|The Transformation Story Archive||The Other Sex|
"CALL 911! CALL 911!!"
"What are you talk..." Barbara looked up at Chris. His face was frantic, chalk white and he was soaked. Soaked to the skin, wringing wet.
"DAMMIT, BARBIE, CALL GODDAMN 911!," Chris screamed at her.
"A fucking pipe just ruptured in the ceiling and we're losing all the new inventory, stacks, shipments, and all the reserve printing stock. Every fucking thing is going!"
Barbara - she really hated the way he called her Barbie, like some dumb bimbo - jumped up and ran to the printing floor. Sure enough, a thick jet of water was spraying across the entire print shop floor. cartons of books, ready for shipment, were already ruined. The skids of print stock were directly under the downpour. Fifteen reams of high grade oversized print stock trashed as well!
"I'll call the fire department," Barbara yelled back to her boss. "Maybe they can shut the water off at the street. You look downstairs for a water cutoff valve."
Chris took Barbara's advice and started for the basement. Ordinarily he would have ogled the way her wet T-shirt clung to her unrestrained breasts, but this time it would have to wait. There was his business to save.
Where's the light? Chris barked his shin on a heavy wooden crate and cursed loudly at the sharp pain in his leg. Fuck! Where's that damn cutoff valve?
Not knowing which valve to close, Chris stumbles through the basement, shutting every valve he could find. maybe it had been enough. Chris could still hear the sound of falling water. But was it tapering off? Painfully, he climbed the cellar stairs, dreading having to look at his waterlogged shop.
Nothing was left. Oh sure, some out-of-date back issues had survived but all the new stuff, especially that great three volume special, were a total loss. Fuck! Where was he going to get the money to replace all this stuff?
Shit! Did I pay that premium?
Chris ran to the office and pulled the check ledger from the top drawer. Cash had been tight lately and he had stalled a few bills. Not refused to pay them really, you know, just sort of sat on them a few weeks to even out his cash flow a little and now, maybe, just maybe, he might not have gotten that goddamn, son-of-a- bitch check out to the insurance company in time.
You know they'll cancel me for sure. They'll never pay, the vultures. They'll let me go down the tubes! Bastards, cheap fucki...Chris collapsed in the chair with an audible sigh of relief. He had paid the premium on time. In fact, he had the cancelled check.
The insurance would pay for everything. Otherwise, he was finished.
"But I don't want to wear your clothes, Barbara."
Chris looked at the sweat shirt and jeans she held with obvious distaste.
"Chris, get real, will ya?"
Barbara had a little smile on her face. Oh, she was enjoying this, Chris thought. Just like the little bitch, thinks she's so goddamned funny.
"I'm not the cheapskate who decided to live in a basement. And I'm not the one who had all his clothes ruined in a flood. And you know you'll have to hold on to every penny you can until the insurance pays up. So what are you going to do? Wear my clothes or no clothes?
The cow was right goddamn it! He had to hold on to his cash. They were about the same height. Chris had never been too pleased with his slim, fair build, and modest height. Hell, in high heels, Barbie towered over him. Sometimes she even intimidated him.
No way was he wearing girl's clothes! But what was he going to wear? Jeans and a sweat shirt wouldn't be too bad.
"All right, I'll try these things on...but I'm not happy about this, Barbie!"
Barbara snickered as Chris stormed off with her old clothes. Just wait until he saw what she had given him. Through the office's frosted glass, Barbara could see Chris' silhouette wriggling into the skin-tight designer jeans. The sweat shirt slipped on easily but she couldn't suppress a giggle when Chris bellowed out his disapproval of the sweat shirt's logo.
"I am not wearing this stuff, Barbie, no fucking way!!"
Chris stormed out of the office. His legs looked sexy, female, and long in the faded skin-tight denim. Even his ass had a sort of boyishly feminine shape from the corset-like effect of the seemingly painted on jeans.
"Look at this, fer Crissake, I can't wear THIS!"
`THIS' was Barbara's black sweat shirt with "100% Pure Princess" printed across the chest.
"Come on, Barbara, get me something reasonable to wear."
"Chris, this all I could spare and I have some sneakers for you too."
Barbara didn't mention that they were pink.
"And besides, the insurance adjuster called and said he'll be here in ten minutes."
Chris' face lit up. Money! They were ready to pay up and get him back in production. It was about time; those skinflint pricks! Quickly he laced on the pink sneakers without comment and raced to the front door. Barbara sat back amused, watching her boss' ass twitch in his girlish jeans, so nervous that he practically was prancing from one foot to the other. When was this guy going to get here?
"Chris, Mr. Paskins from the insurance company is in the outer office. Can you come out and sign for the check?"
"Sure, Barbie. Be right there."
Chris wiped his hands free of No.2 ink and headed up front. Not bad, he thought, the first check had taken two weeks to process. It would cover the expenses of repair and reconditioning the little printing press and the cutter. The big press, collator, and power stapler would be back from the shop tomorrow.
"Hi, Mr. Paskins. Got a check for me?"
"Uh..Hello, uh, Mr. Parry, I guess...I do have a check but, I guess it's your sister who will have to sign for it."
"My sister?" Chris responded, confused. What was this idiot talking about?
"Well, you see, Mr. Parry. I took the claim from your sister the last time I was here and the policy clearly states that the company will only deal with the person who files the claim. And that is your sister,....uh, Chris Parry." Triumphant with his convoluted recitation of fine print, the insurance agent put the check in his pocket and stepped back.
The message was pretty clear to Barbara, as she watched her boss and the insurance agent spark at each other.. No `Sister Chris', no checks. Now, or ever!
Before Chris could scream at Paskins, to call him the biggest fatheaded, shitless, dumbass in the world, and tell him that he, Chris Parry, a man, with balls and a cock, was `Chris Parry', the non-existent sister, and that Paskins had been too dumb to see that Chris had been wearing some borrowed clothes, Barbara grabbed her boss by the arm and hauled him out of the room.
"Get your hands off of me!" Chris pulled his arm away from Barbara's surprisingly strong grasp.
"I'm going back in there and put my foot up that bozo's asshole and then I'm taking that check. It's mine and I'm taking it right now!!"
Barbara blocked the door and pushed Chris back.
"Chris, calm down. Look, you need this money now. The repair shop is going to want a check for the work they did and we're supposed to give it to the delivery man tomorrow."
"I know this is distressing, but you need that check. You won't get the big press back without it. And you don't need to piss off the one guy who's going to be giving you your insurance checks every other week for the next ten weeks."
Barbara softened her voice a shade and stepped up next to the young man.
"I see that this is rough on you, but why not slip into the jeans and another top? This idiot will give you the check and we're home free. Anyway, think of how much fun it will be to fool the dummy into giving `you' the money he just refused to give to you."
It was a pain. Sure, it would be lousy to dress like a girl again but it would only be for a minute and then he would have the cash and put one over on MISTER Paskins, the insurance agent from Hell.
"Mr. Paskins, my brother told me you were here. Sorry, but I was on a long distance call. What can I do for you?
Paskins had no trouble handing over the check to the young lady in tight jeans and pink sweats. Too much of a tomboy for his taste. Probably a dyke, sleeping with that knock-out office manager. But what the hell, this wasn't his account anyway.
"If you'll just sign here Ms. Parry."
Chris signed the receipt ledger and inspected the check. It was for the correct amount. Good. Now, he could pay the delivery boys for the refurbishing with enough left over for the riggers to get the equipment moved back into position.
"And by the way," Paskins added casually, "I was handling this claim for Ms. Subirsky who was on vacation. She'll be your regular adjuster from now on. So, if you would call her Ms. Parry, and introduce yourself, I'm sure it will make the next check delivery easier."
A few minutes later, Barbara drifted into Chris' office. He had his feet up, comfortable again in male clothes, looking at the check.
"Glad that little twerp is off the case, aren't you Barbie?"
Chris smiled smugly at her, not noticing her resentment at the misuse of her name.
He can be so damn smug, Barbara seethed to herself.
"I'm not so sure, Boss. I mean,...it's, uh..pretty obvious that, uh,,they're only going to pay a female Chris Parry. Now you could pass enough to fool that Paskins guy. He was an idiot anyway. But you fooling another woman? I don't think so."
"I'm afraid that she'll see right through you."
"So what," Chris responded, "I'll tell the truth. I have nothing to hide."
"But see, Boss, you do. You signed for that check by impersonating somebody else and that's fraud. I mean, I'm no lawyer or anything but you pulled a trick on that guy to get the check. He would never have given it to you as a `male' Chris Parry."
"I'll bet the insurance company would take that as an excuse to refuse to pay off the claim. Why they might even sue you to get their money back!"
Chris stopped for a moment, dead in his tracks. For the first time, the trap he was in was apparent to him. He had signed papers that said he was a female to get the money and when the next check was due, he would have to be a `female' again. But this time he would have to fool another female.
There is no way out! If I show up as a male and confess they'll cut me off and lock me up. If I show up as a male and demand the check for my `sister', they'll still cut me off and they might investigate the whole thing. But if i show up as a girl, I'm going to have to make a real girl think I'm really female.
I'm doomed. Fucked! What am I going to do?
"Barbie, you've got to help me. You know this business is all I have. It pays my salary. It pays yours. Can't you help me out of this somehow?"
"Chris, it's not all that bad. I have some ideas and I think we can do a few things that will allow you to fool this Ms. Subirsky."
"Let me make some phone calls and line some things up. We've got two weeks to get you ready for your first meeting with her, so let me do my thing."
"I don't want to see any doctor."
Chris was balking at the office's front door. Barbara sensed that he was ready to bolt so she soothed him.
"Chris, please be practical. I'm sensitive to your concerns. No real man wants to impersonate a woman. Certainly not as realistically as you will have to, but this is an emergency."
"Barbie, can't we do something less extreme? Isn't there some potion or something that can make me look female for a few hours?"
"Oh that's just pipe dream stuff like you see in alt.sex.stories. There's no magic spells or mind control stuff. There's just hormones, electrolysis, and plastic surgery, and they don't work overnight."
"I just hope we have enough time."
Seated on the doctor's examining table, Chris moodily endured the prodding and poking that came with the doctor's inspection of his body. Finally, Barbara, Dr. Small, and Chris were seated by the physician's cluttered desk.
"I see no physical impediment to your plans. Your bone structure is petite for a male. You weigh only 137 pounds and you're only 5'6" tall. These parameters suggest that you can become an attractive female."
"Doing this is not to be taken lightly. You are tampering with your body and some of its most powerful internal mechanisms. Hormones do a great deal to shape who we are. Therefore, in giving you these pills, let me warn you to follow the directions and let time do the rest."
Estrogen. 500 mg. Once daily. No noticeable effects for eight to ten weeks.
What good was this going to do?
"Barbie, I just don't see the point? It takes too long, and I have to see this lady soon. Don't I?"
Barbara pushed Chris into a cab and gave directions. The filled prescription was in her purse.
"Look, Chris, all we wanted from that doctor was a legal prescription for estrogen. And we got it."
"Now, where going to see a friend of a friend who does plastic surgery for special people."
"Is he a doctor?"
"She! She is a doctor, but she's in a little hot water right now over something or other, so she's doing some minor things to keep herself in cash."
"How did you find her?"
"An old roomie of mine used to dance topless. I asked her who does the newcomer's boob jobs and she gave me the name."
It was all happening too fast and it was all too much a `backdoor' affair, but all the rush had Chris swept up. Barbara meant to keep it that way.
Chris was laying back on the table. A bright spotlight was focused on his chest. Barbie and the doctor were talking but his head was spinning. What were they saying?
"Look, Barbara. This is a big rush, you know. Normally I have to order the inserts from Mexico since the FDA banned silicon so I'm going to have to work from what I have in stock. Is that okay with you?"
"Absolutely, Dr. Lane. Chris has been obsessing over breasts for a while now. I'm sure a nice big set of jugs will please him,..er, I mean her, no end."
Dr. Barbara Lane gave a little shrug and picked up the scalpel. A small incision was made on the lower edge of the right nipple and retracted. Dr. Lane slowly incised to create a pocket next to the chest wall and then worked a flat clear plastic sac into the surgically created space.
Creating a matching insertion in the other breast, the doctor began to infuse silicon in a measured flow. Carefully balancing the injections to each sac, Lane finally sealed the now firmly full inserts and fine sutured the small incision closed.
"The hormones will help. What's he taking?"
"500 mg. per day, Doctor."
"Well, the doctor who prescribed them warned about side effects."
"Barbara, as far as I'm concerned, you need to take the daily dosage up to at least 3000 mg if you want to see any results in the near future. In fact, I'd push him up to 6000 mg daily. That'll get you some fast progress. And, believe me, the side effects are minor."
"There will be some bloating. A tendency to get a little chubby, mostly in the hips, but that's the whole idea isn't it?"
Barbara looked over at Chris, still sleeping off the tranquilizers. His C-cup breasts filled out his sweatshirt nicely. The firmly wired bra held his breasts high on his chest. He wouldn't like having such big breasts, but Barbara would explain.
When Ms. Subirsky showed up to meet a busty `Ms.' Parry, all the questions would be ended once and for all. Granted it was an extreme step but, all in all, well worth it.
"Barbie, I can't get this bra on right. Can you come in here please?"
Barbara allowed herself a smile as she made her way into her boss' office. Chris had the new bra in his hands, looking at it like it came form Mars.
Barbara had searched and found a Thrift Store that had some of the old fashioned spiral wired style bras. She had bought a half dozen of the out-of-date foundations and gave them to Chris to restrain his exuberant breasts.
"Here, Chris, let me help you."
Having Chris bend forward, Barbara caught each full breast in a stiffly wired cup, hooking the bra's strap in back. The shoulder straps slipped up and over Chris' arms easily. Standing up, Chris allowed Barbara to adjust the straps to her satisfaction and then looked into the mirror.
His breasts jutted forward like twin missile nose cones. Quickly, he shrugged on the sweat shirt and looked away from his reflection.
"Did you take your pill?"
"Yeah, I took it. for all the good it'll do." Chris pushed the door to his office shut, leaving Barbara alone outside. She had spiked the coffee with the remaining 5500 mg of hormones. Chris was good for a pot or two a day.
She opened Chris' door a hairsbreadth and smiled.
"Hey, Boss, I forgot to tell you. I brought in some doughnuts today."
Barbara had had it.
Four days of trying to teach Chris how to walk like a lady, move like a lady, and feel comfortable in women's clothes. So far, he came across like a tomboy with big tits. It wasn't good enough.
"Leslie? Hi it's Barbara from Diversions Press. Oh we're coming back from the flood nicely and your print job will ship to you before the 20th of the month. But, that's not why I called."
"I want to order some things from your catalog. And could you tell me who you get your shoes and corsets from.
Chris stood balancing precariously on five inch heels. His pencil slim, black leather hobble skirt barely allowed him to take a step.
The corset crushed his waist from it's natural twenty-eight inches to a numbing twenty-two. A wide belt accented his tiny waist and a creamy black angora sweater - a size too small - flaunted the hard points of his breasts.
"Walk back over here, Chrissie."
"I can't do it. It hurts too much!"
Barbara flicked her riding crop over her feminized boss' leather bound rump and sent him mincing forward. They had been at it for days, working up through increasing heel heights and ever tighter skirts.
Chris was careful not to move his head much. The enormous bouffant wig he was wearing had an awkward tendency to shift. He had three layers of make up on and so much jewelry that he rattled when he walked.
"I want you to go over to the door and greet Ms. Subirsky just the way I taught you."
Dutifully, Chris minced from the back of the printing plant to the building's front door. Opening it, he flashed a big smile.
In the bright sunlight, he could barely see if anyone was really there.
"Oh Ms. Subirsky, how nice to meet you! I've heard ever so much about you from that nice Mr. Paskins and from my brother. He's so glad we insured with your company. Won't you come into my office and let me get you some tea?"
Barbara had put together dozens of little `scripts' that Chris could use. Under her relentless tutoring, he found himself responding, according to her dictates, before he knew it."
"Barbie, why do I have to keep dressing this way?"
"Chris, let's not argue this again. I told you that a tight skirt would help you get a female sway to your hips when you walk and the corset will give you a nice waist."
"But you've been a good sport. So how about I let you take off the leather skirt and you can wear something in a knit. It'll be a lot more comfortable."
"And the corset and the rest of it," Chris asked hopefully.
"That'll have to stay for the moment." Crestfallen, Chris began to unzip his skirt.
"Did you finish that milk shake I brought back?"
"Uh,..no, I was feeling a little full."
"Thanks a lot for wasting what I went to so much troub...," Barbara chided.
"I'll drink it, I'll drink it. See? I'm drinking." Chris chugged down the vanilla shake. Loaded with added sugar and protein powder, Barbara though.
"And I left some candy bars over by the paste-up table." Chris sighed. Why was Barbara turning into a junk food freak?
Whenever Barbara took Chris' measurements, she lied. When they had started, Chris was a 36-28-29, no cup. Now, he was a 36C-22-37. Ten pounds of junk food, right on his rump!
Seeing the way Chris made a truly girlish figure in his black jersey dress, Barbara was tempted, but that was contrary to her plans.
"Barbie, can't I have something a little less flashy to wear. He was such a whiner. They had been over this a million times, but Chris kept dragging it up.
"Chrissie, honey. You know why we're doing this. The clothes you'll wear to meet Ms. Subirsky will be much less confining. You'll feel much more comfortable by comparison, and that will show. Chris, believe me, you'll be ever so much more convincing."
"Now go over to the mirror and fuss like I showed you. Nothing is more convincing than knowing how to primp in front of the mirror."
Obediently, Chris swished off to play with his hair and make up, just as Barbara had ordered.
"Do you think that they'll give us the entire payoff? I'd love to stop being a girl."
Barbara nodded sympathetically. They were riding back from the dress store. Barbara had picked white stretch pants and a pink leather bustier, with pink heels and a hat to match. Chris had insisted on a quiet, dark brown two-piece suit.
"I don't know. I hope so. You've been so good Boss. The way you sacrificed to do all this, nobody would do what you've done."
Chris swelled up under the flattery, not noticing the ironic tone in Barbara's voice.
"Chris, Ms. Subirsky just called. There's a problem. She's running late and wants to know if we can come over to her office to pick up the check. What do I tell her?"
"Uh,..I've sort of got a problem here too. Could you tell her we'll call her right back and then, come into my office."
Moments later, Barbara joined Chris and saw his dilemma.
Instead of a conservative suit, Chris was holding a pair of white stretch pants and a black leather bustier. Barbara had picked these things as a `joke', matching outfits for the big meeting.
"What do I do, Barbie? The sales girl wrapped up the wrong things. Do we have time to go back?"
He knew the answer before he asked. It was hopeless. Before Barbara could answer, Chris picked up the gleaming black leather garment and held it to his chest in front of the mirror.
"I won't look too bad, will I?"
Barbara was very good - she didn't laugh or anything - as she assured her red-faced, panty clad boss that he would look just fine.
"Stand still, Chrissie, I can't get this earring on."
Chrissie fidgeted in his four inch, black patent heels while Barbara threaded the gold lead wire through his freshly healed piercings. Big hoops hung from his ears, his hair was fluffed in a feminine pixie cut, his distractingly full and firm breasts threatening to overflow the glossy black leather cups of his bustier; Chrissie was getting ever more anxious.
"Why isn't she here? Do you think she suspects something? She knows! I'm sure of it. I bet they're just keeping us here until the police arrive. They're..I bet.."
Chrissie's voice kept rising as his face grew flushed. Barbara had read the pharmaceutical leaflet that had accompanied the hormones. There was a noticeable occurrence of emotional upset, including paranoia, hysteria, and anxiety. Look like little Chrissie was having his first `hissie'. I'd better put a stop to this, Barbara thought.
"Chrissie baby, the lady said she was running behind. She's just late. Now, I want you to have a big smile on that painted face of yours and let those big fat titties of yours fool old Ms. Subirsky into giving us all our money, okay?"
Shamefaced, Chrissie nodded and sat by the door. With a little shriek, Chrissie jumped when the door suddenly opened. A tall, obese woman with short greasy, unkempt hair came in and sat at the end of the table without introducing herself to the two waiting `women'.
"My name is Meredith Subirsky and I'm your claims adjuster. I have the check here for the total repair and rehabilitation of the print shop. Would you sign for that Ms. Parry?"
Stunned, Chrissie jiggled down to the adjusters end of the conference table and signed to receive the check.
"And I have the check for lost inventory. Books, it seems, and printing stock. These books are soft core pornography as I understand it. Is that right?"
"Yes Ma'am," Chrissie stammered, "it's all legal. We print the books for other publishers who sell them under their own names." Barbara had been especially sure to prepare Chrissie on how to answer that question.
"Please sign for that check as well, Ms. Parry and sign the affidavit as well." Chrissie signed for and took the check and began to read the formal, legal-looking document.
"Barbie, should I sign this?"
"What does it say?"
"It says that I, Chris Parry, swear under oath that I am a twenty-four year old female citizen of the United States and the owner and President of Diversions Press. That I am authorized to sign for the checks from the insurance company and that all of my statements made to receive the insurance money are true."
"Well sure, Chrissie, you have to sign that. It's all true anyway."
"I'm going to have to insist that you sign it from the point of view of my company, Ms. Parry," Subirsky added.
Chrissie signed the affidavit as well and quietly sat, waiting for the ordeal of the meeting to end.
"Your coverage included lost economic opportunity and your notice of claim and proof of loss shows a continuing economic damage of about $175,000 for the next eighteen months. This amount is, of course, projected and will have to be measured against actual revenues and expenses of the business."
"Your policy provides that you receive a check at the end of each quarter to adjust for the actual loss, provided that you furnish the books and records of the company for inspection. But it's an awful lot of money, so I doubt there will be any lack of cooperation."
Chrissie and Barbara both nodded their eager intent to be of any assistance. $175,000! It was a fortune.
"So I will be at your facility one week before the end of the quarter to review your record. You can then stop by my office the first week of the next quarter to pick up your check."
"That concludes my business with you. Sorry to cut this off so suddenly, but I have four more of these conferences to get to yet today."
Chrissie tried to speak but Barbara cut her boss off. On the street, Chrissie stood by the side of the office building and started to cry.
"Now, what's the matter, Chrissie," Barbara asked, unable to hide the exasperation in her voice.
"I have to sign for all those checks and meet with that fat bitch. And I signed that paper under oath that says I'm a girl ..."
Chrissie was getting worked up again but Barbara let him go. In fact, it was interesting, the way the flush on his face was spreading down to his big jiggling breasts.
"I'll have to keep dressing like a girl for a year...No, a year and a half! I'll just die if I have to do that."
"Shut up, Chrissie, and do as you're told. We have some shopping to do."
"How did it go, Chrissie?"
"Really well, Barbara. Ms. Subirsky accepted all the records and I can pick up the check on Monday."
Chrissie's legs looked long and sexy in her new finger-tip length red lycra-spandex miniskirt. And her heels, so high they were, made her arch her big chest out so provocatively.
How long was it now? Thirteen, no fourteen months, Chris had been Chrissie. Barbara had taken over the day after they returned from the meeting. With the extra cash flow, printers were hired and Chrissie found `herself' the receptionist and book keeper. The first time Chrissie had called Barbara `Barbie', Chrissie had been dressed like a Barbie doll and had her moth washed out with soap.
Christmas was coming and Barbara took out the shiny red boxes of jewelry from the bottom drawer of her desk. There was an ankle chain and a necklace with a personalized dog-tag, including a diamond chip. And big personalized disk earrings. All 24 karat plated. And all bearing the name "Chrissie."
Click, clack, click, clack. She's coming back. Barbara got the gifts back into the drawer before the high heels clicked their way into her office.
"Here's your coffee, Boss."
Barbara watched her secretary go.
Funny, I only think of her as a girl now. Maybe it's time i had her dating one of the boys on the print floor?
And maybe best of all, the twelve months Chrissie had to live as a woman before the surgeon would perform sex reassignment surgery were up, if Barbara let Chrissie have her cock cut off, she would sign over the rest of the stock in Diversions.
Barbara imagined Chrissie, chewing gun, in hot pants, walking coffee back to the boys and giggling when they copped a feel, and poor as a church mouse. Serve the little fool right, Barbara thought.
Barbara made a note to herself to buy some gum.
Chrissie copyright 1996 by She-Devil.
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