Chapter 07: You Are dy BelmyNow wasn’t the time to remember.

  But man, chicks ever be stupid when they want to be. I’ve never uood that, how they just throw logid reason and self-respect to the side, just to be with some guy--to be with me. I’m a damn fibsp; And I’m an ho one: I don’t promise anything I’m not going to deliver, and I never promise mubsp;

  And this Alice chick, she really surprised me. ‘Luminous’ is this bar not far from the office, trendy without being phoney, even if most of the people who went there were right bastards. Like me, I guess. That’s where I picked up Alibsp; She was a sexy little thing, but a bit mousy. She had that naughty-librarian look going. But when I got her baine and peeled off those clothes, fuck, what a surprise. Like uning a surprise gift, those bnd clothes fell away to reveal a soft, curvy body squeezed into a sexy little basque, garters and the whole deal, like something out of a magazine spread. A tiger in bed as well. We went at it for hours. Dumb as bricks but amazing in bed. Afterwards we y tangled in the sheets of her small bedroom, staring at the ceiling as the pizza joint across the way alternately paihe room blue and yellow with neon lighting. A slight breeze fluttered the curtains and sighed across our naked bodies. In the half-asleep stupefa of a good fuck, she led in my arm and idly traced a single fingernail ay chest. She followed ead every line of my chest and abdomen as though drawing a scalpel across the armour of my flesh seeking and failing to find a k, some crack, a way into the mah.

  Eventually she fell into a deep sleep. I remember ying there for hours, unwilling or uo allow myself the same luxury. The night drew on and the lights from across the way faded and the room sank into darkness and silenbsp; Traffic died; the noises of the urban night faded; soon, only the sound of her light breathing remained for pany. And for some reason I distinctly remember the frilly wisp of fabric, her underwear looped over the furthest bedpost. I stared at her pahrough the night until dawn coloured the room a steely grey and I slipped free from her embrace without waking her a.

  I never saw Alice again.

  And now, sat on the edge of another bed in another shitty little room in another unknown part of town, I found myself staring at another pair of pahat bore an uny resembo that pair of two months ago. They were very thin, nearly see-through and a tight fit, decorated with embroidered little flowers. Sexy. I’d love t a girl home and un her and find something like this underh, all damp and ready to peel off. But I probably shouldn’t have been thinking about that, or Alice, because I entered my first problem right then.

  “Hey, K?” I called out. “I’ve, uh, got a problem.”

  A few seds ter she was standing there in the doorway.

  “I have a problem,” I said, and stared at her expetly. I pointed down at my crotch.

  I’m an average-sized guy and that’s never been a problem for me. I’m not pag a twelve-inch sausage, and I wouldn’t want to be. I’m big enough to get the job done, and to get it done well. I take it all very seriously. Even if I’m just with some silly bimbo I picked up that night, one so dumb she doesn’t even know she’s being used even after I’ve told her, I think it’s important to show her a good time. There’s no excuse for being zy in bed. I’m a selfish bastard in real life, but sex is something itself; it’s special. Giving pleasure, receiving it—that shit matters. You’ve got to work at it, and anything I work at, anything worth doing, I like to do well. So it’s important to me for the girl to get there as well, and I use all the tools at my disposal, if you know what I mean.

  I’ve read that penises are roughly the same size whe but vary like crazy when fccid. With mi’s small when rexed, and whe it’s bigger than you’d expebsp; I guess I’m like my dick, then: small when rexed, but you don’t want to fuck with me when I get going. And that was the problem. For whatever the reason, this messed-up situation, the thought of Alid the sight of K, the clothes themselves and the feminine st that flowed off my own body and lingered faintly in the underwear itself--I was reag.

  K spared a g my crotch, and sighed. “A problem?”

  I shrugged. My disguise wasn’t likely to work with seventeeimetres of cock thrusting up over the waistband. “You think you help me with this?” I said, and fshed her my most winning smile.

  “And what do you expect me to do about it?” K stepped into the room and sauntered closer, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t suddenly seem like she was ing on to me. Easy to assume, really, sidering I was standing all but naked in some unknoartment, with my cock standing out at a sharp angle against my body, fiercely esg the sheer panties I’d pulled on. “Are you looking for a kind friend, Miss Belmy?”

  K was now standing right up against me. She was taller than me, especially in her heels. Not that I found that intimidating; it was erotibsp; This close, a faintly musky st surrounded her. Who would’ve thought she wore perfume, even if it was a bit mannish? Her breasts rubbed up against my chest, the fabric of her jacket rough against my sensitive, still-glowing skin. She brought her mouth near my ear. Her hair tickled my neck.

  “Mmm, this is an unusual problem firl, dy,” she murmured, and her breath was hot on my ear. I nearly jumped when I felt her hand, slightly cold, gently around my shaft. “We have to do something about this, don’t we?”

  “Yes…,” I hissed, growing harder under her touch.

  “Is this turning you on, David?” Her grip tightened around my cobsp; Her breasts rubbed up against my chest again

  “Does it excite you to wear these clothes?”

  What? “No!” But theepped bad for a moment I thought I saw a glimpse of both disgust and hatred fsh across her eyes; and then she gave my cock a quick, hard sma the tip.

  “Ow!” I stumbled babsp; “Jesus Christ, K, what was that for?”

  “What did you think I would do, Miss Belmy? Give you a hand job? Get down on my knees and suck you off?”

  I drew in a deep breath, clutg the wall for support as my cock wobbled up and down indignantly. “I was just fu’ about!”

  “Your dubious charms, Miss Belmy, are best saved for a more appropriate time.” She reached over to a nightstand by the bed and grabbed a box of tissues. She tossed it over to me, where it bouny head before nding at my feet. “Tend to your own needs, please. Ihroom, if you don’t mind,” she said as she walked away. “When you are finished please tinue dressing.”

  I picked up the tissues. Fug dyke bitbsp; “You’re not making this any easier for me, you know that?” I yelled after her. You’d think she could take a joke. I didn’t really expect to her to, you know, relieve my pressure. But man, it would’ve been fantastic if she had.

  She turned about at the door. She let her jacket slip open and undid the top button of her blouse and, slowly sliding her hands along her sides, gave a little wiggle as she leaned forward and fshed me her most generous cleavage. She had awesome tits, from what I could see above the floral g of her bra. Then she slowly straighteurned sharply on her heel, and sashayed out of the room, that tight ass wigglih her skirt with each exaggerated, toe-to-toe step. “I hope that helps you finish off, dy,” she said over her shoulder.

  God, I wasn’t sure if I hated or loved that woman. What a bitch, and I meant that in a good way. A few mier I stepped out of the bathroom, drying my hands and ready to tackle the task at hand.

  The sight of the clothes on the bed brought me back to earth like a punch to the gut. It really did feel like a hit to the stomabsp; It was the feeling of doing something wrong, like when you’ve borrowed your parents’ car without permission and you’ve smashed it up and know you’re in big trouble? Kinda like that. I was just wishing I’d had aiff drink when I saw that K had left one for me by the bed. What a woman. I took my time with it, reinf each step of dressing up with another fortifying gulp. I was already starting to feel a bit buzzed. The joys of drinking on ay stomach.

  I slipped the panties ba. They fit better this time, oucked my cock babsp; Tight and a bit unfortable, riding a tad higher between my ass cheeks than I’d like, but nothing unbearable. Then the pantyhose. I’d seen enough girls slip them on in the m around my pce, but these seemed really wispy and easy to tear. I rolled them up into a donut and pointed my toes and pulled the stog up my first leg about halfway, and then did the same with the sed foot, and finally stood, found my bance, and pulled the whole thing up over the panties.

  Know what? My legs looked damn fine in those pantyhose. Denuded and encased in that sheer, inky fabric, the sharper muscle definition of my legs were smoothed and softened and somehow made to look slimmer. The panties beh made a darker ‘V’ against which my pressed cock proved an unbeing mound. My legs felt warmer than expected. The embroidered trol top came up to just beh my bellybutton and was tight ay buttocks, caressing and shaping. The silkiness as I slid the nylons up my legs had been unnerving; now, passing my hand along those sleek lines I felt a tremor through my stomabsp; The sensation was just so . . . feminine. I’d stroked many a woman’s thigh beh her skirt, and I loved the feeling of my palm against her nylon-cd ass. Now it was my ass in nylon, looking way too good for my fort and smooth to the touch.

  That’s when K stepped into the room. To her credit, she didn’t ugh though a hint of a smile da the er of her mouth. “How are we doing, Miss Belmy?”

  “I feel like a damn fool, K.”

  “You look fine,” she said. She unravelled another silky, bck thing in her hand as she approached. “You will his as well, I am afraid.”

  “Great,” I answered. “What the hell is it?”

  “A waist cher.”

  “You’ve got to be fug kidding me.”

  Sadly, K wasn’t much of a kidder. “What is the first part of a woman that you notice, Mr. Saunders?” she asked, as she had me raise my arms above my head and ed the damhing around me. At least she was calling me by my male name.

  “I don’t know. Her tits?” I was going to say ‘her eyes’ because, truth be told, it’s a woman’s eyes that do it more for me than anything. I’ve even fucked more than a few fatties, just because they had the most geous, sexy eyes. But wearing panties and nylons, with a waist-cher being ed around me, I felt like I had to say something typically manly.

  She had the damhing around me. She zipped it up the front and the behind and I felt her begin to tug on the ces. With eae I felt the thing tighten its grip. “A woman’s shape defines her gender, at least from a distance,” K said. “Even in unisex clothing, or with short hair, or without makeup, or any of the other superficial trappings of femininity, a woman’s hips and waist trigger reition.” She gave a sharp tug, f my breath out.

  “Hey, take it easy!”

  “Keep those arms up,” K anded, her voice sharp. I grudgingly kept them above my head as she tinued her torture. “You ck curves, dy,” she tinued. “ut you in a dress and make you wear a wig and sther on the makeup, but unless you have the shape of a woman, even an unskilled observer will sehere is something wrong.” The waist cher’s grip tio tighten, vice-like. “There are a thousand other things that give you away, of course, but this one is easily enough remedied.”

  K stepped away. I lowered my arms and took a hesitant breath. The waist- cher followed the lines of my body like a sed skin, starting at my hips and ending at my ribcage. It was bck, like everything else K seemed to be pig out, with crimson lines where the fabric drew in. It wasn’t quite as bad as I expected, to be ho. I wasn’t going to pass out like some damsel from Goh the Wind. My internal ans didn’t feel like they were being crushed. heless, I didn’t feel like I could draw in a big breath. I wasn’t about to go ten rounds wearing this thing.

  “How do you feel?” K asked, her voice spicuously g in .

  “Just fug great,” I answered. I made a sweepiure that took in my lower half. “I feel like a goddamn faggot, K.”

  She made a small clug sound of disapproval. “Really, Miss Belmy, must you swear so much?”

  “I’ll swear as much as I fug well please!”

  She gave me a firm look. “I am afraid, dy, that you really will have to watch your tongue. There are numerous linguistic differences in male and female speech patterns in the English nguage.”

  I couldn’t believe this woman. “So, what, you expect me to speak like some friggin’ chick, too?”

  “dy,” she said. “You are a ‘friggin’ chick,’ so to speak. Please try to remember that. Now wait here for a moment. We still have a lot to do.”

  She left me standing there mouth agape. I wish she’d left me there with another whisky. I wish she’d left with the heat on, because I felt goose-bumps rising ay arms and chest. I missed my hair. This was all a bit mud had me feeling deeply uled. How long did she expect me to wear these damned clothes anyway? I wasn’t going to be this ‘dy’ chick for long. No fug way. No damn way. Nin’ way. There. That’s as good as K was going to get from me.

  Wheurned a few mier she was carrying a box in her hand. “Sit down on the bed, please,” she asked, as she pulled a small table across the room ahe box down.

  “What’s in there?” I asked, making myself fortable.

  “This is your--,” she started, gng back, and then stopped. “dy, really, some modesty please.”

  “What now?”

  “It is unseemly firl to sit with her legs like that.”

  I was sitting with my legs spread, of course. My balls were already feeling cramped, squeezed in by the panties and hose. The waist-cher was keeping me in this unnaturally straight-backed posture. Worse, all this nonsense was already getting to me again--I was starting to fly at half-mast, and the growing bulge between my thighs was making this all the more unfortable.

  “Fuck this!” I excimed, jumping to my feet. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I felt ready to rip this goddamn clothing off and storm out the room. I’d take my y own instead of suffering through more of this nonsense.

  “Mr. Saunders, sit down!” K anded.

  I’d never heard her shout before. Steel underscored her voibsp; She stood with arms on hips and gring at me with that flinty-grey stare, looking more like an ed school principal than a secret agent. I don’t like being ordered about, but the authority she exuded held me from just walking off.

  “K, this is ridiculous!” I insisted. “It’s only a temporary disguise, right? I mean, what the hell, are you gonna stop me on every single damn thing I do that isn’t all girly and shit?”

  “Yes, Mr. Saunders, I am going to correct you on every little a that is not all ‘girly and shit’. This is your cover. This is your new identity. Even if only temporarily, I expect you to be the best ‘dy’ that you be for the duration of your time in the role. I expect you to sit with ys crossed at the knee. I expect you to wear the very same clothes that dy Belmy, 20 year old female, would wear. I expect you to do all this, dy, because I promised that I would make every effort to keep you alive, and I will be damned if your bullshit macho pride is going to get you killed.”

  I hadn’t heard her swear before. “You expect me to speak like a girl?”

  “Yes, Miss Belmy, I expect you to speak in a ropriate for a woman ye.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” I said, slowly sitting down. “And just so you know, I’ve known lots of girls who werely sweet-talkers.” And I didn’t just mean in bed. I’d met some amazing girls over the years. Some of them kicked my ass. Like Sakura. God, I was gd she couldn’t see me in this getup. “They’d put a sailor to shame.”

  “But you aren’t a real girl,” K insisted, as if I needed a reminder. “Everything about you is mase, Mr. Saunders. Very much so. Your mannerisms, your shape, the way you speak, the way you walk, how you approach people and the way you front a problem. Ead every one of these things give away your real identity. All it would take is one wrong a, one word that shouts out “I am David Saunders” at the wrong time, and all our efforts will have been wasted. This is not the time to indulge in politically correct behaviour. dy is going to be, I am afraid, through y, a bit of a girly-girl.”

  The thing is I already knew all this. I’d douff simir to this before, though not as ridiculously out-there as trying to pass myself as a chibsp; In a sad and twisted way, even “David Saunders” was as much a disguise, as much a creation, as dy Belmy was going to be. Perhaps we all lived lives of pretend illusion, but probably most of us didn’t take it to this extreme.

  I wasn’t feeling all that cooperative. I hated sitting there in these fug clothes--especially in front of this sexy woman. She left me feeliremely self-scious, something I wasn’t used to. On top of that, the thought of what I’d have to do and the way I’d have to act while pretending to be this ‘dy’ bitch made me siy stomabsp; bined with the fug pain in my chest from the bruising and the throb in my side and the headache and the booze s in my empty belly and everything else--yeah, I was struggling to keep trol. But I felt a little bad for taking it out on K.

  “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to say ‘aw, poo!’ or nothin’”

  Her features softened in a small smile. “No, dy, I do not expect you to ever say ‘aw, poo.’ Now, are we ready to tinue?”

  I gave a grudging nod.

  K pulled out a measuring tape and took my size around my chest, right where the waist cher ended. She nodded with approval, as if she’d already correctly guessed my size. She went to her box and pulled out a couple of bottles and a pair of gloves. “The part is going to feel a bit strange,” she said, pulling on her gloves. She gave me a slight shove. “Please lie back.”

  Hell, normally this would be the start of a good night--some sexy chick pushing me bato the bed and straddling me. Of course, I was wearing women’s uhings, which kinda spoilt the mood. And instead of rubbing her ass into my crotch, she used a cotton cloth to start wiping down my chest.

  “It’s just alcohol,” she said. “You did a good job in the shower but we have to make sure that you are properly .” She did a very thh job. I was starting to get excited again.

  She slowly unscrewed a nondescript white jar bereft of any belling. When she carefully put the lid aside a strong, pu smell filled the room. I couldn’t quite pce it--something acrid that left an unpleasant chemical taste in the bay throat. She used a small pstic spatu to lift out a dollop of amber goo from the jar.

  “This may sting a little,” she said, and began to smear it ay pebsp; At first I wondered what she meant. It was bragly cold--which did a little to dispel my ere, steadily growing and struggling against its silky fines--but otherwise felt fine. Then it began to tingle. And then--holy motherfuck!--it started to burn, and burn, and burn, God, as if someone ressing a branding iron into my chest. “Do not move!” K ordered, as she saw my eyes widen in shobsp; “And most importantly, do not touch your chest!”

  “Christ!” I excimed through gritted teeth. “What the hell is this stuff?”

  “A product of your former employers,” she said, w quickly. “An aniding agent. Very cutting-edge, very expensive.”

  “It fug hurts!”

  “Yes, one of the reasons it will not be approved by the FDA. I suspect the bruising is making the pain worse. Now lie still. The gel needs a few mio settle properly.” And with that she lifted herself off of me and stepped out of sight. I couldn’t hear her, either: this shit hurt so much all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. I grit my teeth and the pain totally burhrough the nice drunk feeling from those two Scotches was totally gone, I’m telling you.

  A few minutes, she said? Felt a hell of a lot longer. And I’m good at dealing with pain. I y there on the bed, my toes curling with pain in their silky sheath, fists gripping tight knots into the bedsheets as I fought back the urge to jump off the bed and rush into the shower and wash this shit off of me. I kept waiting for the pain to ease. Slowly, after what felt like ages, it ebbed slightly. That’s when K sat back down on me.

  She had twrey objects, each more than a handful for her. I had to blink the tears out of my eyes. They were tits. They were grey and dead-looking things, but quite clearly tits, tipped in pale rounded nubs.

  “What the--”

  “These are your new breasts,” K said.

  I guess I’d been expeg something like this. I mean, she seemed set on doing a damn fine job of making a ving girl out of me. Very professional and thh, Agent K is. So maybe I shouldn’t have been expeg a pair of rolled-up socks. That’s what a guy I knew used when he dressed up as a cheerleader back at one of the high schools I’d been to. He’d been 190 d nearly a hundred kilos. He made a crap cheerleader. Somehow, I suspected I was going to prove far more ving than he had.

  “They look big.”

  Surprisingly, she blushed, and this time it seemed very real and natural. “I . . . my apologies, David. They are. D-cups, I’m afraid.”

  A lot of guys I know, they like big tits. Like I said, I like big eyes. Weird, I know, but I’ll always take beautiful eyes over perky tits any day. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate a fine pair of knockers, too. But they’ve always e after legs and ass. Of course I like a girl to actually have some--none of this mosquito-bite bullshit--but I don’t like ‘em te, either, bobbling all over the pce like fug udders. Uhey’re fake or young, they’re going to be droopy once you set ‘em free from fi and that ain’t so sexy to me. A nice firm, perky pair, fun to py with, that’s what I like, not that I’ve ever kicked any girl out of bed for not meeting some arbitrary criteria. Pussy’s pussy, after all.

  “They’re a bit rge, I’ll admit,” K rushed to tinue. “Though sidering your frame, they should be just about perfect.” As she spoke she brought those grey lumps down to my chest. I had a quick glimpse of them. From the back they were ft and tear-drop-shaped, covered in a multitude of firaight-standing bristles. “It was all I could get my hands on.”

  “Yeah, I noticed you had your hands on them.” I was trying for wry, hard to mah the pain and the apprehension. Surprisingly, she blushed even further.

  “I have to keep them in pce,” she insisted, “so they bond properly.” I couldn’t quite see what she was doing. The burning in my chest was quickly fading away, leaving a strange numbness across the area. I couldn’t even feel her moving those things around or pressing them down. “The position has to be just right.”

  I waggled my eyebrows at her and smiled. “From here, your position looks just about perfect.”

  “Please, Mr. Saunders. This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

  I wasn’t sure why this was any more embarrassing than any of the other weird shit we’d dooday, but it was o finally see a humaion out of her. “Well, how long is this going to take?”

  “A few more minutes,” she said. “Until the breastforms fully attach themselves to your chest.”

  “Hey, waitasebsp; All this bonding agent shit and all--these things are gonna e off, right?”

  It was her turn to smile. “You sound worried, Miss Belmy.”

  “Fuck off with this ‘Miss Belmy’ crap! They e off or what?”

  “Yes, dy, they do. I have a ter-agent that will break down the chemical bonding and release the breastforms. The reverse process if far less painful as well, so o worry. Even without the ter-agent the bonding will eventually deteriorate on its own.”

  “Well . . . good.”

  “And that should just about do it,” she said, and cmbered off of me. “Please stand up, dy, a’s see how they settled.”

  Feeling was slowly creeping bato my chest, and it felt . . . weird. Really fug weird. When I sat up I felt this discerti on my chest that moved with every motion I made. The weight pulled me forward. But what really blew my mind was when I reached up and actually touched my new breasts. I could feel the fug things! And I don’t mean their shape, either, or their weight in my hand. I could feel my own fiip brush against the fake skin.

  “K, what the fuck?”

  “dy, nguage, please.” She took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I was so out of it I just let her lead me away from the bed. “You’re a very lucky girl, you know. These are very cutting edge. Another fine, unreleased product from your former employers. I’m told they’re groposed to made. The bonding agent acts as a catalytic medium through which artificial nerve es are made aion passed. If I touch you here,” and as she spoke she gently drew her fiip across the underside of my breast, sending an unfortable shiver down my spine, “you feel it the same as if I had touched your real chest. And the artificial skin is eveive--look, you see goosebumps rising.”

  This was too mubsp; I felt off-banbsp; I had mother-fug tits now, real goddams! I felt like I o sit down. But K wasn’t doh me. She lightly flicked my right nipple.

  “Dammit, K, cut that out!” It didn’t hurt; it didn’t particurly feel of anything, to be ho, the sensation ing as though from far away, muted and diffuse. But I could feel it. I didn’t like the way she ying with my new chest. Fuck, I didn’t like having a new chest.

  “You see the nipple reag as well, as the breast finishes bonding.” And damn if she wasn’t right, as under a few more light touches my new nipple began to stand out in a way my real ones never had. Did I say weird? Now it was getting all surreal. I could gently feel my nipples poking out like that, getting hard--I’d never felt anything like it. I’d never been a fan of nipple py, and the whole experience was leaving me feeling disected and discerted, almost detached from my own body. The damn things were still grey, looking very weird against my tanned and bruised skin.

  “Yeah, well, if you’re done pying with my tits, K, I’ll ask you to keep your hands to yourself.” I pulled away and crossed my arms over my chest. Fuck, it felt weird doing that. They way they moved and fttened beh my arms, it felt totally real.

  “The colour will adapt itself over the few hours. The seam between the breastform and your natural flesh will also gradually fade over the wenty-four hours. Before long, they’ll be nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. Sensitivity should also grow as the nerve es strengthen.”

  Great. K had me do a few arm stretches to verify how my new breasts moved. When I raised my hands over my head they fttened against my pectorals--or rather, they fttened as much as these things could. I’d hought of a D-cup as overly rge but from this perspective they seemed enormous. When I twisted they swung to the side before jiggling babsp; Most discerting of all, when I bent forward I felt them hang down and sway heavily with every move. It’s something I love, that moment when a chick crawls up the bed towards me with her tits hanging down and swaying with each sensuous move of her ass. Now I was that fug chick, and I was starting to feel nearly feverish with the weirdness of it.

  K tossing me a bra, after all that, seemed anti-climatibsp; I’d watched enough girls put them on to figure out how to do it myself with only a little fumbling. She certainly didn’t offer to help. It was yet another bck, semi-opaque number. Cup size: D, the tag said. Fug wonderful. Underwired and frilly, it shoved up my tits as though on a dispy shelf and only just covered my new, dark areo, and did nothing to keep those fug nipples from peaking through, insistent little bastards. All of a sudden, I had cleavage. If I’d known that ratting on Jeremy fug Steele was going to end with me sp cleavage, I don’t think I would’ve bothered. Fug asshole. This was his fault. Jail was too good for the bastard.

  At least the damned bra relieved some of the weight, though the way the straps dug into my shoulders didly thrill. I’d only had these things for about ten minutes and already I was starting to hate the damn, ponderous things. All she could get her hands on, my ass. I was starting to think that K was enjoying this far too much.

  The item she passed me took me by surprise. “Jeans?”

  “You sound surprised, dy.”

  I shrugged. The motio me perturbed, as I could feel my new breasts jiggle with the gesture. Fug things. I briefly wondered if I’d ever get used to their presence, before realizing that I didn’t ever want to get used to having breasts--I didn’t pn on keeping these puppies for that long. “Yeah. I expected you to stick me in a miniskirt or something.”

  “Would you prefer a miniskirt, dy?”

  “Hell, no!” I excimed, grabbing the jeans from her. Soon after I realized she wasn’t letting me off that easy, though. They were jeans, sure, a very dark denim blue, but definitely a pair of old-school, retro girl’s jeans, the kind that was ing ba fashion. “K, there’s nin’ way these things are gonna fit!”

  “They will fit just fine,” she said, again holding back a slight smile. “They may just be a little tighter than you are used to.”

  No shit. I’d worn slim-fitting jeans before but nothing like this; it took me forever get into those damn things. I finally had to stretch out on the bed with my legs up in the air, hauling with all my might and wiggling and tugging (which, with those damn melons on my chest, was mightily distrag) to pull the goddamn things over my ass and newfound curves. The denim didn’t give in the least and if I hadn’t been squeezed and softened and smoothed out beforehand there’s no way I would’ve gotten them on. When I finally got the button fly done up I was exhausted. I had to admit though, ing my o look back at my rear, you’d be hard pressed to mistake me fuy ihings. The jeans were like a corset for my ass. And damn, I had a fine ass. And there was certainly no sign of a bulge in my crotow. Frankly, I was a little worried all this was doing my guys some serious damage.

  The jeans were skin-tight with a very cute, very girly flowery design along one of the legs that slightly sied me. That’s when I noticed that the damn jeans were way too long for my height.

  “Dammit K,” I said, once she returo the room. “I killed myself getting into these, and I’ll be tripping over myself with every step.” I took a few shuffling steps to demonstrate. “I ’t wear these.”

  “Not at all,” K said. “They go with these, of course.” She held up a pair of shoes. Dainty and with heels; and bck, of course.

  “K? I’m really beginning to hate you,” I said.

  Some guys I know, especially a couple of pricks at work, they’re short like I am and they’ve got this real problem with their girl wearing heels. Only thing worse than those idiots, are the fug bitches who ’t deal with being taller than their man. Me, I couldn’t give a shit. Sometimes it’s o have some petite five-foot little cutie cradled in my arm, but I’m not about to pin if I’m eye-level with some Amazon’s tits, am I? It’s not height that makes me manly. It’s me that makes me manly. I’m pretty damn secure with myself, and I’ve got very little respect for fuckwits who ’t deal with shit like that--or worse yet, don’t even know they’re as insecure as a six-year old who’s just wet themselves on the pyground. Me, I’ve never given two shits if a girl wants to wear heels. Damn, but heels are damn sexy, if you ask me, especially when she keeps them on in bed.

  Still, watg some silly cute things trotting about in these ridiculous stilettos, barely able to cross the street, it’s hard not to ugh sometimes. Well, I wasn’t ughing now, as K k down and slid the first shoe onto my foot. It fit, too, but then again I’ve always had small feet fuy. It was just another drop iorrent of weird sensations b me, as I tentatively put my foot down a it settle in an arched position. It wasn’t some stupidly tall kind of shoe, probably only about two inches of heel or so, but hell, it was more than enough for me and although the heel wasn’t a proper spike it still felt pretty fug slim and wobbly to me. My toes peeked out the end and there was a thin strap across the ankle.

  “How the hell do you expect me to walk in this getup, K?” I asked

  “At first, carefully. You will have a ce to practice your walking before we leave the apartment.”

  She handed me a top, which I thankfully pulled on. Somehow, going topless just wasn’t as much fun when I had these tits thrust up in my fabsp; Not that they disappeared once I got that sweater pulled on. The damn thing was soft pea colour and a lot softer and fluffier than anything I was used to. Snugger and longer in the arms but baggy at the shoulder, somehow my hands seemed elegant, poking out the sleeve. Worse of all was the ridiculous v-hat left my cleavage proudly exposed. What the hell’s the point of putting on clothes if all yoods are still hanging out?

  K reached behio attach a neckce with a clear, little pink-tinted bauble that settled fortably between my boobs. When she reached around my neck our tits rubbed together--and yeah, that was another weird feeling to add to the list, but truth be told, by this time I was so fug out of it that I wasly resisting anything she did. And she was right: already those things hanging off my chest were growing more sensitive to toubsp; But I didn’t even twitch when she clipped on some dangly earrings, saying something about how “a girl my age should really have had both ears pierced years ago.” She slipped a couple of jangling bracelets on my left wrist, before stepping back to examine her creation.

  “Needs a belt,” she stated, and a moment ter I sported this low-riding wide leather belt with a massive ring buckle, hanging off my narrowed waist.

  I levelled a dull stare at her. “We fug--sorry, we damn well do?”

  K gave a small smile. “Almost,” she said. “Wig, and makeup.”

  She left the room to gather the st of her instruments of tiving me a moment with myself. When I looked down I felt the earrings tickle my cheek. When I reached up to touch them the bangles on my arm chimed. I squirmed at the edge of the bed and I felt slippery inside my jeans and the panties rode up my ass and my heel wobbled beh me. That massive crevice leading into my shirt tingled with new goosebumps. Sleraps ran over my shoulders. I couldn’t breathe properly. How could this possibly be my best ce of survival? How the hell could I fight in this fug setup? Or even run? I trusted K and all but . . . this was crazy, insane!

  “Are you okay?” K asked, stepping bato the room. Bless her, she was carrying another drink. I hadn’t noticed fihe st one.

  I offered a wan smile. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  She pulled a chair over and sat across from me and gave me a look that was genuinely sympathetibsp; “You are not enjoying this, are you?” She handed me my third scotch.

  “What was your first clue?” I pouhe drink bad grimaced as it went down. This one was a double. It helped, though only a little.

  “Mr. Saunders, if it helps, just try to think of this as getting ready for a Halloween party. Or maybe for a part in some py.”

  “K, if you fuck up your lines on stage, nobody shoots you.” I sighed, though not too deeply thanks to the damned waist-cher. “Listen, I knoe’re doing this but I damn well don’t like it. It feels . . . wrong.” I mulled my thoughts over and barely noticed as she took my hand. The acrid st of nail varnish assaulted the senses but I steadfastly ighe sight of my nails being painted, one by one.

  It felt wrong. The need for it felt wrong. I felt this very, very strongly, despite K’s reassurances, despite the fact that I trusted her. I was taught, long ago, to pay special attention to anything that created such a strong, visceral rea. Hate, love, loathing, disgust, obsessions--these were emotions to be tempered but never ignored. I didn’t want to think about it, but I had to ask myself: why did I hate this so fug much?

  Stroion like that, it’s usually because something important to you is being challenged. I figured out who I was at a very young age. I had to. As I learned more about the world and life in general I just sort of ied the uff into myself, hung the new ideas off of the core self I’d already fashioned, and I stayed me deep down inside. That’s how I was taught. Know thyself. An important lesson--the most important one--and the hardest thing in the world to pull off; most people, I think, find it impossible. But once you know who you are--there’s so much you do. Hesitation, doubt, all that bullshit fades away; other peoples’ s, jealousy, insults are easily ignored. Instant as beore than just instinct but rather an expression of who you are, done in that pce that exists free of uainty.

  So this painful, gut feeling I was having? There had to be more to it than just bullshit machismo. Fuck, if a guy’s genuinely secure about who and what he is then he shouldn’t be bothered at all by this kind of shit. This I believe. I really do. I mean, yeah, I don’t go in for all this girly crap and it’s nothing I’ve wao do before, but if it keeps me alive then… yeah, wearing a skirt--or very tight jeans--doesn’t make me any less a man. I’m a man; none of this ges that; and I long ago gave up g what the world thinks of me. So something else was going on here. I just couldn’t figure out what. Maybe it was the booze, or the numbed pain. My head still felt a bit hazy.

  “You seem quiet, dy. Is everything okay?” K was finishing off my nails. They weren’t dry yet but were already discertingly shiny. It was a clear varnish that gave my nails a glimmering sheen that rippled with faint pink hues in the light.

  “Yeah, sure,” I grunted. I didn’t really want to bother K with nonsehoughts. Instead, I just said the first angry thought that jumped to mind. “Christ, K, how the hell am I going to defend myself, wearing this shit? I’m not sure I walk in these fu--these damn shoes, let alone do anything else.”

  K started doing the makeup thing. I holy have no idea what she was doing, but she attacked my cheeks and eyes and lips with this and that thing as she talked, occasionally pausing to curtly order me to ‘look that way’ or ‘blink’ or ‘purse your lips’, mimig the a for me when I hesitated, ‘like this.’ She tinued expining as she worked. “dy, the whole idea is for you to not fight. Do you know how to fight?”

  I gave a calcuted shrug. I tried to be careful not to disrupt what she was doing. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Could you defeat a professionally trained assassin?”

  Another non-ittal shrug. “You’ve got the file on me, what do you think?”

  “I believe that there is little use in bringing a sword to a gunfight, dy,” K answered, as she rubbed some powder ay eyelids. “Mr. Steele’s men have guns, and they know how to use them, and they shoot from very far away. The best fighter in the world stands little ce against that.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I grudgingly admitted.

  “And that’s if they bother with shooting. There are many ways to kills a man. A car crash. A gas leak as you sleep. Something in your food.”

  I grunted.

  “Not that you o worry about that, dy. A girl like you isn’t a fighter. You do not know how to fight because you do not have to. Standing in a croould anyone want to hurt you, cute and demure as you are?”

  Cute. Demure. Girly-girl. I wish I’d had a better look at that dossier on dy and seen what kind of a girl she was before I’d agreed to bee her. I was starting to get worried. Even if only for a short time, a few days or a week, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand being some ming sissy bitbsp; Exactly what kind of girl was K turnio, anyway?

  “K, listen, I’ve got to know . . . ow!” I was about to challenge her on her pns for dy, but thearted to rip hairs out of my eyebrow and I had to bite down to keep myself from telling her exactly where she could jab those fug tweezers of hers. Oh, I had a couple of choice locations in mind. When she was dohat, she used this wand-type thing to smear this gooey, sweet-tasting shit ay lips and I kind of gave up on talking for a bit. I swear, my whole face felt weird, all gunked up and heavy with makeup. “We are almost done,” she said, and after a few final touch-ups ay face, she had a go at my hair, slig it down before pulling out a wig.

  dy was a blonde, of course. Why wasn’t I surprised? “Try to keep any hair from toug your lips,” K suggested, as she brought the whole thing down on my head. Suddenly, I had long flowing locks the colour of sunflowers, and bangs, and hair tig the nape of my neck, and as that damned woman made her final adjustments I suddenly felt this incredible urge to burst into tears. I didn’t, of course--like I said, I’m no pansy and I haven’t cried in years. I’ll shed tears ood friend but I’d be fucked if I’ll waste tears on something stupid like this. Hell, I don’t even know why I wao cry all of a sudden like that. I just did. The moment passed and I was okay.

  Finally, the whole damn ordeal was over and K was helpio my wobbly feet. She led me across the room over to a full-length mirror set in the er. Thank fuck she was there to lean on and it was just a few steps away. It didn’t help that I was starting to feel more than just a little drunk. I didn’t want to see myself. I really didn’t. Especially clutg on to K’s arm like that. She was dressed a hell of a lot mahan I was, and I felt like some silly drunk chi wobbly heels reliant on a strong arm to get anywhere. Fuck me, but that was not the kind of chick dy was going to be, not if I had any say iter.

  And then, the moment of truth. K set me in front of that mirror and stepped away, and I had my first good look at dy Belmy.

  dy, I had tingly admit, was cute, in a blonde-coed sort of way. Truth be told, I felt almost a little disappoi my first glimpse of dy. After all that fug work and prep and struggling aional upheaval, I was expeg something pretty damn amazing. dy’s body retty hot, I’ll give her that. She was slim and her legs were long and coltish, in those low-riding skin-tight jeans with just a glimpse of heels peeping out from beh. Jeans like that begged flimpse of trimmed midriff but dy was feeling a bit shy; her sweater hung past her waist, ched in by a wide opeed belt.

  Thing is, she was kind of ky, especially across the shoulders. But with a rack like that, who’d be cheg out shoulders? Her breasts stood out firm and rouh her fuzzy peach sweater and a little crystal bauble glinted and irresistibly drew your attention to that proud cleavage.

  What I liked about dy, though--what took my breath away, to be ho--what scared me about this girl, were her eyes. She had the most beautiful emerald eyes, somehow wider, the ore vivid, than I’d ever seen them, and those flecks of grey in trast made the green all the more vibrant. There was hesitan those eyes, a trembling anxiousness--a vulnerability I’d never seen in my eyes before, because I damn well khat this trim, young girl was somehow me. I reached up with one shaky hand to brush a few stray hairs back behind my ear; bangles ked and slid down my forearm and my eyes were drawn by those glimmering silvery strips suspended from my ears and I quickly pulled back from such a feminiure.

  Sure, the illusion fell apart if you looked too closely or knew what to check for. dy’s jaw was just a little to firl, the nose a bit odd, those hands too big, and something that suspiciously resembled an Adam’s apple bobbed into sight when she nervously gulped. From beh the heavy mask of makeup and the illusion of youth looked someone older, someo quite girlish enough. There was definitely something mannish about her. But from afar, maybe even from up close in a dark room, you wouldn’t gwiaybe you would, to check out that tight ass, or that amazing rabsp; Or those eyes, those fug enigmatic eyes.

  “What the hell,” I said, barely audible. My eyes danced bad forth ay refle, uaio settle but always drawn back to themselves, to those greehs. “Who the hell am I?” I whispered.

  Standing a few feet behind me and to the side, I heard K answer. “You are dy Belmy.”

  “Yes, but. . . ,” I swallowed before tinuing, “Who . . . who is she, K?”

  “dy,” Agent K determined, “is everything that David Saunders is not. dy is unsure of herself where David is cocky. She is humble when he is arrogant, and modest in the face of his pride. David is very strong but dy, she is far weaker.” K walked up behind me aed one hand on my shoulder. She gently smoothed the sweep of my blonde hair back ay ned I touched at her intimate toubsp; “David has alrided himself in his independence,” she all but whispered in my ear. “But dy is very dependant on the help and opinions of others. She is coy where David is brash and timid where he is bold and demure where he is daring.” K’s eyes caught my reflected gaze and bore into me. “David was antagonistid abrasive and selfish.” Her breath was hot on my ned ear. “But you, yracious ale and g.”

  “I . . . .”

  “This is you, dy.”

  “I . . . I don’t know if I . . . .”

  “I will train you,” K said, lips curled in a thin smile that suddenly seemed cruel. Her hands rested on my shoulders as she stood behind and over me. Her eyes glittered like diamonds in the mirror, beautiful and hard and cold.