Halloween II: The Masquerade (Patreon)

The Masquerade

T.G. Kadee

Jeffrey Sonnet did not hate his life; he did not love it, either. Rather, he endured it. His life, it should be said, was not awful. He worked as an attorney at a law firm in New York City, where he made a good living. He had a wife who was supportive and loving. Did they argue sometimes? Indeed. They were, as I have said, husband and wife. The pair lived in an apartment they had bought on the Upper East Side, and if Jeffrey stood at the very far right of his small balcony and leaned out as far as he could, he was able to see just a sliver of the East River.

But Jeffrey wanted more. He had failed to make partner at his law firm, and though he was a valued member of the team, much regarded for his legal skills, the reason had been made clear to him: he did not bring in business.

Jeffrey’s simmering discontent with his life boiled over, as it were, when his wife came home one day from coffee with her friends; she was starry-eyed and distracted, lost in what Jeffrey recognized as one of her romantic reveries.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked. He still found his wife of seven years fascinating, and he longed to share in whatever event had triggered her romantic soul.

“Oh, nothing,” Mary said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Jeffrey, who had prepared dinner for them both— beef and broccoli in oyster sauce— he prided himself on being a modern man— dished the steaming food from the wok onto plates he’d warmed in the oven, and carried them to the dining room table.

“Come on,” Jeffrey said as he and his wife sat. “Did you see an elderly man buying flowers? A young couple holding hands?” His wife was charmed by such things, and they often touched her heart and left her in just this state.

Normally, Mary shared her experiences with Jeffrey. But this time, his persistence caused her eyes to grow cold and the smile to vanish from her face. It was as if she’d donned a suit of armor, all her emotions carefully hidden behind a skin of cold steel. “It was nothing,” she said. She carefully skewered a strip of beef and a broccoli floret and chewed them. “This is so good. Did you know broccoli helps the body fight cancer? I just read about it…”

Jeffrey sensed that she was changing the subject. Her suddenly secretive demeanor disturbed him. He allowed her to steer the conversation away from her romantic mood on returning home, only to bring it up again as they cleared the table, and then again as they watched The Daily Show, as they used to before bed.

Each time, Mary deflected.

The more Mary deflected, the more Jeffrey grew desperate to know what had happened. His insecurities flared, and he felt affronted by his wife’s refusal to share her life with him. So, finally, after they had gotten into their pajamas and crawled into bed, Jeffery told her just that. “I’m a little hurt,” he said. “That you won’t tell me what happened. You know how much I love it when you are in those rosy moods, and when you refuse to tell me it makes me feel— unloved.”

Mary sighed. “I think you will be upset.”

“Me? No. Why?” Now, Jeffrey simply had to know. “Tell me. I can take it.”

“Promise you won’t be cross.”

“Cross my heart I won’t be cross.”

“Funny.”

“I try.”

“It was— well, you know the Blaise’s?”

Jeffrey hid his disdain for them behind a smile. “Celia and Blaine? Lovely people.”

“Well, Celia came to coffee, and she was wearing— oh, it was the most beautiful diamond necklace. And, it turns out, it had once belonged to Elizabeth Taylor. Richard Burton had given it to her, and Blaine bought it for Celia for their anniversary because she’d seen it in a photograph and had mentioned how much she loved it.”

Jeffrey smiled wider as his insides turned to acid. “Hmmmn. That is very romantic. Good for them,” he said, patting his pillow three times. “See? Not upset at all.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Mary said, though she could plainly see Jeffrey was seething. She knew he felt he was not successful, and in particular that he had failed Mary, didn’t make enough money to provide her with the kind of life he was sure she wanted- fabulous vacations, three homes around the world…. And most of all a child. Ever since they’d discovered that he could not father children, his mania to give her bigger and better things had only gotten worse. She’d told him so many times that she was happy, that she loved him and their life, but he just couldn’t believe her.

Chapter Two

The next day, driven by his desperate need, Jeffrey overcame his hatred and jealousy of Blaine Blaise and did something he would have once thought impossible. He went to Blaine and asked for help. Blaine worked at the same law firm, where he’d been made the youngest partner in the history of the 100-year-old institution. He had a corner office with view of the Empire State Building, and when Jeffrey walked into the office, Blaine popped up from behind his mahogany desk and came around to shake Jeffrey’s hand. “Good to see you, bro,” Blaine said, giving Jeffrey’s hand a firm shake.

“You, too,” Jeffrey said. “Wow. What an office.”

“Yeah. I am one lucky man,” Blaine said, and the fact that he sounded like he really meant it only made Jeffrey hate him all the more.

Jeff started to move toward the chair in front of Blaine’s desk, but Blaine took his elbow and guided him toward the lounge area he’d set up to the side— all couches and stuffed leather chairs. “Here,” Blaine said. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Jeff said.

“Scotch it is,” Blaine said, splashing scotch into a pair of rocks glasses. He carried the drinks over, handing one to Jeff. “I heard only alcoholics drink alone,” Blaine said, the infernal and repugnantly friendly smile on his face. “So, you have to drink, or I’ll turn into one, right?”

Jeff chuckled, taking a sip of the scotch. “I can’t affirm the soundness of that argument, counselor.”

“There he is,” Blaine said. “There’s the Jeff I remember. We should play golf one day, right?”

“As long as you don’t mind losing,” Jeff said, warming to the old boy, old chum small talk.

“Ha! Now, we really have to play,” Blaine said. He sipped his own scotch, sighed. “So, what can I do for you? My secretary said this was business.”

“Well, I didn’t want to just come right in and…”

“It’s fine. What’s up?”

“Well, I was hoping to pick your brain. You’re a rainmaker, and I need to start bringing in clients if I want to make partner. So, and maybe this is out of line, but what’s your secret?”

“The Morningstar Society,” Blaine said in flat, matter of fact voice.

Jeffrey sat back. “You mean, that’s real?”

Everyone who was anyone, or almost someone, had heard rumors of the mysterious Morningstars. It was said to be a secret society made up of the wealthy, the influencers, the people that mattered. Bill Gates. Stephen Spielberg. Warren Buffet. There were other rumors, suggestions of black magic, ancient rituals, even human sacrifice.

Blaine leaned forward, his face now growing dark, his tone serious. “It’s very real,” Blaine said. “And before you even ask— yes. I can get you an invitation.”

Jeffrey stared. He felt like the room had grown darker. Then he laughed. “You almost had me there.”

“I am not joking,” Blaine said. “I am serious. Deadly serious.”

“Just like that? An invitation?”

“Not to join,” Blaine said. “I don’t have that power. But, on October 31st we hold our annual Devil’s Ball. It’s a masquerade. Potential members are invited to— audition. You would have a chance, Jeffrey. Or, I wouldn’t even offer.”

“Audition?”

“The terms will be made clear in the invitation. Yes or no?”

Jeffrey’s instincts were screaming “No.” But, he looked around the office, he thought about his wife, and he nodded. “Hell, yes,” he said.

“Good man,” Blaine said standing, shaking Jeffrey’s hand. “Remember this, my friend. Nothing great comes to any of us without sacrifice."

“Of course,” Jeffrey said.

“And you must tell no one about this. The world believe the Morning Star Society is a myth, and we will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“They better be.”

Chapter Three

Two days later, a blood red envelope with gold lettering was hand delivered to Jeffrey in his office. His heart raced. He knew this was the invitation, that everything Blaine had said was real, and that this was his chance to finally make it in the world. Using a letter opener, he sliced open the top of the envelop and dropped the invitation card into his hand. The card was black, and gold filigree letters shone in the office light as Jeffrey read.

Jeffrey Sonnet

Your presence is requested at the annual All Hallows Masquerade.

The competitors in your group are asked to cross dress.

The most convincing wins.

Your spouse should also cross-dress.

A driver will pick you up at precisely 9:30PM.

Do NOT be late.

.

Cross dress? What? Jeffrey shook his head. This had to be some sort of prank. A way for Blaine to make a fool of him. His anger grew. His fury. How dare that arrogant ass try and make a fool of him!?

“This is no prank,” he heard a voice whisper from behind him.

Jeff spun. There was no one there.

“This is your one chance,” the voice hissed again. Richard spun to once more see nothing, no one.

He turned, slowly, scanning the room. “There’s a hidden speaker somewhere, right? Who is that?”

“Technology makes this so much harder,” the voice said, annoyed. “No one believes I’m a spirit. Open your shirt.”

“Enough of this—“ Jeffrey started to say, but then he felt something, and looking down he saw something moving inside his shirt, pushing, wagging across the fabric, making it wet. It looked almost like an eel. “Fuck,” Jeff said, yanking his shirt open, only to stare in horror as he saw—

A mouth lined with razor sharp rows of teeth, a fat red tongue lolling out obscenely, had appeared on Jeff’s chest. “This is very real!” The mouth screamed. And Jeffrey’s world went black.

Chapter 4

Jeffrey woke with a shout, almost tumbling out of his desk chair. Jane, the administrative assistant he shared with three other non-partners, stared. “Is everything okay?”

Jeff put a hand to his chest, where the mouth had been, but felt only flesh. He looked around, bewildered and terrified, but quickly masked his unease beneath a lawyerly mask of confidence. “Fine. Wow. I must have dozed off. Hey, don’t tell the boss?”

“Mum’s the word,” Jane said, dropping a file on his desk. She turned and left, giving Jeff a nice view of her backside in her tight little skirt. He figured she was a lot of fun in bed. If only I weren’t married…

Just as he was thinking the invitation and demonic mouth thing had been a dream, he saw the blood red envelope, the black invitation on his desk, gold letters sparkling.

‘It was real…” THE voice said. Jeff put his hand to his chest with a start, but there was nothing there.

Chapter 5

“Don’t do it,” Mary said, holding the invitation with two fingers, away from her body as if it were a dead rat. “This is a bad idea.”

“A lot of very important people will be there,” Jeff said. He was not allowed to explain the Morningstar Society to her, of course, but he did want to impress on her the importance of the party.

“All the more reason not to go,” she said, tossing the card onto the coffee table. “I really don’t think people seeing you in a skirt is going to do much for your reputation. Not that you don’t have a pair of really sexy legs, honey.”

“Yeah, well, Blaine Blaise went out on a limb to get me invited. I don’t what to tell him.” Jeff was sitting in his recliner, sipping a glass of bourbon.

“Tell him your wife refuses to dress like a man,” Mary said, walking over and leaning down to give him a kiss. “Blame it on me. He’ll understand.”

“That might put you on the outs with the Blaises,” Jeff said.

“Better than having the sight of you wearing heels burned into my brain.”

“You’re right,” Jeff said. In truth, he was glad his wife had refused and given him an out. The thought of cross-dressing disturbed him, and the thought of doing so in public was positively terrifying.

He went to see Blaine to next day to deliver the news, putting on an air of awe shucks dejection. Blaine had his putter out, idly tapping a golf ball into an electronic catch, that popped it back to him. “That’s not good,” Blaine said, not pausing in his putting. “You sure you want to shitcan your future, buddy?”

“Shitcan?”

“The Morningstar Society will take this as an affront. An insult. An act of pure arrogance. Those same people who could make you a millionaire, will see to it you end up a low rent ambulance chaser.”

“Me? It’s my wife. She won’t do it.”

“If you can’t handle your wife, you can’t handle a million-dollar account,” Blaine said.

Jeff didn’t have an answer, only the sinking feeling that he was in deep, and there was no way out.

“If you care about your career, you’ll show up at the party. And you’ll dress to win,” Blaine said. “But, hey, you do you.”

“Fuck,” Jeff said. “I don’t know anything about crossdressing.”

“I may be able to help you with that.”

Chapter 6

Later that afternoon, Jeff found himself standing at the entrance to 666 Madison Avenue, thinking, seriously? The building was shabby, just another white stone building gone grey from years of car exhaust, a rusting water tank perched on the roof. Dingy lobby. Rickety elevator. There was nothing to inspire confidence in this— he pulled the card from his pocket and looked again at the simple lettering- Leslie Vibe: Stylist.

He got off on the 13th floor, walked down the narrow hall, and came to the last door: also #13. He knocked. The door opened to a suite that couldn’t have contrasted more with the shabby building that house it. A slender young man ushered Jeffrey into a stunningly luxurious waiting room with marble floors, towering plants and a waterfall. “ I’m Jean Vaugh. Ze Vibe will be with you shortly—“ Jean said, but before he could even finish, he was cut off by a booming bass voice shouting, “Darling! Doll! So good to meet you!

Leslie Vibe stood well over six feet tall and looked to weigh over 300 pounds. He grabbed Jeff’s hand with both of his, smothering it in a firm, friendly handshake.

Jeff met the man’s eyes. “I’m Jeffrey…”

“Sonnet, yes,” Vibe said, putting an arm around Jeffrey’s shoulders and guiding him into another room. “Stand still,” Vibe said, grabbing a camera and snapping pictures in a frenzy, circling Jeff, getting low, getting high. While Vibe snapped, Jean brought out a tape measure and took down Jeff’s measurements.

Jeff felt like he’d been caught up in a swirling tornado, and just when he was feeling totally overwhelmed Vibe and his assistant both took positions in front of him, chins in hands, and began to look over him intently.

“Not bad,” Jean said.

“Not good,” Vibe added. “Not bad, but not good.”

“Exquisite cheekbones,” Jean noted. “Feminine chin.”

“Hey—“ Jeff interjected.

“We’ll have to do something about those lips.”

“And the body needs a lot of work. Oh, dear.”

“Do you mind? I’m standing right here,” Jeff said.

Vibe and Jean laughed.

Jeff, as a lawyer, was used to taking command of situations, and he cleared his throat meaning to use his authoritarian voice to set some boundaries. But, before he could, Vibe threw his hands in the air and said, “Omigod! I am going to make you beautiful.” With that, he once more threw an arm over Jeff’s shoulder and swept him right into a salon chair in a corner of the room that looked just like a beauty parlor. Jeff caught a glimpse of his shocked face in the mirror before Vibe spun the chair around so Jeff could no longer see himself.

Jean handed Jeff what looked like a glass of water with cucumber in it and tilting Jeff’s hand toward his mouth, said, “drink, doll. Drink up.” Jeff took a small sip.

“All of it,” Vibe said, rattling around in the counter drawers. “It’s for your skin. To have any chance of winning this contest, you need to do something about that skin, baby.”

Talk of winning the contest reminded Jeff of why he’d come, and he tossed back he rest of the water in one gulp. “Someone’s thirsty!” Jean said, taking the glass. He then punched something on his phone, and the room filled with the sound of waterfalls and women chanting in some foreign language.

“What language is that?” Jeff asked, pulling his face away as Vibe came at him with a pair of tweezers, which Jeff recognized from watching his wife pluck her eyebrows. “You’re not going to touch my eyebrows,” he said. “I have to look normal at work.”

“Normal?”  Vibe scoffed. “Relax, doll,” Vibe said. “Sit back and relax.”

Jeff found himself growing calm, relaxing.

“That’s it. Trust me. Che Vibe is going here to help you.”

“I trust you,” Jeff mumbled as a haze seemed to settle over him. He sat back and sighed. By the time he realized Jean had used to restraints to tie his arms to the chair, it was too late. He struggled. “What is this?”

“Precaution,” Vibe said with a big smile, as Jeff felt something go around his forehead and pin his head in place. “Now, let’s give you some pretty eyebrows.”

“No,” Jeff mumbled. “Stop.”

“Now, now. Che Vibe knows best.”

“Ouch!” Jeff gasped as Vibe began to pluck. “That hurts.”

“Let’s do something about that voice,” Vibe said as he worked.

“Whhhh—- mmmpfff!” Jean slipped a gas mask over Jeff’s mouth and nose.  Jeff saw the tube leading to the gas mask was filled with some sort of cloudy pink gas. It smelled like bubble gum and tasted like sugar. He struggled not to breathe, but eventually had no choice, and he could almost feel his vocal cords growing tighter and tighter. “Stop! No!” He cried out, and with each word his voice seemed to rise half an octave, so that when he asked, “What are you doing to me?” He sounded to himself like a teen-age girl.

The sound of that voice sickened and horrified him. He struggled weakly against his bonds. Jean began to apply fingernail extensions to his hands, as Vibe mercilessly tore out his eyebrows. “Yes, yes,” Vibe said. “You will thank us later.”

“The party is a month away,” Jeff said.

“So little time, but we’ll get you there,” Vibe said.

“Stop! I want out!” Jeff squealed, sounding like a frightened little girl.

“Let it all out,” Vibe said. “This is good. It’s all part of the process.”

Vibe finished with Jeff’s eyebrows, and then he held up long, thick false eyelashes for Jeff to see. “I’m going to use a permanent glue,” he said. “I mean, what you have just ain’t gonna cut it.”

“Permanent? What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Making you sexy,” Jean said, admiring Jeff’s talons.

Jeff tried to hold his eyes wide open, but Vibe used a thumb to pull the lid down, and Jeff felt the lash being applied, first to the right eye, then the left. When Vibe finished, he blinked. He could see the lashes all around the periphery of his vision.

“Jean?” Vibe said, stepping back to admire his handy work.

“So much better,” Jean said. “I mean— night and day.”

“More like Doris Day!” Vibe said, and they both laughed. “Time to give this poor girl some lips.”

“I’ve seen thicker lips on a skull,” Jean said derisively. He removed the gas mask from Jeff’s face.

“Okay,” Jeff said, wincing at the feminine sound of his voice. ‘Let’s pause and— aaahhhhh!” He screamed as Vibe stabbed a needle into his lower lip, and before Jeff could catch his breath, he did the same to the upper lip.  “Fuck!”

“No, darling, collagen,” Vibe said. “And yes. Omigod.”

“She looks like she could suck the chrome right off a firehose,” Jean said. “I’m getting horny just looking at those sexy lips.”

“Would you stop talking about me like that?” Jeff said, smacking his lips, unnerved both by what they were saying and the fact that his lips felt swollen, like he’d been punched in the mouth.

Both Vibe and Jean chuckled. “You’re gonna have to get used it honey,” Vibe said. “Fetch me my wigs.”

“I told you,” Jeff said, trying to put some authority into his squeaky little voice. “The party isn’t for a month.”

Jean came back carrying four wigs— blonde, red, brunette and raven. All were long, thick with luxurious curls and waves. “I don’t see her as a blonde,” Vibe said, picking up a pair of electric clippers and turning them on, the buzzing sound filling the room.

“With her complexion and those green eyes, red would be so hot,” Jean said.

“I don’t want anyone of them,” Jeff said.

“Who cares what you want?” Jean said with a snort.

“What are you doing with the clippers?” Jeff asked, trying to fit together what was about to happen.

“Shaving your head,” Vibe said, plunging the clippers into Jeff’s mousy brown hair and cutting a swath out, the hair tumbling onto Jeff’s lap. “You know. So we can glue the wig on good and tight!”

Jeff found himself growing more and more woozy, his energy seeming to drain out of him. “Stop,” he said weakly. “I didn’t come here for …. For… this…”

“Yeesh, maybe she is a blonde,” Jean said, examining the platinum blonde wig.

“I’m just glad the drugs are kicking in,” Vibe said. “All that shrieking was starting to get on my nerves.”

‘Oh, you love it, when they scream,” Jean said.

Vibe giggled. “True!”

Jeff’s body turned into a wet noodle. He couldn’t control it, so when Jean removed the head restraint, he was only able to sit passively as he felt warm glue being spread over his scalp. Vibe carefully fitted the red wig to his head, a long strand falling over his left eye. “Oh, yes!” Jean said. “She’s gonna be a heartbreaker.”

Vibe used a bobby pin to fix Jeff’s hair, so that Jean could go to work on his face, attacking him with an arsenal of eyeliner, eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick. Jeff whispered an occasionally, “why” or “please” but he couldn’t work up a rage, couldn’t struggle. It was the drugs, and it was shock at what was being done to him. When Jean finished with his makeover, he smacked his lips, feeling the tacky lipstick, and fluttered his eyes, annoyed at the way he couldn’t stop seeing those damn lashes. H felt sharp pain in his ears and didn’t even have to look to know that Vibe had pierced his ears and was now fitting him with earrings. I’ll take them out, he told himself. Clean off this make-up. Get the wig cut. Mary would never need to see this. To see my shame. He didn’t even want to think about his voice, but what had been done could be undone. Somehow. He couldn’t believe he’d come here, that he’d set himself up for this.

Vibe and Jean stood back, admiring their work, nodding. It’s over, Jeff thought. Thank God it’s over. “Can I go now?” He asked.

“We have to do your body still,” Vibe said. “Get her breasts.”

“Breasts?” Jeff gasped, finding the energy to shout.

“Better make them D cups,” Vibe said.

“My pleasure,” Jean said.

“Okay. This is too much,” Jeff said, struggling again,

Vibe unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open, then covered his chest in warm shaving cream.

Jean came in holding a pair of big, realistic looking breast forms, with fat, pink nipples. “Happy Birthday to you!”

Vibe started to shave Jeff’s chest, dragging the cold razor against his skin in loving strokes.

“I’m begging you,” Jeff said, staring at the breasts in horror. “Please.”

“You’ll thank me one day,” Vibe said, using a towel to clean the excess shaving cream off Jeff’s chest.

“I’m very certain that I won’t.”

Vibe started to spread warm glue across Jeff’s chest.

“I have a wife,” Jeff said. “I can’t have her see me with tits. Don’t do this. I’ll sue! I’ll report you!”

“Good luck with that,” Vibe said, stepping back. “Blaine Blaise is my attorney. Jean? I think this young lady is old enough to get her boobies!”

“You asshole! Stay away from me!” Jeff screamed.

Jean smiled as he walked up, pressing one of the breasts to Jeff’s chest, holding it there, and then the other. As soon as Jean let go of the forms, Jeff felt their weight tugging at his collar bone, felt his own flesh moving, being tugged on as the breasts swayed. “Goddamn it,” he said, looking down, horrified. “I’ll cut them off. You can’t make me wear them.”

Vibe lifted one, let it drop and bounce.

“Stop!” Jeff said, unnerved by the feeling.

“Just keep in mind that we could always give you implants.”

Vibe put some flesh tone makeup along the seams of Jeff’s new assets, then buttoned his shirt as far as it would go, which left a nice round valley of cleavage popping out the top of shirt. He mussed Jeff’s hair and then turned to Jean. “Shall we let her see herself?”

“We must.”

Vibe spun Jeff’s chair around, and his cherry red, pillowy lips dropped open in shock as he stared at- “Holy shit,” he said. A gorgeous woman stared back at him, her big, green eyes wide with shock. He could see himself in her, but everything had softened, turned from a face that edged toward the rugged toward one that resided deep on the feminine side of the scale. “How?”

“Oh, just a few tricks I picked up over the years,” Vibe said. “My, my.” He grabbed his camera and snapped a few picks. Jeff couldn’t stop staring at himself— his lips were so fat and inviting, and the lipstick had a little shine to it, making them seem so wet and… kissable…

“Let’s get her up,” Vibe said. Jeff was in a total fog now, his mind gone all fuzzy from the drugs and the shock of seeing himself so— sexy. Jean undid his restraints, and he tried to stand, but he’d been sitting so long his legs had gone to sleep, and with the drugs he stumbled and fell against Jean, who held him up, leading him to another large room stuffed with racks of women’s clothes.

They got him out of his clothes and started to dress him, getting him unto some kind of padded girdle, crushing his waist inside a waist cinch, putting him in tights and then a skirt. Instead of raging and demanding, Jeff just found himself laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sure. Let’s put me in a skirt….” Or, “great. High heels. I never saw that coming… NOT.” Finally, the bra— lace cups and slender shoulder straps with little bows… For some reason, the bra shocked him out of his stupor, and he backed away, wobbling on his heels, feeling terrified at the thought of wearing a bra. “No. No. No!”

“Honey, you have D cups. You need this,” Vibe said, advancing on Jeff, holding the bra like it was a straight jacket.

Jeff crossed his arms over his breasts, his long red nails bright against the pale skin of his arms. Vibe and Jean started talking to him in soothing voices. He wasn’t even sure what they said, but he found himself standing bashfully in his first bra. The sensation was different— the feeling of the strap across his back, the shoulder straps tight against his skin, the way the bra lifted and presented his breasts to the world, like they’d become his own personal Simba.

Somehow, later, he found himself with a purse slung over his shoulder, walking, turning, walking, as Vibe took him through “Heels 101” so, as Vibe put it,” You don’t fall down and bruise that pretty face.”

The padded girdle had given Jeff the illusion and hips and a big, plump rump. With all that new backside plus the weight and mass of his new chest, his whole body felt awkward and too much and unbalanced and FAT. Yes. He felt fat with all this extra padding, and the way it swayed and bounced and made him wiggle his hips as he walked, heel to toe… hell to toe… er, heel to toe…turn… “Good,” Vibe said. “Good for today.” He walked over from the throne like chair he’d been sitting in and took Jeff’s hand.

“Here’s what you need to know, doll,” Vibe said. “To win this masquerade, you need to be the best of the best. You need to be the most convincing woman in the room.”

“It’s a month away,” Jeff said.

“And that’s why you need to take a crash course in femininity,” Vibe said, now walking Jeff toward a mirrored wall. Jeff’s heart began to race. They had not allowed him to see himself since he’d seen his face. “Some of the others— yes— they will just throw something together, or maybe even hire someone the day of the party for a makeover, and they will indicate all night long I’m just fucking around… I’m such a macho man… And they will play over the top femininity as a way to mock and demean women. They have no chance. Most men are too insecure to explore their feminine side.”

“Feminine side?” Jeff said.

“We all have one,” Vibe continued. “Carl Jung called it the animus and the anima, the male and female.”

Jeff could now see himself in the mirror, and just as with face, he was shocked to see a woman in the mirror holding Vibe’s hand. She had a bombshell body, and propped up on heels and encased in those black tights, her calves looked— sexy? Once more, his mind reeled. It didn’t seem possible, and the sight of himself like this terrified him, made him want to get an ax and chop some wood, smoke a cigar…

“Fight of flight,” Vibe said. “I know your male weakness wants you to run right now, but what you need is not fear; you need courage. You need the courage to allow yourself to be this, see this, and for the next month live as a woman.”

“What?” Jeff said.

“Wealth. Power. Success. It can all be yours for at a price.”

Chapter Seven

Mary sat on the couch with a glass of wine. There was something on TV, but she wasn’t really watching it. Jeff had said he was going to be late at the office, but there had been something in his voice; she was sure he’d been lying. Then, it was seven, eight, nine… and.., she’d worried, and then gotten angry sure that he had some slut on the side,,, and then worried, and then furious… she called his cell, texted…. Nothing…. Now she seethed, feeling guilty for not trusting him while also preparing to DESTROY THE CHEATING BASTARD…

She heard the key in the door. The luck turning over. She got up, trying to hide her feelings, determined to get it out of him one way or another, but she KNEW he had not been at the office.

The door swung open, and a gorgeous red head appeared, slipping the keys back into her purse. “Who the hell are you?” Mary yelled, thinking Jeff had actually given his mistress the keys to their apartment. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mary?” The woman said in a Barbie doll voice. “It’s me. Jeff.”

Mary looked at the woman’s huge breasts. Her tiny waist. Her plump lips. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

Jeff was dying with shame. To have his wife see him like this, in a skirt, with a purse, let alone breasts and heels. He almost turned on his heels and ran, but he remembered what Vibe had said. He needed to be brave. He walked into the apartment and set his purse on the coffee table. He convinced Mary it was him, and then she blew up all over again. “We agreed you would not do this!” Mary snapped.

“I know,” Jeff said. The sound of that little girl voice grated on Mary’s ears. “I shouldn’t have gone there… obviously…”

“And you have tits now? And you’re walking around in public like that? You make me sick.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff said.

“You should be.”

The news that Jeff would be living as a woman for the next month did not go over well. Seeing her husband looking— gorgeous— hearing him talk in that female voice— the fact that he had done this behind her back, was wearing a bra now? It all enraged and disgusted her… but there was nothing for it now. He’d seemingly bought into this idea that he needed to do this to win the Halloween Party, though she was starting to wonder if that was all just something that had always been there…

In any case, she decided to make him pay, and it started the next morning when she did his makeup. “I know you want to be a pretty girl now,” she said, her voice full of acid. “So, let’s pencil in those slender eyebrows of yours…”

“I don’t want to be a pretty girl…”

“I don’t want to be a pretty girl…” Mary mimicked his high-pitched voice. “You do. Admit it. You’ve probably been putting on my bras and panties whenever I wasn’t home, strutting around in heels…”

“I never did…”

“You never were much of a man. Hopefully, you can do better as a woman.”

Jeff stopped arguing. He understood why she was angry.

His co-workers had been prepared for Jeff to arrive en femme. A memo had gone out, but no one expected him to look so hot. As he walked through the office, feeling so self-conscious it made him want to die, he could feel eyes on him, hear people whispering. He felt super embarrassed at the huge breasts, his big, plump rear. He heard “so pretty”. And “gorgeous” and it was terrible to have people talk about him like that, to see him dressed as a woman, and yet he just kept thinking about the rewards.

At one point he was at his desk, brushing a strand of hair away from his face for what seemed like the ten thousandth time, when Jane came in, giving him a once over, then letting her eyes settle on his face. “Miss Sonnet?”

Miss. The word grated on Jeff. But he’d agreed he needed to live as a woman. For a whole month. He’d tried to talk as little as possible all day. He hated the sound of his voice. But he had to talk to Jane now. “Yes?”

He saw what he thought was mild amusement in Jane’s eyes at the teen trilling coming out of his plump, pink mouth. But, he couldn’t be sure. “I just wanted to say I think what you are doing is so brave.”

“Thanks,” Jeff said. “I appreciate that.” The cover story was that Jeff had taken on a case arguing that dress codes with differing standards for men and women were inherently sexist, and Jeff had decided to adhere to the office dress code for women as a form of research. No one totally bought it, but it was enough.

“And, also, I hope this isn’t out of line, but you are stunning. So pretty. I can’t even believe that’s you. You don’t even look anything like a man now.”

Jeff, realizing that he’d been slouching due to the new weight on his chest, straighten his back, which caused him to thrust his breasts forward. “Well, thank you so much,” he said, biting back the urge to tell her to stop treating him like a woman. In fact, that was the whole point of this; being treated and learning to act like a woman, so instead he said, “I love those shoes.”

“Oh! Thanks!”

My first womanly bonding moment, Jeff thought to himself. Hooray for me.

The next month seemed like an eternal hell. Mary mocked and ridiculed Jeff every night. When he undressed and she saw the welt on his shoulders from his bra straps, she laughed; she called him Sugar Tits and made comments about his how he was walking like a princess. She mercilessly gave him hell for wearing panties. He just endured it all. Once this was all over and he got back to being a man, he was sure she would forgive him. Especially once he made partner, with all the money that would bring, all the things he could buy her.

At work, he endured the looks, the comments. He now ate lunch with a group of the women attorneys— he wasn’t welcome among the men and felt uncomfortable around them anyway, and the woman seemed less threatening. There was some good natured teasing about how did he like having to wear heels all day and that sort of thing, but mostly they just seemed amazed a man would want to trade in his privilege for a life in skirts— even for a month. Jeff took the time to study the way they moved, talked, walked… Now that he’d gone this far, he felt he only had one choice: to go all in and win.

Each night when he got home from work, he kicked off his heels and massaged his feet and calves. He couldn’t wait to get out of his bra, sighing with relief, massaging the welts in his shoulders left by the bra straps. Despite his wife’s carping and mockery, he even found himself taking long, luxurious baths, trying to relax and decompress, letting the warm water ease what had become aching back pain from the strain of his large, heavy breasts. He couldn’t talk to Mary about any of it. If he tried to complain about his bras or the pain from wearing heels all day, she bitterly reminded him that it was his own fault. “I really don’t have time to hear my HUSBAND complain about wearing heels,” she’d say, refusing to even look at him. “When he’s the one that decided he wanted to wear stilettos!”

Chapter 8

The day of the party came. Though Jeff had been learning to do his own makeup so he could touch it up at work,  he went back to Vibe’s salon to get a professional make-over. He walked in, purse over his shoulder, hands out to his sides, and Jean and Vibe watched him walk in, impressed by his feminine gait, his mannerisms. “You’ve come so far,” Vibe said, clapping.

“You are so feminine,” Jean said. “You’ve worked so hard.” He actually gave Jeff a quick hug, and they air kissed.

A man walked into the room. He was short, but handsome in a striped, three-piece suit, fashionable stubble on his face. He looked Jeff up and down, whistled. “You are one hot tomato,” he said.

Jeff hid his irritation. He’d gotten used to being checked out by men, and the most shocking thing was not the comment, as Jeff had also gotten used to guys hitting on him, but the old-fashioned dorkiness of it. Still, he knew he was expected to be sweet and compliant as a woman, so smiled brightly and hooked his hair behind his ear. “Thanks.” His voice was full of giggle.

“You don’t recognize me?” The guy said, and then Jeff realized it was Mary.

“Mary?” He said, shocked.

“I decided to have a little fun myself,” Mary said. “Che Vibe made me up like a dude. I’m coming to the party as your husband, sugar tits.”

Mary waited while Jeff got glamorous. Vibe had selected a black dress with long sleeves— he still needed to hide his arms— and a plunging neckline the celebrated his epic cleavage, though they were covered with a thin, transparent lace to hide the seams of his breast forms. Stiletto heels. Dangling, sparkling, chandelier earrings. He looked like a movie star, and as he examined himself in the mirror, one hadn’t on a hip, the other at his cheek, he felt sexy, confident. There was no way he wouldn’t win, he felt. He’d  sacrificed too much. He’d made himself a woman, and it had to work, it had to make his dreams come true.

They took a limo to a mansion in the Connecticut countryside. Mary came out and opened his door for him, then put a hand on the small of his back as they walked into the mansion. She seemed to really be loving her role as the man. As they entered the party, they were handed domino masks, and they started to make the rounds. Mary shook hands with the men, while Jeff was given hugs and air kisses. He found himself with a group of wives, talking about their husbands, their kids, their favorite spas and all the problems of being wives, while Mary was laughing and boasting with a group of men. The party went on, and they mingled, came together, separated, and mingled some more.

Jeff eyed his competitors. Vibe had been right. Most of the other men had looked at the cross-dressing as an opportunity to clown, over doing their makeup, talking in their male voices or doing mock falsettos, making fun of women and girls talked. Some had worn flats, but the ones who dared heels wobbled and walked with gross, male walks, clearly having not practiced at all. Jeff snorted and he moved gracefully across the floor in his heels. He was better in heels than some of the women, he decided, who could use some lessons.

Midnight arrived. The group gathered in the foyer, and a man wearing a goat head stood at the top of the stairs. Mary found Jeff, slipping her arm around his waist. “How you doing, babe?” She asked, using her male voice.

“I’m good,” he answered, though he was trembling. This was the moment of truth. They were all about to find out who had been selected to join the Morningstar Society. To Jeff, this was all or nothing. He could never return to his firm now if he lost. Now that everyone had seen him as a woman, had watched him become more feminine with every passing day. He would never be looked at the same way, even if he went back to wearing male clothes. But, if he became a member of the Morning Star Society, none of that would matter. He’d be among the most powerful people in the world.

The goat headed man made some speech. Jeff didn’t hear a word the man was saying. He was thinking about the last month: his makeover, getting used to having breasts, the infernal waist trainer…. This was the end of all that, at least. And then he would have to try and win back Mary, to become a man again in her eyes. He would not miss being a woman. It was too much work, and he had had never realized how much pain was involved in a woman’s life— at least one built like him.

“And so, I would like to introduce the newest member of the Morningstar Society, Mrs. Angelique Sonnet.”

“Angelique?” Jeff whispered. “Who?” Jeff felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d lost. It had all been for nothing. He was standing here in front of all these people in a dress and fake tits—a loser, a fool, a failure of a man. His head grew light and he fell against Mary. Nothing. It had all been for nothing.

“You won,” Mary said. “You won.”

“What?” Jeff said, confused as a pair of men wearing stags’ heads approached carrying huge bouquet of flowers. They pushed the flowers into his arms and led him toward the stairs. He glanced back at Mary. “What’s happening?”

“Go,” Mary said. “Go.”

They led Jeff up the stairs and to the man in the goat mask. Jeff stood there, terrified, trembling, confused. “Angelique,” the man said. “Welcome.”

He leaned down and kissed Jeff on the mouth. Jeff fainted, and the man caught him, while the crowd cheered and clapped.

Chapter Nine

The rest of the night was a blur. Jeff recovered from his fainting spell. He had vague memories of being promenaded around, congratulated. Everyone kept calling him Angelique for some reason. He just kept giggling. All he would remember was a blur of smiling faces and the thought that finally, at long last, he was about to be free of backpain for the first time since the beginning of October.

And then they were back in the limo, and then back at home. Jeff couldn’t wait to get out of his dress, to rid of the breast form, the waist cinched. “Can you unzip me?” He asked, looking back over his shoulder at Mary, who was sitting on the bed, legs spread.

“Sure thing, babe,” she said, still talking in her male voice.

“Why are you still talking in that voice?” Jeff asked, though he still sounded like a teen girl.

Mary just grunted. She unzipped his dress. Jeff let it fall to his feet, and then stepped out of it. He reached back and unhooked his bra and tossed it to the ground as well. “That’s the last time—“ he started to say, but something was wrong. He felt his breasts sway and bounce as they were set from of his bra, and he felt his nipples getting hard in the cold air. “What?” He looked down, cupped his breasts, and he felt his cold hands against his soft, heavy breasts… They felt real; they seemed real.

Mary watched, a little smile on her face. “What the hell is going on?” Jeff said, running to the bathroom, looking at his chest. He couldn’t see the lines where the breast forms ended. The breasts looked real, but that wasn’t possible. He grabbed and pulled on the soft flesh, and he felt them, felt himself pulling, yanking. It hurt. They were so sensitive. And they were his.

Mary’s face appeared in the mirror behind him. She had an arrogant, superior smirk on her face.

“Oh, shit,” Jeff said, a terrifying thought occurred to him. He reached down and pushed a hand under the waist band of his panties. He felt— a flat space, stiff hair. “Oh, God. No.” He whispered. Closing his eyes, he slipped a finger between the lips of his vagina, screaming, yanking his hand out… “Fuck! Fuck! What the hell happened to me?”

“I don’t see anything wrong,” Mary said. “You look like a hot ass woman to me.”

Jeff turned, covering his breasts with his hands. He looked at Mary and noticed a tent in her pants. The sight woke some strange new needs and thoughts in him, needs that terrified him. He backed away. He was breathing heavy now, terrified. “This is a dream,” he said. “A nightmare.”

“Let’s go with dream,” Mary said, steeping forward, cupping Jeff’s cheek, kissing him. “Come to bed,” she said, her voice husky. “Let me introduce you to the joys of being a woman.”

“No. Please,” Jeff said.

But when she took her hand and led him to their bed, he meekly followed, and she lay him down, and she made love to him as a man, staring into his eyes as he stared at her, terrified, hair all in his face, as she took him.

Chapter Nine

Angelique didn’t hate her life. She didn’t love it, either, She endured it. She was in bed, sleeping, when she heard the baby cry. Sighing, she got up and went to the crib, pulling down her nighty to expose her milk-swollen breast. The baby found her nipple and started to nurse. Angelique glanced at Mary, sleeping there in the bed, all lazy and comfortable and arrogantly MALE. Angelique struggled against her feelings of resentment toward him. She’d had to do it all, carrying the baby for nine months, enduring the morning sickness, getting fat, the four hours of labor, and now she was up every two hours feeding the baby, her breasts aching while Mr. Man slept and played golf and just had NO CLUE what it was like for a mother. That should be me sleeping there, Angelique thought. She considered going over and shaking him, waking him up because it just wasn’t fair.

But she took her baby to the living room and sat, gently rocking him as he fed. Blaine had explained that the firm needed diversity, so it had been necessary for Jeff to become a woman so he could replace a retiring partner. “You get it,” Blaine had explained. They’d finally gone golfing. Angelique at the woman’s tee. “You aren’t going to be one of those hypersensitive broads always screaming “me, too.”

Angelique had giggled and said, “I hate those girls.”

Blaine had patted her on the rump. “Dude, I gotta say, you’re a hot piece of ass.”

“My husband keeps telling me that,” Angelique said, wanting to signal that she wasn’t available and resisting the urge to punch Blaine in the face.

She had made partner. She had the corner office, made tons of money, and they’d bought a vacation home, moved to a bigger apartment. She was a working mother, and a wife, busy out of her mind taking care of her baby and her career. Her breasts ached. Her back ached. Her feet hurt. But, well, she was rich, and she’d been invited to a party at Madonna’s Hamptons Estate, and that was really what it was all about.

Right?

The End