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As Girl As It Gets - Less Of A Man
🕑 Added 2020-05-18 05:24:00 +0000 UTCSUMMARY - Dominated by his overly aggressive and abusive girlfriend, a man turns to his sexy office assistant for sympathy and a helping hand in becoming a better lover...only to discover the answer lies in becoming less of a man.
"Do you have any plans for tonight?" It was Friday afternoon at the office, and Michelle was shutting down her computer before leaving for the day. I was standing in the doorway of her cubicle, sipping a paper cup of water.
"I don't know," I said. "I think I'm supposed to do something with my girlfriend. But she hasn't called.
Michelle laughed, putting stuff into her bag. "So what are you going to do, wait by the phone all night with a bowl of popcorn?"
"Yeah probably," I said sarcastically.
Michelle shook her head. "You and every other girl in Manhattan."
"Hey," I said. I'd finished the water in my cup and tossed the crumpled paper playfully at my pretty assistant. I missed by a mile.
"You even throw like a girl," she said.
On my way back to my office, I'm suddenly thinking, do I?
Sure enough, that night I sit at home by the phone waiting for Charlotte to call. We'd been going together for two months now and although she really seemed to like me, she never seemed to want to go out or spend much time hanging together. She explained that she was busy at work and she got annoyed the only time I mentioned that I wished we could see each other more.
"This is all the time I have," she snapped. "If it's not good enough for you, maybe you want to see another girl."
"No," I said, "That's not what I meant at all. I don't want to see anyone but you. I'm okay with everything. I understand if this is all the time you have. It's totally okay. I'm sorry. I know I'm sounding like a baby. Please forget I said anything. Okay?"
Needless to say, I never brought the topic up again. So here I was on another Friday night, watching tv, and hoping she'd call. It was already too late to go out for dinner or a movie, but maybe she'd want to stop by to unwind and have sex with me before she went home to sleep. She'd already told me she was busy that weekend and couldn't see me.
As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, the phone rang. I jumped—and fumbled for the receiver. I'd kept the phone right next to me on the couch.
"Hello," I said hopefully.
"Relax," Michelle said on the other end. "It's only me."
"Oh hi," I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. After all, she was calling out of concern, which is more than I could say of my girlfriend. "What's up?"
"She didn't call did she?"
"No," I said, feeling a fresh wave of despair. I was glad Michelle couldn't see me. If she thought I was acting girlish that afternoon, she should only know how I was struggling to fight back tears. "I don't know why either," I let the words slip out. "She promised she'd call."
"Poor baby. Did you make the popcorn?"
"Michelle," I said, "please don't make fun of me."
"I'm not making fun of you sweetie. I really think you'll feel better if you indulge yourself a little. Go make some. Seriously."
Two minutes and forty-five seconds later, I was back on the couch, my legs tucked under me, munching popcorn and chatting with Michelle.
"I was right, wasn't I?" she said after we'd been talking for about half an hour. "You do feel better, don't you?"
"Yes," I admitted. "I really do."
We ended up talking for a long time. In fact, it was so late I even found myself drifting off to sleep.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, waking up to her saying something I must have altered through the filter of a weird dream I'd been having: something about me needing to be careful walking in those heels…
"I must have been dreaming," I said.
"It's okay honey. It's late. You go to sleep now. I'll see you Monday."
The following Thursday I plopped down in the chair across from Michelle's desk. I didn't even try to hide how upset I was. Michelle looked up from her computer.
"What's the matter, darling. You look like you're about to cry. Tell me everything."
I explained how Charlotte and I had plans to see a play the previous evening. I had bought the tickets well in advance and everything. I was really looking forward to a night out together. But instead of seeing the play, she took me first to a bar where she got me tipsy and we missed the curtain. I made a few weak protests, but Charlotte waved them off. She said she'd much rather go back to my place for sex anyway. We made love twice and then she went home claiming she needed to be up early for a morning meeting.
"So that was our big date," I said, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.
"Well it must be nice to feel desired anyway, doesn't it?"
"Yes but that's how it is all the time. All she ever seems to want to do with me is to have sex. Sometimes I'd like to, you know, actually, go out on a date."
"I'm sorry," Michelle said, trying to control the smile breaking out on her face. "But that just sounds so typical. Except it's usually my girlfriends complaining about their boyfriends who say stuff like that."
I was to upset about everything to even be bothered by what Michelle had just said. Maybe she was right after all. Maybe I was just acting like a girl. Maybe I should just enjoy my good fortune to have found a woman who liked to have sex with me. It wasn't exactly like I was a lady's man or anything.
"Tell you what," Michelle said. "Why don't we go out for lunch this weekend and treat ourselves to a spa day. Charlotte won't be available anyway."
"A spa day? What's that?"
"Don't worry. You'll love it."
Lying on my belly on a massage table, I let myself relax as a pair of strong male hands kneaded my shoulders. Yes, they were male hands, and I was wearing nothing but a thin white spa towel around my hips. But Michelle made me feel like such a silly overcompensating homophobe when I squeaked out reservations about letting another man touch me when I was half-naked that I relented just to prove I wasn't threatened. I laid down on the table determined to enjoy the experience, and I had to admit I really was enjoying it. Under his strong hands, my body felt like warm butter.
"Uh-huh…uh-huh…" I said dreamily, as Michelle said something or other.
I don't think I'd ever been so relaxed. The massage therapist worked his way down to my calves and back up to my hamstrings. When he gently removed my towel, leaving me completely exposed I was too far gone in bliss to so much as whimper a protest.
Facials were next on the agenda, mud baths, shampoo, and full-body scrubs. Having nothing else to do while Michelle had it done, I figured I might as well have my body waxed too. Sauna, shower, a brief spell under the tanning lights, I was still all-tingly and smelling of strawberry mint body wash as I sat next to Michelle in a big comfy salon chair and had my fingernails and toenails buffed and polished.
"I probably shouldn't have let them do that," I said, looking uncertainly at my shiny toes. "I guess I can take it off when I get home."
"Nonsense," Michelle said. "They look adorable. Stop fighting feeling good about yourself. Admit it, you feel better than you have in months, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, sheepishly. I wiggled my toes a little and giggled. They did look kinda cute like this. "I really do feel better. Thank you!"
"Good," Michelle said. "Then just go with it."
Lunch at the spa's ritzy café was the grand finale. Smoothies and healthy salads for both Michelle and I, except Michelle had hers with a small scoop of tuna fish.
"No tuna for you honey," she said when she saw me eyeing her plate hungrily. "I'm afraid you need to lose a little around the waist. I didn't notice until I saw you without your clothes on today."
I forgot to be embarrassed at having been seen naked by my sexy office assistant. Instead, I was mortified that Michelle thought I was fat. I felt myself blushing.
"Am I really a pig? Is it really disgusting?"
I looked down at my belly, frowning.
"I hate myself."
"Don't be so dramatic for goodness sake," Michelle said. "I'm only talking a few pounds. Don't be getting all anorectic on me or anything."
"Please help me, Michelle," I said, and even I could hear the desperation in my voice. "I really want Charlotte to love me. Tell me you'll help me, please?"
"All I can promise is that I'll help you like yourself," Michelle said. "The rest will follow on its own. Just do as I say and everything will be okay. I promise."
"Okay," I said and meant it. "Whatever you say."
Things didn't get better. In fact, they actually got a whole lot worst. About a week after our spa experience, and another unsettling two dates with Charlotte, I confessed that I was having a hard time performing in bed with my girlfriend.
"She doesn't even spend any time on foreplay," I complained. "She practically just comes in the door and pushes me against the wall. She expects me to be ready the moment she jumps on me."
Michelle listened patiently as I described how Charlotte seemed to want me to have erections virtually on command. Whenever I tried to slow things down or spend time kissing or sucking or stroking, Charlotte acted as if she were annoyed or bored, or just plain disgusted.
"Are you sure she's really a woman?" Michelle said sarcastically. "I don't even think a guy would be that dense."
"Michelle," I said, "Don't joke around. This is serious. I mean, I'm having a real problem with…you know."
"Well, you might try telling her what you like in bed, where you want to be touched, what gets you in the mood, that kind of thing."
And I'd done just that the night before, and Charlotte had practically hit the ceiling. She accused me of being impotent, of being intimidated by her, of not being enough of a man. I was shocked, demoralized, and, needless to say, totally unable to achieve an erection after her outburst. She left my apartment shortly before 11pm, angry and unsatisfied, slamming the door behind her. When I called her at home an hour later, there was no answer. I hadn't heard from her since.
I was totally distraught.
"What do I do now," I said. "Maybe I should get a prescription for Viagra?"
"Don't do that," Michelle said. "That's not the answer. Besides, drugs just mess up your system. I'll give you some herbal stuff my boyfriend takes. It's just as good, much safer, and you won't need to waste time and money trying to get a doctor's appointment. You have a date with Charlotte on Monday, right?"
"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling wiped out. I hadn't slept all night. "Unless she decides to cancel since I can't satisfy her."
"You'll be okay," Michelle said. "You just need to relax and be yourself. Stop putting yourself under so much pressure and you'll be fine."
"But how—how can I possibly relax when my whole life is falling apart?"
Even I had to laugh just a little. I sounded so desperately hysterical.
"It's okay," Michelle said. "I think what you need is some shopping therapy."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, let's take the afternoon off and head for Saks."
"You're missing the point," Michelle said, as she held up a pair of velvet women's drawstring pants to my waist.
I glanced around nervously. What if someone else from the office happened to be shopping here during their lunch hour?
"Maybe you can tell me what the point is," I said. "To make me a crossdresser? How's that going to help anything?"
I followed Michelle to the women's lingerie department. She carefully looked through a rack of sexy panties on little plastic hangers.
"The idea is to teach you how to feel good," she said, "to stop denying yourself pleasure. When you learn how to please yourself, you'll be naturally more pleasing to someone else."
"But dressing like a girl…"
"Don't think of it that way. I don't. I just dress in things that make me feel sexy. You can't deny that you like the feel of these textures against your skin, can you? Velvet, lace, silk—" Michelle held up a pair of white silk micro-mesh panties. "Imagine your little package being cradled in these all day," she said.
The brightness of the store lights were getting to me, the heat, the weirdness of what Michelle was saying—and the fact that I knew she was right.
"Face it, honey," Michelle went on. "You respond more like a girl to these kinds of things. But that's just a generalization. Look at Charlotte—she responds more like a guy. That doesn't mean she's a man, does it?"
"No, but—what would she think if she saw me wearing panties, wearing a little red nightie…."
I felt my lately limp penis getting unexpectedly swollen. Michelle looked at me as if she knew exactly what was happening to me.
"Oh god," I gasped.
"It's okay." She touched my wrist and I trembled. "It's okay. You don't have to tell her yet. Just wear your new clothes at home when she's not there. And, of course, you'll wear panties and bra under your suit when you come to work. It'll be our secret. I promise. Everything's going to be okay. You'll see."
What followed was the most confusing three weeks of my life. I was all over the place emotionally. Between dates with Charlotte, I was quite content dressing at home in my new collection of girly things. I liked lying bed in a short teddy or a pair of pink satin harem pants and watching tv or reading magazines. I kept my body smooth and hairless since the waxing at the salon and liked the feel of the creams that Michelle had given me to moisturize my body.
During the day, I wore panties and bras under my work clothes, and sometimes when I was feeling naughty I'd wear stockings and garters. Michelle checked up on me frequently and encouraged me to tell her everything I was thinking and feeling. She said she could already see the positive changes in my attitude, even if I couldn't.
The problem was that my steadily decreasing number of dates with Charlotte was becoming more and more stressful. The herbal formulas Michelle had given me weren't working, or I was so far gone into impotence and anxiety that I couldn't manage a sustained erection anymore at all. I still considered Viagra, but there was never enough time to make the necessary appointments between dates with Charlotte. So I just doubled up on the herbal pills that Michelle gave me. They didn't help my erections at all and, aside from feeling a little more sensitive in the lips and nipples, I didn't notice any change at all. I was so upset I found myself crying all the time at the least little provocation.
Strangely enough, I found myself fantasizing more and more about being dressed in my pretty girl things while Charlotte and I were in bed. That got me turned on, but while I fantasized about turning over and lying on my belly while Charlotte fucked me from behind, it hardly made me any more inclined to use my pitiful half-hard little cock to penetrate her. Charlotte was extremely angry at first, but her anger changed to a cool distance, and finally developed into a warm friendliness that I mistook at first as signaling a new phase of intimacy between us. Really it was the end result of her total sexual indifference to me.
Two days after what would be our last pseudo-sexual encounter, she called me on the phone to tell me it was over. She had met a man. Maybe I was reading too much into how she said it, but I couldn't help but notice her choice of words: she didn't say she met "another man," just "a man."
Of course the next day at work I was a total wreck. I asked Michelle to come to my office and when she shut the door behind her, I broke down crying uncontrollably. Michelle listened as I tearfully recited what happened and then guided me in some deep breathing exercises to calm me down. She had me lie on the floor of my office and take off my shoes and socks and loosen all my clothing. The sexy red panties and bra set that I was wearing peeked through and she complimented me on both, as well as the matching red toenail polish I applied that morning out of sheer desperation.
"It made you feel better, didn't it," she said knowingly.
A fresh wave of sobbing shook me. I nodded my head, and squeezed my eyes shut as the tears flowed.
"What does it mean?" I said, forcing out the words between sobs.
"It just means you're being more who you are."
"But what is that?"
"Oh honey," Michelle said, holding my hand. "You're a sissy. Didn't you know that?"
I felt like I was going to die right then and there. I'm certain the rest of the office heard me crying, but by then everyone was kind of used to me being a little "different."
"It's okay," Michelle said, patient as always. "It's okay to be who you are."
For weeks I still harbored the hope that Charlotte would call or come back to me. But she didn't. It was a hard time for me but Michelle was there every step of the way. I spent a lot of time at her apartment, and she spent a lot of time at mine. We went shopping together, to the movies, to the spa. She helped me pick out clothes and gave me tips about my hair and skin, and generally built up my confidence.
To my surprise, I was no longer ashamed to be a sissy, or of the changes in my sexuality. As if by sheer acceptance, my body seemed to be changing as well. I seemed softer, rounder, and much more sensitive around my now plump breasts and butt. Even my manner of speaking and my gestures had subtly, but unmistakably, altered.
I always had a bit of a lisp and now it seemed more pronounced than ever, but I didn't care. I sat with my legs crossed at the knee, I dangled my shoe from my toes. I smiled much more and found myself averting my eyes shyly from the direct gaze of men.
I had changed and I did feel better about myself just as Michelle had said I would. She continued to encourage me and I never felt so completely accepted by anyone before. I was certain I was in love with her, but when I suggested that we might be more than just best friends, she reminded me that she already had a boyfriend.
I was crestfallen.
Where was I going to find another woman so accepting of me? Where was I going to find someone to love—and to love me the way I truly was? Who was going to want a sissy like me?
Michelle said she had an idea. She knew a friend who was single and who I might be interested in dating. I felt a slight glimmer of hope. Then Michelle told me a little more and I grasped what she was really saying.
"But," I gasped, "You're talking about a man."
"Of course silly. What did you think?"
It took another two weeks of coaxing, convincing, and general confidence-building before Michelle finally got me around to see the logical and inevitable result of all that had happened to me. I was, as she put it, as good as a girl.
"Why are you trying to hang on to what you're not," she asked, referring to my stubborn insistence that I was a boy. "You're just faking it as a boy and you know it."
She had come over after work to keep me company. Now she reminded me of all the problems I'd had with Charlotte.
"Don't you realize that you were asking her to treat you like a girl? You want to be seduced, wooed, stroked, kissed…honey you wanted to be coaxed out of your panties. Don't deny it."
I couldn't deny it. By now the truth hurt somewhat less than it would have only about a month earlier. It was hard not to see Michelle's point: after all, I was pretty much dressing like a girl all the time after work. Even during work, I'd exchanged most of my male clothes for feminine alternatives. It was becoming more and more difficult to hide the change in my appearance and I already foresaw that I was going to have to "come out" at the office. That was something I didn't want to think about, but it was going to happen.
Michelle told me so.
"Don't you see that what you need is not a woman. Not me or any girl, really. What you need, sweetie is a real man."
I sat there in a white satin slip, my soft hairless arms clasped around my equally smooth legs, staring down at my painted toes. My hair had fallen forward in my face. I was thinking about what she said. I have to admit I was still a bit ashamed to look up. When I spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
"Tell me again what Jim is like?"
Michelle seemed pleased. It turned out that he was a long-time friend of hers. She had known him since college. He was tall, a good listener, funny, considerate, and very handsome. He wasn't gay, but he liked "special" girls like me. He'd been in a couple of relationships before but just hadn't found the right "girl" yet. He was just an all-around great guy, she assured me. Michelle was sure that we'd hit it off.
"You're bright, pretty, and very sweet," she concluded. "I think you two are a perfect match. I'll give him your number if you tell me it's okay."
"Really…you think I'm pretty?" I said. "You think he might like me?"
"Yes, and yes. Really." Michelle was smiling. "Just talk to him anyway. You don't have to date him. But one thing: if you do decide to go out with him, I want to hear everything."
My first date with Jim took place less than a week later. The following morning, as agreed, I sat across from Michelle in her office and told her everything that happened.
As it turned out, Michelle was right. Jim was such a hunk. He was six foot three at least and I loved the way I had to go up on tiptoes, even in the heels I was wearing, to kiss him. Yes, I kissed him! At the end of the evening, he put big his hands around my narrow waist, his thumbs gently pressing just above my hipbones, and gave me the sweetest, lingering kiss at the door to my apartment. I felt myself literally throbbing for him.
All evening long I had basked in Jim's undivided attention. From the moment he picked me up, he treated me like a princess. He opened doors, ordered my meal, told me how pretty I was. When he complimented my hands, my lips, my eyes, my figure I didn't feel he was passing judgment on me as a man like I did when Charlotte pointed out these things. Instead, I realized that Jim was admiring me as a girl.
I said all this to Michelle in a white blur.
"Slow down, slow down girl," she said, delighted, enjoying that I was in such high spirits for a change. "You've got to calm down. You're positively glowing."
It was true. I could feel myself glowing!
Jim was the perfect gentleman all evening long. Well, maybe not the "perfect" gentleman, but I was happy that he wasn't exactly perfect! Several times he reached out and brushed my naked upper arm with his fingertips, and once he even laid his strong hand on my knee, giving it a little squeeze. I had worn a red sleeveless blouse and culotte-combination that left me feeling deliciously exposed. When Jim took his hand away from my knee, I felt him let his fingers linger just a moment on the inside of my smooth thigh. I didn't protest at all, but instead felt like I was going to swoon. I was imagining his hand straying further and further up beneath my culottes to the wet thong panties I could hardly wait to wiggle out of.
I guess I should have said good night and thanked him for the date after that kiss, but—
Michelle looked at me knowingly.
"I couldn't help it," I said, blushing deeply. I couldn't!"
That first kiss at the door totally immobilized me…and left me waiting for his next move. I didn't have long to wait. He looked deeply into my eyes and told me how beautiful I was and then kissed me again. My mouth opened and his tongue slipped inside, hot and suggestive. His hands slid off my shoulders, down my back, and firmly cupped my butt. He pressed against me and I felt his stiff, hard cock against my belly. I moaned and one of his hands found its way to my breast. I moaned again.
He asked if he could come inside. There were a couple of ways to understand his question. I said, "Yes," to all of them.
"He was so gentle and sweet and sexy," I said to Michelle. "It was how I always imagined sex should be."
I told her how he continued kissing me on the living room couch. He licked my neck, my ears, the insides of my elbows. He gently stroked my upper arms, my thighs, my nipples. Somehow, he had managed to half undress me before I even knew quite was happening. My panties were by now exposed and Jim's hand was slowly stroking me. He was driving me wild. I locked my wrists behind his neck and kissed him deeply.
He carried me to the bedroom and took off my high heels. He held my feet in his hands and kissed my toes, nibbled my ankles, licked my sensitive soles. I'd never felt anything like the sensations bombarding me. He worked his way up my body, stopping for a long time at my pantied crotch, licking my semi-soft little package. I moaned and squirmed and fumbled at his waistband. He sweetly but firmly grabbed my wrists and put my hands above my head. I left my hands where he put them. I watched with wide eyes as he undid his pants himself.
Michelle listened, grinning.
"He was huge," I gasped, looking behind me, afraid someone else in the office might overhear. "You have no idea how big it was!"
I giggled.
"I mean gigantic. I never knew it was supposed to look like that!"
I described how he brought his hard cock to my face and how I'd licked it a bit shyly at first. But as soon as I realized he liked what I was doing, I got a lot more confident. Before I knew it, I was enthusiastically giving him a blow job just as I always fantasized about giving a man a blow job. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to make him cum or not but that's what happened. He exploded, half of it in my mouth, the other half hitting my face as his wildly throbbing and totally slurpy-wet cock slipped out from between my painted lips. He went into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth he'd soaked in warm water. He gently cleaned me up and apologized for cumming in my pretty face but I said it was perfectly okay. I think the happy smile I was wearing convinced him just how perfectly okay it was. Fifteen minutes later he was hard all over again and this time he was more in control.
He turned me over and slipped a pillow under my hips. I was wearing only my black lace bra and panty set by now. He worked the panties down over my hips and left my naked ass in the air. He complimented me in this rough, guttural tone that had me crazy with desire. I wiggled my bare butt at him shamelessly. I felt his hands on my soft warm flesh, felt him separate me, felt him wet me. Then I felt the head of his massive penis press against me. Even retelling the story to Michelle I had to press my thighs together and close my eyes.
He slipped inside me without much difficulty at all. I just surrendered. I didn't resist at all. I was so ready for him. He pushed in and out of me and told me how precious and sweet I was. He told me how good I felt inside. He told me how hot and tight I was. He told me how he wanted the feeling to last forever. His hand slipped around the front of me and I lifted up a little so he could touch my little clittie. He gently stroked me as he fucked me up the ass. My orgasm came slowly but lasted a long time, triggering Jim's much more explosive orgasm, and milking the last drops of cum from his hot manly balls.
As I finished my story, Michelle said she was happy for me.
"Really?" I said. "I feel like such a slut, sleeping with him on the first date like that. I'm afraid he won't respect me or something. I'm afraid he won't call me again."
Michelle told me not to worry. "You've been waiting a long time for this," she said. "I'm sure Jim understands. You're a very sweet girl. He'll call."
"But what if he doesn't," I said, working myself into a mini-panic. "I really really liked him!"
Just then Michelle's phone rang. She talked for a moment and then hung up.
"It was the receptionist," she said to me. Michelle was smiling. "Seems like they couldn't get you on your phone since you've been in my office all morning gabbing about your first date. Some lucky girl has two dozen red roses waiting for her at the front desk. Oh, and someone named Jim has left you three messages already."
"Oh god!" I cried out, hardly caring that my voice sounded so shrill and girlish. I skipped out of Michelle's cubicle to the front desk.
I didn't care that I looked like what I so obviously was: a girl in love. Well maybe it's true I'm not a born 100% real girl, but as I hurried to get my beautiful bouquet of roses and return my darling lover's phone calls I knew that what I felt at that moment was quite simply as a girl as it gets!
Comments
Brianna Demonet
Welcome back long time no see!
Laura OLacy
I'm a Transwoman...... though I may have some sissy tendencies. I'd give anything to find a boyfriend like Jim. I had 2 but both turned out to be married. I want someone who I don't have to share
Brianna Demonet
What a great story. We could all use a man like Jim❣❣💋💋💗💗❣
james
I totally enjoyed this story and wish I had a girlfriend like Michelle.
Julia Miller
Aww! Sissy Love. A Sissy has a dual personality, half Princess and half Slut. I think Jim found the girl of his dreams. As a Sissy myself, it's important to know how to please a man. I am surprised that our Sissy never realized Michelle was the one who was giving him hormones. Great Story!
J Chimera
Another good story. Hope you'll add sime more of her adventures with Jim.
