One Fantastic Day

By Hebe Dotson
Subscribers can read One Fantastic Day - Part 1

Chapter One

The clock radio jarred me awake just before dawn. "It's gonna be one fantastic day, folks!" the DJ was burbling. "That's three in a row-how did we get so lucky? Plenty of sunshine, high around 75, low humidity! Time to get up and get out and enjoy it!"

I turned the radio off and plopped back on my pillow. Faint, tantalizing memories of unusual dreams were lurking just beyond the edge of recollection. Sometimes I can circle around behind those dreams and scare them into the open, but not these puppies-as I approached them, one by one they skittered off into oblivion. It was hopeless, and I couldn't play around with them any longer-I had to get ready to go to work and, more urgently, I had to go to the bathroom.

As I lurched across the bedroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was wearing one of Miriam's nightgowns. There was nothing strange about that; I usually slept in one of her nightgowns whenever she was away. As a rule, she flew to Chicago for client meetings every other Wednesday morning and came back home Thursday evening, but she'd called me yesterday to tell me she'd be delayed twenty-four hours, so I'd had another night to (and as) myself.

I hurried into the bathroom, hiked up my nightgown, pulled down my panties, and sat down on the commode. Strangely enough, I couldn't find my penis. That was weird. Was I still dreaming? The urgency was too great, and I couldn't wait any longer. Trusting that Old Faithful, wherever it was, was aimed in the right direction, I let fly. The sound effects were reassuring.

Still less than half awake, I put my elbows on my knees and rested my chin on my hands. My hair fell forward across my face. That was strange, too; I never allowed myself to go to sleep with my wig on, for fear of converting it into a headful of cowlicks. It was amazing that it hadn't fallen off in the night.

I was done. I stood up, flushed the toilet, and pulled up my panties. Still somewhat groggy, I returned to the bedroom. You've got to snap out of it, I thought. You've got to wake up, wide awake; get back to normal, take your shower, and get dressed and go to work.

As I reached up to remove my wig, I had yet another surprise. There was nothing up there that was going to leave voluntarily. I had hair, long flowing hair, but no wig. I pulled off my nightgown and looked down upon a rounded pair of breasts. In a state of near panic, I yanked my panties back down and thrust a hand between my legs. Still no penis, and no scrotum. I leaped to the mirror. The reflection was me, all right, more or less; it had my face, but I was a woman!

I had to be dreaming. I touched my right breast. It felt real, just like Miriam's. I pinched it. That hurt! I hadn't realized how sensitive a woman's breasts were, but now I knew I was awake. I rubbed my chin. My skin was smooth; I had no beard.

If I were awake, then the explanation for my confused mental state had to lie in those unusual dreams that I couldn't quite remember. I had awakened thinking myself masculine, but obviously I was really a woman who had just had a powerful, realistic dream of being a man. That had to be it. The problem was that I seemed to have thirty-plus years of male memories but no recollections whatever of girlhood or womanhood. Dreams couldn't produce that kind of an effect, could they? I looked at the wedding picture on the bureau. The bride was Miriam, exactly as I remembered her. The groom had my face. I was a man; in any event, I'd been a man as recently as last night, but now I was a woman.

I didn't know how or why this fantastic transformation had happened, but I felt incredibly happy. All my life, as far back as I could remember, I'd wanted to be-or at least appear to be-female. That wish had certainly come true with a vengeance. I wasn't sure I wanted to be quite this female-it was certainly going to screw up my sex life, my glorious sex life with Miriam. My euphoria faded a little and then bounced back as I thought that maybe my sex life would be just as good, perhaps even better, as a woman. I wondered if I were female enough to have periods-if so, I'd be female enough to get pregnant.

Come to think of it, though, it wasn't just my sex life that was going to be screwed up-it was my entire life! My wife, my parents, my siblings, my friends, my job...my job! I had to get to work, but I couldn't go like this. Not today, anyway; not until I could think things through. I'd have to call in sick.

And what was Miriam going to say? She'd caught me wearing her clothes once before, and she'd been outraged, to say the least. I'd finally managed to talk her out of divorcing me, but it was clear that I'd have only one more chance with her, so I'd been extremely cautious ever since. We'd had nine wonderful years together, and I loved her more than anyone or anything else in the world. I didn't want our marriage to end, but it seemed beyond doubt that it would. If she'd leave me for pretending to be a woman, she certainly wouldn't stay with me now.

I showered and dressed my strange new body, liking it more and more in spite of my misgivings. I had acquired my own supply of underwear, pantyhose, jewelry, and cosmetics over the years, but I decided to borrow one of Miriam's dresses, since I liked hers better than any of my own. I had intended to wear my own shoes, but my new body seemed to have smaller feet, so I borrowed a pair of Miriam's pumps, too. I admired myself in the mirror-quite pretty, I thought, and completely and unquestionably feminine.

After a hasty breakfast, it was time to call my office. When I heard our secretary's voice, I realized that I hadn't said anything to myself this morning and I had no idea what my voice would sound like. "Kim?" I said. My voice was definitely female.

"Yes."

"This is Miriam Frasier-Jerry's wife. He had some kind of a stomach bug last night-he was up and down all night. He's sleeping now, and I don't have the heart to wake him up."

"Oh, that's too bad. I'll let Mr. Simmons know he won't be in today. Tell Jerry to take care of himself."

"Thank you; I will. He should be okay by Monday."

One problem solved, or at least postponed. My next problem would be Miriam, but she wouldn't be home until early evening. That gave me most of the day to get my new life launched. I needed some decent shoes and dresses of my own, and I needed to have something done with my new mane of hair. Miriam had handbags galore, and she'd left her department store credit cards behind. I loaded one of her handbags with cosmetics, cash, keys, and credit cards and headed for the shops.

I had always dreamed of going out into the world as a woman, but I'd never dared to. Now I'd have to, or spend my life at home. After the first few panicky moments, it was easy. No one gave me a second glance, except for a few guys who gave me second, third, and fourth glances, but that was obviously because they liked what the first glance showed them.

By late afternoon, I was back home, tired but happy. I'd had a complete makeover at one of the department stores, and I would never have believed I could look so good. I'd bought myself a closetful of clothes and shoes. I got out of Miriam's dress and shoes and into my own and sat down on the sofa to try to reason things through. I still didn't know what was going to happen with Miriam or what I was going to say to her, but I supposed the facts would speak for themselves and I'd just have to see how she reacted to them.

I flipped on the television news. The anchor woman was congratulating the weather man for his superb choice of weather. "Wasn't that just great?" the weather man was saying. "It really was one fantastic day! But it's all coming to an end, folks-there's a line of squalls moving into the area."

I heard Miriam's key in the door, and I took a deep breath. She came in smiling, but her smile changed quickly to bewilderment. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" she said. I stood up and walked toward her. "Jerry?"

"Jeri," I corrected her, but she wasn't listening. Her bewilderment became anger. "Jerry! What in hell are you up to? Didn't I tell you..."

"It's all right," I said. "I know you're going to find this hard to believe-I can hardly believe it myself-but I'm a woman! I really am a woman!"

"Sure you are," Miriam said. "I gave you fair warning, Jerry, and I meant it! I want you out of this house and out of my life in twenty minutes!"

"Mim," I said pleadingly. "Listen to me. I'm a woman! Look; I'll show you!" I reached under my skirt and pulled down my pantyhose and panties in one quick motion. I lifted my skirt to my waist.

And that's when I found my penis again.

Chapter 2

When Miriam gave me twenty minutes to vacate the premises, she wasn't kidding. I wasted five minutes on futile pleas and then had to race around as fast as I could to get as much as I could out the door. My new wardrobe, still in shopping bags and closest at hand, went out first. Then I ransacked my bureau and closet for underwear, socks, shirts, shoes, and suits, under Miriam's watchful eyes-I'm sure she was afraid I'd raid her closet, and I might have if I'd had the time and opportunity.

I couldn't bother to pack -- I just took everything outside and threw it on the ground beside my car. On my last foray into the house, I grabbed a large empty suitcase and a medium-sized suitcase that housed my spare bras and panties, my women's shoes, and my wig (my hair was no longer long, luxurious, and styled; it was now in a standard male cut). I snatched up my laptop computer, my electric shaver, and my car keys, and that was all I had time for.

"Give me your house key," Miriam ordered. I took it off the ring and gave it to her. "Keep in touch, dear," she said. "Let me know where you are so I'll know where to send the divorce papers." She slammed the door and turned the deadbolt.

I saw a flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by the crack of thunder. The weather man's promised squalls had arrived. I threw my things into the trunk of the car and got behind the wheel just as the first big drops of rain splattered against the windshield.

I inspected myself in the rear view mirror. I still looked like a woman, albeit a woman with short hair and a day's growth of beard. My chest had gone flat; my breasts had apparently vanished when my penis reappeared. And my new shoes were absolutely killing me-my feet seemed to have returned to their original size.

What could I do? I'd have to drive around until the rain stopped. Then I could retrieve my wig and razor from the trunk and make myself presentable enough to get a motel room for the night. I sighed, started the car, and backed out of the driveway.

I found a motel and rented a room; I don't know why, because I couldn't sleep. I lay in the dark for hours, trying to figure out what had happened. Was I suffering from a world-class delusion, or had I really gone out to the mall and spent Miriam's credit cards into the ground? The evidence -- the shopping bags and the receipts, signed with Miriam's name in my handwriting and dated that very daY -- tended to show that I had. Had I really been female at the time, or had I been just a man rather badly en femme, as Miriam had found me? It was hard to imagine that I, a confirmed closet dweller, would have decided to play Little Mary Mallrat in the first place; it seemed highly unlikely that I would have done so with no wig, no beard cover, and no padding in my bra, and that in my dementia I'd try on and buy shoes two sizes smaller than my feet. Of course, it didn't seem too probable that I'd changed from male to female and back to male in less than twenty-four hours, but ultimately I found that easier to believe, and that's what I chose to do.

I felt much better when I decided I knew what had happened (leaving hows and whys for some other occasion). Before I could get to sleep, however, my mind leaped into an analysis of the wondrous possibilities before me. I had carried it off! I'd gone out into the world as a woman, and no one had thought me anything else. I had been a woman of course, physically, but there were the little matters of attitude, behavior, movement, style... I'd done it all; I'd been flawless. I could see clearly that my love for Miriam had been all that had kept me from unleashing my inner woman; with that love now unrequitable, I was free to begin a new life as Jeri.

Now I could sleep, but not for long. I woke up at dawn, filled with ideas and energy. I'd find myself a nice apartment and fill it with gorgeous things. I'd begin electrolysis treatments (I decided while shaving). I'd work harder, get a promotion, and start saving my extra income for transformation surgery. Oh, the places I'd go and the things I'd do! And I'd start off by going to work Monday morning looking ravishingly beautiful.

By Monday, I'd had second thoughts. I'd been back to the mall, where I'd exchanged my shoes for larger sizes. I'd given Miriam the vicarious pleasure of buying me a small wardrobe of office wear. I could look the part of Executive Woman now, but something told me it would be best to give my boss just a little insight into my plans.

Mr. Simmons was cool, in the unflappable sense. If I really wanted to come to work dressed as a woman, that was my right, he supposed. He was afraid, however, that the office would be disrupted and that I might find working conditions not nearly as pleasant as they were now. We considered the likely reactions of my closest colleagues and, knowing the narrow-minded sexist oinkers only too well, I had to concede that I'd be in for a rough time. I am Woman; I am strong, I assured him; he countered by observing that the firm's San Francisco office had a need for someone with my skills, and he could arrange the paperwork to transfer me there as Jeri. I'd be doing exactly the same kind of work (though probably more of it) for only slightly less pay. I could stay here, of course, but if (as seemed likely) I disrupted the work of the office, he would regretfully have to give me the freedom to seek other opportunities elsewhere. Gender uncertainty, he reminded me, was not one of the conditions covered by anti discrimination laws.

I drove out of town the following weekend. Jerry checked into a motel Saturday night, and Jeri checked out Sunday morning. She drove the rest of the way to San Francisco, taking a leisurely ten days to see the sights and think the thoughts. I found a tiny but cute apartment on a hillside with a view of another hillside. Someday, the Golden Gate, I promised myself.

It was easy to settle into my new job, since it was very much like my old one. My new colleagues seemed glad to have me-I was filling a real vacancy-and they seemed quite nice as well, but I decided not to get too friendly with them for fear of giving myself away. It was quite possible, of course, that Mr. Simmons had already given me away, but if people knew what lurked beneath my panties, they said nothing and just treated me like a lady. I concentrated on doing my job and growing hair.

I loved San Francisco right from the start and I adored my little apartment, but my life was very lonely at first. My unshakable fear of discovery led me to spend far too many quiet, solitary evenings watching television or just puttering around. I missed Miriam terribly, and one night I wrote her a long, long letter, trying my best to explain myself and begging for her understanding. I enclosed her credit cards and a check to cover my purchases. The divorce papers came by return mail.

How could Miriam have done this to me when I was so vulnerable? Those divorce papers might have destroyed a lesser woman, I thought, but they only served to energize me. She'd never be part of my life again-that was over, so I'd just have to create an exciting new life for myself. The next day, I took the first concrete step by making an appointment with an electrologist.

Up to now, I'd been terribly shy about building relations with others, rejecting every social overture that came my way. People were only responding to my external appearance, I'd thought; if they knew what was inside my well-crafted exterior, they'd run. I'd felt like such a freak-surely the only man in the entire city who had chosen to live his life in women's clothes! I had to get beyond that. I forced myself to make small talk with two other young single women in the office, and before I knew it, Maria and Emily and I were lunch buddies.

I observed my new friends carefully and slowly acquired rudimentary female social graces -- the use of compliments to open conversations, the art of listening once conversations began. Our relationship expanded from lunches to movies and parties, and my circle of friends and acquaintances-both female and male-began to grow. I discreetly studied my girl friends' flirtation techniques and rejoiced when I attempted to turn theory into practice -- and it worked! But I couldn't let it work too well; I wasn't ready for men yet. I was in the process of divorcing, I explained sadly, and reluctant to get involved again... for now.

About three months after my arrival in San Francisco, I discovered that my new workplace had a random drug testing policy. I learned this when I was called to the front office and placed in the hands of a medical technician. She led me to a ladies' room, handed me a little plastic container, directed me to a stall, and demanded production of a urine specimen. I was unperturbed; I knew I was drug-free, so I produced, delivered, and went back to work.

The next week, I was called to the front office again, to face the same technician. "We have to test you again," she said. She kept apologizing as she led me to the ladies' room. There had been a mix-up at the lab, she said, and they'd run the wrong test on my specimen. It was their fault, not mine, but they'd have to test me again. This time they'd do it right.

As I sat in the stall, producing specimen number two, the technician kept on chatting with me through the closed door. "So, are you hoping for a boy or a girl, hon?" she asked.

I nearly dropped my specimen into the toilet. "What did you say?"

"I just wondered if you wanted a little boy or a little girl?"

I put myself back together, opened the stall door, and handed her the specimen. "Why did you ask me that?"

She stared at my baffled expression. "Oh, I'm so sorry, hon," she said. "I thought you'd know. You're pregnant."

To be continued...


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