Hey, it's me. Look, I'm sorry to have woken you up. But I never would have called you in the middle of the night if it wasn't damned important.
I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to treat it as if it's the most important question anyone has ever asked you. That means no kidding around, no dodging it, no bullshit. You're the one person I know who will tell me the truth. Everyone else has gone crazy.
First, though, I want you to shut up and listen for a few minutes while I tell you what's happened to me over the past couple of days. Then, I'll ask my question, and you are going to give me a straight answer.
You remember Katy, my roommate. She was the kind of short one with the long brown hair. But she had the standard package I go for--big tits and nice ass, a real woman's curves. Just like all my other roommates. Plus, she had a real cute face, with the high cheek bones and the little, thin nose, and whenever she smiled, it was this big, wide grin that showed a lot of teeth.
But her best feature was her eyes. She had a pair of big, green eyes that were friendly most of the time, but could bore right into you if she was mad. There was something about the way she could look at you that made it seem as if she was trying to drill two lasers through you. She could be that intense.
Katy had been my roommate for about four months. Well, girlfriend, actually. I mean, we were never obvious about it. No holding hands, no kissing, no public displays of affection. But, I figured you and everyone else knew that we were an item.
We had only known each other a couple of weeks when she had moved in. I could tell right away that she took the relationship a lot more seriously than I did. She started reminding me of our little anniversaries. One day, it was one month since we had met. Then, six weeks. Then, two months. And so on. She always left little love notes stuck to the refrigerator. Plus, she was always dropping hints about how much she wanted to get married and have kids. We'd drive by an old-fashioned stone church and she'd say, "Wow, wouldn't that be a great place to have a wedding!" She'd see parents out with little kids and she'd coo and say, "Oh, don't they look happy!" And so on.
Don't get me wrong. I liked her and the sex was great. But there was no way I was getting married or having kids. I don't play that game, and I told her so, more than once.
Then, the night before last, we were sitting in my apartment and the marriage stuff came up again. One minute, we're sitting there watching the news. The next--and I still can't remember how it started--she's telling me that we should get engaged. Like the other times, I say, no, that's not for me. This time, though, she didn't let up. She started crying and blubbering that I didn't take her seriously, that I was using her without loving her. You know--standard hurt-girl stuff.
Finally, I stood up and said, "Look, I like my life just the way it is. You can either take me the way I am or get out!" I put on my jacket. "I'm going out for a couple of hours. You make up your mind whether you want to stay or leave. But if you stay, I don't ever want to hear this marriage junk again. Otherwise, it's been great, really."
You know me. I gave her a clear choice--my way or the highway. She was bawling pretty hard when I closed the door behind me.
I headed to a bar. While I watched a baseball game on the big-screen television, I nursed a couple of beers. I also looked around for any available women to start talking to, but it was a weeknight and the place was almost empty. Slim pickings, at best. So, when the game was over, I drove home, alone.
Like I figured, she had cleaned out all her stuff and her car was gone. She was too much into the whole marriage thing to stay. The only thing that Katy left behind was a handwritten note on the dining room table. It was her parting shot, and she gave me a good one.
The first part of her letter was the usual break-up stuff. She was angry. She loved me with all her heart, and I had really hurt her. I would never be truly happy until I had committed to a long-term relationship. Blah, blah, blah.
But it was how the note ended that got me. She wrote, "Your greatest fault is that you love yourself too much to love others. And if I do nothing, you will use and hurt some other woman. Thus, I will make the penalty fit the crime.
In big, black letters across the bottom of the page, she scrawled, "I curse you! From the depths of my soul, and with all the powers at my disposal, I curse you to lose your manhood. And the only one not to know it, will be you."
I actually shuddered when I read that, even though I didn't understand what she meant. Curse me? She was always a little weird. But rather than think about it any more, I crumpled up the paper and threw it away. It was the last bit of garbage I shoved into a plastic bag, and I took it right out to the dumpster in the parking lot. I tossed it in with a hard shove, and the bag made a ringing echo when it hit the side of the metal canister. There, I thought, take that Katy! You and your stupid curse.
I got back to my apartment and went to bed. I was out right away. The next thing I knew, the alarm clock was going off, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing until I finally swung my arm over to shut it off. That was the first thing that was unusual that morning, because I usually could get up without the alarm clock waking me up. But my mind was in a real fog. Even though I had gotten my usual seven hours of sleep, it was as if I hadn't slept at all. I was so exhausted.
Still, I went through my daily going-to-work routine: turn on the television, grab a big glass of orange juice and a couple slices of buttered toast, head to the bathroom to shower and shave. As I did, though, there were a lot of little signs that something was off. My hand could barely grip my favorite big cup. When I showered, my skin felt soft and sensitive, especially on my chest, and my legs felt smooth to the touch. I shaved, but my face and neck felt as clean as if I had already shaved that morning. Plus, when I looked into the mirror over the sink, I was looking at the bottom, instead of the middle. When I put on my pants, shirt and tie, everything felt baggy and too long, like I had dropped about forty pounds. When I tightened my belt, I had to keep going past the usual hole in the loop which fit my waist, all the way to the last possible hole. Even that felt loose. And when I put my shoes on, they were real loose, even though I pulled the laces as tightly as I could.
Finally, I grabbed my briefcase and went out to the car. As usual, I unlocked the door and tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat. But when I sat in the driver's seat, it was as if someone else had been sitting there and had changed all the settings. It was too low, and too far back. The steering wheel was too high, and all the mirrors were off. I had to spend a couple of minutes getting everything right, and the whole time, I'm wondering who broke into my locked car and messed everything up.
Then, I pulled my seat belt across my chest and buckled myself in, but the belt seemed tight and uncomfortable. And no matter how much I fiddled with the belt adjustments, it kept pressing into my chest, and rubbing my shirt against my skin.
The funny thing was that none of this made much of an impression on me at the time. I was still in my mental fog. After fighting rush hour traffic all the way in, I was glad when I finally pulled into the parking lot.
I walked through the front door and flashed my usual confident smile. As I passed the front desk, I nodded to Betty, the receptionist. But instead of smiling back and giving me a breezy "Good morning, Brian", her eyes went wide and she looked me up and down. That made me do a double take. Was there something wrong? Was my fly open? Was my tie on wrong? As I kept walking past, I gave myself a quick inspection, but everything was clean and in place. Except for the bagginess of my suit, I was your normal gray-suit office type, heading into work. Yet, as I looked back at Betty, she was still staring at me as if I had grown an extra head. She gave me the willies.
I put my head down and walked a little faster to the safety of my office, Room 213. My name and title were still the same on the nameplate--B. Nelson, Assistant Accounts Receivable Manager. I shoved my key into the lock, pushed the door open and slipped in quickly, shutting the door behind me. I exhaled my relief. Maybe, I thought, I could finally settle down and relax.
I sat down at my desk and started in on my work. After a couple of minutes, this woman from across the hall, Angela, knocked lightly and stuck her head though the door. She had a big grin on her face. "Mornin', Bee. How's every little thing?" Bee? What was that about? But I just let it go.
Angela took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee and said, "Did you see that cute delivery guy when you came in?" She giggled. "Maybe I should order something, just so he can deliver it to me."
Wow, I thought, she's acting strangely. She had never talked to me like that before. I don't know how to describe it, except "girly". She was friendly, but real girly.
Anyway, Angela prattled on about her two little kids and how adorable they were when she dropped them off at school that morning. I smiled back at her and nodded, pretending to give a damn.
I'd been working on her for weeks to get her to go out with me. I mean, she was pretty hot, with a great figure, plus deep, brown eyes and thick brown hair. She's not shy about the skimpy little skirts she wears, either.
But the other times I had talked to her, she always seemed uncomfortable. I thought she was attracted to me, but I guess the whole dating-at-work thing kept her from accepting my invitations to get a drink after work.
This time, though, Angela ended the conversation by asking me to sit with her during lunch. I was startled and my jaw almost hit the floor when she asked. She was so warm and friendly about it, like we were already best friends. Of course, I accepted. She smiled and gave a little wave and closed the door behind her.
Well, I thought, things were looking up. I felt a little better as I went on with my work. Finally, noon came. I stood up to leave, and I almost fell over, tripping over the cuffs of my pants. I had to reach down and pull the cuffs out from underneath my heels. I couldn't figure that out, either. Had the stiching come undone? I didn't have any pins, so I rolled up the cuffs. It looked like hell, but at least I wasn't going to keep stepping on my own pants.
I got to the cafeteria. The room was half full, with people spread out among ten long tables. Everyone turned and looked at me. That was strange, because I knew them all, more or less, and I'd been eating lunch in that same room for six and a half years. But this time, for some reason, people were staring.
In the far corner, Angela raised herself out of her chair and waved me over. I put my head down and shuffled quickly over, ignoring the stares that followed me. As I walked past Tom, Jeff and Andy--the three bozos I usually ate with--I heard them snort and chuckle. I managed to give them a mean look before I got to Kathy's table, but that only made them laugh harder. I could feel my face turning four shades of red.
I slid into the seat next to Angela and dropped my bag lunch on the table. Finally, everyone else in the room went back to their own business. As I slid my daily allowance of junk food out onto the table, Angela grinned and whispered into my ear, "Hey, good going. You really got their attention."
I snorted my disgust. "Jerks. I should just go over there and find out what's so damn funny. And I'll beat the crap out of the one dumb enough to answer me."
Angela frowned. I don't think she knew how to answer that. After trying to think of something for a couple of seconds, she changed the subject. "So, how are you and your roommate getting along?"
I groaned. "Funny that you should mention my roommate. We broke up last night." I sighed as if I were upset. This was the perfect opportunity for me to score sympathy points with Angela, and to let her know I was available.
I leaned over and adopted a confidential tone. "She wanted to get married, and I said there was no way I ever would. And, I put my foot down--no way, I told her. So, I left, and she was gone when I got back."
Angela frowned as if she could not comprehend what I was saying. Still, she stayed quiet while I finished. "Anyway," I said, "the only thing she left me was a little goodbye note. She cursed me, if you can believe it. And I don't mean she swore at me. I mean, she actually put a curse on me. Like she was a witch and I was the prince that she wanted to turn into a toad." I wanted to laugh, but this time I didn't think my own joke was funny.
By the end of my story, Angela was totally confused. "Get married? What are you talking about? I thought you had a girl for a roomate."
I felt a little flash of temper, then. "Yeah, I just told you! 'She'--that bitch Katy--put a curse on me. Nothing's gone right for me since then."
For a second, I thought Angela was going to cry. She stabbed her fork a couple of times into her spagetti, with this doe-eyed, hurt look on her face. Finally, she sighed and started to eat. She didn't talk much after that.
I stewed for a few minutes more before I settled down and finished my meal. I knew my chances with Angela were gone, but I wasn't going to admit defeat by getting up and leaving. When one o'clock rolled around, I was very civil and thanked Angela for lunch and left. She gave me a little half-smile and nodded, but stayed quiet. I guess I freaked her out.
After I got back to my office, I worked for about an hour. It helped me to calm down, moving papers from the in to the out basket. But just when I thought I might be able to make it through the rest of the day without having to go out again, nature called. It was time to pee, right then.
The bathrooms were just down the hall, so I was hoping I could make it there and back without running into anyone. I stuck my head out into the hall, and it was quiet. I almost tip-toed down the hall, and used my key to let myself into the men's room.
There was only one other person in there--Tom, one of the three guys who thought I was so funny at lunch. I was still mad, so I looked right at him and growled, "Hey, Tom. Buddy."
This time, though, he wasn't laughing. He stared goggle-eyed at me as if I had grown antlers out of the side of my head. And I don't know whether he was coming in or going out, but he didn't stay long. By the time I got to the urinal, he beat it out of there.
That was fine with me, because I was in no mood to converse. I unzipped my pants and got ready to relieve my bladder. Then, I let loose.
But the damnedest thing happened. I wet myself! All over my pants, all over the floor. Once I started, I couldn't stop until I was completely soaked from the waist down. Not one drop made it into the urinal.
After it was over, I just stood there in shock. Urine was dripping from my clothes into a big puddle on the tile floor. I yelled, "Fuck!" The sound must have echoed fifty times around that room.
I knew I had to do something before someone else came in. I reached over to a dispenser on the wall and pulled out two big handfuls of paper towels. I dabbed my clothes and wiped the floor until I had cleaned it up as best as I could. But the room smelled like piss and I had big black stains all down the front of my gray pants. And I just stewed the whole time. This was the cap to a really bad day.
Then, as I was about to leave, something strange happened. I was shoving the clump of wet towels into a garbage can. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was this petite, thin girl with short cut, sandy-blonde hair, wearing a man's shirt and tie, standing next to the garbage can. For a second, I froze, wondering if someone else was in the room.
When I looked up and faced the mirror, though, she was gone. It was just me, Brian Nelson, the idiot who had pissed all over himself. I shook my head in disgust. I thought I was going nuts.
I managed to get out of there and back to my office without anyone seeing me. But I knew my work day was over. There was no change of clothes in my office, and I was just going to stink up the place if I stayed. I turned my computer off and left a note on my desk that I was sick and had to go home.
Not wanting to go back past Betty at the front reception, I slipped out one of the side doors and made it back to my car. A couple of people I didn't know were out there, but they were on the other side of the lot, and I was walking between cars. They didn't pay any attention to me. I made it to my car and got in as fast as I could.
As I pulled out of the lot, I took a big, deep breath of relief. Maybe I could catch a break, and no one would realize I had left early. I could get my head together once I got home.
I made it to my apartment. Once inside my door, I stripped, shoving my smelly clothes into the washing machine. I headed to the bathroom, and took a long, hot, relaxing shower. Going in, I had felt dirty and disgusting. But the shower was wet and warm, and I took my time. It hadn't felt that good to clean myself in a long time. I enjoyed the sensations of the lathering and rinsing as I washed myself from head to toe. By the time I stepped out from the stall and toweled off, I felt like a new man.
When I walked back into my bedroom, it was a chilly contrast to the hot, moist air of the bathroom. Goosebumps came up all over my naked body. I wrapped myself in an old bathrobe, and right away the fibers started to itch my skin. For some reason, my favorite robe was too uncomfortable, so I slipped on a loose-fitting tee-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. The soft cotton felt a lot better against my body.
As I was rummaging through my dresser, though, I noticed something strange. Mixed in with my clothes, there were women's clothes--panties, bras, halter tops and blouses. I went to the closet. Among my blue and gray suits and my white dress shirts, there was a collection of multicolored dresses, skirts, and pant suits. On the closet floor, mixed in with my clunky men's dress shoes, there were several pairs of girl's shoes--pumps, sandals, and loafers.
This was really weird. I couldn't imagine Katy leaving any of her stuff behind. Besides, she had her own little dresser and a separate closet. She never mixed her stuff in with mine.
I crossed to the other side of the bedroom. The places where Katy had kept her clothes were empty. Besides, this stuff didn't look like anything I had ever seen Katy wearing. I couldn't figure it out.
As I stood there, a reflection in the dressing table mirror caught my attention. For an instant, I saw the same, petite, sandy-blonde haired woman I had seen in the bathroom mirror at work. This time, though, she was wearing my tee-shirt and gym shorts, standing where I should have seen myself.
Startled, I snapped my head around and faced the mirror. But there was only me, Brian Nelson. I even walked over and put my face right up to the reflection. I was so close, I could see the stubble in my half-day old beard. But my shirt and shorts seemed way too loose on me, and I could swear I was about three or four inches shorter than I should have been.
Then, I remembered Katy's little goodbye note. What had she said? I remembered the curse part, but I couldn't remember the exact words. Right then, I wished that I'd saved that piece of paper instead of making such a point to throw it away.
As I searched my memory, I wandered back into the main room of the apartment. Something on top of the dining room table caught my eye--a little piece of paper. A cold shot of fear went through me. It couldn't be! But it was--Katy's note.
My hands were shaking as I picked it up and read it again. There is was, the curse, in big, angry letters, "From the depths of my soul, and with all the powers at my disposal, I curse you to lose your manhood. And the only one not to know it, will be you." The same shiver went up my spine that I felt when I read it the first time.
For the first time all day, I felt as if the fog was starting to lift from my brain. All the little details that made my day strange, the ones I barely noticed as the day had gone along, started to link together. Lose my manhood? It was a frightening thought. I looked at myself again in the bedroom mirror. The image reflected back was still me. But my memory was haunted by the image that I had barely glimpsed twice that day--the petite, sandy-blonde haired woman wearing my clothes.
Then, a wild idea hit me. I thought about the women's clothes mixed in with my own. They were real. I had seen them, had touched them with my fingers. If they were part of Katy's curse, then they should fit me.
This sounds weird coming from me, I know. I had never tried on female clothing before, even as a joke. But at that moment, it seemed the best thing for me to do. And all my regular clothes seemed suddenly way too big.
I took off my tee-shirt and gym shorts, and stood completely naked in front of the mirror. Yup, I thought, that's me. Brian Nelson, the same thirty year old, slightly pudgy man with thinning brown hair you know. I looked just the same as I always had, penis included.
Then, almost as if I were handling radioactive material, I picked out some of the women's clothing in my dresser and closet. I put on some white cotton panties. I wrapped a bra around my chest, snapped the clasp and spun it around until the cups were in front, then slipped the straps over my shoulders. For a moment, it felt uncomfortable, then I pulled at the elastic until the bra seemed to settle on my chest.
I moved to the bed and sat down. Slipping first one foot and the other into a pair of white sheer pantyhose, I slid the material slowly up my legs, letting it cling to the contours of my calves and then my thighs. Finally, I pulled the waist band over my hips until the material wrapped tightly around my lower body. But instead of feeling constricted in the groin, or uncomfortable, it felt nice, almost pleasurable.
To complete the outfit, I put on a collared, baby blue short sleeve blouse, and a short, flower patterned skirt that only went halfway down my thighs. Finally, I slipped on a pair of black leather mary janes, balancing myself on the three inch high heels.
When I faced the mirror again, I burst out laughing. A thirty year old guy in drag was reflected back, complete with a little beer belly that filled out the top of the pantyhose. I couldn't believe that I was so stupid. Katy had really gotten into my head, to the point where I was putting on women's clothing for the first time in my life.
Then, my laughter slowed, then stopped. The strange thing was that the clothes felt really good on me, even the bra and pantyhose. When I had held them in my hands, they seemed too small for my body. I thought I was going to have to tug and pull to put them on. But I didn't, and now that the clothes were on me, they felt good. They felt like they belonged.
As I stood there thinking about it, the absolute worst thing that could have happened, did happen. There was a knock at my front door. I froze. Fear shot through me like a lightening bolt. I waited, listening. Maybe whoever it was would go away.
But after a couple of seconds, the knocks started again, this time more insistent. A woman's voice came through the door. "Hello? Are you awake? Hello!" It was Angela, of all people.
I stood absolutely still, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I prayed she would give up and go away.
Angela, though, was insistent. "Come on, Bee. What's wrong? Open up! I know you're in there." She pounded harder. "If you don't open this door, I'm going to call the police!"
Oh, God, I thought. This couldn't get any worse! But I knew Angela was serious, so I did the only thing I could do. Tottering on my new high heels, I crossed the living room and went to the front door. After taking one last, deep breath to calm myself, I opened the door.
Angela, with a very worried expression on her face, had her fist raised as if she were about to knock again. "Oh, Bee! Thank goodness!" She pushed her way past me through the door, almost knocking me over. She was talking about a hundred miles an hour. "I was so worried! I mean, you show up in a man's clothes, and you're acting so strangely, and Tom saw you in the men's bathroom and then heard you yelling and when we looked for you, you were gone!" She stopped to inhale, then patted herself on her chest. "Oh, dear. I have to catch my breath!"
As she did, she did a double-take and looked at me up and down. Then, her face broke into a smile. "Well, I just knew it was a joke! It didn't take long for you to change back into your normal clothes, did it?"
That stunned me. Normal clothes? I was standing there in drag, half-expecting her to run from the room screaming. Instead, she did the last thing I thought would have happened. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, drew me toward her, and gave me a big hug.
It was a good thing she did, because I was starting to feel a little light-headed. For a couple of seconds, I rested my head on her shoulders, not quite able to believe what was happening.
Finally, she let me go, but continued to hold my shoulders. She could see I was having trouble standing. In a warm, friendly voice, she said, "But, oh, honey! You're so pale. I can see why you need to rest."
I opened my mouth, but it took a few more seconds for me to find my voice. I croaked, "Yeah, rest." I swallowed, but my mouth and throat were bone-dry. My voice was hoarse and tense. "I didn't feel well this afternoon, so I came home."
She patted me on the back and led me to the closest chair. She cooed in a motherly tone, "Of course you did, honey. But you really should have said something. Everyone was so worried!"
I shook my head trying to clear it. Real tears were starting to well up in my eyes. "I know. I'm sorry." I cleared my throat and gathered myself as best I could. In the most confident voice I could manage, I said, "But, as you can see, I'm all right now. Just needed a little rest, that's all."
To emphasize the point, I pushed Angela away and stood up. It was a new experience to stand with heels on, but I managed it probably better than I should have.
I gave Angela a reassuring pat on the back and began to guide her toward the front door. "Don't worry, Angela. I'm just a little tired, that's all. Tell everyone I'll be back tomorrow."
She nodded in obvious relief. "Fine, hon. See you tomorrow then." She stood outside the door and gave me a last little wave. "Good night, Bee."
I slammed the door in her face, and twisted the deadbolt. Bee? What the hell was she talking about?
Then, I saw a glint of gold on the kitchen countertop, something I had not noticed before. I walked over, and picked it up.
It was a thin, gold necklace, the kind that has a gold plated name as part of the chain. And dangling below my fingers, there was a small strip of gold script. I straightened it out so I could read the name.
Beverly.
I passed out. I woke up a little while ago, the necklace still in my hand, and with me wearing women's clothes. Now you understand why I had to call you in the middle of the night. Like I said, I have to know the truth, and you are the one person I trust to give it to me straight.
Tell me. Am I a girl?
I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to treat it as if it's the most important question anyone has ever asked you. That means no kidding around, no dodging it, no bullshit. You're the one person I know who will tell me the truth. Everyone else has gone crazy.
First, though, I want you to shut up and listen for a few minutes while I tell you what's happened to me over the past couple of days. Then, I'll ask my question, and you are going to give me a straight answer.
You remember Katy, my roommate. She was the kind of short one with the long brown hair. But she had the standard package I go for--big tits and nice ass, a real woman's curves. Just like all my other roommates. Plus, she had a real cute face, with the high cheek bones and the little, thin nose, and whenever she smiled, it was this big, wide grin that showed a lot of teeth.
But her best feature was her eyes. She had a pair of big, green eyes that were friendly most of the time, but could bore right into you if she was mad. There was something about the way she could look at you that made it seem as if she was trying to drill two lasers through you. She could be that intense.
Katy had been my roommate for about four months. Well, girlfriend, actually. I mean, we were never obvious about it. No holding hands, no kissing, no public displays of affection. But, I figured you and everyone else knew that we were an item.
We had only known each other a couple of weeks when she had moved in. I could tell right away that she took the relationship a lot more seriously than I did. She started reminding me of our little anniversaries. One day, it was one month since we had met. Then, six weeks. Then, two months. And so on. She always left little love notes stuck to the refrigerator. Plus, she was always dropping hints about how much she wanted to get married and have kids. We'd drive by an old-fashioned stone church and she'd say, "Wow, wouldn't that be a great place to have a wedding!" She'd see parents out with little kids and she'd coo and say, "Oh, don't they look happy!" And so on.
Don't get me wrong. I liked her and the sex was great. But there was no way I was getting married or having kids. I don't play that game, and I told her so, more than once.
Then, the night before last, we were sitting in my apartment and the marriage stuff came up again. One minute, we're sitting there watching the news. The next--and I still can't remember how it started--she's telling me that we should get engaged. Like the other times, I say, no, that's not for me. This time, though, she didn't let up. She started crying and blubbering that I didn't take her seriously, that I was using her without loving her. You know--standard hurt-girl stuff.
Finally, I stood up and said, "Look, I like my life just the way it is. You can either take me the way I am or get out!" I put on my jacket. "I'm going out for a couple of hours. You make up your mind whether you want to stay or leave. But if you stay, I don't ever want to hear this marriage junk again. Otherwise, it's been great, really."
You know me. I gave her a clear choice--my way or the highway. She was bawling pretty hard when I closed the door behind me.
I headed to a bar. While I watched a baseball game on the big-screen television, I nursed a couple of beers. I also looked around for any available women to start talking to, but it was a weeknight and the place was almost empty. Slim pickings, at best. So, when the game was over, I drove home, alone.
Like I figured, she had cleaned out all her stuff and her car was gone. She was too much into the whole marriage thing to stay. The only thing that Katy left behind was a handwritten note on the dining room table. It was her parting shot, and she gave me a good one.
The first part of her letter was the usual break-up stuff. She was angry. She loved me with all her heart, and I had really hurt her. I would never be truly happy until I had committed to a long-term relationship. Blah, blah, blah.
But it was how the note ended that got me. She wrote, "Your greatest fault is that you love yourself too much to love others. And if I do nothing, you will use and hurt some other woman. Thus, I will make the penalty fit the crime.
In big, black letters across the bottom of the page, she scrawled, "I curse you! From the depths of my soul, and with all the powers at my disposal, I curse you to lose your manhood. And the only one not to know it, will be you."
I actually shuddered when I read that, even though I didn't understand what she meant. Curse me? She was always a little weird. But rather than think about it any more, I crumpled up the paper and threw it away. It was the last bit of garbage I shoved into a plastic bag, and I took it right out to the dumpster in the parking lot. I tossed it in with a hard shove, and the bag made a ringing echo when it hit the side of the metal canister. There, I thought, take that Katy! You and your stupid curse.
I got back to my apartment and went to bed. I was out right away. The next thing I knew, the alarm clock was going off, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing until I finally swung my arm over to shut it off. That was the first thing that was unusual that morning, because I usually could get up without the alarm clock waking me up. But my mind was in a real fog. Even though I had gotten my usual seven hours of sleep, it was as if I hadn't slept at all. I was so exhausted.
Still, I went through my daily going-to-work routine: turn on the television, grab a big glass of orange juice and a couple slices of buttered toast, head to the bathroom to shower and shave. As I did, though, there were a lot of little signs that something was off. My hand could barely grip my favorite big cup. When I showered, my skin felt soft and sensitive, especially on my chest, and my legs felt smooth to the touch. I shaved, but my face and neck felt as clean as if I had already shaved that morning. Plus, when I looked into the mirror over the sink, I was looking at the bottom, instead of the middle. When I put on my pants, shirt and tie, everything felt baggy and too long, like I had dropped about forty pounds. When I tightened my belt, I had to keep going past the usual hole in the loop which fit my waist, all the way to the last possible hole. Even that felt loose. And when I put my shoes on, they were real loose, even though I pulled the laces as tightly as I could.
Finally, I grabbed my briefcase and went out to the car. As usual, I unlocked the door and tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat. But when I sat in the driver's seat, it was as if someone else had been sitting there and had changed all the settings. It was too low, and too far back. The steering wheel was too high, and all the mirrors were off. I had to spend a couple of minutes getting everything right, and the whole time, I'm wondering who broke into my locked car and messed everything up.
Then, I pulled my seat belt across my chest and buckled myself in, but the belt seemed tight and uncomfortable. And no matter how much I fiddled with the belt adjustments, it kept pressing into my chest, and rubbing my shirt against my skin.
The funny thing was that none of this made much of an impression on me at the time. I was still in my mental fog. After fighting rush hour traffic all the way in, I was glad when I finally pulled into the parking lot.
I walked through the front door and flashed my usual confident smile. As I passed the front desk, I nodded to Betty, the receptionist. But instead of smiling back and giving me a breezy "Good morning, Brian", her eyes went wide and she looked me up and down. That made me do a double take. Was there something wrong? Was my fly open? Was my tie on wrong? As I kept walking past, I gave myself a quick inspection, but everything was clean and in place. Except for the bagginess of my suit, I was your normal gray-suit office type, heading into work. Yet, as I looked back at Betty, she was still staring at me as if I had grown an extra head. She gave me the willies.
I put my head down and walked a little faster to the safety of my office, Room 213. My name and title were still the same on the nameplate--B. Nelson, Assistant Accounts Receivable Manager. I shoved my key into the lock, pushed the door open and slipped in quickly, shutting the door behind me. I exhaled my relief. Maybe, I thought, I could finally settle down and relax.
I sat down at my desk and started in on my work. After a couple of minutes, this woman from across the hall, Angela, knocked lightly and stuck her head though the door. She had a big grin on her face. "Mornin', Bee. How's every little thing?" Bee? What was that about? But I just let it go.
Angela took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee and said, "Did you see that cute delivery guy when you came in?" She giggled. "Maybe I should order something, just so he can deliver it to me."
Wow, I thought, she's acting strangely. She had never talked to me like that before. I don't know how to describe it, except "girly". She was friendly, but real girly.
Anyway, Angela prattled on about her two little kids and how adorable they were when she dropped them off at school that morning. I smiled back at her and nodded, pretending to give a damn.
I'd been working on her for weeks to get her to go out with me. I mean, she was pretty hot, with a great figure, plus deep, brown eyes and thick brown hair. She's not shy about the skimpy little skirts she wears, either.
But the other times I had talked to her, she always seemed uncomfortable. I thought she was attracted to me, but I guess the whole dating-at-work thing kept her from accepting my invitations to get a drink after work.
This time, though, Angela ended the conversation by asking me to sit with her during lunch. I was startled and my jaw almost hit the floor when she asked. She was so warm and friendly about it, like we were already best friends. Of course, I accepted. She smiled and gave a little wave and closed the door behind her.
Well, I thought, things were looking up. I felt a little better as I went on with my work. Finally, noon came. I stood up to leave, and I almost fell over, tripping over the cuffs of my pants. I had to reach down and pull the cuffs out from underneath my heels. I couldn't figure that out, either. Had the stiching come undone? I didn't have any pins, so I rolled up the cuffs. It looked like hell, but at least I wasn't going to keep stepping on my own pants.
I got to the cafeteria. The room was half full, with people spread out among ten long tables. Everyone turned and looked at me. That was strange, because I knew them all, more or less, and I'd been eating lunch in that same room for six and a half years. But this time, for some reason, people were staring.
In the far corner, Angela raised herself out of her chair and waved me over. I put my head down and shuffled quickly over, ignoring the stares that followed me. As I walked past Tom, Jeff and Andy--the three bozos I usually ate with--I heard them snort and chuckle. I managed to give them a mean look before I got to Kathy's table, but that only made them laugh harder. I could feel my face turning four shades of red.
I slid into the seat next to Angela and dropped my bag lunch on the table. Finally, everyone else in the room went back to their own business. As I slid my daily allowance of junk food out onto the table, Angela grinned and whispered into my ear, "Hey, good going. You really got their attention."
I snorted my disgust. "Jerks. I should just go over there and find out what's so damn funny. And I'll beat the crap out of the one dumb enough to answer me."
Angela frowned. I don't think she knew how to answer that. After trying to think of something for a couple of seconds, she changed the subject. "So, how are you and your roommate getting along?"
I groaned. "Funny that you should mention my roommate. We broke up last night." I sighed as if I were upset. This was the perfect opportunity for me to score sympathy points with Angela, and to let her know I was available.
I leaned over and adopted a confidential tone. "She wanted to get married, and I said there was no way I ever would. And, I put my foot down--no way, I told her. So, I left, and she was gone when I got back."
Angela frowned as if she could not comprehend what I was saying. Still, she stayed quiet while I finished. "Anyway," I said, "the only thing she left me was a little goodbye note. She cursed me, if you can believe it. And I don't mean she swore at me. I mean, she actually put a curse on me. Like she was a witch and I was the prince that she wanted to turn into a toad." I wanted to laugh, but this time I didn't think my own joke was funny.
By the end of my story, Angela was totally confused. "Get married? What are you talking about? I thought you had a girl for a roomate."
I felt a little flash of temper, then. "Yeah, I just told you! 'She'--that bitch Katy--put a curse on me. Nothing's gone right for me since then."
For a second, I thought Angela was going to cry. She stabbed her fork a couple of times into her spagetti, with this doe-eyed, hurt look on her face. Finally, she sighed and started to eat. She didn't talk much after that.
I stewed for a few minutes more before I settled down and finished my meal. I knew my chances with Angela were gone, but I wasn't going to admit defeat by getting up and leaving. When one o'clock rolled around, I was very civil and thanked Angela for lunch and left. She gave me a little half-smile and nodded, but stayed quiet. I guess I freaked her out.
After I got back to my office, I worked for about an hour. It helped me to calm down, moving papers from the in to the out basket. But just when I thought I might be able to make it through the rest of the day without having to go out again, nature called. It was time to pee, right then.
The bathrooms were just down the hall, so I was hoping I could make it there and back without running into anyone. I stuck my head out into the hall, and it was quiet. I almost tip-toed down the hall, and used my key to let myself into the men's room.
There was only one other person in there--Tom, one of the three guys who thought I was so funny at lunch. I was still mad, so I looked right at him and growled, "Hey, Tom. Buddy."
This time, though, he wasn't laughing. He stared goggle-eyed at me as if I had grown antlers out of the side of my head. And I don't know whether he was coming in or going out, but he didn't stay long. By the time I got to the urinal, he beat it out of there.
That was fine with me, because I was in no mood to converse. I unzipped my pants and got ready to relieve my bladder. Then, I let loose.
But the damnedest thing happened. I wet myself! All over my pants, all over the floor. Once I started, I couldn't stop until I was completely soaked from the waist down. Not one drop made it into the urinal.
After it was over, I just stood there in shock. Urine was dripping from my clothes into a big puddle on the tile floor. I yelled, "Fuck!" The sound must have echoed fifty times around that room.
I knew I had to do something before someone else came in. I reached over to a dispenser on the wall and pulled out two big handfuls of paper towels. I dabbed my clothes and wiped the floor until I had cleaned it up as best as I could. But the room smelled like piss and I had big black stains all down the front of my gray pants. And I just stewed the whole time. This was the cap to a really bad day.
Then, as I was about to leave, something strange happened. I was shoving the clump of wet towels into a garbage can. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was this petite, thin girl with short cut, sandy-blonde hair, wearing a man's shirt and tie, standing next to the garbage can. For a second, I froze, wondering if someone else was in the room.
When I looked up and faced the mirror, though, she was gone. It was just me, Brian Nelson, the idiot who had pissed all over himself. I shook my head in disgust. I thought I was going nuts.
I managed to get out of there and back to my office without anyone seeing me. But I knew my work day was over. There was no change of clothes in my office, and I was just going to stink up the place if I stayed. I turned my computer off and left a note on my desk that I was sick and had to go home.
Not wanting to go back past Betty at the front reception, I slipped out one of the side doors and made it back to my car. A couple of people I didn't know were out there, but they were on the other side of the lot, and I was walking between cars. They didn't pay any attention to me. I made it to my car and got in as fast as I could.
As I pulled out of the lot, I took a big, deep breath of relief. Maybe I could catch a break, and no one would realize I had left early. I could get my head together once I got home.
I made it to my apartment. Once inside my door, I stripped, shoving my smelly clothes into the washing machine. I headed to the bathroom, and took a long, hot, relaxing shower. Going in, I had felt dirty and disgusting. But the shower was wet and warm, and I took my time. It hadn't felt that good to clean myself in a long time. I enjoyed the sensations of the lathering and rinsing as I washed myself from head to toe. By the time I stepped out from the stall and toweled off, I felt like a new man.
When I walked back into my bedroom, it was a chilly contrast to the hot, moist air of the bathroom. Goosebumps came up all over my naked body. I wrapped myself in an old bathrobe, and right away the fibers started to itch my skin. For some reason, my favorite robe was too uncomfortable, so I slipped on a loose-fitting tee-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. The soft cotton felt a lot better against my body.
As I was rummaging through my dresser, though, I noticed something strange. Mixed in with my clothes, there were women's clothes--panties, bras, halter tops and blouses. I went to the closet. Among my blue and gray suits and my white dress shirts, there was a collection of multicolored dresses, skirts, and pant suits. On the closet floor, mixed in with my clunky men's dress shoes, there were several pairs of girl's shoes--pumps, sandals, and loafers.
This was really weird. I couldn't imagine Katy leaving any of her stuff behind. Besides, she had her own little dresser and a separate closet. She never mixed her stuff in with mine.
I crossed to the other side of the bedroom. The places where Katy had kept her clothes were empty. Besides, this stuff didn't look like anything I had ever seen Katy wearing. I couldn't figure it out.
As I stood there, a reflection in the dressing table mirror caught my attention. For an instant, I saw the same, petite, sandy-blonde haired woman I had seen in the bathroom mirror at work. This time, though, she was wearing my tee-shirt and gym shorts, standing where I should have seen myself.
Startled, I snapped my head around and faced the mirror. But there was only me, Brian Nelson. I even walked over and put my face right up to the reflection. I was so close, I could see the stubble in my half-day old beard. But my shirt and shorts seemed way too loose on me, and I could swear I was about three or four inches shorter than I should have been.
Then, I remembered Katy's little goodbye note. What had she said? I remembered the curse part, but I couldn't remember the exact words. Right then, I wished that I'd saved that piece of paper instead of making such a point to throw it away.
As I searched my memory, I wandered back into the main room of the apartment. Something on top of the dining room table caught my eye--a little piece of paper. A cold shot of fear went through me. It couldn't be! But it was--Katy's note.
My hands were shaking as I picked it up and read it again. There is was, the curse, in big, angry letters, "From the depths of my soul, and with all the powers at my disposal, I curse you to lose your manhood. And the only one not to know it, will be you." The same shiver went up my spine that I felt when I read it the first time.
For the first time all day, I felt as if the fog was starting to lift from my brain. All the little details that made my day strange, the ones I barely noticed as the day had gone along, started to link together. Lose my manhood? It was a frightening thought. I looked at myself again in the bedroom mirror. The image reflected back was still me. But my memory was haunted by the image that I had barely glimpsed twice that day--the petite, sandy-blonde haired woman wearing my clothes.
Then, a wild idea hit me. I thought about the women's clothes mixed in with my own. They were real. I had seen them, had touched them with my fingers. If they were part of Katy's curse, then they should fit me.
This sounds weird coming from me, I know. I had never tried on female clothing before, even as a joke. But at that moment, it seemed the best thing for me to do. And all my regular clothes seemed suddenly way too big.
I took off my tee-shirt and gym shorts, and stood completely naked in front of the mirror. Yup, I thought, that's me. Brian Nelson, the same thirty year old, slightly pudgy man with thinning brown hair you know. I looked just the same as I always had, penis included.
Then, almost as if I were handling radioactive material, I picked out some of the women's clothing in my dresser and closet. I put on some white cotton panties. I wrapped a bra around my chest, snapped the clasp and spun it around until the cups were in front, then slipped the straps over my shoulders. For a moment, it felt uncomfortable, then I pulled at the elastic until the bra seemed to settle on my chest.
I moved to the bed and sat down. Slipping first one foot and the other into a pair of white sheer pantyhose, I slid the material slowly up my legs, letting it cling to the contours of my calves and then my thighs. Finally, I pulled the waist band over my hips until the material wrapped tightly around my lower body. But instead of feeling constricted in the groin, or uncomfortable, it felt nice, almost pleasurable.
To complete the outfit, I put on a collared, baby blue short sleeve blouse, and a short, flower patterned skirt that only went halfway down my thighs. Finally, I slipped on a pair of black leather mary janes, balancing myself on the three inch high heels.
When I faced the mirror again, I burst out laughing. A thirty year old guy in drag was reflected back, complete with a little beer belly that filled out the top of the pantyhose. I couldn't believe that I was so stupid. Katy had really gotten into my head, to the point where I was putting on women's clothing for the first time in my life.
Then, my laughter slowed, then stopped. The strange thing was that the clothes felt really good on me, even the bra and pantyhose. When I had held them in my hands, they seemed too small for my body. I thought I was going to have to tug and pull to put them on. But I didn't, and now that the clothes were on me, they felt good. They felt like they belonged.
As I stood there thinking about it, the absolute worst thing that could have happened, did happen. There was a knock at my front door. I froze. Fear shot through me like a lightening bolt. I waited, listening. Maybe whoever it was would go away.
But after a couple of seconds, the knocks started again, this time more insistent. A woman's voice came through the door. "Hello? Are you awake? Hello!" It was Angela, of all people.
I stood absolutely still, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I prayed she would give up and go away.
Angela, though, was insistent. "Come on, Bee. What's wrong? Open up! I know you're in there." She pounded harder. "If you don't open this door, I'm going to call the police!"
Oh, God, I thought. This couldn't get any worse! But I knew Angela was serious, so I did the only thing I could do. Tottering on my new high heels, I crossed the living room and went to the front door. After taking one last, deep breath to calm myself, I opened the door.
Angela, with a very worried expression on her face, had her fist raised as if she were about to knock again. "Oh, Bee! Thank goodness!" She pushed her way past me through the door, almost knocking me over. She was talking about a hundred miles an hour. "I was so worried! I mean, you show up in a man's clothes, and you're acting so strangely, and Tom saw you in the men's bathroom and then heard you yelling and when we looked for you, you were gone!" She stopped to inhale, then patted herself on her chest. "Oh, dear. I have to catch my breath!"
As she did, she did a double-take and looked at me up and down. Then, her face broke into a smile. "Well, I just knew it was a joke! It didn't take long for you to change back into your normal clothes, did it?"
That stunned me. Normal clothes? I was standing there in drag, half-expecting her to run from the room screaming. Instead, she did the last thing I thought would have happened. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, drew me toward her, and gave me a big hug.
It was a good thing she did, because I was starting to feel a little light-headed. For a couple of seconds, I rested my head on her shoulders, not quite able to believe what was happening.
Finally, she let me go, but continued to hold my shoulders. She could see I was having trouble standing. In a warm, friendly voice, she said, "But, oh, honey! You're so pale. I can see why you need to rest."
I opened my mouth, but it took a few more seconds for me to find my voice. I croaked, "Yeah, rest." I swallowed, but my mouth and throat were bone-dry. My voice was hoarse and tense. "I didn't feel well this afternoon, so I came home."
She patted me on the back and led me to the closest chair. She cooed in a motherly tone, "Of course you did, honey. But you really should have said something. Everyone was so worried!"
I shook my head trying to clear it. Real tears were starting to well up in my eyes. "I know. I'm sorry." I cleared my throat and gathered myself as best I could. In the most confident voice I could manage, I said, "But, as you can see, I'm all right now. Just needed a little rest, that's all."
To emphasize the point, I pushed Angela away and stood up. It was a new experience to stand with heels on, but I managed it probably better than I should have.
I gave Angela a reassuring pat on the back and began to guide her toward the front door. "Don't worry, Angela. I'm just a little tired, that's all. Tell everyone I'll be back tomorrow."
She nodded in obvious relief. "Fine, hon. See you tomorrow then." She stood outside the door and gave me a last little wave. "Good night, Bee."
I slammed the door in her face, and twisted the deadbolt. Bee? What the hell was she talking about?
Then, I saw a glint of gold on the kitchen countertop, something I had not noticed before. I walked over, and picked it up.
It was a thin, gold necklace, the kind that has a gold plated name as part of the chain. And dangling below my fingers, there was a small strip of gold script. I straightened it out so I could read the name.
Beverly.
I passed out. I woke up a little while ago, the necklace still in my hand, and with me wearing women's clothes. Now you understand why I had to call you in the middle of the night. Like I said, I have to know the truth, and you are the one person I trust to give it to me straight.
Tell me. Am I a girl?