Thirty three and still single. The bachelor life was not good for me. I ate badly and snacked a lot and my beer gut made sure I stayed without a girlfriend. I was tired of it, and had to do something.

Nor sure if you'd call it an ad, but it showed up as I browsed the interweb. A new type of weight loss, or body sculpting as they called it, and they were looking for volunteers. Right here in town.

The fine print, something I always read carefully, made it clear it wasn't free, but it was a significant reduction from their target price once they hit the market. And they were in their last round of testing before that happened, so not a lot of risk. They were looking for a lot of different body types.

It was as simple as submitting a picture of my gut, and a reply came the same day. I qualified for their final test phase, but was I willing to pay one thousand dollars? Only a third of what their retail price would be, and it covered the cost of the very expensive material that was part of the solution. Was it made from gold?

I worried a bit about the money, although with my decent job and not many expenses, I could easily afford it. And it wasn't like sending it to some African “prince” or so. The fact that they guaranteed success, losing more than twenty inches off my waistline within a year, or my money back. As a matter of fact, they would give me a debit card with one thousand on it, that would become active a year from now. Unless I reached my goal before then. Sounded like a win-win and thus I signed up.

It took a few days when I reported at their R&D facility, here in town. There were sixteen of us, but somehow I was the only guy. That worried me a bit, but as I looked around, the different body types amongst women was much more pronounced than I'd seen on any other guy. We basically have a beer gut. Period.

The presentation they did was interesting. And so simple, I had the feeling this had to work. Think shrinkwrap. You wrap it around something, add some heat, and it will shrink nice and tight. Now, if it could only shrink, but would never expand again, what would happen?

And that was how the material was designed that would be wrapped around our bellies. The magic ingredient would cause it to shrink. The expensive material was a platinum thread woven in that would prevent it from expanding again. Once the material would be activated it could shrink only. The second there was room to shrink, it would.

Once it was around your belly, it wouldn't come off again. Unless you quit the test phase obviously. Then they'd cut it off of you, and you lose your money. But, as you got used to a tighter body, and you'd eat less, maybe burn some fat under the wrap, it would keep shrinking, without really doing too much work. The American way.

There was an incentive even. I guess to entice people to make it work and lose the inches. If the target was reached, and the person would keep the wrap on for another year, the debit card would activate after that extra year, and we still would get our money back, on top of a much better waistline. I knew I'd be in that category.

The “wrapping” was quite a ceremony. They sprayed my belly first with a foamy substance, to get hair free, and then with the very oily activator. Then, I had to step in the wrap, that was almost transparent, although quite thicker than the wrap you use in the kitchen. It was one piece, no seams that I could see and it went from my hips, just above my crotch, upto the bottom of my ribcage, just below my man boobs.

The moment it touched my slippery skin the material started to work, and just like that it was tight around me, with no visible bumps or folds. The guy who helped me told me to hold my breath for a few seconds, and when I blew the air out again, my tighter belly stayed. Right away that took some getting used to. He took a measurement of my belly at its widest point, and right away I had lost two inches already.

As I was done, I looked around, and almost all others were in a state close to me, except for two women with extreme blubber bellies. I had to chuckle as the wrap was barely big enough to go around their legs and bottoms. But, I had to give it to them, fifteen minutes later we were all wrapped up.

They paired us up, apparently based on the proximity of where we lived, and we got a quick lesson in measuring the other person. Our commitment was to meet once per week with that other person, do the measurements, and submit the data. Every other month we were expected back here, for an official assessment.

My “partner” was Emily, who I thought was actually quite pretty, but definitely overweight. She was a bit unhappy about being paired with the only guy, but I invited her to get some coffee, and we got acquainted. I was pretty open about my bad lifestyle, and she confessed that after her divorce she had simply let go of herself. We both agreed that we could use some help, and I did my first good deed by talking her out of the piece of cake she wanted to buy.

From one thing came the next and she came to my apartment and cleared out all my snacks. Then I did the same at her place. Somehow, the fact that we were not both guys or both gals, it made it easier to accept the other to “fix” us.

I hadn't planned to hook up with any of the other people in the test group, but somehow it felt natural with Emily. And she suggested maybe once or twice per week we eat a home cooked meal together. I made it clear right away that I wasn't much of a cook, but she wasn't bothered by that, if I at least would help her as she cooked. It was the least I could do.

We settled on Sundays and Wednesdays, doing our measurements before dinner on Sunday. And just like that I made a friend. A female friend.

That night I decided not to get my usual burger, instead I picked a salad. And I found that with enough stuff on it, a salad was not as boring as I always assumed. I went to bed quite proud of myself.

The next morning I learned the hard truth of what I had gotten myself into. I tend to sleep on my back, and guess what. The fat in your body spreads out and your figure improves. I always watch in wonder when I do my morning pee and I see the fat all sink back to where it “belongs”. Not this time though.

My wrap had adapted to the extra room I temporarily had in bed, then “locked” it in. But the fat was still there somehow, and I noticed both my man boobs were more pronounced, as was my ass. They never discussed these side effects. And now that I was vertical, my breathing was a bit more labored as well. I decided to text Emily.

She had gone through the same experience, but she was quite happy with her perkier breasts and rounder butt. She understood my problem though and suggested some exercises. Not quite the American solution, but more realistic. We decided to meet up after work at a place close to both of us.

Already I needed a new belt to keep my pants up, but I managed to punch an extra hole in my current one. Three inches down. But what seemed like an extra inch on my buttocks made my pants feel tight still. I better be serious about working out.

Good thing, at work I tend to pass by the desks that have some snacks to share, but with my tighter belly I didn't have the urge to have some. Likewise, for lunch I tend to eat a full meal, but now I barely managed half a wrap, pun intended. I brought the other half home, and that never happened before.

When I met up with Emily at the small gym, I already saw a difference in her. Not only were her breasts indeed perkier, but her whole attitude was. And it looked good on her. She was in leggings and a yoga top, and a chip on her shoulder. Obviously, there was still a lot of work to do, but she seemed extremely motivated after just one day.

She had already discussed the situation with the owner, a very fit woman named Carla. All I had to do was sign up for the same six month program, with auto renewal, for a personalized exercise program for couples. I had to chuckle at that, but I knew that working out with Emily would help me more than it would help her. So I signed and handed over my credit card.

Only then did I learn this was a four time per week program, two hours per session, taught by Carla herself. And as she looked at me in my sloppy pants and sweater, she made it clear that wouldn't work. In order for her to target the exercises at my excessive fat, she needed to be able to see it. And she handed me an outfit and told me to change in the locker room.

I could only think these pants were yoga pants like Emily had, with a tank top, at least not cropped like hers. The material felt wonderful though, it was like lycra, and went smooth over my oversized legs. When I looked in the mirror it was clear what Carla had meant, every inch of excessive size was visible. Oh well, that's what I was here for, right?

The top was in the same material, but had an extra layer in the chest area, and I could only think of it as a bra top for women. Having said that, I was surprised to see it kept my man boobs flat, and they wouldn't flap around, like I had experienced before. I had committed to this, and I might as well get the best experience out of it.

Carla approved, and so did Emily, but I was given a hair band to keep my ruffled hair out of my face. Again, I just went with the flow. Until I couldn't any more. Carla worked us hard, and at some point I was beyond exhausted. And I learned something about women, and how strong they can be. Emily had gone through the same, and she still kept going, and I used her image to push myself.

“Come on, Jake”, I heard Carla push me, and I managed to say, “It's Jack. I go by Jack.” But her encouragement worked, and I made it through the last exercise. Both Carla and Emily hugged me, and I learned another thing about friendship. It is an extra motivation.

Carla insisted we weigh after every session, and although I felt embarrassed, she promised me improvements each week, as long as I followed her lead, or she'd credit me back. I wanted to give the outfit back, but she told me I had paid for it already. Just wash it on cold and it will quick-dry if I just hang it up.

Carla gave us a list with things to eat and what not to eat or drink. No more beer for me, but a glass of wine would be fine. Many of my go-to foods were on the no-no list, and I saw many things I had never heard of on the good side. Emily promised she'd help me, and I realized how quickly we were becoming a “couple” indeed.

It was Friday night now, and our next session would be Sunday, before our dinner, then Monday and Wednesday night. So, two times I would spend with her anyway, and right now she asked if I wanted to come over, and she'd wash my outfit, as we got to know each other better.

The alternative was a Friday night gaming session, with no snacks, and since I started liking Emily I agreed. But I did bring it up though. It's one thing for a man to be asked by a pretty woman to hang out, but why would she want a slob like me around?

First off, she smiled when I called her a pretty woman. Then she actually defended me, saying we had the same goals, and she liked how hard I was willing to work for it. And by helping me, she helped herself. And even though we only knew each other for just one day, she felt comfortable around me, something she hadn't even felt around her ex-husband. Interesting.

She did confess how she had liked me in my semi yoga outfit, and she wondered if I would mind doing my hair in a tiny ponytail. And she showed me what it would look like, and I wouldn't need the hair band anymore. I was surprised about the length of the tail, and wondered if I should get a haircut. But she talked it out of me, saying that my face was just perfect for a ponytail. And just like that it stayed.

She carefully brought up my sweater and sweatpants, and if perhaps I wanted to try a second set, like what I had worn at the gym. She herself had changed in a similar outfit with perhaps a bit more glam, and she had another set that she hadn't worn yet. I could tell it meant a lot to her, and I liked the way the material looked on her, and I wondered what it would feel like on my own skin.

I wasn't disappointed. As a matter of fact I wondered why I had never tried something like this myself. Sure, with my fat body it wasn't something I would have ever tried, but this material seemed to control it, a bit like the shrinkwrap. She told me I could keep it, but only if I personally dumped my sweat outfit in her trash. It was easily done, but I realized it was a much more symbolic act.

When I looked at the two of us in her mirror, I realized my new top had a bit of padding, and with my ponytail I looked more female than myself. She pointed it out, and she hoped I didn't mind. Maybe that's why we felt so comfortable around each other. And she called me Jackie.

In a way it was funny and she suggested that if I was a girl around her it would take away the awkwardness of a friendship between a grown man and woman. I didn't dare to say I already liked her in more than a friendly way, so doing it her way would definitely keep us much closer than I would ever have expected.

Of course there was a catch. As much fun as it had become, my manhood was clearly visible in the tight leggings. But, with a “do you trust me girlfriend?”, she handed me some very female underwear, but it was perfect to tuck my manhood out of the way. She promised to get me something more comfortable, that would guarantee it stayed hidden.

The next step was just a tiny bit of makeup, and although I protested, she shaved my face perfectly smooth, and then added a bit of rouge, a bit around my eyes, and a bit on my lips. I realized the change to my eyes did the biggest trick, giving me a slight asian look, the way she'd drawn the tip of my eye up. But the overall look was the new Jackie. Anyone coming in wouldn't think a second about a man being there. Then she dared me to try on some heels.

Our feet matched in size, which was a sign I thought, but she called it karma. A few pairs, with only an inch of heels or so, were really not that comfortable, and I started giving up on the whole thought, but then she had a pair of pumps, with two inch heels, and I didn't even feel them on my feet, so comfortable they fit. Of course, walking was a different story, but it seemed they were made for me, and soon I was moving around, not even realizing I was in heels. They were mine, she said, but only if I'd give up on my old sneakers. More symbolism.

So yeah, if you can forget about me turning into a girl, I hadn't had as much fun on a Friday night in ages. Me being a girl however opened her up, and she shared some intimate details about her life with me. Her early marriage, that went south real quickly. A bad divorce that had her depressed for more than a year. Never been truly in love, while being a romantic by heart.

I shared more than I ever did with anyone. My first love who stood me up. Rejection after rejection in college. Tired of the dating scene and slowly becoming a hermit. Not a lot to be proud about. We hugged and cried together and somehow I felt much better about my life. We both felt like we were in control of turning things around, and we made a promise to help each other succeed.

We watched a movie together and played some board games. Old fashioned fun that we both treasured. We had our glass of wine, and we went through the list from Carla. We had fruits and protein snacks, and I didn't even have an urge for potato chips or ice cream. For her it was M&M's and peanuts, and we both felt good with the alternative.

When it was time to go home, she took me the few blocks in her car. “Too late for a girl to be on the street by herself ”, she said, and I realized that was even more true for the type of girl I was now. She'd given me a small clutch to keep my keys, phone and money, just to walk from the car to my apartment, and she begged me to text her once I was safe inside. Then she kissed me, on the mouth, even lingered a bit as I kissed her back, but no tongue, nothing sexual, just two girlfriends who said goodbye.

Only when I got out of her car did I understand the full reality of what I was doing. I was walking, as a girl, in two inch heels, in a rather sexy outfit, into the building where I lived, where people who knew me could recognize me for who I was. What would I say or do if someone tried to talk to me? What if it was a guy? But, uneventful, I reached my own door, and as soon as I was inside I texted Emily, knowing now why she had been so anxious.