Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 44.

I called Devina the following morning directly after breakfast, keeping the excitement from my voice.  I felt silly, but didn’t want to betray the fact that I was looking forward to hearing her.  After all, I didn’t wish to seem too eager.

The phone rang a few times, and just as I thought it was about to click over to voice mail, Devina came on the line.

“Oh, it’s you Andrea,” she said seeming disappointed.  “I thought it was someone else.”

‘Ok,’ I thought to myself, ‘not exactly an auspicious start, but let’s see where this goes.’

“Devina,” I said, “Veronica told me to call you. Is there something I can help you with?”

I tried to keep from talking too fast. I could hear the timbre of my voice climbing. I’m sure you know how it is.  You get excited and just want to babble on, but don’t want to seem an idiot. And all the while I could almost see her aloof expression before me.  How was it that she could turn me on just by ignoring me, her face so purposeful and yet full of disdain. It seemed reminiscent of being in class as a child, hoping I’d be the one picked to answer the question I knew the answer to, though it didn’t matter how high I put my hand, the teacher would look right through me.

“Oh, yes, Andrea. I have a little job for you.  Would you come by this afternoon? I’ll send you the address. And wear something, you know. Appealing. Something exciting.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering what this could be. “Of course.”

“Good. 3 pm then. I’ll text you the address.”

I was about to ask what I was expected to do but the phone was already dead.  Well, you know she’s a very busy woman.  She can’t just stand around all day waiting for  me. I expected she had another call coming through.

I went to the kitchen in my apartment and made a coffee.  I looked at the clock but it seemed to be creeping along. What on earth would I do for the next four hours. I had no clue how to pass the time.

I went to my walk-in closet and decided to arrange some of my dresses. I was wearing my stockings and long skirt, the fall weather setting in, and a soft lambs wool cardigan, oatmeal and fluffy. The burgundy pleated skirt offset the lighter color beautifully. I’d matched them to a pair of Mary Janes with a mild three inch heel. Elegant, and uncomfortable enough to remind me to make a greater effort.

After messing around in the wardrobe for a time I decided to walk by the lake, and put on a long black wig that I had bought before my hair grew out.  Even now, with my hair over my shoulders, I still liked to put the wig on from time to time. With a pair of large sunglasses I looked a completely different person.

It was dressed in this manner that I strolled along the lakeside, watching a few of the tourists taking in this most beautiful part of the lakefront. It was truly a gem in the centre of Chicago. As I strolled along I watched a few of the passing men glance at me, and I pointedly ignored them.  It was interesting though. I sensed it was different, and wondered had I changed or had they.  I had come a long way in my journey, no longer the awkward trannie, trying to pass. Now I accepted myself, and in so doing I noticed those who  looked at me did so not in hostile disgust, but with a glint of desire in their eyes,  like the glint of light on the edge of a steel blade.

I don’t think they were sizing me up as a man dressed in feminine clothing.  No, this was something different. This was the sexual desire of man wanting woman. This was something almost visceral. It suddenly dawned on me that I was not merely ‘passing’ – these men thought I was a woman.

In some prehistoric world would they have forced me down on the ground, and pulled away whatever primitive coverings I had, only to force themselves into me as they bit hard on my neck, while thrusting deeply till they were satisfied? Was I just meat to be used for their satisfaction? I felt myself quiver at the thought. How wonderful that might have been.

I stopped and looked round. I counted at least four men in my immediate surroundings that were exuding a look of hungry lustiness for me. Four men who would likely be shocked to find what I was packing between my legs, all be it caged in Devina’s damned chastity device. I was almost overwhelmed by two distinct feelings. One was of loss – the absolute loss of my manliness. I didn’t feel a sense of sadness over this. I simply recognised it, and was indifferent to it.

The second feeling was more interesting. I had power.  The lustful gaze of the man walking toward me was unmistakable. And I liked the fact. I could play with him in any way I chose. As his steps grew closer, I removed the sunglasses and smiled at him. He returned the smile with a surprised grin, and I winked.

Oh, how could I be so brazen, I thought.  But as he turned as if to say something I lightly brushed my sunglasses against my lapel, returned them to my face and walked on, leaving him stuttering and lost for words. I swept on leaving him in my wake.

How much fun it is to be desired. To be desired as a woman.


I bought a coffee and took it to the lakeside, found a bench and purposely sat in the centre of the seat. As you probably know, when one sits in the centre of a bench it’s code for ‘I don’t want to be disturbed.’  To sit at one end of the bench invites others to share the bench with you, and is something of an implied invitation. After all the excitement of the previous days I did not particularly wish for anyone to interact with me. Various parts of my body were still smarting from too much interaction, to be quite honest.

I glanced at my watch. In just two hours Devina would be sitting opposite me in the Carlton Club. I felt excited to think we’d be spending time together.

It was then that I noticed the unmistakable form of my business partner, Steve, walking along the side of the lake. At first I felt a wave of panic, but this quickly subsided as I realised he’d never recognise me dressed as I was, and in the weeks since I’d last seen him I knew my body had begun some substantial shifts. I don’t know if this was down to my posture changing into a more feminine form, or perhaps it was the few supplements I was using to reduce the testosterone in my system. Or perhaps this is what happens to the body as the mind accepts the inevitable feminine emergence that I felt so deeply. I wasn’t about to fight it, whatever it was.

I gazed across the lake, as Steve meandered along the path talking into his cellphone. He was entirely absorbed in his call, and didn’t so much as glance at me as first he passed me, and then I fell in behind him eavesdropping on the conversation he was so intent on.

“I don’t know where he is, or what he’s doing,” said Steve to whoever was on the other end of the line. “All I can tell you is that we keep getting these contracts, and Andy is the most productive account executive I’ve ever encountered. And they’re not small contracts. It’s usually simple stuff, but big payers. Most of the time I hand it off to the juniors to handle once the contracts are signed.”

There was a pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the call.

“Of course I’m not complaining.  It’s just I never see him.  He insists on working from home and I’ve dropped round to his place in the evenings twice and he’s never there.  It’s just odd. That’s all. I mean, you’d expect him to swing by to see that the business is all going smoothly.”

There was a brief pause.

“It’s been odd since he got that crazy Florida client. The church one. I thought we were going to be in trouble on that, but it all seemed to get cleared up but his lawyer.” Steve paused for a moment and then added, “I didn’t even know he had a lawyer.”

At that moment Steve stopped and seemed to fumble in his pocket for a note book.

I stopped and stared across the lake as though I’d been doing so in contemplation of life’s great mysteries.  Steve didn’t seem to notice. Foolish man. Isn’t it absurd how some people get so absorbed in business they don’t even notice life going on around them.

When I looked back Steve was writing something in his notebook and then continued his meandering walk, once more lost in his conversation.

As I turned and walked back toward my apartment I resolved to send Steve an email. It would be best for him to think I’d left town. Perhaps I would say I was staying with my mother, whose sciatica had worsened drastically. Well, that would not be strictly true considering she’d died eight years ago, but it would tidily explain my absence from home when he’d called. Having to dash off at random intervals to nurse her would be both convenient and credible.

Yes. Poor Steve deserved an explanation for my absence. Even if it was completely fictional. In the meantime, I didn’t want to keep Devina waiting. She’s a very busy woman, you know. Perhaps she’d be nice to me this time. I hoped she would.

I really hoped she would.


The next episode can be found here.

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