"Form follows Function."
By Carrie Gore

Never one to turn down an opportunity, I happily accepted a job working for
'Focus', a trendy high street chain store selling women's fashion. How
exactly I had managed to get the job at all was anyone's guess, being the
only male that had ever worked in the retail outlets of the growing chain.
Maybe, I guessed, a man hanging around the place would be good for morale.

Anyway, I was currently enjoying a well-deserved break after the midday rush.
Lisa was in the staff room with me, smoking a cigarette enthusiastically.

'Hey Lisa! Busy day, huh?' I said, trying to make small talk.

'Hiya Pete. On your lunch?' she asked, smiling.

'Sure,' I replied. 'I need it.'

'I don't know how you can work here. It must be terrible having to listen to
us girls talking about men and clothes all the time.'

'You're not that bad! I don't know... I think it's funny. I'm not bothered at
all.'

'Yeah, you're just one of the girls, aren't you?' she said, laughing.

I blushed. 'I wouldn't go that far,' I said, embarrassed.

'Come on then, what do you think of my top?' she said, pointing to her
blouse. It was a figure hugging light blue creation, very simple but quite
attractive if I remember correctly.

'It's nice,' I said uncomfortably.

'Oh, come on Peter! You'll have to get used to this if you're going to be
working with us from now on.'

'I suppose... I can hang the things up, but I don't really have an opinion
one way or the other, to be honest.'

'Oh, you must have an opinion!' she said, surprized.

'Ah, but I don't have to voice it.' I said, playing it cool.

'So, have you got a boyfriend then?' Lisa asked. I was shocked at her
bluntness, and presumptuousness.

'Lisa, I'm not gay if that's what you mean.' I said, trying not to sound as
if I was protesting a little too much.

'Oh, I'm sorry... I just assumed...'

'Don't worry about it. I guess people only feel comfortable about me working
here because they think I'm gay,' I admitted, more than aware of the
implications to my reputation caused by working in a women's fashion store.

'Like I said, you're one of the girls!' she said gleefully. I shook my head
in bemusement. I did not know how much I could take of this sort of thing: I
wanted to fit in, not be insulted for doing the same job that the other girls
did. Then again, I knew it was all just a bit of fun so I did not complain.

I had worked there a week in all by then, feeling each day that I couldn't
possibly know any more about the weird and wonderful world of female fashion
that I was completely surrounded by, constantly.

That was when things got a little strange: The following morning I woke up to
find out that I did not need to shave. I examined my face closely, but I
could not see a single trace of the previous day's growth. Unusual, I
thought. How could I just have stopped growing a beard? I had needed to shave
every day for about a year. I was almost pleased about not having to perform
the uncomfortable and irritating ritual, but I must confess I felt unease at
not knowing what had caused it.

I resolved to visit a doctor about it as soon as I could. Knowing me, that
meant never.

Anyway, I pulled on my uniform of black trousers and matching black, long
sleeved, v-neck T-shirt. I looked cool I thought: Just about handsome in a
boy-next-door kind of way. That, however, was the last time I ever thought
about myself that way.

*

'Wow, Peter! How did you shave so closely?' Lisa asked, fascinated with my
new smooth face. 'Whatever you did, I must get my boyfriend to try it!'

'I honestly don't know,' I replied. 'I just woke up this morning and I didn't
need a shave.'

'How weird!' Lisa said, not really knowing how to continue the conversation
without saying something that would embarrass me.

'Tell me about it! I'm kind of worried, to be honest.' I confessed.

'You should see a doctor then: Beards don't just stop growing.'

'Hmm. Yeah, I better had,' I said, with absolutely no intention of doing as
she suggested.

My break concluded I returned to my duties; I took clothes from the warehouse
and put them on display, changed prices on Sale or damaged items and served
customers at the counter. Just the usual routines. It was simple, easy work
that although boring was pleasant enough, I thought. I did not pay too much
attention to the stock. It could have been anything for all I cared, clothes,
pans, electrical goods: It did not matter. The thing that mattered to me was
the pay, which was adequate.

The following morning I awoke to another revelation: Nothing as immediately
obvious as in the previous day, but again it concerned me nonetheless. My
boots that the yesterday had seemed too small now fit loosely on my foot, as
if I had lost few shoe sizes. Feet, I knew, did not get any smaller. At least
no one would be able to tell, I realized gratefully.

I went to work as usual, finding my newly shrunken feet to be most annoying,
as my foot insisted on slipping around inside my boots, potentially causing
blisters. Covertely, I pinched the shoe size measure and took it into the
deepest, darkest corner of the storeroom. I removed a boot and sock, and with
my breath held inspected the damage: I was now, according to the measure, a
size six, the average female shoe size in the UK (as I now knew). I gasped,
and hurriedly put my boot back on before I was caught. I did not want to have
to explain to anyone what I had just discovered.

Lisa however, perceptive as always, knew that something was bothering me.

'So, your beard hasn't come back yet then?' she asked, leading the
conversation.

'No. Lisa, can I tell you something? You have to promise to keep it a
secret.'

'That doesn't sound very good, Peter,' she said, raising a single eyebrow.

'No, it's nothing kinky,' I replied. 'I just measured my feet.'

'Oh, that's okay: I do that all the time!' she said, smiling.

'Yesterday, I was a size nine shoe,' I said, hoping she would guess the rest.

'Okay...' she said, looking concerned that I was losing my grip on reality.

'Now I'm a size six.' I said, pausing before the number to emphasise the
severity of the situation.

'That's not good.'

'No.'

'You should see a doctor.'

'I will now, definately,' I lied.


The following morning, having detected a pattern, I immediately inspected
myself to check for any furthur changes. Luckily, I seemed to have remained
as I was the day before. My beard still had not shown any intention of
returning, but my feet no longer looked dwarfed by my masculine body: I
presumed, therefore, that my feet had returned to normal.

I put on my shorts, then my T-shirt, then my pants. A quick look in the
mirror pointed out that something was not right: The long sleeved T-shirt now
reached down to my knuckles and the bottom of my pants touched the floor.
Disturbed, as anyone would be, I put on some clean socks, and stepped into my
boots. To my dissapointment, they still felt like wearing lead filled sail
barges.

I could only presume that if my feet had not returned to their normal size,
then the rest of my body had somehow reduced to match them. I tried to think
about how I would explain my diminished stature to the girls at work, but an
answer confounded me.

Clare, the supervisor, noticed almost the instant she laid eyes on me, her
exclaimations attracting the attention of the other girls who gathered round
facinated.

'Peter?' she asked, as if to say 'Is that really you?' 'Is it just me or are
you smaller than you were yesterday?'

'It seems like it,' I replied, humiliated. 'I don't know what's happening to
me.'

'Do you want the day off so you can see a doctor?'

'No! I'll be okay. I'm going to see one on my day off.' I replied, still
reluctant as ever to expose myself to my GP's intrusions. The girls gathered
around me, touching me and grabbing my clothes to point out how baggy they
had become. Clare, ever the professional realized how unsuitable I looked for
employment in a trendy, upmarket store. If my clothes did not fit, then I
looked a mess. If I looked a mess, then it would be offputting to customers.

'Peter, you do know that you have a monthly allowance to pick out clothes
from the store to wear as a uniform, don't you?'

'Yes, but then there's not much here that appeals, I'm afraid,' I said, not
quick to notice what she was suggesting.

'Well, I'm sure that you can find some pants and a T-shirt that will fit you.
Sneakers, too if you need them,' she said, spotting my oversized boots.

'But!' I exclaimed, 'I can't wear girls clothes!' Shorter I may have been,
but there was nothing she could say that would make me want to wear anything
that this store sold.

'Don't be so immature, Peter. It's not as if we're asking you to wear a
skirt!' Clare had a way of making me feel extremely un-cool.

'Maybe we should!' Lisa giggled, entranced and amazed with my smaller body.

I should point out that I did not look like a woman, except for the smooth
skin on my face. It was more appropriate to say that I was man-shaped, but
reduced so that I was the same height, width and weight as my collegues. My
body was as masculine as ever, but on a smaller scale.

'No effing way,' I remarked. 'I'll sell 'em, but I won't wear 'em.'

'But you will at least change into some decent pants though, won't you? Here,
try these on. We don't open up for another five minutes, so you've got a bit
of time.'

She handed me some non-descript black trousers that were actually female
equivalents of what I was already wearing, combats. They had the same number
of pockets, but these pants had extra decorative zip details, and were made
from a finer, lighter material. The T-shirt was a smaller, short sleeved
version of the one I was already wearing, which to my dismay had the shop
logo on the front, a warped heart. This ensured everyone would know I was
wearing stock from a female clothes store. Great, I thought. Just great.

I also managed to find a pair of unobtrusive sneakers to match the outfit.
There was nothing overtly feminine about anything I was about to put on, so I
decided that for the sake of my job, and not looking like a juvenile in front
of the girls, I entered the changing rooms and swapped my clothes.

I reemerged to badly hidden sniggers and giggles. Clare, keen to prevent any
further embarrassment to me, said:

'See? You look great, doesn't he?' Clare demanded co-operation from her
staff.

'Sure!' said Lisa, smiling.

*

We met again in the staff room during our lunch break, where Lisa was keen to
grill me for more information.

'So, have you figured out what's happening to you yet?' she asked.

'Well, I'm getting a horrible feeling I do.'

'I have a theory, too,' she said. 'Remember how I said you were one of the
girls?'

'Please... don't finish that sentence,' I implored, realizing her theory
matched my own. 'You think I'm turning into one?'

'It looks like it to me, Peter. The small frame, the missing beard. You still
look like a man, though.'

'Thanks, I think. But how is it possible? Why is it happening to me?'

Lisa shrugged. I got the impression she wanted me to keep transforming just
to see what happened, regardless of the effect it would have on me as a
person.


So, the next morning I opened my eyes, and lay in bed not wanting to discover
what atrocity the universe had performed on my body while I had slept.
However, the clock kept ticking, and I could not stay in bed forever, so I
emerged from under the duvet with my eyes firmly closed. Even then, I knew
what today's change had been. I could feel it, or rather them. I opened my
eyes and looked down at my chest to see two breasts staring back up at me. I
screamed in horror, feeling the cruel irreversibility of my predicament.
Then, to my even greater anxiety I noticed that my scream had been a little
too high pitched for it to have come from my voicebox. Rushing to my mirror,
I saw that my neck was now flat and smooth, the large Adam's Apple gone.

'Testing,' I said, to confirm my suspicions. It was true, my voice had now
changed to match my now female figure. Mindful of the myriad of other
possible changes, I inspected myself in further detail: My body had lost all
its hair leaving my skin satiny smooth. I observed that my hips had widened,
and my waist had narrowed. When I put my feet together, my knees met up and
there was no gap between the flesh of my thighs on either side.

Thankfully, I my face still seemed my own. I noticed subtle softening of my
jaw, my forehead and my nose, but otherwise it was still the same face.
Likewise, I was equally pleased to realize the importance that I still had my
meat and two veg: I thought in my head that very soon that might not be the
case.

I began getting dressed in the clothes I had been issued the previous day.
This time, the pants fit snuggly all over, without being too baggy around the
rear. The T-shirt however caused me no small amount of distress. Remembering
that I now found myself possessed of the most obvious of female sexual
characteristics, the T-shirt made no effort to disguise the shape or detail
of them from people who cared to look.

Oh, I thought. This was not happening! How could I be changing into a woman?
With each progression in my transmutation, I felt myself losing more and more
control over my destiny. Admittedly, I judged that I would probably fit in a
little better at work as a girl, but I had been happy to be an outsider! It
was true that I had failed to consider the wider implications of what I was
now obviously becoming. The thought of actually living and growing old as a
real woman was too great an adjustment of my own self-image to start
contemplating. For now, I was more concerned about what the girls at work
were going to say about my current state. In fact, the more I dwelt on the
subject, the less keen I felt about actually going in that day.

Of course, I could not telephone in sick because they would not recognise my
voice. I did not want to get fired for just not showing up so I made the
decision to turn up, make my apologies for turning into a girl and leave.

A wise plan.

*

I turned up and presented myself to Clare who did not recognize me at first.
She looked at me as if I was a customer who had crept into the store early.
Her dropping jaw and widening eyes signified her recognition.

'Peter?' she cried, 'Is this some kind of joke?'

'I hope it is, and someone is going to finish it and tell me the punchline
soon, Clare. These are real!' I said, gesturing to my cleavage.

Intriged, she tentatively reached out her hand and poked my left breast,
after which she recoiled in shock.

'Peter! What's happining to you?' There was no diguising the fear in her
voice.

'I think for some reason I'm turning into a girl,' I said, embarrassed to be
stating the obvious. 'I'm guessing that by tomorrow there will be nothing
left of the real me.'

'I don't know what to say, Peter! It must be terrible for you! Do you feel up
to working?'

'Not really, Clare. I would like to go home please. I feel like a freak.' I
said honestly.

'I understand. Wait though, before you go...' Clare shot off into the shop,
and returned a few moments later holding a bra. 'Here, take this. Give me a
call when you feel up to working again, only I would wear that next time,
okay? I'm afraid our customers wouldn't take too kindly to being able to see
your melons bouncing around and your nipples showing through your T-shirt,
okay?'

'Okay,' I said. I felt completely humbled. Now, because of the body I now
possessed I was going to have to embrace a whole multitude of 'optional
extras', like bras. The fates were conspiring not only to rid me of my
manhood, but my masculinity too.

I accepted her gift reluctantly. I knew that eventually I was going to have
to face up to the possibility that I would never be a man again.

As I left, I waved to Lisa who had just caught a glimpse of me. Her hands
instantly rushed to cover her mouth in shock, and she ran after me.

'Peter! Peter... oh, I'm so sorry!' she said, obviously feeling deeply for
me.

'It's not your fault. Lisa, I think this is going to be the last day that
there will be any part of the real me left. Do you think there is anything
you can do?' I begged.

'I can teach you how to be a girl,' she offered misundertanding the question
I had asked.

'I was kind of hoping you would have an idea on how I could stop
transforming,' I said, depressed.

She continued walking with me for a while, trying in vain to console me, but
eventually duty called and she returned to the store to begin her day's work.

I returned home to mooch around. In the absence of anything better to do I
watched television, with a nagging feeling of guilt that I probably should
have spent the day engaging in activities that made the most of my last day
with a dick.

Nonetheless, I could not think of anything, so I sat and waited.

I returned to work a week later, keen not to completely drop out of society
altogether. It had been hard work getting the job at Focus, and I intended to
keep it. As I had suspected, I was one hundred percent female the day after
my boobs popped up to say hello. I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for
myself, but thanks to the efforts of Lisa I managed, with a little
reluctance, to try and think positively about the whole experience.

After all, when I thought back to the interview for the job, when asked 'So,
how do you think you manage working for an all-female team?' I had replied,
genuinely 'I'll adapt! I'll try to change to make sure I fit in, if I don't
straight away.'

I do not know what made me change, and I am beginnning to doubt I will ever
find out. All I do know: My vision of the future has become a little fuzzy
lately. If I got married, it would have to be to a man with me wearing the
bridal gown. If we had kids, I would be the one to carry and give birth to
them.

I have a lot to learn about being female. It appears there is a lot more to
it than just wearing pretty clothes and having a nice body. I could let you
in on few secrets, but then why would I want to do a thing like that?

***

EXTRACT FROM THE EVENING COURIER, 16TH MARCH 1987

"Progress marches on, as the old gives way for the new. The elderly owner of
'Spells 'R' Us' was unavailable for comment today, as his store in the
Prestonville City Shopping Mall made way for a branch of the up and coming
chainstore, Focus, a subsidary of the Arcadia Group...."

***

The end!
Feedback is always appreciated....
carrie_gore@hotmail.com!