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Chapter 2

I was walking home from work the next day when I started to look closely at all of the women around me. I couldn’t help but wonder if any of them were hiding a little bit extra between their thighs. Now that I’d seen what was possible with a new wardrobe and some makeup, who could know for sure? I had always thought there was a disproportionate number of ladies in my town than men. It always seemed strange to me whenever I would go down to a club, just how many women were there, and meanwhile there were so few men. How insane was it to think that some of the women were really wolves in sheep’s clothing?

I mean, I kind of had fun trying on all those different outfits, seeing what I was able to do with my makeup, perfecting my hair. And the thought of taking it out into public was exciting, wondering whether or not I could really get away with it—just how far I could push it. Maybe lots of other men had discovered the same rush, long before me. Maybe they were all around me.

When I got home and looked into my secret little stash of women’s clothing, I wondered if I really could pull it off. Sure, I thought I looked good in my outfit, but maybe my senses were being clouded by my strong desire for my scheme to work. There was only one way to really know for sure, by taking my guise out into public.

So once it was dark outside, I suited up. I put on my wig and I sat down to do my makeup. I got ready much quicker than the night before, having all the little kinks and bumps worked out. I put on my bra, and then I put my lace top on over it. I went with the skirt for this particular outing. It wasn’t the perfect outfit, but I was saving that for my meeting with Static Overdrive. After one final look in the mirror, I took off for a nearby club. I figured it was the perfect place to put my looks and persona to the test.

But I never made it to the club. Halfway there, I passed a bustling little café. Inside, they were playing one of my favourite Static Overdrive songs. It almost seemed like a sign, so I decided to go inside and see what all the commotion was about.

“Here for the speed dating?” a lady asked me as I walked through the doorway. She pushed a clipboard and a pen forward. My heart jumped. It was my first official interaction with another human as a woman. I scanned the room. There were some pretty girls in attendance, and some good looking guys, too. They were all standing around, mingling, getting ready to face one another in five minute increments.

My immediate instinct was to not say a word back to the sign-up lady and run out of the place. But then I figured, what better test was there than to be scrutinized and compared to a slew of real women by good looking men? What was I going to accomplish at the club? Nothing more than some drunken interactions with horny boys in a loud room where no one would really be able to hear my voice. The club was too safe. If I was going to face Static Overdrive, if I was going to face Rick Aaronson, I needed a real test. I needed to have absolute confidence in myself as a woman.

The sign-up lady pushed the clipboard and the pen further towards me. “Miss?” she said.

I smiled. “Thanks,” I said, taking the clipboard and the pen and signing myself up. My new name was Georgia May.

“Feel free to take a seat anywhere. We’ll be getting started soon,” the woman said, motioning me into the room. My heart was beating quickly. I’d made it past my first little test, but all my first test wanted was my name on a piece of paper. My next test was a room full of men who wanted to know me as a person—and maybe they wanted a bit more than that.

I took my seat and tried to regain control over my breathing, which was quick and shallow. I kept reminding myself, ‘What do you have to lose?’ What if someone recognizes me? How could they? Maybe my disguise wasn’t as good as I thought it was. My hands were trembling.

“Alright, everyone take a seat now,” the host called out, and then she proceeded to explain the rules of the night. Ladies (like myself) each got their own table which they sat on one side of and didn’t move throughout the event. The tables formed a large circle around the room. Men would sit across from the women and every five minutes a bell would ring and the men would hop over to the next table.

Thankfully, the host dimmed the lights as the event started. I didn’t need any extra light on my face for the guys who would be staring closely at me.

My first speed date was a smaller guy, kind of geeky-looking, with a dress shirt done up to the top button. He looked even more nervous than me, which gave me some peace of mind. He was far too concerned with himself (constantly making sure his shirt was straight and his posture was good) to look to notice too many of my details. He asked me a series of obviously prepared questions like, “What’s your name? What do you do for a living? What are your hobbies? What’s your favourite colour?” and so on. It was the perfect intro into my persona, giving me a chance to not only practice my voice on someone who wouldn’t notice any slips, but to also practice my backstory, which needed to be as believable as my looks.

My name was Georgia May, I was an assistant at a veterinarian’s office, I liked ice skating and walking my dog at the park, and my favourite colour was pink. I asked him the same questions, and I got lots of nervous ums and head scratching. He’d apparently spent more time preparing the questions than the answers.

My next date was a strong guy with big, heavy muscles. I swear I could see his veins throbbing through his tight shirt. “I’m Kev,” he said, and then he went on about his job as a fitness trainer for the next five minutes. He never asked me my name. In fact, I’m not sure I said a word after my hello when he sat down. His eyes kept drifting down to my chest and then I would watch his pupils grow twice in size. It was a nice confirmation that my tits looked okay.

My third date was a handsome guy with a brilliant smile. There was something about his smile that was so captivating—hypnotising even. And he smelled incredible! When I reached out to shake his hand, he took my hand ever so gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Georgia.” He had me so flustered, I didn’t know how to respond. How did he know my name? Oh right, the sticker on my chest that said ‘Hello, my name is Georgia’.

“Hi…” I said after a flustered moment of silence. I looked down at his name tag. ‘Hello, my name is Roger’. Even his handwriting had a certain charm to it. “…Roger,” I said.

It was strange—never before in my life had I so much as noticed a man before. I mean, sure, I’ve obviously noticed men before, but not in the same way I was as Georgia. Maybe it was the way they looked at me, like I was a woman, like I had some sort of value to them. It’s much different than the way a woman looks at a man. It’s almost… Animalistic. Primal. Maybe there are pheromones involved, undetectable except at some microscopic level. Hell, if I knew what Roger was doing right, I would have been swimming in pussy. I wasn’t even a real woman and I was totally captivated by him. I jumped when the bell rang. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Georgia,” he said as he stood up, smiling gracefully. It was a shame my time with him was over.

None of the other guys who came my way matched up to Roger. Throughout the rest of that night, our eyes kept meeting. I kept catching his handsome smile from across the room. I found myself becoming jealous of the girls he was talking to. How screwed up is that?

It was very strange, indeed. I wanted him to like me so badly. When I saw him get up to use the bathroom, I got up and followed him, ‘accidentally’ bumping into him as he stepped out from the lavatory. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Excuse me,” I said, reaching down, slipping my fingers over his crotch, gently squeezing his manly bulge. I gave him a quick little massage, biting my lip. I’m not sure why I did it, or what I was hoping to achieve. I obviously couldn’t have him, so why was I bothering? He bit his lip and his body seemed to melt from my grasp. “What are you doing later tonight?” he asked.

I smiled. “I’ve got plans,” I said, and then I released him. I had to be careful. Being a woman was proving to be somewhat of an addiction. The closer I skirted to that fine line, the better the high. A part of me wanted to keep on pushing it, to see how far I could go. Could I get into a man’s bedroom? Could I get down to my bra and panties without him knowing any better? Could my kiss fool him? Could I get him off without him finding me out?

I had to keep pushing those thoughts away. They were dangerous—even more dangerous now that I knew they were within the realm of possibility. If I’d gotten this far, who was to say I couldn’t go all the way? Basically, as long as my cock stayed between my legs, anything was possible. My flat chest wasn’t even a giveaway. Plenty of girls had totally flat chests.

I practically had Roger drooling over me, and I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t help but obsess a little bit every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. But I needed to have a bit of self control. I wasn’t doing this to make men fawn over me. I was doing it to meet Static Overdrive and to get my precious autograph.