January 9th, 2014 – a date I was trying very hard to forget. The airline I had been working for as a steward had announced that all of the male stewards were being laid off. It was a result of a couple of my fellow male stewards who, whilst high on drugs, had gone berserk during a flight; eighteen people had been injured, two very seriously, when they attacked passengers with knives.
A co-pilot had managed to knock them out and restrain them, thus ending the attacks, although he suffered cuts and lacerations in the process. Among the many questions raised was how the stewards got knives aboard the plane since they went through security just the same as passengers. The media blamed it all on genetics and ease with which males became angry – not a good reason to be used if you happen to be one of that male group! Essentially the airline traveler was scared to fly with a male steward on the plane, too unpredictable and risky.
The tabloids and newspapers jumped on the news, plastering it on every front page in the nation. Our airline’s business dropped thirty percent over the next few weeks; the result was that our airline laid off all their male stewards. It also affected the other airlines, with them placing their male stewards on standby.
For me, it was devastating – thirteen years with the company, a mere two years from retirement, and now suddenly unemployed. The airline industry had gone to a 15-year standard for retiring, because of the amount of time we spent in the air. Now I had no job, plus the time I spent at the airline counted for naught. I would receive a little unemployment, but not enough to meet all my commitments.
An apartment, a car, some furniture payments, and my contribution to the company’s 401K funds left me with little extra. I could get my 401 contributions back, after paying taxes on them, but not the company’s contribution. A lot of those refunded contributions would have to be spent on the rent and car payments over the next few months. The airline job had been my only job since high school, getting hired because of a friend in the airline.
My friend Susan had been a student at the same high school, only a year ahead of me. When she graduated, she applied at the airline and was hired immediately; that was when the airlines were in a growth period. We kept in touch, mainly because our families lived close to each other. When I graduated, she asked if I would be interested in a job at the airline. I told her I had no skills, other than a high school diploma. The airline was looking to hire males, because of the EEOC rulings, thus a chance for me to get into the system at entry level.
At that time, the airlines were not looking at your educational qualifications, you just had to be wanting a job. There were height and weight restrictions, but if you met those and a background check you were employed. Once you were working for the airline, you were usually assured of fairly long term employment. Due to the two stewards going berserk, and the passengers not wanting to fly with a male steward present, changed everything, and not just for the short term. I don’t blame the airline, but it sure ruined any long term plans of mine.
Before we delve further into this little charade, a little about myself. My name is Stacy, 31 years old, five feet nine inches tall, and 130 lbs. in weight. I had joined the airline right out of high school and in truth it was the only job I had ever held. I never had the broad shoulders, flat abs of the typical male of the species; I was thin, maybe a little too thin especially for a male, but just never had time to eat my way into a fitter physique.
The embarrassing thing was that I had deposits of baby fat around my chest and hips. Being an airline steward, you got plenty of exercise, but these particular spots defied being removed. My face also lacked any of the sharp angles or prominent bones of a typical male, and my cheekbones were too prominent to belong on any man’s face.
I did possess at least twenty-three whiskers, a new low for any self-respecting man; the sad thing is I am not joking. Counting them again, there were just twenty-three hairs on my entire face, eyebrows exempted. All of the above added together just did not make me look masculine. On a good day, I could get by with androgynous, but because of our uniforms, thankfully, I rarely got mistaken for the other gender. The straight legged pants, and the jacket with shoulder pads helped a lot. The uniforms for the males were cut generously, thus camouflaging my androgynous figure. We were allowed a shaggy haircut, that style popular at the time.
For the next day or two, I just lounged around, trying to figure out where I might be able to apply for a job. I wasn’t interested in fast food, Wally World was depressing, and I really didn’t want to work as a waiter, although that was probably more of a possibility than the rest due to my training and experience. Other than meet and greet and handing out pillows our main function was handing out drinks and serving food, that matching a waiter’s job description.
It was a late Monday afternoon when I got a phone call from Susan. She had done well with the airline since she got me this job. She was now a regional supervisor for stewardesses, supervising over four hundred women and men. Well, not the men anymore since they all got laid off. She asked how I was doing, and if I had any leads on jobs yet?
“Yeah, I got several lined up, just waiting for the right deal to come along,” I laughed with a hint of sarcasm.
She giggled, thinking that I might be exaggerating a little, okay maybe more than a little. I told her no leads, no prospects and was probably going to try and get a job as a waiter just to get by. She asked if I could come over to her apartment tonight since she wanted to talk to me about something. I tried to find out what she was up to, but she told me I would have to wait till tonight.
We lived only a few blocks apart since the airport was only a mile away. If you worked in the industry, living close to the airport could save lots of money. We lived close enough that one of the shuttles would pick us up when we had to work. Saved on parking, and car expenses, since parking at an airport is very costly.
I made a few calls that afternoon while waiting to go over to Susan’s, but none of the places that I called had any openings. Susan had called me earlier, from a flight she was working on, heading back home. She told me she would pick us up something to eat as she made her way to her apartment. That was another luxury that I would have to let go of at some point – my apartment was way too expensive to keep for long without the airline job. It was practical because of its location, but any job that I might obtain would be in the city, almost eight miles away.
Susan’s shuttle pulled up, just as I was making my way up to her door. I had been here several times over the years, for parties, or to meet other employees before working charter flights. Susan is approaching thirty-two years old, a very attractive blonde, with a very well put together body. Her talents did not end with a good looking body, she was very smart, and could handle people confidently, whether they were customers or fellow colleagues. If she ever lost her job, a career in the diplomatic service would be right up her alley.
She invited me in, slipping off her heels in the hallway. She passed me the sacks of food, telling me to set the table while she changed. I managed to get everything ready before she came back. I received a hug, a cheek kiss, and words of sympathy for the situation that I found myself in now. We set down, attacking the Chinese takeout, a local place that made great Chinese and served hefty sized portions.
Now, don’t you believe the stories about us not eating much. On the flight, we just nibbled, because there was always someone that wanted something. Off the plane, however we were ravenous for almost anything that tasted good. We talked for a while, mostly just gossip, but we did discuss the fact that airline business was still way lower than expected.
The airline was going to try some publicity stunts to try and get back some business, but overall things were not looking good. The main idea they were considering trying came from a charter airline’s attempt to pirate business from the major airlines. They had come up with a new uniform for their air hostesses, a rather brief little number, extended the use of makeup, and encouraged their flight attendants to be more ‘forward’.
There was a limit to being forward, but the idea was to encourage flirting. Well, the idea was a great success, gaining them a forty percent increase in ticket revenue. Their flight attendants were not happy about the new air conduct or look, but the CEO of the airline suggested it might be better to be working than not have a job. The complaints stopped immediately.
Now, my former employer was ready to try this same approach for themselves. Susan had told me that a lot of the younger flight attendants had balked at the new costumes and behavior. Most of their objections centered around the fact that it was too much like real life. They didn’t want a bunch of males groping and pinching their butts so that the airline could stay afloat. They were young enough that they could get a decent job without much difficulty. The middle age women felt that they were trapped, not sure they could land another job, plus they would lose out on any 401 money due to them upon retirement.
With the departures, the airline found itself in a bind because they no longer had enough stewardesses to work the flights. The competition’s female employees didn’t want anything to do with the new scheme, and hiring and training new employees was expensive and time-consuming. The airlines felt that if they backed off on their plan, the continued loss of revenue would cause the airline to declare bankruptcy sooner rather than later.
Susan, being one of the regional supervisors, had been asked if she could get a few of the laid-off male stewards to come back and fill in for the girls. The thought that even if they would not pass as a female, the novelty of a male in drag as a stewardess was still a win-win for the company. They definitely didn’t want the stereotypical male steward or anything that looked like one.
My mouth was immediately wide open. “What are you hinting at Susan, surely you do not want me to come back to work as a female?” The more I thought about, the more ridiculous it sounded. “Me dressed in a sexy brief costume to help save the airline’s ass, are you insane?”
I was appalled at the idea – me as a female stewardess! Quite ridiculous! Susan differed in her opinion of the situation. I only needed two more years till retirement, allowing me to collect almost three-quarters of my present pay. There was even a rumor, to keep a lot of unhappy employees with the company that they would pull the retirement age back to thirteen and a half years.
That was very significant, since most of the employees started exactly thirteen and a half years ago, a date that coincided with the first flight of the airline, so if that happened, six months would be all I needed to get that elusive retirement. I was told that they had already cut back on the flight crew, now utilizing three stewardesses instead of four. Since the business had dropped so much, that was in proportion to the number of customers on the flight.
I asked Susan if she had a picture of the new costume that the airline was thinking of using. She had a picture and after showing it to me, I collapsed on the kitchen chair. She was giggling, as she put cool water on my wrists in an effort to revive me. I slowly regained consciousness, hearing her giggling first, then her telling me that it wasn’t as bad as I thought.
The airline would regain a lot of traffic if these costumes were used. Indeed, they were a male’s fondest sexual fantasy. I asked her if she liked them, more importantly if she would wear one of them. She giggled again, then in a petite little voice said, “Yes, I would wear that costume.”
The costume in question was actually one of the five rotating costumes that the airline had picked to substitute for the current uniform. The one that caused a lapse in my brain wave synapses was the most extreme of the lot. It was a miniskirt that might cover the crotch of the wearer since underneath was a frilly ruffled lace panty that oozed femininity. The top of the costume was a corset that extended up from under the mini skirt and held the breasts in a half cup embrace.
That was it; no other blouse or cover up for the stewardess to wear. The matching heels were five-inch, with fine intricate straps to keep them on the foot. “How would a female keep her breasts in the half cups of the corset? Then add how in the hell could you wear heels so thin and flimsy.”
She replied smiling, “Glue. The heels would just require getting use to them, although it would probably take a lot of practice.”
I started to laugh but quickly thought of how I would cope if I had breasts? That stopped the laughter immediately.
The other costumes were all abbreviated: a Playboy costume, a surfer girl bikini costume, a French maid costume, and a call girl costume that was beyond brief in its construction. The bikini did have a sheer cover-up that the female could wear. They were all ludicrous and obviously a desperate attempt to keep the airline afloat. Most of our passengers were male, and I presumed that all of the above new uniforms would be welcomed by them. What a way to try and salvage an airline! I did wonder who thought up this idea, and who the idiots were that rubber stamped it.
I did ask Susan what the other airline stewardesses were going to do. Most all of the present younger stewardesses had attractive figures, so it would be possible for them to wear the outfits, but I was sure that most thirty-something females were not into bikinis and miniskirts.
“Most of them have no choice,” she told me. “It’s either put up with the choices or quit.”
Apparently, a few that didn’t have a youthful figure did just that – they quit. Most of the younger females didn’t mind the costumes since it was the groping they feared, a reasonable expectation as a result of the new outfits.
I was quiet for a while, trying to think if I was desperate enough to pose as a female to get my retirement. My next thought was how I would look like a woman, especially in that ridiculous outfit? Neither option sounded good, but the prospect of finding a job in the economic situation was worse, so being a stewardess won the first round. I was actually considering the idea since job hunting seemed to be impossible and quite daunting.
Susan and I talked until the wee hours, going over the pros and cons, trying to arrive at a logical answer to an insane idea. We decided to call it quits about four in the morning, as she offered me the couch, telling me that we would do some research in the morning after getting some sleep. I stripped down to my shorts and a t-shirt and conked out on the couch. Morning turned out to be eleven-thirty, as the sun had already reached directly overhead by then.
Susan was making some coffee, and slicing some fresh oranges and apples. After the first cup, I asked her what type of research she had in mind. She hemmed and hawed, trying to find a way to tell me, without directly saying what she thought. I shrugged my shoulders and told her just to spit it out – so she did.
“I’m taking you to a salon, and they’re going to make you look like a slut. The appointment is at one pm, so get dressed so we can go.” I looked at her and smiled.
“Okay,” I said, “Slutsville it is.” As I made my way to the bedroom, I could hear her giggling.
I used her second bathroom, shaved, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. I was still not sure about any of this; to give up my male sex to portray a female for any amount of time is really scary. I doubted I could switch back and forth, the appearance of the female probably enough to make any reverting to that of the male sex pretty ludicrous. I could imagine myself with curly hair, and breasts trying to wear some male baggy clothes and resemble anything masculine.
At twelve-thirty, we were on our way. The salon was a recent addition to the airport area, very upscale in its décor. The femininity in this salon is way off any scale it could be measured with. The name matching the décor.
The Turnabout Gurl Salon exuded a femaleness that most salons could never match. Pastel colors, gorgeous photos of female pulchritude, and fabrics of silk and lace accenting everything in the salon. The stylists, each wearing silk and lace uniforms in pinks and light purples. Susan confidently entered the salon dragging me behind.
We walked past their reception area on back to an office in the rear of the salon. She knocked then entered the office. A drop dead gorgeous brunette greeted her, and they exchanged hugs and kisses. I was introduced to Francine, the CEO of the Turnabout Gurl Salon chain. We were invited to sit, with Francine immediately looking me over, while Susan was asking if the salon could perform the miracle required.
“Can you transform his body into the drop dead gorgeous female that the airline wants?”
After careful consideration, Francine nodded in the affirmative. Susan looked at me for some idea of whether I wanted to proceed or not.
“Well we’re here to see if I am ‘slut’ material, so let’s see if I measure up.” Francine giggled but assured me that by tonight I would be ready for the Sluts’ Hall of Fame. Her confidence in making me over to a sexy female worried me, she didn’t even hesitate in her response.
Francine called for one of her stylists to come to the office. Shortly another gorgeous woman entered and was told that I was all hers. The full treatment nothing permanent at this time and use the video record as you perform the treatments. Vicky grabbed my hand and led me off to a private room. As we entered the room, I was told to strip everything, including my shorts. I smiled a little, the audacity of this female was amazing.
I complied with her request, then was laid down on an examination table. Waxing was the first thing on the agenda, and because I knew nothing about the process, it was a big and very painful surprise. Vicky started with my legs and proceeded upwards, ending up at my chest. I have to admit that after the first fifteen or twenty strips of cloth that were ripped from my body that the pain seemed to diminish, either that, or my mind was blocking the pain from the waxing. Tears did appear often, mostly at the start, then when she proceeded to my groin, they came back in buckets.
With that bit of fun handled Vicky moved on to my hair, or more pointedly my lack of hair; something drastic would have to be done to make it acceptable. I had been given a robe, although a very demure and drafty one, that barely covered my derrière. My hair was washed, conditioned and a solution mixed up and spread thoroughly over ever strand of hair. A plastic bag then applied, and I was told to relax for a while.
After thirty minutes, Vicky came to check the hair, after removing the bag. My chair was tilted back, and the solution was washed out of my hair. Then she moved some funny looking elongated strips with hair attached in a row, that were blond in color to the table next to the chair. I could feel her parting my hair and adding the strips of hair to my scalp. After each insertion, I could feel the heat of some type of appliance along the strips.
The addition of hair went on and on, at least, it seemed to take forever. In actuality, only two and a half hours had transpired. During this process, I had managed to figure out that my hair was now blond in color and that longer hair had been added to my short locks. No mirrors to confirm my suspicions, but the fact I could feel the longer locks tickling my shoulders, ears and neck from time to time was proof enough.
After completing the additional needed bulk and length to my hair, she started shaping the new style. Not much was cut off, but from the few glances in the mirror across the room when Vicky was not standing directly in front of me I could tell that my hair is feminine in style now, way too feminine. Finished with the shaping she wound my new strands around curlers, covering my head in the new torture devices.
I could not believe that she could get the hair that tight around the plastic curler. A portable dryer moved into the private room, and warm air started blowing over the curlers. In a way it felt good, I even received a few goose pimples in the process. As my hair is drying, she moved a cart into the room, placing my hands in two bowls of liquid on the cart.
I was allowed to soak for a while; then she started working on my nails. She told me she was pushing and removing excess cuticles; then she filed my existing nails into ovals. She surprised me by roughing up the top of my existing nails, a task that had me wondering what she was doing. Then she selected extensions from her box of nails to carefully fit over my existing nails.
They extended past my own nails by at least half an inch. Each one is carefully glued to my nail, then allowed to dry. They were also filed to assure that they were perfect ovals ready for polish. A base coat, then two layers of a deep red polish were added, followed up by a top coat. The nails were dried in between each coat under a UV light before the next coat is added. When she is finished with my hands, she moved to my feet. They also were soaked before anything was done, and the same coats of polish were applied there as well. The best part of the pedicure was her filing my calluses and areas of dry skin. At times I was almost purring.
With me polished up, I was moved back to the table, and Vicky had accumulated several boxes of materials apparently destined for my body. The first box contained two sizable blobs of gel that she laid on my chest. It jiggled as I watched the movement from my wide-eyed viewpoint. She placed the second one on the other side, and I now had a noticeable rack, as the males often referred to them. She marked the position of each then applied adhesive to both my chest and the silicone blob.
As she positioned them on my chest, she grabbed one of my hands and placed them on the new appendage to hold them in place. I looked up at her with an inquisitive expression as my hands were holding my breasts in place. After a few minutes, she removed my hand and tested the secureness of the adhesive. When she touched them, they jiggled, like Jell-O out of control. The funny thing is I thought I could feel the touch. Surely something glued to my body couldn’t convey feelings to my skin, or could it. She used makeup to conceal the seams, so that when looked at they seemed to be real.
From there she moved lower, as she extended arms from the end of the table with a stirrup attached. My feet were placed in the stirrups, and then they were spread so that my legs were wide apart. She then folded down the end of the table leaving only my derrière, sitting on a firm surface. This allowed her to move up next to my groin and adjust my male appendages into a more suitable form. The feeling of vulnerability was extreme, no way to protect my privates, I felt a little like a wishbone with two people pulling on it.
She had viciously removed any traces of hair from my organ earlier, so her next task was to spray a fine mist over my parts. That turned out to be a numbing agent, and suddenly I could feel nothing down there. She played down there for some time, I only felt a tug or two, mainly from areas outside of the immediate groin area. Then the glue again and her placing something over the area covering up my sex.
The makeup again, and I felt confident that when I could look at that area again, I would not find any signs of a male organ. All of this was being done to me, and I was just lying there watching what was happening. When my male organ disappeared and a vagina appeared any normal male would be livid. I guess that leaves me somewhat lost and confused. I felt nothing, just something being done to enhance my looks.
She had me relax for a while as the glue needed time to cure; I needed time to come to terms with my new appliances. These were definitely nothing to do with any kitchen, but according to Vicky, could be “fully functional”. I didn’t want to ask her to explain that comment, I was happier not knowing.
From that, she moved me back to the salon chair in the private room, tilting the chair back so she could work on my face. She did allow me to slip on a sensuous robe that covered me up a little while sending pleasant sensations all over my body. With the new boobs and vagina I felt much more comfortable in the robe. Something about having tits and a pussy making me much more modest, almost shy. I adjusted the robe many times trying to get it to cover more of my nakedness.
A cream was spread on any area that facial whiskers emerged from, to be left on for thirty minutes. One treatment now and one in two weeks would eradicate any facial hair I might have permanently. I am not sure how I feel that about, I am not fond of shaving, but to not have any hair on the face I am not so sure about. This is seeming to be a lot more permanent than the initial conversation dealt with.
My eyebrows were the next target area, as she applied more of that hot wax to both brows, one at a time then another cloth strip and suddenly no more hair on my brows. Victoria informed me that I did indeed have a small pencil-thin line of hair left, but only directly over each eye.
Moving on she applied a substance to my lips, painting it on with a delicate brush; there was a mirror in front of me, but the substance was clear. I am not sure of the purpose of the lip cream, but her working on my eyes shifted my thoughts away from my lips. She left it on, then moved to my eyes attaching individual eyelashes to both my upper and lower eyelids. I was later to find out that over two hundred individual lashes had been glued onto my own eyelashes.
They were considerably longer than my regular lashes, now being seen as I looked out of my eyes. Once the glue had dried, mascara was added in several coats, making the effect even more dramatic. She then applied eyeliner, extending the eyes out another quarter inch towards my temples. A little eye shadow in pink tones finished the eyes making them look very exotic. After she removed the cream meant to rid me of my beard, a foundation was applied to the rest of my face since she had put some around the eyes before she did the makeup for them. Some rouge on my cheekbones tapered out to the sides to make them appear more prominent.
Then it was back to the eyebrows; using a brush with a light brown color she filled in my pencil thin brows and extended them past the edge of the eye. She had waited some to allow the swelling to go down before working on them.
Lastly, my lips, which looked much fuller than before. I found out the clear liquid was a lip plumper and judging from the size of my lips, it had certainly done its job. A dark burgundy lip liner, followed by a light burgundy lipstick completed the look. She moved behind me so that I could get the full effect, and I saw a female ready to strut her stuff.
In the mirror now was a female that would look great in any one of the new uniforms the company was going to be using. The problem is now how I would handle the male attention that came along with the new uniforms. I realized that with my new look I would be a target of a lot of that attention. That wasn’t the only problem I foresaw, just the one that I was worried about at the moment. At that moment, Susan returned carrying several garment bags over her shoulder.
As soon as she saw me, her smile lit up her face from one side to the other. She asked which uniform I wanted to try on; I decided the miniskirt with the corset was going to be the hardest one to handle, but thought maybe the bikini came a close second. She laid out the bags and found the corset, after slipping it around my waist she had me hold it as she applied some adhesive to the undersides of my breast. I actually felt the brush as it coated the underside of my breast. That was theoretically impossible, yet I did feel the brush strokes.
Then she raised the corset settling each breast into its respective cup, before securing the front busk on the corset. Vicky started on the laces, pulling out the slack as the corset gripped me. They took turns reducing my waist more and more. After getting my waist down to 32 inches from the original 36 they relented. The corset laces were tied off behind my back.
Then Susan came to the front and pushed down slightly on my breasts in the cups. I could feel the adhesive gripping my breast tissue making it one with the corset. It was a weird sensation, to be sure, but I guess necessary for this outfit. I was told to lean over at the waist and shake my upper torso. As I did so, the breasts stayed put in their cups, although the upper portion of the breast still jiggled around quite a bit. The nipples on the breast forms were barely covered by the cups of the corset.
Susan was having a ball, looking me over from head to toe, and then smirked a little to convey that she was right; I was destined for Slutsville. The ruffled panties got pulled up my legs, and although they were visible under the skirt, I was appreciative for a covering over my crotch. Miniskirt next as it was slipped up my legs and settled on my new slim waist. It had a silver chain belt that laid loosely on the top of the skirt.
When I looked down, there were about three inches of the skirt below the bottom of the panties. I swallowed hard, knowing what would have to be done on my part to keep modest in this outfit. I had watched many a female try and stay modest in miniskirts, just never figured I would face the same situation. The heels were almost anti-climactic as all of the other items of apparel were so sensuous. Five-inch stilettos with dainty ankle straps slid over my stockings attached to the garter straps on the corset. Most of the garters and the top of the stockings remained in full view.
I was declared ready for action and Susan led me up to the front to pay the tab. I was expecting to change back to male mode since the trial run had been successful, but Susan had other ideas. She paid the tab and dragged me out of the salon; I was trying to tell her that my clothes were still in the salon. That evil smile of hers showed through.
“Stacy looks dressed to me,” she said confidently. “Come on, we have places to go and people to see.”
She led me down a block to where we pick up the shuttle when we go to work. Shortly one of the shuttles came by, and we got on. I was trying to get her to tell me what was going on, but she evaded any of my direct questions, just telling me that I would see. I found it extremely difficult to stay modest in this outfit. When I sat, the panties came into view; I tried many times to pull down the skirt, but it was already covering all that it could manage.
The looks I received on that shuttle did little to ease my fears of dressing like this. We took the shuttle to the terminal building getting off at the employee entrance. Surely she would not have me meet my V.P. if I did sign on again; we hadn’t even discussed for sure if I was coming back.
Today was just supposed to be a trial run to see if I could pass the female test. She was clicking along in her high heels with me trying to keep pace. Several times she told me to take shorter steps and not swing my arms. It did help but for me, there was too much hip action as a result. She led me right to our offices in the terminal building. I tried to get her to slow down, but she would have none of that. I even stopped once completely, but she turned around and looked at me telling me to hurry up. I knew I didn’t want to be left like this in the terminal, so I click-clacked my way back to her side. As I finally caught up with her, she opened the airline office door and helped me enter the office.
The receptionist greeted us and told Susan that we were expected, to go on in. Susan held the door for me, but did have to push me a little as we entered the office. This was a V.P. office of the airline who served as a regional manager for the area. The Vice President was Kathy Sullivan, a longtime employee of the airline. She was Susan’s boss when I started with the airline. I had met her several times, but very little conversation transpired on those occasions. She was always nice, but stayed detached from any relationships, definitely a professional at what she does.
She smiled upon seeing us and told us to be seated. Presumably, I was her main interest. In as graceful manner as I could, I tried to sit in the chair keeping my worldly charms covered; from the nods I received, I made an adequate impression. Kathy got right to the point, wanting to know what I thought about the new uniforms. On the trip over here, every male eye has been glued to my breasts; I responded that it certainly draws attention.
She giggled, then asked if I was signing on for the duration. I looked over at Susan, not knowing what to respond. Susan made a big deal about my lack of response, telling me that I should just admit that I love the uniforms and can’t wait to try them all out. I started to lash out; this was not exactly what I thought I wanted, and being pushed into this made me a little uncomfortable.
I got up to tell them that I wanted time to think about it, and that I would let them know, but Kathy told me just to sit and listen. I remained standing defiantly till Susan told me that she had my keys and money, and I should now sit. I lowered myself into the chair and listened to them tell me about how things are going to play out. They did have my best interest at heart, but wanted to have as much fun at my expense as possible.
Since the first plan had come out, a few changes had been made. They did hear from their female customers, and that made them change some of their ideas. Instead, of all flights, it would only be certain flights that would have the new prototype stewardess. They were marketing them as Atlantic/Pacific Coquettes. The definition of a coquette is a woman who likes to win the attention or admiration of men, but does not have serious feelings for them.
To the airline, that fits the new breed of stewardess – in another word, a flirt. The test of possible commercials and advertisements was positive, and advance ticket sales of the first few flights have sold out. Not only had the airline sold all of the seats, but at a ten percent premium in price. They had tentatively scheduled one to two flights a day for the initial kick-off of the service, till all the bugs got ironed out. The plan was to have six air hostesses on each flight to handle the sold out airplanes.
They also changed several of the uniforms to coincide more with the theme of Coquettes. In the testing of the idea and possible commercials the airline hinted that the flights would be manned by genetic girls and Ladyboys. ‘Ladyboy’ was a term for transsexuals in the Far East, mainly Thailand. That phrase allowed them not have to lie about the sexes of the employees participating in the flights. After the scandal with the flight stewards, they were gun shy of any mention of a male steward on a flight.
I sat there not knowing what to think. It sounded great in a way, but now I would be perceived to be a transsexual if they figured out that I was not a genetic female. Kathy let me think for a bit and then asked if I was ready to join the ranks of Coquettes? I immediately looked over to Susan, who nodded that she was already signed up for the program. I knew I would not even consider this if I had to go it alone.
I took a deep breath, then asked where I should sign. She pushed me a stack of papers my way and showed me where to sign. I did hesitate thinking about the pay and my 401 retirement fund. I asked about pay and benefits, then Kathy smiled, pulling another info sheet out and having me look it over. My pay would be at 20% more that my male earnings. I could retire at fourteen years of service at 90% of my base pay. I would get two consecutive days off each week, working five days at ten hours a day. Full beauty and clothing services provided at no charge.
I was amazed at the offer; then I thought of what I would have to do to earn it and decided that I was worth everything they were offering. I asked what I would be expected to do for this employment package. I noticed a look between Kathy and Susan and knew that was a question they didn’t want to answer. I waited to let them know that I wanted all the facts before I signed.
I was told that living as a female would be a necessity since changing back and forth would be costly and time-consuming. My ID would reflect female to most people with only the police actually aware of my true gender. Since, as far as the airlines were concerned, I was legally a female, my wages would be paid to a female Stacy, not a male one, probably necessitating a new bank account.
They expected that I would represent the airline and society as a female during my employment with them. I asked if I could have a private conversation with Susan before I signed. Kathy suggested the conference room next door, and told us to come back when we were through talking. Susan led me to the room, wanting to know what I was thinking and what questions I had for her.
My first statement was: “Are you serious? A male living and working as a woman twenty-four seven? You’ve got to be kidding!” Susan merely smiled, deciding that she might have to use her ace in the hole to get me to agree.
She asked me if I remembered the time when we were stranded in Nassau due to Hurricane Andre and the drunken binge we went on. I blushed a little but nodded in the affirmative.
“Well,” she replied, “a few interesting things came to light due to the alcohol’s liberating effect on your tongue that night. To be more accurate, from what you said that night, this job is your dream come true. Now own up to it and let’s get this show on the road.”
I tried to deny it, but whatever I said that night made it pretty clear to all who heard it that living as a female was my one and only wish. I never was able to look her straight in the eye while we were in that room, her revelations suddenly making me very reclusive. Of course, standing there in full female mode, with my breasts glued into the corset cups was not a position of power to argue from either. I could not think straight, or even think at all in fact; but for some reason, I decided to bite the bullet and sign on. We went to Kathy’s office, and I signed the employment contracts.
We were informed that the first flight was out of this airport in three days. The new costumes would be available tomorrow morning for pickup, and she would need to have my bank account information so that they could make arrangements for deposit of my earnings. Our new IDs could be arranged for any of the next few days before the first flight. It would be necessary to have the photo IDs taken while in female mode, preferably in our coquette uniforms.
Susan led me out of the terminal to the shuttle stop outside. About ten minutes later the shuttle pulled up, and we boarded. Next stop, Susan’s apartment, with me still in the brief costume. I was so happy to get inside the door. I moved to her couch and tried to sit as daintily as possible on it. Since Susan didn’t laugh, I presumed I did alright.
“What did I just sign up for?” I asked. “This has got to be the craziest thing I have ever done. Me, a job as a flirt on an airline trying to keep its head above water. Then consider the fact that I will be now living as a woman, even going as far as using a female name full-time. It’s total insanity!” Again, Susan just smiled.
“You’ll love it,” she replied. “Your dream job and you didn’t even have to beg to get it.”
As I was wallowing in my misery, she suggested we go out and get me a new bank account; “You do have to have someplace to put all the money you’re going to earn.”
I thought for a minute – how would I get a bank account without the proper ID? I voiced that to Susan, but she had already talked to Kathy. The company’s bank had been advised of the change and were happy to accept accounts from the Ladyboys. She told me we could get lunch while we were out, then maybe do a little shopping. I agreed to the bank but shopping was not on my list of needs to be done for the day.
She let me borrow a dress to wear to the bank; why it couldn’t have been a pair of pants, I’ll never know! It did take a while to get the breasts clean from the glue, but putting on all of the underwear was the real chore. Susan told me I needed to be able to wear the dress properly, so all of the under garments were necessary. Finally attired, we headed out to the bank. After a couple of questions, we were seated in front of a female VP of the bank. I explained the circumstances, she asked to see my male ID, then had me sign a signature card for the account.
As quickly as that, I had the required account, a promise of a debit card in my female name in the next week, and a bank ID card to use instead of a driver’s license in cashing checks. I was impressed; life as a female was not proving as bad as I had envisaged, at least so far. I did get dragged to the mall; Susan confidently telling me that I would soon acquire the shopping gene whether I wanted it or not.
“You wear the clothes, you love to shop,” she said.
Lunch was at one of the better mall restaurants, salads with chicken and a variety of dressings made for a pleasant lunch. Afterward, we hit every female clothing store in the mall. I was dragged into many dressing rooms, my arms laden with dresses, blouses, and skirts that Susan insisted I needed. It was nearly six o’clock before we made it back to Susan’s apartment – she insisted I stay the night again as there were so many things to discuss and plan for.
Instead of dinner, we just snacked on popcorn then a little later some cookies, after that a brownie mix that she had me put together. Like I said previously, we might have starved ourselves on a flight, but otherwise, if we could find it, we ate it. But then all of us regularly used the gym, two to three hours twice a week to keep the fat from showing on our bodies. Now that would be a requisite for me, a different figure to keep toned and shaped.
Susan made a suggestion as we were stuffing brownies down our throat. I should rephrase that – as we were taking dainty bites of a delicious brownies, trying to determine what the key ingredient was in the mix. I should point out the package of brownies had expired almost a year ago.
“Since we’re both females now, why don’t you share the apartment with me?”
I was surprised by her offer, as she never roomed with anyone else in all the years I knew her. I never knew why, I had just presumed she had her reasons. I also didn’t know what had changed to make her make that offer to me, but I was definitely astounded by it. I asked her, “Why me and why now?”
“Stacy might need a little help at times,” she began, not sounding entirely certain herself. “This is kind of new to her, and if we were living together, I would be there to answer questions and help.” She looked at me for a moment then sighed.
“Okay, the simple truth is…, I have always liked you, and now that the male has been packed away I would like to share my life with you. I get lonely, and I’m sure you get the same way. There are way too many times, I’ve caught you crying over some trivial matter, like you’re a female at heart, desperate for some companionship and love. So how about it?”
Stunned, but happy as we cuddled, and I whispered to her about ten minutes later, “I would love to if you would have me?” Her squeal and jumping from the couch, I took to mean, “Yes, I definitely want you to live with me.”
We made plans for me to move in the next day, right after we had picked up our new uniforms. A typical stewardess has very few possessions, other than clothes, the main reason being we’re never home to use them or enjoy them. Susan lent me a nightie to wear for the night; we cuddled in her bed, being very good and only a few kisses; we were wrapping up in each other’s arms, the only intimate indulgence we shared during that night.
I usually rise early, so I managed to get the coffee on and made some toast. I could see that Susan treated breakfast as a weight loss meal, for she had nothing in her kitchen to eat. I vowed to remedy that, some fresh fruit and some yogurt will taste much better without adding calories or weight. We dressed for the day, me in a dress again, and her in a pantsuit. I quickly asked her to trade, but she insisted, I had the better-looking legs, so I was stuck in the dress. I think she liked me in a dress, and was determined to keep me in one.
We picked up the uniforms from our office, and used the conference room to change into them. Susan repaired our makeup, and the ID photos were taken. When she got hers back, she insisted they redo hers; no way did she look that bad in the outfit. The second picture came out better, so she accepted it. I don’t know what to say about mine; the picture was almost erotic. The uniforms are brief, made to emphasize the female breasts, and that all showed through in my picture. When we left the office, she hit me playfully on the arm, calling me a bitch.
“How dare you look better in the picture than me?” she asked. “There ought to be a law against it, and you need to be found guilty, and sentenced to the maximum sentence!” giggling through the entire tirade.
We boarded one of the shuttles and headed to my apartment. She packed the things I would need, and had me clean up my old apartment so I could give notice. By the time I found out what she was doing my male clothes were a casualty. She had loaded them into bags and helped me carry them to the dumpster – she had such an innocent look as she asked me if I really thought that I would ever wear them again. We decided to make two trips, one load today, and then came back tomorrow to get the remainder. I had several suitcases loaded with non-masculine possessions for today; we would unload them tonight and bring the cases back to refill again tomorrow.
I cooked for myself quite often, so I had a mixture of kitchen appliances and dishes that Susan had none of. Since she packed most of them in the same suitcase, I had to struggle to get them downstairs. When the shuttle came up, the driver quickly lifted them and put them on the shuttle for me. On the trip to her apartment, Susan suggested that I give him a peck on the cheek after he unloaded them for me, as thanks.
That was far in excess of what I felt comfortable with, but when we got to her apartment he carried the two heaviest suitcases all the way to her door. Blushingly, I did give him the kiss, with his hands on my butt as I did so. When we broke from the kiss, I was a bright brilliant red from head to toe. As we entered the apartment, she had the giggles bad again.
“Your first days as a female, and you have already made a conquest. I can’t wait until you use the shuttle again, I’m sure he’ll save a seat for you up front next to his!” she said, with her hand on her hips. During all of this, my face was getting redder. She was probably right; he was one of the regular shuttle drivers, and routinely made passes at most of the other female stewardesses. I guessed I was now at the top of his list.
Susan helped me unpack most of my things; she arranged my things in the other bedroom while I set up my appliances and gadgets in the kitchen. I found the makings for shepherd’s pie and made dinner. Susan appeared at the door several times; she would watch what I was doing, then smile and return to her task. I had to take a break to use the bathroom and when I passed the bedroom I would be using, my mouth opened wide in surprise.
She had put up new drapes, a matching bedspread and arranged my things in a most feminine manner on the dresser and chest of drawers. She had put some things on the vanity that I would apparently be using and shared a few stuffed animals with me for the bed. It was a bedroom designed for a young woman, a very feminine one.
I continued on to the bathroom with a tear sliding down my cheek. Nobody had ever done anything for me like this, the simple gesture meaning a lot to me. I checked my makeup before returning to the kitchen; my lipstick needed to be repaired. I was already acting so much like a woman after only a few days as such.
I placed plates and silverware at the kitchen bar, the thin layer of dust proving how little Susan ever used it. I shredded some lettuce, made a homemade dressing with vinegar, mayonnaise and some seasonings. I called her to the kitchen held her chair for her and served the pie.
She took one bite, looked at me and served herself another helping. The only comment I got from her, was, “This is so good, and can you cook other things?”
After her third helping, she slowed down, bitching about the fact that she would have to go to the gym a third night a week to keep slim enough to fit her uniform.
“You’ll be coming with me,” she added with her next breath. “If I have to sweat to keep from getting fat, you have to suffer too.”
She did help with the dishes, but I could tell it was only the second or third time in her life she had ever done it. Although it was her kitchen, she didn’t know where anything went.
She told me we needed to shop for Stacy; a Coquette couldn’t just wear any clothes when not on duty. So, the next day we would shop till we dropped then finish with the apartment, bringing my last few possessions here. The day after that, we were due to start as French Coquettes, our flight leaving at eight that night. They had made appointments for us three times a week for makeup and hair, so their attendants were always looking their best. Our first appointment was the morning before our flight.
I confided to Susan about my doubt that I could handle all of this, but she told me I was coping well.
“It will get easier as you get into the schedule, keeping busy will keep you from worrying about everything. So far, everybody you’ve had contact with saw nothing but a beautiful young female flight attendant; just relax and enjoy the feeling.”
She helped me with my new female rituals that needed to be performed every night, then we cuddled on her bed falling asleep shortly thereafter. I moved to my bed when I had to use the restroom, but when I awoke the next morning, Susan was next to me cuddled up to my body. I wiggled out of her embrace, then made some French toast for breakfast. She didn’t have any syrup, so we had to use some jelly she had stashed in the cabinets. I swear, that girl can eat – I made five slices in total and only managed to get two for myself.
We got dressed and headed out for our shopping adventure. Catching the shuttle, my knight was driving, and he did offer me a seat near the front. Luckily there was only one seat, so I went and set back with Susan. All the time she had this shit-eating grin plastered all over her face. She didn’t vocalize it, but it still caused a semi-permanent blush on my face till we got to the mall. I expected her to break out laughing as we exited from the shuttle, but she was able to keep it confined to little groans and giggles.
Susan might be deficient in normal female activities, regarding home and cooking, but that girl can certainly shop. We missed not one single store that carried items for a female, with me trying on what seemed to be hundreds of outfits. By the time we finished I was pooped, so lunch in one of the food court eateries was necessary to revitalize the body. I did feel better when we had finished our meal, chicken salads with diet sodas. Since we had so many bags, we had to return to her apartment first before we could go to my apartment to clean up.
After she had gathered everything up, I cleaned up; we didn’t have as much as we first thought. I went down to the manager’s apartment to turn in my notice and see what I would have to pay to get out of the remaining lease. He never put it together that I was a male, although he had rented the apartment to me in the first place. I did notice that his eyes seldom left my breasts as he walked the apartment. It turned out that I got my deposit back, and let out of the lease although there were five months remaining on it. I was so happy, I kissed him on the cheek, he blushed red, a brighter color than me. As we waited out front for the shuttle Susan almost split a gut.
“Well you have the flirting and manipulation down pat, I just hope you don’t get pregnant from one of these trysts.” I told her, “If I do, I will insist you help with breast feeding the baby.”
I had a few things left in my kitchen in the way of food, so I was able to put together a spaghetti dish, just no meat. It apparently didn’t matter to Susan, as she worked her way through most of what I prepared. I found out later she finished the remainder of the shepherd’s pie early in the morning, when she got up to potty. I figured the spaghetti would suffer the same fate tonight. She is sneaky though; after she had finished the pie, she put the empty container back into the refrigerator so it would not be noticed. Incidentally, from the look of some of the things in that refrigerator, it would be quite a chore to make it fit to properly house food again safely. Anything I put in it now, was wrapped in foil to keep the food edible and the mold out.
We hit the sack soon after cleaning the kitchen, since we had appointments at the salon early the next morning. I did manage to get the refrigerator back to its original purpose of keeping food from spoiling. I had to keep an eye on Susan, though; a simple job of cleaning the counters took me at least thirty minutes to persuade her to finish the task. I had to face reality, I would be the cook and housekeeper in this relationship, and she would be the shopper and manipulator in it. Both of those traits she was highly skilled in.
It was way too early to get up when the alarm made its presence known. I turned over to hit the snooze alarm and ran into Susan’s body tight against mine spooned right behind me. I extricated myself from her arms, then had to walk around the bed to get to the alarm. Finally peace and quiet.
I visited the bathroom then headed to the kitchen. A trip to the grocery store was one of the primary concerns when we got back from our first flight as coquettes. I managed orange juice and some fruit, even though I had to buy it from the convenience store last night. Something light for the long day ahead of us. Susan came to the kitchen looking for something a little more fulfilling, the pout on her face so cute. She did eat some of the fruit and drank two glasses of juice. How she has managed to stay so slim over the years is a mystery.
The salon was already quite busy when we arrived, both of us taken right away. New nails, longer than before, in a dark burgundy with tiny gold flecks in the polish were fitted to our fingers. Then the hair, lots of large curlers turned sideways from how they did my hair last time. I was stripped and all of my new endowments are checked for tightness and seam lines. Then they helped us get into the outfits, adding some accessories to enhance the uniform. The accessories were some hair barrettes in gold filigree, bracelets, necklaces and drop earrings all in the same gold filigree. I still couldn’t believe that these small pieces of fabric could be called a uniform.
Our hair was worked on after removing the curlers, sausage curls springing forth from the top of our heads. The barrettes were worked in, the gold sparkling through the sausage curls. The drop earrings peeked out from under a few of the curls dangling along my neck, making concentration nearly impossible.
They decided we were ready, and sent us on our way. It was late September, a little cool but no signs of autumn or winter in the weather. We decided to wear the costumes without a wrap or coat, a little free advertising for the airlines. The shuttle pulled up, my knight in shining armor at the wheel. Susan started giggling immediately as his eyes were locked on my breasts. She literally dragged me to the back of the shuttle, fearing for our lives if the driver had the chance to look at me as he drove. I was seated in the window seat, only my head visible from the front of the bus. Every time I glanced up he was looking my way in the rear view mirror, so I quickly looked down again, hoping he would concentrate on his driving.
The shuttle let us out in front of the terminal, then we made the long trek to the gate that the flight would be leaving from. The attention we received was unreal, people staring, men with their tongues hanging out, even a couple of collisions between several of our admirers. When we got to the gate, we clocked in, then made our way to the plane to get everything ready. Susan made sure the cabin was properly outfitted, checked to see what movies we would be showing, then helped the other two girls get the serving carts ready for the flight.
I got the food detail, checking that the meals were properly stored, and that the condiment trays were all fresh. We had a full plane, over a hundred and twenty passengers on this flight. That amounts to a lot of food trays, since we had to allow for their personal food choices.
On the coquette flights, the customer was able to select their choice from a menu and also order any special drinks they might want from an extensive list. I made sure there were sufficient extra meals for any last minute passengers, or someone not liking their initial choice. From what we had been told the flight had been sold out in advance since it was announced. The corset did limit my movements some, but since I had it on since getting up, it was almost a non-issue. Don’t get me wrong, I was painfully aware of it being there, but I had been able to grin and bear it.
The airline wanted us to come out to the boarding area and personally take each passenger to their seats, a special service of a coquette. I feared that my feet would be aching long before the day was over, the heels a lot higher than those a stewardess would normally wear. We got everybody seated; my butt somehow managed to stay un-pinched, though I did feel a couple of hands covertly check it out.
One thing the airline had stressed was to always be smiling, good for the customers but really hard to do continually as we got the flight squared around for departure. I drew the short straw and had to handle the former first class area. Now the whole flight was called the Coquette class, each passenger given the same courtesies as the former first class. They had retro fitted the plane with larger seats, made the aisles wider by removing a row of seats and installed larger screens for the movies shown. There is also power outlets for laptop computers for use only during the flight. Take offs and landings were still no electronic devices, including cell phones and laptops.
Surprisingly, the flight went off with few difficulties. By the time we took off, I was too busy to worry about things. I doubt anybody would see a male with my enhancements and brief costume. I got asked for my phone number several times, of course, by male customers. A couple of the female customers asked how I managed in the heels, since they were so high. Susan was in the area at the time and answered for me. “Before she became a flight attendant, she worked as a stripper.” The lady giggled and I turned bright red.
We got the customers through a meal and two drink runs landing slightly ahead of schedule. We helped everybody off the plane, all of us getting some hugs and kisses from the bolder guys. The flight was a turnaround flight, the plane serviced, cleaned and reloaded for the return flight. We were able to spend an hour in the employee lounge before we re-boarded the plane and got it ready for the return flight. Same thing again, a repeat of the flight out here.
We had changed areas and I ended up serving dinner on the return flight. I had to bend over many times to hand the tray to the window seat occupant, fearful each time that my breast would fall out of the corset cup or the adhesive would come loose and my boob would end up in someone’s lap. Susan tried to reassure me that was almost impossible, but to a newly breasted female the jiggling and swaying in my bra made it seem quite possible maybe even likely.
Somehow I made it back, intact, with both breasts where they should be. As we left the plane after cleaning up and made our way to the terminal, I let out a sigh in appreciation. Susan grabbed my arm and pulled me quickly through the terminal. We stood at the shuttle stop waiting for it to make its appearance.
I groaned a little when I saw the driver that was enamored with me. Susan was giggling away, “Now we will get good seats, at least.” I climbed up the steps to the shuttle, his eyes never left my breasts. Susan had said something to him, but he never answered just kept his eyes on me as I made my way to the back of the shuttle.
I survived that brief encounter, but was quite relieved to get off at the apartment. As I made my way down the steps, his eyes stay riveted to my breasts, afterward I wondered if I was ever that obsessed with a female’s assets. We made it to the apartment door before he finally pulled away from the curb. I was nervous about it, but Susan was having the time of her life, giggling and shouting, “He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me.”
I must find a way to get even with her, this is cruelty of the highest level. It is not bad enough that she has me in skirts with breasts, but then to tease me about having male admirers is just too much. We were both tired, too tired to get groceries, so we ordered pizza. It was good and soon we had polished it off. Susan did call the salon making an appointment for me in the early morning. I listened to the conversation not knowing exactly what she was asking about. After my appointment I would grocery shop, while Susan got the laundry done. That only entailed her taking the laundry to the cleaners three blocks over and then picking it back up before they closed at seven P.M.
When I entered the salon, I got quite a surprise; as I was told to strip, then was placed in a chair and strapped down. I love the techs there, but this did indeed surprise me. Victoria entered the room giving me a bigger than life smile and a firm hug. “I see we are ready for the big leagues. I am going to remove your breast forms, and give you something more realistic.
They are not permanent, but the fear of them coming off is not there. We suck them from your body using a fatty tissue to build the bulk of the breast tissue up. They are not instantly removable, but since you signed on for the long term, that should not be a consideration. Now, Susan said you wanted the Jayne Mansfield tits, I suggested more something like hers, but it is up to you.
In addition to that, we are going to give you a sex change; that way you need not worry about being discovered as a male. We have upgraded you to express service, we should be done around three, plenty of time to get your grocery shopping done, and get home to make dinner.”
I never muttered a word, just staring at her trying to picture in my mind what all she is talking about.
In the end, I decided I had to trust someone; my track record with Susan is good, and so that is what I will go with. I looked up at Victoria, “Two tits and one pussy is my order, do I get a discount for volume purchases?”
Victoria did talk to me extensively, explaining all that she was going to do and made sure that I thoroughly understood what I was getting. I doubted that I would want to change back after six months of living as a female, but if that came about I might want the chance to return to a male body. She assured me that it would be an option if I desire it. A few minutes later my silicone breast forms were off and I was hooked up to a large machine labeled the Boob Maker.
The regular pulses of the machine encouraged me to drift off, by the time that I came around the machine is off, a quick glance at my groin showed a cute pinkish pussy as seen through the gap between two masses of boob, situated on my chest. They were still in the cups of the machine, but the pump is no longer running. I looked for a clock, but of course there was none to be seen. Victoria came in smiling, another hour, and you can get groceries, and still be home an hour earlier than you thought.
She added to my fingernails, the new extensions another quarter-inch longer, I had just got somewhat used to the other extensions, these would require another period of getting used to them. A new polish this time a pretty peach with some iridescent specks in it, glistening whenever any light is aimed toward the nails.
I found out the cups stay on and will dissolve gradually over the next few days. As I felt them they were already somewhat soft, not as rigid as when they were first glued to my body. There seemed to be a lot more weight involved than the glue-on breast forms, I could feel them pulling on my chest some. The bra that I was handed was quite welcome, my girls situated in the cups, feeling warm and comfy in their new home.
I didn’t ask about things down below, I wanted to know what was done, but afraid of what had been accomplished, maybe more than a little tuck and hide. It definitely felt different down there, an empty feeling somewhat, nothing to interfere with crossing my legs. When attempting to do that before I had trouble, my leg not quite being able to settle on my knee comfortably. Now, crossing my legs at the knees is effortless.
I kept looking in the mirror at my new headlights, they seemed larger than what I had before, but since I didn’t see the tag on the bra, I couldn’t be sure. The new breasts were heavier, the bra helping, but I could still feel the pull on my chest. I had a newfound respect for Susan, her D cups more than adequate for her body size, yet she put up with them somehow. Then the light came on, she had no choice in the matter, they were attached and where she went they went. Now I am in that same category, my breasts to live with for the foreseeable future.
At least I will not have to worry about them coming loose or falling off, they are a part of me. Since there is nothing down below any more I realize that I am essentially a female now. Naked and standing tall, a total female except for what is inside my body. As I walked around the salon for a minute or two I noticed my movements were a little different, my walk for instance, now a rotating hip type of movement, with my hips swaying back and forth a little. My breasts also made a difference, some part of them constantly moving around on my chest. The bra helped, but most of the time there was a bounce in them as I walked around the salon in my heels. Susan had insisted that I wear the five inch heels all the time now. The sooner I got comfortable in them, the easier it would be to manage them on the flights.
I left the salon, headed for the grocery store, probably the most overdressed female in the store. I was made painfully aware of the attention I now received with the larger orbs on my chest. Quite a few remarks were dished out, from complimenting me on my outfit to outright wolf whistles. I still felt funny when a males eyes followed me, making me feel a little uncomfortable. It was nice to get the attention until you realized what the attention implied.
I found the needed groceries, paid and made a fast departure. I know since I was now a female in looks, that none of this should be bothering me. The compliments or the jealousy of the females I could handle, but the male attention was another matter totally. I was now viewed as a sexually desirable person, them wanting to do things to my body that any red blooded male desired. Maybe I could get used to it, but it is going to take a lot of time for that to happen! I still desired the female as a sexual partner, but others now had me in their sights, to be pursued, a most definite uncomfortable experience.
I managed to get the groceries home, my knight in shining armor again driving the bus I took. He helped me with my groceries and I thanked him profusely, just catching myself before I reached up to kiss him on the cheek. I got the groceries put up and started dinner, a ham and macaroni casserole, with onions, peppers and some black olives. Susan thought it was wonderful as she quickly devoured her portion, and part of the planned leftovers for tomorrow.
After late night snacks, I knew it would all be gone, and that I would have to fix something else for next evening’s dinner. I picked up the apartment, knowing we would be leaving late tomorrow evening for a flight, not returning till two days later. The flight was to Seattle, then a layover with the flight to Tokyo next, followed up by a return flight to San Francisco, another short layover and then home. Lots of miles in the air, already all of these flights booked solid.
The next two weeks was more of the same, lots of miles in the air, all to sold out flights. Nothing unusual happened, I was perceived as a female all the time now, no one having any doubt as to my gender. They had added lots more Coquette flights, all being sold out as soon as they are announced. We heard that the company was going to make some changes, but no specifics made it down to our level.
Another week had started, both of us having appointments at the salon in the morning, followed by a Coquette meeting at the airport early in the afternoon. I wondered what new twist they had to spring on us, being a corporate entity, they couldn’t just let a good thing prevail without intervention.
I enjoyed the salon appointment, no major changes to me, just pampering and making me look desirable for the customers. Manicure, pedicure, facial, wash and set, replace a few eyelashes, and then a full makeup job. I was getting use to the routine, that doesn’t bode well for the future male image though. I always looked in any mirror I passed, to make sure I looked appropriately feminine. I repaired my lipstick often, after a meal, after every visit to the bathroom, before a meeting. In fact that was what I was doing before the Coquette meeting. Since we had just left the salon we looked good, but as a new member of the female sex, I still felt that I had to check my appearance.
I was amazed at the number of coquettes there, what I thought was a limited group, now apparently was a company wide swell of humanity. I recognized a lot of the attendants, from when I worked with them, but no one recognized me. I saw several other males that had been transformed, they looked like lady boys, but I don’t think anybody would suspect them of being female. Before I could talk to many of the attendees, the meeting was started.
They uncovered a chart on a tripod, and I froze, my name was on top of the list. I looked over at Susan to see if she knew anything about this, but she just shrugged her shoulders. Kathy Sullivan took the podium and I let out a long sigh. Whatever it is, I am sure I won’t like it. She complimented everybody on the first flights, all of them an unqualified success. They were moving ahead with plans to convert more flights to Coquette class, planning on having all flights converted by the end of the month.
Then she moved to the chart. I swallowed hard, trying to get my throat clear, so that I could get additional air into my lungs. I was already breathing hard, my bust rising and falling significantly. Kathy paused in her speech, my heart stopping also in anticipation of her next words. “Susan will now head all flight attendants for the company. She will still fly random flights to check on service, dress and appearance. Her word is gold, if she doesn’t like it, the problem will be fixed. To help her in this endeavor we have promoted two Coquettes to help her maintain this high level of service and appearance. Jennifer Carlson will handle domestic flights, and Stacy Williams will handle all International flights.”
“They are to be obeyed, every word, every request, every nuance, consider their words to be my desires and just do them. They will be flying alongside of you, doing the things that they expect you to do well and willingly. They can terminate you if there is reason, I suggest that you don’t give them any reason to do so.”
Susan had been over talking to some of her friends about ten feet away and quickly came to my side. I was swallowed in a huge hug, Susan in the middle and several other attendants on each side. I was congratulated often over the next half hour, as the flight attendants left for their flights. Jennifer had been grabbed by Kathy, as she filled her in on her new duties, with frequent looks and references to me as they talked.
We got down to just a few left, Kathy excused the others. Telling them that she needed to talk to me and Susan alone. After everybody cleared out, she pointed to a table and we all set down. Kathy told Susan that all they had talked about went into effect now, the company CEO had approved every request that was offered him.
Now as to Stacy…. It was all I could do to keep from fainting or throwing up, at the moment it could be either or both the way my body felt. I wasn’t used to being a female yet and now to be head of half of the flight attendants of the company. Kathy could see my distress, took my hand and held it in her palms. “Along with the promotion, we want you to be our spokesperson for the entire airline, to be in all our advertising, our press releases, our commercials, everything.
I know I have sprung this on you unexpectedly, but your friends have all advised me that is the only way to get your approval. Think about it for the next two or three minutes, and then sign on the dotted line.” That was said with her giggling, and trying to suppress outright laughter. I looked at the paper I was to sign and my heart stopped mid beat. The salary that was written there was unreal. I looked at Susan, then back at Kathy, neither one of them doing anything other than smiling.
I closed my eyes several times hoping when they reopened all of this would be a nasty dream. No such luck, all I saw was Kathy and Susan with big smiles plastered on their faces. I managed to get a few words out, what if I can’t do all of this, all of this is new to me, I have no experience, and beside that, I am scared to death. At that moment the flood gates opened and tears came rushing down my cheeks in torrents. Susan held me, soothing me by running her fingers through my hair.
Eventually the tears dried up, Kathy still had that smile and confident look on her face, awaiting my decision. I looked over at Susan, and she nodded, back to Kathy and she did the same. I went insane at that moment and signed the paper. Stacy Williams Director of International Flight Attendants and Company Spokesperson. What did I just do, I need to be committed as soon as someone sane enough can be found to do so. Such a big change from how things were before that fateful day. Now my life is as a female, a French Coquette to be specific. A huge smile appeared on my face, yes life has been good to me so far, I wonder what the future will offer. I just hope I can handle it.
Story Complete For Now
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker