Modern Bride, Part Three
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The time wore on.  Jason called me twice but I blew him off.  The bridal show was approaching and I began to get more and more nervous.  What if I was found out?  I could picture the tabloid headlines now:  “Teenage Boy Tries to Pass Himself Off as a Bride!”  Jesus, that would be all I needed.

Lori helped assuage my fears by plunging me even deeper into my femininity.  She put me on a diet that caused me to loose about ten pounds by the time of the show.  She forced me to use a depilatory spray that helped me remove all traces of my former body hair.  She made me practice speaking, walking, and dressing like a girl for like two hours every day.  

Not that she kept me in the apartment.  After our ‘date,’ she insisted that I accompany her around New York, many times in the company of her friends.  While I made it clear that I would never do anything approaching a date again, I often found myself out on the town with a group of young people, many of them handsome guys.  

It wasn’t too bad, I guess.  New York is a fun town and Lori’s friends were good people.  After I learned to relax, it really wasn’t that traumatic, chatting in a coffee shop or strolling down Broadway, even if I was decked out in a sundress and heels.

Of course, something would always jolt me back to earth.  Sometimes it would be a construction worker whistling at me.  Or a waiter unconsciously talking to my chest instead of my eyes.  Most disturbing, however, were the come-ons.

I guess I should have known I made an attractive woman.  Lori, Mr. Kunyak, even my mom said so.  I knew I was tall and leggy, and with my padding, well endowed.  But I could never really believe that I was beautiful.  And yet, almost on a daily basis, someone would ask me out.

At first it would be all I could do to keep from slapping the guy.  But I kept my cool.  In their eyes I was a pretty young lady who they wanted to get to know better.  I’d asked out many girls in my time, many of whom I hardly knew.  I just learned to take a deep breath and tell them ‘No thank you.’

Most of my ‘suitors’ were nice guys who just wanted to take me out.  Of course any woman will tell you that it’s not always nice guys who ask you out.  Once, a guy old enough to be my father asked me if I wanted to take a ride in his convertible.   Another time a greasy cook made a sleazy comment about the chicken breast sandwich I had ordered.  And once…

Jesus, this is an embarrassing story but I guess I should tell it.  I was in a bookstore and this kid, he couldn’t have been older than twelve, comes over and swats my rear.  Just like that!  I swear, lady or not, I almost broke him over my knee.

“What’s up, sugar?”  he leered.  Dear God, did he honestly think even a real woman would be interested in a twerp like him?

“What do you say you and me, we get together?”  he continued, in a pathetic attempt to sound macho.  I was about to shove his ball cap down his throat when a better idea occurred to me.

I had pretty well mastered the art of the feminine voice.  I still sounded rather husky, and yet feminine.  But now I dropped all pretense of girlishness.  

“Why sure, you hot young thing!”  I said, as deeply as I could.  Instantly, he realized the truth.  God, I still regret not having a camera to capture his expression.

I decided to talk to Lori about male attitudes.  “Jesus, are we all really like that?”  I was afraid that women viewed me the way I viewed the obnoxious kid.

“No, not all men are like that.  Most guys are very goal driven and want to get us in the sack, but still manage to be nice.  Of course, I don’t have to tell you that there can be some real cretins out there.”

“So what do I do?”

“The same thing you’ve been doing.  If you like him, go out with him; if you don’t, then politely decline.  If he’s an ass, tell him where he can go.”

Later, I felt a little weird about that conversation.  Had I just had a talk about boys with my older sister?  It was like Lori was giving me advice about dating men!  I looked forward to the day when the only reminder about this experience was the money.

Eventually, it was time to start preparing for the show.  Lori had outdone herself.  I would be wearing a different gown for each night of the exposition.  Lori and I drove over to the convention center to meet with Mr. Kunyak, the show’s promoters, and the other models.  I chose a white blouse with a conservative skirt and jacket.  I wanted to look feminine, but at the same time I didn’t want to stand out.  These would be industry professionals there and I didn’t want anyone to notice anything untoward.

Mr. Kunyak met up with a smile.  “Ah, the Woolsey sisters!  I’m so glad you both decided to come.  I tell you, this is going to be the show of shows.”  He turned to Lori.  “I’ve been looking over the sketches you sent me, and I was rather impressed.  If this show goes well, I can guarantee that ‘Lori Woolsey’ will be a name to reckon with in the fashion industry.”  Lori smiled sweetly, but I knew that she was barely restraining herself from doing cartwheels.  “And you,” continued Mr. Kunyak, now looking at me.  “I’ve been showing your picture around.  Once again, I’ve proven myself ahead of the game.  Several designers have asked if you would be free next month to do some advertising spots for them.  In fact Jemi Tachamuchi (who?) himself said that the athletic look was making a comeback and you were the perfect representation.”

“I’m flattered,” I replied.  I was flattered, but also angry.  So what if I made an attractive woman; did everyone have to talk about it?

“Anyway,” my boss continued, “you’ll probably get a few job offers before the week’s up.  I know you said you didn’t want to do any more modeling, but if you change your mind, just remember that I discovered you and should get first crack at making you an offer.”

Well, fat chance of that.  The money was nice, but no way was I going to work towards becoming the next Cindy Crawford.  After this show I’d register for college and get on with my life.

“Hi there stranger,” said a familiar voice from behind me.  I turned and gasped.  There stood Shawna, the woman who had helped me out so much when I did the first show.  I gave her what I hoped would pass for a sisterly hug.  Soon we were sitting down, chatting like old friends.  It turned out that she would be working the same convention.  That gave me a good feeling, to know that that there would be someone there to help me out.  Our reunion was interrupted when the MC insisted that all of the models meet to discuss the plans for the show.

We all grouped together in the cavernous convention hall.  Like last time, there were quite a few male models.  The MC, who was tall, handsome, and as gay as a picnic basket, addressed us.  “Okay people.  Here’s the drill.  Each bride will be matched with a groom.  Grooms will stand at the front of the catwalk; brides will walk down the aisle.  You’ll stand together, smile at the audience, and then leave together.  Any questions?”

“What’s he talking about?”  I whispered to Shawna.  “What does he mean, we’ll be matched with a groom?”

“Oh, that.  They’re trying to make the production look more like a wedding.  You’ll walk down the aisle and stand next to one of the guys.  It’ll give the audience a better idea of how they’ll look at the wedding.”

“So how do we know what guy we’ll be matched with?”  I began to panic.  Just how far was this wedding illusion supposed to go?

“It’s random.  You’ll probably be matched with a tall guy.  Hopefully he’ll be cute.”  Yeah.  That would be great.

The MC began to read names.  Shawna was matched with handsome, muscular guy with a shaved head.  She winked at me over her shoulder; apparently she was happy with the choice.  Name after name was read.  I felt weird, like I was being matched with a life partner at one of those Reverend Moon group weddings.  Finally, they called my name.

“Kimberly Woolsey?  Let’s see…you’ll be with Patrick Elrick.”

I looked around for my ‘groom.’  I hoped he wasn’t sleazy.  

“Hello.  Are you Kimberly?”

I turned to face the man who addressed me.  He was tall, even taller than me.  He looked to be about twenty-one.  He was handsome, even I could tell that.  He had gray eyes, sandy blonde hair, and a good build.  Poor guy, he probably was matched with the one female model who could have cared less about he looks.

“I’m Patrick,” he said and shook my hand.  

“Nice to meet you.”

“So have you done a lot of modeling Kimberly?”

“Please, call me Kim.”  It sounded more like my real name and less feminine.  “Actually, I haven’t.  I’m just doing this one job.”

I half expected him to tell me I could make it as a professional model; almost every guy I met now gave me some line like that.  But he simply said, “Well, it’s a fun job if you’re into it.  I do it part time to help pay for college.”

We exchanged some more pleasantries and I excused myself.  Well, he could have been worse.  No flirting, no staring, no sexist comments.  Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

That night Lori took me out to get a makeover.  My hair was professionally styled, my finger and toenails manicured and polished, overall body wax, and a better makeup job than I could give myself.  As I walked out into the brisk New York night I noticed the looks I was getting from strangers.  They weren’t all the leering stares of horny men, either.  Many were simply the glances that people tend to give attractive women.

The scary thing was, I wasn’t entirely offended.  Though I’d never admit it, I felt rather complimented at people’s attention.  As a man I never really turned heads, but as a woman it felt kind of nice to be noticed.  I felt ashamed, thinking that sort of thing, but what of it?  Nobody would know of my secret pride and in a month I’d be a lot richer for my efforts.

*

The organ music swelling, and I marched down the catwalk to the pre-recorded strains of The Wedding March.  This was the last day of the show and not surprisingly, I was glad.  For an entire week I had been displaying myself like a hunk of meat for nine hours a day.  Up and down the aisle, under the lights, in front of the cameras, in front of the audience.  Eight different dress changes a day.  If I ever got married I swore I’d give my wife all the support she needed in choosing her wedding dress.  Lord knows I was an expert.

Without looking down, I thought about the dress I was wearing, probably the last one I’d ever wear.  It was an ivory colored silk number with no veil and almost no fringe.  I didn’t like it; it seemed more suited to an older bride; a second-time-around wife, not a young ‘girl’ like me.  Oh well, Lori had to display the full spectrum of her work; I was only there to look good.

I took my spot next to Patrick.  He grasped my hand.  When he had done this the first time I nearly fell off the stage, but now I could let him hold my limp hand in his with hardly a shudder.  Like everything else I had been doing this week, I just put it down to part of the act and forgot about it.  

After the MC described our clothes in detail, we walked, still hand in hand, back down the catwalk.  At least they weren’t throwing rice; every time we did this I still had the uncomfortable feeling that this was a real wedding and Patrick was looking forward to the honeymoon.  It was a paranoid delusion of course, but after almost a month of being treated like a woman I occasionally had thoughts like that.  I guess it went with the territory.

At long, long last came the time for all of us to go out on stage and take our final bows.  Patrick and I stood in a row with the other pretend couples and smiled at the audience, almost blinded by the flashbulbs.  That’s when it happened.

Shawna’s groom reached over and kissed her.  It wasn’t a passionate kiss; it was more like one you’d see at the altar.  That was like the floodgates opening; soon every couple on the stage was kissing one another.  Everyone, that is, except for Patrick and myself.

Well, what did it matter?  I was hired to model, not to kiss.  Realistic wedding or no, I wasn’t about to let him put his mouth on mine.  I glanced in his direction…

Everything went in slow motion.  First, the gentle pressure of his hand on my cheek.  Then his face slowly advancing toward mine.  I was trapped!  I couldn’t jolt away, or tell him no, or try to turn my head.  That would be too distracting; it could ruin the whole moment.  Lori and Mr. Kunyak would never forgive me.  

His lips touched mine.  Not for long, not lingering, but they touched.  His lips were rough, and for just the slightest moment I could feel the deep pressure from his kiss.  Then it was over.

Later, I sat alone in the dressing room in nothing but a terry cloth robe.  I was removing my makeup with damp cotton balls, thinking about what had just happened.

I had been kissed by a guy!  Not passionately, not willingly, but I had been kissed.  I kept trying to justify it by saying I really had had no choice, but I still felt guilty.  Patrick really couldn’t be blamed; in his eyes, it was just acting.  And worst of all, Lori had seen the whole thing.  What if she said something?  What if she acted like I had enjoyed it?  She had better not, if she knew what was good for her.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror.  The month I had spent as a woman had taken its toll.  I no longer looked as awkward and uncomfortable as a girl.  In fact, even now, as I wore nothing but a robe, I still looked naturally feminine.  It was scary how well I was pulling this off.  I shook my head.  Well, at least it was all over.

I heard and noise and turned around to see Lori, smiling at me.  ‘Here it comes,’ I thought.  ‘Patrick and Kimberly sittin’ in a tree…’

“Kim, you were sensational!  Everything went perfectly!”  She kissed my cheek.  “Thank you so much for doing that, you really did a great job.”  I was relieved.  Apparently she was not going to mention the kiss.

“Well, I’m just glad it’s all over.”  

“Well, it’s not quite over.  I mean, you’re still planning on staying here for another week or two, right?”

“Of course.  But what’s the point of be being Kim any more?  The show’s over, and it’s not like I’m going to be dressing like this again.”

Lori sat down and laid a hand on my knee.  “I know, Kim.  But think about it.  All my friends know you as a woman.  All the places we’ve hung out, they know you as Kimberly.  I can’t very well tell people that Kim just left town in the middle of the night and was replaced with our brother, Ken.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Look, Kim.  You told me there were still a lot of things you wanted to do here before you went back home.  It would be a lot easier if you just stayed here as Kim.  If anyone saw you as Ken, we’d have a lot of explaining to do.  Besides…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve kind of enjoyed having a sister.  I know it’s temporary, but, well, would one more week really matter?"

I threw up my hands in frustration.  Lori was right, I guess I couldn’t thrust my male self onto the scene all of a sudden.  Besides, I still had to pick up my check from Kunyak as Kim.

“Wonderful,” said Lori.  “There’s a bit of a party tonight.  I hope you’ll come.”

“Well, after all the work I’ve been doing, I think it will be good to cut loose and relax.”

“Great.  I’ll drive us.”

I quickly changed into a pair of black slacks and a white blouse.  I finished removing my stage makeup, and then made my face up again.  I found Lori in the parking lot and we drove over to the party.

The party was over at Mr. Kunyak’s palatial house.  I strolled in with Lori and began to mingle.  It struck me as ironic, how much more confident I was now.  A few weeks ago I would have moved heaven and earth to avoid going to a party dressed like a woman, now I was looking forward to it.

I spent a long time discussing the show with Shawna.  Soon we were talking about all the dresses we had seen at the show.  I hated to admit it, but I was becoming a bit of an expert at women’s fashion.  Regrettably, the conversation soon turned to men.

“So what do you think about Tim?”  she asked me.  Tim was the man who played her groom.

“Oh, he seems like a nice guy.”  He did.  I wasn’t about to speculate on how attractive he might be.

“Yeah, he is.  I think he likes me.  I wonder if I should go for it.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always get a free dinner.”  We laughed.  Inwardly I felt like I had betrayed males everywhere by saying that.

“So,” Shawna continued, “is anything going on with you and Patrick?”

“No!”  I said, much too emphatically.

“Just wondering.”  Tim came in, and soon all of Shawna’s attentions were focused on him.

The party was now in full swing.  I had a bit of a panicked moment when Patrick came up and started talking to me.  I was afraid that he was going to hit on me, but all he did was congratulate me on the job I had done at the show.  Thankfully he didn’t mention the kiss.

Woman or not, I was enjoying the party.  It was nice to cut loose with the people who had become my friends, and I felt twinge of sadness at the thought I’d never see them again.  Oh well, when I picked up my check in a few days, that would make everything worth it.

Soon it was well past midnight.  I began to feel like going home.  Most everyone else was well on their way to inebriation.  I didn’t really enjoy drinking (aside from the fact that I was underage) and their drunken antics were beginning to bore me.  I began to look for Lori to see if she wanted to go home, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Eventually I located Mr. Kunyak and asked him if he had seen my sister.

“Oh, I’m afraid she overdid it.  She’s asleep in one of the back bedrooms.”

“Asleep?  How am I supposed to get home?”

“She left you her keys,”  he replied, handing them to me.  “You’re welcome to spend the night as well, but if you feel like driving her car, I can call her a taxi tomorrow.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Thank you.  For everything.  Say, Kim…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in doing another job for me?  Don’t answer now.  When you come for your pay, we’ll discuss it.”

Soon I was driving off into the night.  It was rather enjoyable, out here on the highway alone, the wind in my long hair (Lori had bought a convertible with her insurance money).  I thought back on all the crazy things that had happened to me:  being a model, making friends as a girl, making so much money as a bride.  It all seemed so surreal.  It hadn’t even been all that unpleasant.  I could admit that to myself:  I had had a good time.

My thoughts were interrupted by the harrowing sound of a police siren close behind me.  ‘Please don’t let that be for me,’  I thought,

hopelessly.  The patrol car pulled up behind me and flashed its lights.  My heart in my throat, I pulled over.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity, trying to calm myself.  I supposed I had been speeding, but with my cash windfall, I could pay for a ticket.

The trooper walked up to my window.  He was a tough looking customer; I was glad that speeding had been my only crime.  “Do you know how fast you were going, ma’am?”  he asked.

“About sixty?”

“Are you aware that the speed limit here is only fifty?”

“No, I wasn’t aware.”  I fought off an urge to try flirting my way out of a ticket; I wasn’t that desperate.

“License and registration, please.”

I fished my license out of my purse and then handed it to him.  

He took a few steps toward his car and stopped.

“Ma’am, would you mind giving me a valid piece of ID?  This isn’t you.”

I looked at my driver’s license and nearly cried.  It was me, the male me.  There was no denying that the photo was of a young man.  Barring that, under SEX the world ‘male’ was clearly visible.

“That is me.”

“Ma’am, I suggest that you do not make jokes right now.”

“No…”  I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t think of an alternative.  “I am a man.”

The trooper showed surprise, just for a second.  He looked at the photo, then at me, then back at the photo.  “Wait here,” he said.

My stomach churned.  Was it illegal to dress as a woman?  I guessed not, unless he could prove I was doing it with fraudulent intentions.  But what did it matter?  What if he thought I was gay and was doing this out of pleasure?  What if he hated people like that and arrested me?  My God, if I were arrested, it would be in the paper, wouldn’t it?  And that meant everyone would know that I was a guy!  Kunyak would probably refuse to pay me, maybe even sue me for faking my gender!  Why hadn’t I obeyed the speed limit?  Oh God, I was in so much trouble.

The cop slowly walked back towards my car and leaned into the window.  “Your ID checks out.  You’re free to go, just try to keep it under fifty.”

“Yes sir.”  Had I heard correctly?  Was he was letting me off with a warning?

“I’d take that advice seriously.  Not everyone is as kind to, ah, people like you as I am.  You could find yourself in serious trouble if you are caught dressed that way.  Not all police officers are like me.  Not all of them understand how it is.”  He quickly turned and left.

I pondered his words all the way home.  His advice was sound; I knew I was lucky not to be in more trouble than I was.  But what did he mean by ‘not all of them understand how it is’?  Did he understand?  Was he a cross dresser?  Did he know someone who was?

I never found out the answers and I never saw him again, though to this day I’m grateful for his kindness.

*

A couple of days later I was at Kunyak’s office to collect my pay.  Not wishing for another run in with the law, I had taken the bus.  Kunyak smiled at me from across his desk as he filled out the check.  

“Well Ms. Woolsey, I must say you more than adequately fulfilled your end of the agreement.  I couldn’t be happier with your work.”

“Thank you sir,” I replied, stunned by all the zeros on my paycheck.  “You’re too kind.”

“I’m not one to give meaningless praise.  A lot of people at the show noticed.  You’re at a natural at modeling.  You even make what you’re wearing now seem feminine and alluring.”

That was high praise.  I had chosen the most severe women’s business suit I could find for this meeting.  I had finally managed to put my hair up in a bun and was wearing no makeup.  I remembered how he had offered to find me more work, and I didn’t feel like turning him down.  I had hoped that my dull clothes would put him off the idea, but apparently they had had just the opposite effect.

“At any rate, I don’t think I want to end our association.  A lot of designers want to offer you contracts, but as I said earlier, I think I deserve to make the first offer.”

I felt myself blush.  I hadn’t been this embarrassed in years.  All I had wanted to do was a favor for my sister; now it seems that everyone wanted to turn me into a Victoria’s Secret model.  This had to stop.

“Thank you very much, but…”

“Just hear me out.  My company is putting together a new catalog for fiscal 2001.  Only we’re going to try something new.  Instead of just having photos of models, we’re going to make it read like a story.  We’ll follow a fictitious couple throughout their relationship.  We’ll start with photos of them meeting, and end with them on their honeymoon.  And I’d like you to play the bride.”

Yikes!  Wearing a wedding gown was one thing, but I didn’t like the sound of going on a honeymoon with a guy, even if it was all fake.  

Kunyak continued.  “Shooting will begin in September, we’ll finish in July.”

Ah, there was my perfect excuse to back out.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kunyak.  College starts in late August and I’m afraid that I can’t miss it.  Thank you anyway.”  I got up to leave.

“Sit down.”  His voice was not to be denied.  I don’t mean that he was threatening, or bossy or anything.  It’s just that he had the forceful, commanding way of speaking that made me feel that disobedience was not an option.

“Ms. Woolsey, I didn’t get to where I am today by taking no for an answer.  I want you for these shots.  I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“I…I’m sorry, sir, but college is too important to me.”

“How are you paying for college?  Scholarship?”

“No.  Student loan.”

“What degree course are you going to follow?”

“I want to be a psychologist.”

“That’ll be about five years of undergraduate work.  Then, if you hope to find work, you’ll have to get your masters.  That still won’t guarantee you work, though it will mean you’ll be stuck with rather hefty student loan payments.”

“Mr. Kunyak, I don’t appreciate you trying to scare me into giving up my plans.”

“No one’s trying to scare you into doing anything.  I don’t want you to skip college; I want you to postpone it for a year to do this promotion for me.  In return, I will pay for your college until such time as you get your masters.  No strings, questions.  In addition, I’ll pay you a nice living wage.  A student has to eat, doesn’t she?”

I nearly hyperventilated.  Pay for college until I got my masters?  That could take eight years!  I could devote all that time to my studies without worrying about my finances or whether I’d find work after!  If the job market was bad I could work a low paying job without the loan officers banging down my door.

Kunyak obviously was used to getting what he wanted and he clearly wanted me.  Why me?  Was I that pretty?  I must have been; he was willing to plop down a sizeable chunk of cash just to get me to model for a year.

But then again, it would be for a whole year.  Twelve months as Kim!  No one but my family would know, but what would they think?  Could I do it?  Could I pull it off?  The thought didn’t seem so repugnant now.  

Mr. Kunyak mistook my silence for hesitation.  “And of course, your sister will have plenty of work to do on the shoot.  I’m quite happy with her work as well.”

That cinched it for me.  Free college and work for Lori.  All in all, I felt I was getting a pretty good deal.

I stood up and shook his hand.  “It will be a pleasure to work for you, sir.”

“You won’t regret it.”

I was halfway to the door when a thought hit me.  “Who will be playing the groom?”

“Oh, that’s part of the beauty of it.  It’ll be your friend, Patrick.”

*

“YOU DID WHAT?”

If I was expecting my sister to be happy about the deal I had cut, I was sadly mistaken.

“Tell me you didn’t sign anything!  You didn’t sign anything, did you?”

“Well, he had the contract all ready…”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, this is not happening.  This is not happening!”  I had never seen Lori this upset, not even after the car accident.

“What’s gotten into you?  I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy?  You ruin both our lives and expect me to be happy?”

“Hey, you were the one who convinced me to dress like this in the first place.  It’s not my fault it suddenly paid so well!”

Lori sat down.  “Listen, Kim.  The bridal show was one thing.  A bridal gown could cover up anything we wanted hidden.  But this is going to be a full year of shooting.  It’ll end in the summer.  You can’t wear heavy clothes then.”

“I guess we’ll have to think of something.”

“Think of something?  Tell me, professor, what are you going to do when they tell you to put on a bikini?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Obviously not.”

“So what should I do?”

Lori massaged her temples with her hands.  “Well, you signed the contract, and from the sound of things he won’t let you renege, so that options out.  I guess we’ll just have to think about it for a while.  You’ll be wearing heavy clothes for the first few months, at least.  We can figure something out by the summer.”

Lori stood up to leave, then paused.  “Did he really say he liked my work?”

*

The next day, Lori woke me up to tell me she had found a possible solution to our conundrum.  “I’ve been on the Internet all night and I finally found a place in New York that can help us.”

“What kind of a place?”  I asked sleepily.  

“It’s a clinic.  They help out transsexuals.”

“But I’m not a transsexual!”  I meekly protested.

“True, but this place might be our only hope.  I’ve already arranged an appointment.  C’mon, get dressed!”

I pulled on a pair of shorts and a midriff-baring shirt (I had lost weight recently and didn’t look bad in it).  After making up my face and doing my hair I got into the car with Lori.

We arrived at a small, nondescript looking building, with a sign that simply read ‘Pharmacy.’  Lori parked and we walked in.

I was surprised to notice the absence of the traditional pharmaceutical counter.  Instead, it appeared we had walked into a doctor’s waiting room.  Lori rang the bell.  After a short wait, a middle-aged woman emerged from the interior of the building.

I found her attractive, from an older woman point of view.  She had curly reddish hair mixed with gray, a plump, voluptuous build, and a pretty face.  “Hello,” she said with a slight German accent.  “May I help you?”

“Yes,” said my sister.  “I’m Lori Woolsey, we spoke on the phone earlier.  

“Ah, yes, Ms. Woolsey.  And you must be Kim.”  I nodded.  “Please walk this way.”

We soon found ourselves in a small examining room.  Standing by the examination table was a fiftyish looking man.  He was compactly built, with stern features and surprisingly black hair.  

“Please have a seat,” he said with an even more pronounced accent.  “Which one of you is Kimberly?”

“That would be me.”  I was beginning to wonder what was going on.  Was this guy a doctor?  A pharmacist?  Just how was he supposed to help me pass as a woman for a year?  He had a sterile, humorless air about him that frightened me.

“Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Dr. Hienrich Klauss.  This is my wife, Greta.”  He motioned to the woman who had led us in.  She passed the doctor a clipboard, gave him a flirtatious wink, and left us alone.  

The doctor checked something off on his clipboard.  “Ms. Woolsey, your sister explained your situation briefly to us over the phone.  Would you care to elaborate?”

Wondering how wise it was to confide to this physician, I gave a run down of my story:  pretending to be a model, signing a contract, and having to pass close physical inspection for a year.  The doctor nodded.

“So can you help me, doctor?”

“Yes, but you won’t like it.”

When a German doctor says you won’t like something, it’s cause for alarm.  “What do you mean by that?”

“Ms. Woolsey, did your sister inform you about what I do here?”  I replied in the negative.

“I help transsexuals achieve the bodies that they have dreamed about.  I give men the bodies of women.”

“You perform plastic surgery?  You’re right, I don’t want any part of that.”

“Yes, surgery is one option, but I was thinking along a different line for you:  hormones.”

“Hormones!  That’s almost as bad!”

“As, I mentioned before, I didn’t think you’d like the idea.”

Lori piped in, “What effects would the hormones have?”

The doctor replied as if he were addressing the AMA.  “A softening of the skin.  A reduction in the amount of body hair.  An added silkiness to the regular hair.  A redistribution of body fat; it will stop collecting in the stomach and began to form around the hips and chest.  An increase in nipple size and sensitivity.  A decrease in male sex drive.”

I got up to leave.  “No thank you.  I don’t want to have breasts for the rest of my life!”

“The effects aren’t permanent.  They take a long time to become noticeable but disappear at a much more rapid rate.  If I were to start you on estrogen now you would develop a lovely figure by next summer.  If you were to stop taking the hormones shortly after, you’d be back to normal in a matter of months.”

My head was swimming.  “But don’t I have to have a note from a psychologist to get these hormones?”

The doctor looked a little nervous.  “The law says you must live as a woman for a year and have a psychologist’s okay before I can prescribe you hormones.  I do things a bit differently;  I prescribe the hormones, then, after the patient has developed a life as a woman, any psychologist would have a hard time denying the patient permission to continue taking them.”

“So you’re giving out hormones against the law?”

“Perhaps.  But is it fair to deny a woman the right to live as such because of some bureaucratic nonsense?  If the hormones are a mistake, then they can stop taking them.”

“So what do you think?”  asked Lori.

“What do I think?  You’re asking me to illegally take hormones to give myself a feminine body!  I’m sorry, my answer is an emphatic ‘no’.”

“Kim, listen to me.  You agreed to model for a year.  You knew that would mean that everyone would think you were a girl for the entire time.  So you grow rounded hips and little breasts?  What of it?  It’s not like anyone you know will think those are strange features for a woman!  And you heard the doctor; in just a couple of months your body will revert back to normal.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Ms. Woolsey,” interjected the doctor, “allow me to give my opinion.  You have been successfully living as a woman for how long?”

“Over a month.”

“And you agreed to do it for an additional year.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you do make a lovely woman.  When you two walked in here, I honestly didn’t know which one of you was the man.”

Lori bridled a bit at this, much to my satisfaction.

Dr.  Klaus continued “The point I’m trying to make is, if you are resigned to living this way for an extended period of time, then hormones are your best bet.  If you take them, odds are you’ll never be discovered, even in a swimsuit.  If you don’t, well, I’m almost certain you will be found out.”

“Kim,”  said Lori, “He’s right.  If you don’t go through with this, we’ll have to tell Kunyak the truth.  It’s the only way he’d let you out of your contract.  If he found out during the shoot he’d have to scrap everything, which would cost him millions.”

Someone once said ‘Life is what happens when you are making other plans.’  That phrase had never hit home for me until then.  “Okay.  But I’m only doing this for the cash.”

The doctor rubbed my arm with cotton and gave me an injection.  “This is only for starters,”  he assured me.  “By the time you are away on your trip we’ll switch you to an oral regimen.”

Lori and I walked back to the waiting room to pay Frau Klaus for the visit.

“Doctor,” I said as I fumbled in my purse.  “I’m curious.  How does a guy like you get into the illicit hormone trade?”

“It’s a rather interesting story,”  he replied.  “When I was a physician back in the old country, I received a shipment of antidepressants from a supplier in the former East Germany.  I prescribed them to a young patient of mine who was going through the post-adolescent blues.

“After a few months on the pills, I realized something was up.  My patient was experiencing exactly the same side effects I described to year earlier.  I did an analysis of his medication and realized that it was actually estrogen tablets that had been mislabeled.

“I was about to inform my patient of the mistake, when I realized something interesting.  He no longer seemed depressed; in fact he seemed to be enjoying life more than ever.  I had originally attributed this to his medication, but since hormones obviously have different effects, I was stumped.  But he was happy, so I kept the prescription the same.”

“You did what?”  I asked, horrified.

“Like I said, he seemed happy.  Of course, he was confused as heck about the changes that were happening in his body, but I told him they would pass in time.”

“How could you do that?  That’s horrible!”

“Well, it made an interesting psychological study.  By the end of six months he lost all trace of his former depression.  By the end of a year he was living full time as a woman.  After two and a half years he flew to Sweden for sex reassignment surgery.

“Of course, I had to come clean long before then, he obviously figured out what he was taking wasn’t antidepressants.”

“So was he angry, being experimented on like that?”

“At first.  But he got his revenge.”

“What did he do to you?”

“I married him,” answered Greta with a giggle.

The doctor put his arm around his wife and, for the first time, smiled.  It took me several seconds to figure out what they were implying.
 
“You were the patient?”  Lori stammered to Greta.

“My name used to be Gunnar,” she whispered with a grin.

*

I couldn’t help giggling when we were alone in the car.  Greta, the doctor’s attractive, curvaceous wife used to be a man!  My God, I never would have guessed.  I’m sure the doctor never would have guessed, either.

Then a frightening thought hit me.  “Lori, hormones can’t change the way you think, can they?  I mean, they couldn’t make gay, could they?”

“No, of course not.  Why would you ask that?”

“Well, look at Greta!  She wasn’t a transsexual, but hormones certainly changed her life.  I don’t want to end up married to Heinrich Klaus, Jr!”

“Well, I’m no psychologist, but it would appear that Gunnar liked life better as Greta.  I’m guessing you prefer life as Ken over life as Kim.”

“Of course.”

“Well there you go.  Just keep thinking like a man and it’ll all be OK.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t convinced.

*

Soon the two weeks were up and it was time for me to return home.  Since I still had about a month before the photo shoot started, Lori and I decided to spend a little time with Mom.

When I called Mom to break the news about my plans for the next year, she was shocked.

“You’re going to be living as a woman for a year?  Ken, honey, don’t you think that this is kind of a radical step?”  I could tell she was worried about me.

“Tell me about it, but I’m just doing it to pay for college.  Trust me, this is all going to work out for the best.”  I could tell Mom wasn’t so sure.  Later, I asked Lori what she thought.

“Well, Kim, you know that Mom’s always felt guilty about not being able to afford to send you to college.  I guess she’s feels that if she could have provided for you better then you wouldn’t have had to do this.”

“She shouldn’t feel that way.  If I didn’t think I could do this, I’d just get a loan.”

“I know.  Just let her know that this isn’t going to be a traumatic experience for you.  Show her what a great woman you make.”

I guess that’s why when Mom met us at the airport, I was wearing a floral sun dress and heels.  What the hell!  No one would recognize me now, in fact I think Mom had to do a double take when she realized it was me.  But she quickly recovered.  Before we had finished the drive home, Mom was calling me Kim.

That night we all stayed up late and talked.  It was kind of funny.  I had grown up being the odd man out, so to speak.  Mom and Lori were women and I felt that they had always been closer to each other than to me.  No fault of their own, there are just some thing mothers don’t discuss with their sons and sisters don’t discuss with their brothers.  But now things were different.

As we all sat there in our night gowns, eating popcorn and watching the late movie, I suddenly had a feeling like I belonged, that I was truly one of them.  One of the girls, as it were.  Obviously, Mom and Lori hadn’t forgotten my true gender, but the fact that I was now living as a girl helped them open up to me more than I ever remember them doing before.  I went to bed that night contented;  I felt like I had truly bonded with the rest of my family.

*

Sitting in front of the makeup mirror, I gazed back at the reflection in front of me and liked what I saw.  My makeup was done to perfection.  It was a little excessive for daily wear, but I needed to wear extra for the camera to pick up my features.  My hair hung down around my shoulders.  I had spent hours trying to make it look like I hadn’t done anything special with it.  The dangling earrings that bordered my face added to my prettiness.

It was the first day of the big shoot.  Today would make or break me.  Today I would prove to Mr. Kunyak, Lori, and myself that I hadn’t done a dumb, selfish thing by agreeing to the shoot.  Today, I was going to be a woman.

Looking at myself in the dressing room’s full-length mirror, it wasn’t hard to believe I really was a woman.  It was early fall, so most of my femininity came from the clothes that covered most of my body.  A long black skirt, panty hose, and a blue and white striped jersey were reminiscent of something my sister would wear.  Of course, I had been living as Kim for several months now, so I was used to dressing like this.  I was living with Lori again, and in order to simplify things, I had never gone back to being Ken since the last shoot.  

What clothing couldn’t give me, padding provided.  I still wore the device for hiding my penis, and generous padding for simulating breasts.  Of course, this sort of thing would only work when I was heavily clothed.  Once summer rolled around…

Well, I was working on that.  After several months on hormones, I was beginning to notice their effects.  For starters, I no longer had to worry about appearing too muscular for a woman.  Most of my muscle tone had disappeared.  Or, more to the point, it had changed into flab.  Before getting on estrogen I never had to worry about keeping weight off; now I had to go to the gym three times a week just to stay slender.

My weight distribution had changed as well.  Fat now gathered in my hips and rear.  Nothing that you would really notice, I still had to wear the padding.  Still, I knew that these changes were only the beginning.  Due to the extra sensitivity in my chest, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d start needing a training bra.

There was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” I called.  Randy, the teenager who did odd jobs around the set, stuck his head in.  

“They’re calling for you, Ms. Woolsey,” he said, with forced nonchalance.  I smiled back at him and he nervously left.  I found his crush on me a little disturbing.  At first I thought being mean to him would get him to keep his distance, but it just wasn’t in me.  He was just lonely, and didn’t deserve to be mistreated.  I simply tried to ignore him as much as possible.

I slipped on my heels, put my purse on my arm, and walked into the studio.  As I mentioned before, the theme of Kunyak’s catalog was that it would be composed of seemingly actual photos of a couple falling in love.  Today we would be shooting the ‘They Meet,’ scene.

The studio was set up like a coffee shot.  I was to sit down at a table, and sip my espresso.  Patrick, wearing a flannel shirt and khaki pants, would be sitting at another table.  One shot would be him noticing me, another of him walking shyly towards my table, and a third of us talking, seemingly hitting it off.  There would be several more of us talking, and then a final one of me handing Patrick my phone number.  Each shot would be cleverly arranged so as to show off a particular garment of Patrick or myself.  While the whole scene would only take up a couple of pages of the finished product, we’d be lucky if we finished in one day.  Oh well, that’s why I got paid what I did.

Patrick was already on the set.  “Hey, Kim,” he said as he grinned at me.  That was another source of my unease.  Patrick and I had never really talked in depth.  I knew we’d end up shooting lots of romantic scenes together: holding hands, dancing, and, unless I was very lucky, kissing.  I just hoped that Patrick knew what I did on camera in no way reflected my feelings in real life.  I guess I shouldn’t have assumed that he would be interested in me, but I wasn’t about to take any chances.  The first time I sensed he was getting too into it I’d take him aside and politely tell him to back off.  Checking my makeup one last time, I slid into my seat.

There would be no more than eight pictures from this scene in the catalog, but the shooting took over nine hours.  I was exhausted by the time Kunyak decided we had had enough for the day.  I quickly retired to my dressing room to change back into my jeans and sweater.  Though I had planned on leaving my makeup on until I got home, a glance in the mirror told me that stage makeup looked foolish on me.  I cleaned it off, then reapplied it at a normal thickness.  I sighed.  Applying makeup had become a daily ritual with me.  I was lonesome for the days when getting ready to go out meant taking a shower, nothing more.  I shook my head and left the dressing room.

The studio was dark, but there was a light coming from under the door to the area where the film was processed.  ‘Slim’ Arlo, the chief photo technician was probably working late again, trying to get everything processed and ready in time.  I slipped through the door and into his workroom to tell him good night.

Slim was hunched over his computer, manipulating the shots of the day on his screen.  “Hey, Kim,” he said, not turning around.  “Check this out.”

Grudgingly, I walked over.  Slim had the tendency to make me slightly nervous.  He was middle aged, an ex-GI photographer from the Vietnam War who had a tendency to relate gruesome combat stories.  Still, there was nothing overtly unlikable about him, so I bent over the screen to see what he had been working on.  To my surprise, I was looking at a finished copy of the day’s shoot, just like it would appear in print.

“I’m impressed, Slim.  How did you managed to get this done so fast?”

“Ah, you guys did all the work.  They sent me a copy of the captions earlier, so all I had to do was…” he then gave me a five-minute technical explanation that might as well have been in Chinese for all I understood.

I gazed with interest at the screen.  The page was titled “Love at First Sight.”  Each picture contained a small caption describing a particular article of clothes.  Everything was related in details, including my jewelry, and the name of the manicurist who had done my nails.  

“This is kind of an odd feeling,” I thought out loud.

“What’s that?” said Slim, still never having looked up from the screen.

“All these photos of me; all these descriptions of what I’m wearing.  It just seems like a lot of fuss over me.”

“Hey, you’re a professional model.  There’s nothing strange about it.”

“Oh, I’m not really a model.”

“You’ve said that before.  But you’re doing a year long shoot for a major bridal company.  That makes you a model.”

I didn’t feel like arguing.  “I guess it just hasn’t sunk in.”

“Here, let me show you something.”  Slim pulled up another picture on the monitor.  It was one of Patrick and I, sitting at the table.  Patrick is smiling, and I’m laughing as if he had just told a funny joke.  That had actually been a hard one to take; it’s not easy making a fake laugh look real.  Luckily, Patrick had known a few actual jokes to help me along.

“You see here,” said Slim, “what do you see?”

“The photo form earlier today.”

“Okay, but say this wasn’t of you.  Say you were someone else, seeing this photo and not knowing what it was from.”

“I see…” and then I stopped.  I didn’t want to say it.  I couldn’t admit it.  What I saw, was a photo of a handsome guy and a pretty girl out on a date.  We didn’t look like models.  We just looked like a couple of young people enjoying being together.  It was a photo of me on a date.  And I was the girl.

“See what I mean?”  asked Slim, almost reading my thoughts.  “Most models make these shots look staged and awkward.  You two, hell.  If I didn’t know what I was looking at, I’d swear you were Patrick’s girlfriend.”

I was too flustered to reply.  Upon my request, Slim gave me a copy of the photo from his color printer.  I went back home to study it.  Me, on a date.  Me, on a date in a skirt.  Me, on a date with a guy.  Me on a date as a girl.

When Lori came home, I showed her the photo.  “What do you think?”

“You look great.  You’re becoming quite the makeup artist.”

“No, I mean what does this picture remind you of?  Pretend it wasn’t staged.”

“It looks like a couple of young people out on a…out having coffee.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.  You were going to say, ‘out on a date.’”

“Maybe.  Look, don’t worry about it!  It may look real, but we know it’s staged.  Just a photo shoot.  Don’t sweat it.”

Late that night, I thought about what Lori had said.  It was just a photo shoot.  But that picture looked so real.  What would the coming photos look like?  Me, at a dance with Patrick?  Patrick asking me to be his wife?  Me as a bride?  Me on my honeymoon?  I didn’t like to imagine what those pictures would look like.

*

“Lori, have you been using my razor again?”  I called out through the bathroom door.

“Sorry, Kim.  I’m out of blades.”

“Damn it, Lori, you know I have a shoot today!  I can’t very well go in with patchy legs!”  Lori was a great roommate, but she got on my nerves at times.  As I searched for a fresh blade, I pondered getting my own place.

After sufficiently denuding my legs, I wrapped a towel around me and walked to my bedroom.  Lori saw me and giggled.

“What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“Nothing.  Sorry.”

“It must have been something, or you wouldn’t have laughed.”

“Oh, it’s just the way you’re wearing that towel.  Not around your waist like a man, but under your armpits, like a woman.  It’s like you’re trying to cover your breasts.”

Annoyed, I disappeared into my bedroom.  I hadn’t even realized I had been doing that!  Of course, I had picked up a lot of feminine habits recently.  I now frequently ducked into the lady’s room to check my appearance.  I was careful with the way I handled things; I didn’t want to break a nail.  I signed my name as Kim without consciously thinking about it.  The summer couldn’t come soon enough, in my opinion.  I wondered if I ever got married, if I’d ever tell my wife what I had done this year.

I pulled on a sweater and a long skirt, caring little about how I was dressed.  As soon as I made it to the studio, I’d have to change anyway.

I arrived at the studio about a half-hour early, and found the crew setting up the scenery.  The set was supposed to be ‘my’ bedroom in my imaginary house.

“Hey Kim,” said Slim, who was readying his camera.

“Hey Slim.  Ready for another day of work?”

“You bet.  What’s the deal with the bedroom shot?  Inviting Patrick to spend the night already?”

“Har de har har.  Patrick’s not in this one.  It’s supposed to be of me getting ready for the date.  I have to go through about a dozen outfit changes.”

“For one date?”

“It’s supposed to be like I’m so smitten with Patrick that I have to try on every outfit I own, just to find the perfect dress.”

“Sounds like an excuse to show off more of Kunyak’s designs.”

“Bingo.  This will probably take over a month to do.”

I left to find Kunyak, to see what the outfit of the day would be.

“Good morning, Kimberly.”  Kunyak, as usual, was relaxed, as if everything in his life was going exactly how he had planned.  Who knows, maybe it was.

“Good morning, Mr. Kunyak.  What am I going to be wearing today?”

“I thought we’d start you off simple.  DuProit and Company sent over a pair of jeans, and I thought we’d have you try those pumps we discussed earlier in the week.”  Mr. Kunyak was the only man I ever knew who could say something like that and not sound effeminate.  I, on the other hand, sounded totally girlish whenever I discussed my clothes.  

I looked the jeans over.  They certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination.  I’d have to pad extra carefully that day, so the tight jeans would show off my ‘curves.’

“And what did you have in mind for the shirt?”

“Well, that depends.  Um, have you been dieting?”  Mr. Kunyak had been very embarrassed when he asked me if I could try to lose ten pounds.  He was of the conviction that I was beautiful the way I was, but since other designers were also contributing to the catalog, he had to put forward their suggestion I slim down, just a bit.

“Well, it hasn’t been easy, but I think I’ve managed to flatten my stomach a bit.”  I pulled up my sweater to display my tummy.  I wasn’t as flat as Lori was, but thanks to my working out, dieting, and hormones, my belly now curved inwards.

“Thank you, Kimberly.  In that case, I think we’ll put you in the short sweater.”  I looked at the pink garment.  It was a design by another company; a light sweater that cut off just above my navel.  I gathered my clothes together and went to try them on.

Getting into the jeans was trickier than I thought.  They barely left enough room for my panties.  It would have been impossible to fit so much as my keys into jeans this tight.  Taking a deep breath, I managed to fit all of me inside.  They were uncomfortable as hell, I felt like my testicles had been forced up into my throat.

Next, after adjusting my falsies, I slipped on the sweater.  I regarded myself in the mirror.  The diet had paid off; I could proudly display my flat little tummy, as was the style at the time.  After applying my makeup, we began the shoot.

The entire day’s work left us with only one picture.  Me, standing in front of a wall mirror, looking at myself skeptically.  There might as well have been a thought bubble above my head reading ‘Will he like me in this?’  Nine hours of shooting and all it netted us was a shot for page six of the catalog.  Oh well, that was Kunyak’s business, not mine.  He obviously knew what he was doing.

After all was said and done, I didn’t feel like peeling myself out of my jeans.  “Mr. Kunyak, do you mind if I just wear these home?”

Kunyak assented with a wave of his hand, a gesture only the truly rich can successfully make.  “Come back tomorrow.  We’ll discuss the future shots.”

“Okay, see you bright an early.”

“Don’t bother.  You won’t be in any shots tomorrow; it’ll be Patrick’s turn.  Come in around noon.”

As I hailed a cab to take me home, I began to regret not changing at work.  The pants were so tight that they were hard to walk in, and the midriff showing sweater was a bit chilly in the late September evening.  The construction worker who whistled at me didn’t improve my disposition, either.

“Hey Lori, I’m home.”

“Hey Kim, I…wow, you look great!”

“What do you mean?”

“That outfit, it really suits you.”

“Please.  These pants are about five sizes too small.”

“Really?”  She looked at the tag.  “They’re not too much smaller than the pants I got you when you first came here.”

“That can’t be.  Hell, I’ve been dieting, they should be looser, not tighter.”  I noticed Lori was looking at me in an odd way.  “What?”

“Kim, do me a favor, and get undressed.”

“Why?”

“Please, I want to see something.”

I went into the bathroom and removed everything but my sex-hiding thong and my panties.  Lori knocked and entered.  She smiled.

“What?”  I was beginning to get angry with her cryptic behavior.  

“You haven’t noticed?  Those hormones have done a number on you.”

“They might have made me a little chubbier in areas, but I fail to see anything major.”

“I guess you’re too close to things to notice.  Good God, girl, your rear end is about twice the size as it used to be.  And your hips are as big as mine!  Your waist is thinner, but that’s probably due to your diet.  And your chest!”

“What about my chest?”  I examined it.  It had changed, a little.  The nipples were larger, and darker.  And they stuck out as well, just a little.  Humiliated, I pulled my top back on.  

“I don’t see what you’re making such a big deal about,” I said, trying to mask my embarrassment.  “We knew there’d be changes.  That’s the whole point.”

“I know.  I just think it’s cute.  You are developing a nice figure, Kim.”

I snorted.  Didn’t she know how hard this had been for me?  I think she sensed my unease.

“Kim, don’t get mad.  I’m not trying to tease you.  It’s just hard sometimes, not to think of you as a woman.  When I tell you that you make a cute girl, I mean it as a complement.”

“Well,” I said, somewhat mollified, “if you want to make me feel good, no more compliments.”

Lori winked at me.

(continued)