there anymore, you can always count on an opening in our company.”
The assertiveness of her voice made me realize that this was not just some wild fantasy anymore.
“As a woman?” I asked.
“What else?” she asked, “Actually, with you employed by our company, it would be much easier for me to help you with all that you’ll need to do.”
“What do you mean?” I said, worriedly.
“I’ll help you change your official documents,” she explained, “And your health plan would cover certain medical procedures, even surgical ones.”
“Surgery?” I whinced.
“Well,” she said, “More like cosmetic procedures. Facial hair removal, some botox, nothing serious.”
“But why?” I said, “Isn’t this going to be just a test?”
“Of course it is,” she said, “But you need to go through it as a woman, not as a man dressed like one.”
“I see,” I muttered absently.
“Now, I understand you call yourself Simone,” she said.
“That’s what Caroline calls me,” I replied.
“Too close to Simon,” she retorted, “Susan is a much more suitable name. Susan Margaret Perkins.”
“Perkins?” I repeated my wife’s maiden name, which she had taken to use professionally lately.
“You do want to remain being married to Caroline, don’t you?” she said.
“Shouldn’t we discuss this all with Caroline, first?” I asked, in a last ditch attempt to solve the situation at least partially by myself.
“I will,” she said, “Later on. Though don’t worry about Caroline, she will know that what you will do is the right thing for her.”
“How can you say that without talking to her first?” I asked.
“Caroline and I have a special relationship,” she said, “I don’t have a job because I’d know a lot about retail or logistics or marketing like Caroline does. I have a job because I know what a person needs, and what a person wants much better than they know it themselves. I won’t deny that Caroline often struggles to accept what I tell her, but in the end she always does, and she always benefits from it. She is able to do a better job, and that is all that matters in the end.”
“I do hope that we will be able to form the same sort of relationship,” she went on, “And in a way, I feel that we have already started. But, as Caroline will tell you, I do need to you to acknowledge your acceptance of this relationship.”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” I said.
“Smart girl,” she smiled.
“How do you want me to acknowledge it?” I asked.
“We will perform a ceremony,” she said, “A highly symbolic one though at the same time I often find it very practical. You might find it a tad embarrassing, but I promise you that I will be as dignified about it as possible.”
Wordlessly, I nodded.
“Stand beside me, please,” she said.
Obediently, I stood up, smoothing down my skirt. Erica Anna straightened herself on the sofa, uncrossed her legs, pressed her knees together and, looking me straight in the eye, patted her lap.
With hot tears of humiliation welling up behind my eyes, I lowered myself across the knees of my wife’s assistant for a ceremonial spanking. Just as she succeeded to hike up my tight skirt and reveal my panties, I heard the hallway door open.
“Try to keep count,” Erica Anna said cheerfully, “Caroline usually cries at the sixth stroke, don’t you, Caroline?”

With my satin clad behind exposed, I glared at the ashen faced figure of my wife in the corner of the living room. Suddenly, I was not feeling so much humiliated as cheated, and tricked into letting myself be spanked by my wife’s assistant, and dressed in my wife’s clothes. Determined not to give either of the women the satisfaction of crying, I clenched my teeth, thought the force of the first blow caught me by surprise and I twitched in pain, bucking my head. When I raised my eyes up to the hallway door, Caroline was nowhere to be seen anymore. I felt disgusted by the fact that the same authoritarian woman who, with the threat of spanking, had been forcing me to put on dresses, was for all that time being spanked herself, by a girl half her age. Even though waiting for the second blow seemed to take an eternity, it landed on my buttocks before the pain of the first one had fully subsided. I couldn’t help but audibly draw a sharp breath as my body, again, involuntarily shook and contorted. Keeping my head down, I noticed Caroline sit down at the opposing sofa. The look in her eyes was not the look of force and determination I had come to know, but a strange, frightened look of a woman wondering if she was next in line for the same treatment that I was just receiving. A sense of dread crept over me as I realized that Caroline’s presence would not even a little change the fact I was completely at Erica Anna’s mercy. I realized that this was no time to try to impress my suddenly irrelevant wife with my stubbornness. Instead, I needed to make Erica Anna aware I was acknowledging our special relationship while I, at the same time acknowledged that I would indeed be living as a woman from now on. At the third blow, I waved my arms and kicked my legs theatrically, and let out an not altogether faked high pitched, girlish scream. Then, the tears started to flow.

1 comment:

Lupe Maid said...

It is very interesting and is a new original story. Thanks, congratulations ,you are a amazing writter.