Another element of fantasy that crossed my mind is the victim's visceral desire to retain at least some vestige of his manhood throughout as a safety net. He starts off slowly, careful not to expose himself too much to womanhood, always keeping on some article of men's clothing. However, femininity's hold only strengthens with each experiment, to the point where he's fully feminized except for, say, a masculine wristwatch, or some even more insignificant thing. He maintains the delusion that this tiny article of clothing keeps him from totally succumbing to womanhood, even as the evidence mounts against his belief. Eventually, in the throes of passion, he casts aside his last remaining link to masculinity, and the theory is reversed: from that moment on, he cannot bear to be without some article of women's clothing, no matter how insignificant, as a pledge to his newly avowed femininity.
Now, let's combine the stories into my epic. We have about 120 test subjects, all of whom have answered a short survey. Half are women, who will act as coaches and control subjects. All will be forced to become ultra-feminine. The questions are as follows:
- Are you male?
- Do you like feminine things (i.e. flowers, lace, panties, silk, etc.)?
- Are you aware of your own femininity?
- How often do you explore your femininity (choose one of: never, rarely, occasionally, often, always)?
- Rate your interest in exploring your femininity in a controlled environment (choose one of: low, moderate, high).
This yields 120 possibilities. Many are mundane, and need not be explored. Others are incredibly fascinating. So here goes:
The test subjects, all 150 of them, are lined up in the gymnasium. Each is naked. Each has an armed guard pointing a rifle at him or her. In front of each is a matching bra and panty set, off-white, silk, lace-trimmed, and very feminine. Each is instructed to put them on.
"Put on the underwear," blares the voice over the PA, "or die."
Are they really going to shoot me if I don't put on this underwear? They must be joking. Some of the others - mostly the women - are putting it on. I can't move.
"What the fuck is this?" shouts the guy to my left. "I ain't putting this shit on! No way!"
A few others join the protest. I want to, but I'm petrified with fear.
"This is an order. Put on the underwear, or DIE!" repeats the voice on the PA. Most of the men remain naked. We seem to be arranged in alternating genders: boy, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl. Thus I have a beautiful woman on each side of me. Both of them giggled as they put on their underwear. They look incredibly hot in this lingerie, and I can't reconcile the idea of actually putting on the same panties and bra, right in front of them.
"What are you waiting for?" says the one to my right. "They'll kill you if you don't put it on!"
"You don't seriously expect me to wear that, do you?"
"Would you rather die than sacrifice your precious manhood for just one second?" Some of the men are making quite a commotion. "It's not so bad! Look at me! Doesn't this look great on me?" She's right: she looks fantastic.
"Um, I hate to tell you, but I'm not built like you." The shouting intensifies over to my right.
"Oh, come on! You'll look so cute in that bra!"
Several loud popping noises make everyone cringe, and the room goes silent. Just a bit to my right, one of the protesting men has been shot in the head. "This is your last warning. I will count to three. Anyone not wearing lingerie when I finish will be shot. One."
I urgently scramble for the panties and bra. I am wearing them before the voice says...
"See? It's not so bad, is it?"
A few more shots ring out. Only three more men, out of the fifty or so protesters, have fallen to the ground dead. All the rest are now wearing a very sexy matching panty and bra set, a beautiful woman on each side wearing the exact same thing.
"Ladies! Welcome to femininity training! For some of you, this is a new experience. The vast majority of you have done this before. Some of you are participating under duress. At the end of this course, you will all be gorgeous, ultra-feminine, and proud of it! Remember that at every step of the way, our guards will assist you in your decisions. You all look so pretty in your new underwear! I look forward to seeing you all blossom into the sexy women you were all meant to be!
"Those of you who now think of yourselves as men: turn to your right. The woman you see will be your training partner. Being more experienced with womanhood, she will guide you through your training. You have all been carefully matched to maximize both of your learning experiences. Remember! The women are also here to train! You will become ultra-feminine together!
"Those women whose designated partners have been killed will be your instructors. They, too, have been carefully selected for their role. They were deliberately matched up with men who would rather die than discover the glory of girlhood. They are already far, far advanced in the ways of womanhood, and will have much to teach you all. Treat them with respect.
"Now please take your partner's hand, and begin your first lesson from the book in front of you. All classes are public, but your personal development may continue in private.
I am dumfounded. How can I possibly become ultra-feminine? How did I get myself into this?
"Hey there, cutie pie!" gushes the gorgeous woman to my right. "Looks like we're partners!"
She is ridiculously curvaceous, slim, and beautiful. She is unquestionably one of the sexiest, most beautiful women I have ever seen. She has long blonde hair and emerald green eyes. Her skin is delicate and smooth. She looks like she could be a model. And we are wearing the same panty and bra set.
"What's your name?" she asks.
"So from now on," she giggles, "I guess it's gonna be Bobbie."
I say nothing.
"Oh, come on! It'll be fun! You're gonna love being a girl!"
"I can't fucking believe this."
"I was forced to put on lingerie at gunpoint, and you're telling me this is gonna be fun?!?"
"Didn't you want to be here?"
"You mean. . . you don't even want to be a girl?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"For somebody who doesn't want to be a girl, you sure put that bra on like an expert."
"And look at you! Your boner is practically busting out of those panties!"
I blush with shame. "I'm talking to a gorgeous woman! Why else would I have a boner?"
Now she blushes. "Thank you," she says demurely. "But that's gonna have to stop if we're to make a girl out of you."
My guard prods me with his rifle. "Get on with the lesson you two!"
"Alright, let's get on with this," I offer, not wanting to get shot.
The coursebook begins with an introduction to the programme. We will be introduced to every conceivable type of woman's garment. We will be required to wear some item of women's clothing at all times. We will learn how to put on a bra properly, and how to properly care for delicate silks and satins. We will learn proper feminine mannerisms. And we will learn proper sexual techniques. My heart misses a beat as every detail comes to light.
The first lesson consists of learning how to properly put on a bra. I must keep on my panties as I practice with the bra. My partner, whose name is Cindy, is obviously an expert. It takes me little time to get the hang of it.
"So how did you know how to do that already?" she asks.
"I've seen enough girls getting dressed to have gotten a good idea."
"Seeing and doing are two different things."
"Not in this case."
Now I must prance around in my new underwear, and affirm my desire for womanhood. Those who fail to comply are threatened with death.
"I love being a girl," I recite. "I love being ultra-feminine."
After several repetitions of this, we begin to explore the details of our underwear, and how certain features make it sexy. This consists of identifying features, and exploring them on both Cindy and me.
"The lace on the waistband gives a delicate appearance to the soft skin of the lower belly." I practically come all over Cindy's hand as we explore my panties.
The class ends with everyone, including the women, going up on stage and reciting these same affirmations in front of everyone.
"You did great!" says Cindy, after I'm done. I have to admit, I was very convincing. I had my hand on my hip, and did a twirl after my affirmation. Very feminine.
"Do you mean it?"
"I kinda have to, don't I?"
"I can tell. You meant it."
"I have a gun pointed at my head."
"Admit it: you've done this before."
"Gimme a break."
"Admit it! You've worn girls' clothes before!"
"I can tell! And you enjoy it!"
"You might as well tell me. You're gonna be a girl anyway, so it's not like I'll think any less of you if you admit it."
"Well. . ."
"I knew it!"
"I've done it once or twice. It's no big deal."
"Which was it?"
"Was it once or was it twice? Surely you can count up to two."
"It was more than once."
"Was it more than twice?"
"Ooooo, so you're a sissy pantywaist already! And we've just barely started! How many times?"
"Five? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? What did you wear?"
"Come on! Tell me!"
"Is it more times than you can count?"
I blush. I try not to, but I can't help it.
"Did you like it?"
I must be purple now. "Kinda."
"Oh my God! You're an expert!"
"So you just kinda liked it?"
I stop in my tracks.
"Cindy. Don't tell anybody. But I have always loved wearing girls' clothes, and I can't believe that I'm living out my most intense sexual fantasy. I love my new underwear! I feel so sexy in it! It's just so weird wearing it in front of so many people. I've always done it in private. Nobody was ever supposed to know. I never signed up for this. And now here I am, getting turned into a girl, for real! I just don't know if I really want to go through with it. I was perfectly happy being a man with a secret."