The Demise of Frank

By: Diana Young

We live today in a throw-a way society where once an item has reached
the end of it useful life we dispose of it. Visit any landfill site and
you be confronted with the detritus of this society. Piles of items that
were once treasured possessions now sit abandoned and waiting final
disposal.

There are of course those who, perhaps because of their more frugal
attitude or an aversion to waste, seek a new life for those things no
longer fit for purpose. That sweater you knitted all those years ago can
be unravelled and knitted into a new garment or crocheted into a
"grannie square". That old crock pot that's seen better days becomes a
planter for you kitchen herbs.

Look around and you will find many items that, with a few modifications
and a lick of paint can remain useful for years to come.

So! what do you do with a husband who has reached the end of his useful
life?

There is no reason why you can't re-purpose him. Okay it's not going to
be as easy as it is with an inanimate object that doesn't have the
ability to protest it's remaking but it's certainly possible.

After 20 years of marriage my husband Frank had ceased to be useful.
Love and sex had vanished from our relationship many years ago. For the
most part we lived our own existences. You could describe it as a
symbiotic relationship, my role to tend to our home and his needs. He
was the provider bringing home the money that paid our bills.

Thanks to his well-paid job at a power station nearby we enjoyed
comfortable lifestyle. We nearly owned a large former farmhouse on the
outskirts of a rustic village, holidayed overseas several times a year
and possessed a healthy bank balance.

Then he lost his job. The company had a "zero alcohol" policy in the
control room but Frank just had to have that drink over lunch. Twice he
was detected over the limit and issued with several warnings. After a
third offence he was dismissed.


To say I was unimpressed would be an understatement. Indeed I was
furious with him, a few more years and it would not have mattered. My
first thoughts were to dispose of him, after all a husband who brings
nothing to a marriage is no longer fit for purpose.

On consideration I realised that Frank could be re-purposed, re-shaped,
and moulded into something with a new role in life.

"I really don't want to do this," said Frank in that nasally whinging
voice that he always used when complaining. Right now he was standing
before me wearing only a woman's floral cotton robe. The robe was
unbuttoned and his naked and now hairless body was visible. I'd
contemplated having him suffer the pain of a body waxing but that need
someone else to inflict it. Having to stand there and slowly remove all
your own body hair meant he had to take responsibility himself.

"What you want to do is irrelevant to me," I told him. "You already
agreed to my conditions; do you want to change your mind now?" Dangling
from one of my fingers was a pair of Peach Rayon Jersey Bloomers. His
eyes were fixed firmly on these, the look of horror on his face could
not have been worse if I'd been holding an angry Cobra.

"But why do I have to wear dresses? I mean it's not right for men to
wear women's clothes." His eyes remained locked on the bloomers as they
swayed back and forth.

"That's simply Frank; I no longer considered you a real man, in fact not
even a man at all." I held the garment out towards him and he backed
away.

"For God's sake Frank accept your fate and get on with it before I
change my mind."

Today Frank had started his journey towards his new place in life. When
he revealed that he'd been fired I realised that he would never find a
new job. The implication for me was that I'd have to return to work to
ensure we could finish paying for our house and retirement.

However if I was working there was no way that I'd be responsible for
the household tasks. The solution was obvious Frank would have to take
on the role of housekeeper. However that was not enough punishment for
his blatant stupidity. An idea was forming in my mind, something that
would fit well with my recycling plan.

I'd remember what had happened with my younger brother when I was aged
about 12. Only a year younger than me, Willy had developed into a nasty
toad. One day he overstepped the mark.  Mother had told him that he was
not going anywhere until his room was cleaned. No sooner had she left
his room when he disappeared out the window.

That evening he returned home, covered in mud, some of which he trailed
into the hallway and a large tear in his shirt. As if that wasn't enough
he'd walked into the kitchen demanding something to eat.

Mother hit the roof and taking him by the ear, she marched him up to the
bathroom. There, while the bath filled, she stripped him naked. He was
told to thoroughly scrub himself down and shampoo his hair.

While he doing this; she came to my room and chose a selection of things
from my drawers and one of my older party dresses. She also picked up a
pair of Mary Janes that were now too small for me to wear.

She left the collection in Willy's room and returned to the bathroom.
After he was dried she marched him back to his room.

There despite his vehement protests she dressed him a pair of frilly
white panties, one of my old white training bras and a white lace
trimmed petticoat with multiple layers lace edged tulle over a taffeta
underskirt. The pink satin and spotted voile dress was placed over his
head and coaxed down his body. Broad satin ribbons of a deeper pink were
tied at his waist and formed into a large bow that hung down from the
back of his waist.

When he protested at being put into girl's clothing, she told him that
if he continued to complain she would add another week to his
punishment.

He was given the Mary Janes and a pair of white socks with pink lace
frills which he reluctantly put on. When she was satisfied that Willy
was properly dressed she sat him down on a stool and curled his damp
hair with her curling iron.  Willy had resisted having his hair cut for
some months now and it had grown quite long. He now regretted that
decision as she transformed his head into mass or shining curls. Finally
a large floppy pink bow was pinned to his mass of curls.

She lead him down to the kitchen where he was fastened into a pretty
pinafore and set to work first peeling the vegetables for diner, the
setting the table for our evening meal.

He was still helping around the kitchen when our father arrived home
from work. When he came into the kitchen and saw Willy he blew up
demanding to know what was going on. Mother told him that Willy had gone
too far today and was now being punished. Father started to tell her
that he didn't approve of this, but before he'd finished, she'd told him
to "Hold your tongue Fred lest you end up in skirts too". He never
raised the issue again appearing not to notice his feminised son's
presence.

My mother decided that for the duration Willy would be called Millie,
the logic being that it would be easy enough to remember and it would
reinforce his petticoat state.

If Willy thought that he would gain respite from his new clothes when he
went to bed he was sadly disappointed as he was changed into a Baby Doll
style nightie.

What I most remember is how over the next seven day, the nasty brat of a
brother metamorphosed into a sweet, polite and helpful person. Each day
dressed in a pretty frock he would help with all the housework. His room
became the pride of the house as he relentlessly tidied it.

After his week in skirts he was allowed to return to his boy's clothing.
We wondered if his behaviour would return to that of old, happily that
did not happen.

At one end of his closet one his dresses remained on a hanger and one
drawer of his dresser held a collection of pretty underwear and one of
his nighties. The message I think was fairly clear.

I realised then that this was how I would take control of Frank, strip
him of his manhood and ensure his constant obedience. There was no doubt
in my mind that he would hate being feminised and would forever be
reminded of his failure.

When we had bought the house we had discovered the loft was full of
boxes of belongings left by the previous resident. For whatever reason,
over the years discarded clothing had been packed away in cardboard
boxes. At the time I'd looked through some of the boxes, there was
nothing there that I'd wear but I decided that it would be useful for
Frank.

One afternoon I went up there and started to delve into collection. I
started two piles, in one I placed the things that I felt were feminine
enough and would fit Frank, the other for storing. I took the first pile
down to one of the spare bedrooms where I hung the dresses and skirts
along with blouses and tops. The underwear I stored in various drawers.

That night I confronted Frank telling him that I wanted him to move out
of my home. I went on the accuse him of betraying me and of selfish
behaviour. There was no reason that could, in my mind, justify him
remaining with me. He was shocked and protested that I could not remove
him from his house. I countered that by pointing out that years ago, for
financial reasons and in fact, Tax avoidance reasons; the house had been
transferred into my name. I was also the registered own of our car and
would be entitled to retain possession of that. He was to move out of my
bedroom immediately and I wanted him to vacate the house within 7 days.

When the reality of his position became evident, he started to plead for
me to reconsider, asking if there was anything that he could do to avoid
this occurring. At first I rejected his plea saying that my mind had
already been made up. Then I offered him a glimmer of hope by saying
there was only one possibility of him remaining but tempered it with my
opinion that he would not be interested in that option. He insisted he
would be prepared to try anything.

I eased him gently into my plan telling him that with my imminent return
to the workforce I'd need someone to do all the housekeeping. He seized
that chance telling me he could learn to how to cook and clean or any of
the other necessary tasks. I responded that I was sure that he could but
what I wanted was a maid. He mulled this over for a few moments before
saying that he would be prepared to accept that role.

I asked him if he understood that as my maid he would have his own room
and would be required to accept that he was a employee of mine, albeit
unpaid. Again he said that he could accept that and was still willing to
take the position. I let him think I was considering whether I would
accept his offer by hesitating for a few minutes.

Finally I told him that he could remain as long as it was in the role of
maid.

A broad grin broke out on his face, I think that he believed that if he
remained over time he would be able to resume of relationship.

The look of horror when I then told him I'd need to have measure for his
new uniforms was priceless. He asked why he would need new uniforms and
what was wrong with the clothing he normally wore.

I explained that any maid who worked in my home would have to be
prepared to wear the appropriate clothing for a domestic servant. Was
this female clothing he asked with a worried look. Indeed it was I told
him, did he still want to become my maid, I asked. I was not going to
beat around the bush here, accept my offer or leave, I told him.

In the end with a look of resignation on his face he reluctantly
accepted his fate.

For me the new found sense of power had been exhilarating and sexually
stimulating.

Now he was poised to make the move into his life in petticoats, the last
traces of resistance were deserting him.

"Last change for your Frank, take your panties and put them on."

His hand reached out and grasped them.

"What are you holding Frank?" I asked him.

"Panties," he whispered.

"Whose panties Frank?" He was looking distinctly uncomfortable now.

"Mine." He was now staring at them, my guess; he was hoping they would
simply disappear.

"Put it together Frank." I was so enjoying this.

"My panties," he said quietly, a blush had spread across his face.

"What do you do with your panties Frank?" I watched as he squirmed with
embarrassment.

"I......I wear them," I swear a tear was forming in his eyes.

"So what are you waiting for Frank?"

He gingerly lifted one leg and stepped into the bloomers, the conflict
within him was evident, never the less he placed his second leg into
them and grasping the waistband he slowly pulled them up until they were
settled around his waist. In his mind he had ceded his manhood and I was
determined that he would never get it back.

Now that he was wearing the bloomers his resistance crumbled.

"You can take off your robe now Fannie." Time to acquaint him with his
new name.

As he removed the robe he asks, "Fannie?"

"I'm not having a maid called Frank," I told him. "In future your name
will be Fannie Maykum." I was rather pleased that I'd come up with that,
especially since it hinted at future possibilities.

"I see." He sighed offering no resistance or objections

I held out the bra that best matched his bloomers. "What's this Fannie?"

"My brassiere."

"Would you like me to help you put on your brassiere?" I asked.

He nodded in the affirmative, then as he realised the game we were
playing, answered, "Could you please help me into my brassiere."

I held it up for him and he slid his arms through the shoulder straps
and then turned around. The bra was a long line model and had no less
than 9 hook and eye fastens, which I slowly closed gradually imprisoning
him in its tight grip. Now while panties can be and often are pretty and
feminine garments they are similar to what men wear. A bra on the other
hand is for the exclusive use of those of us blessed with what many
women see as an important asset, their breasts. Nothing can prepare a
male for his first bra, it's probably the most humiliating of all
feminine garments to be placed in. I inserted two silk bags each
containing a kilo of rice into the vacant cups of his bra. The weight
causes it to sag so I adjust the shoulder straps until they take up that
weight. Frank looks very uncomfortable as the extra burden tends to
unbalance him. I know that he hates his bra but one day in future, I am
sure he will grow to love it. For now his punishment is to wear one, in
future it will be to deprive him of it comforting support.

I show him the slip; made of a soft pink fabric most of the bodice is
pink French lace with two thin adjustable satin shoulder straps. At the
hem there's a four inch band of the same lace. "What's this Fannie?""

"My petticoat," he answers, and then adds, "Will you help me put on my
petticoat?"

I smile as I know now his spirit is broken, as my Mother knew long ago,
get your man into lingerie and he is yours to mould and shape as you see
fit.

"I'd be pleased to do that for you Fannie." I hold the slip up over his
head he feeds his arms through the shoulder openings. When I release it
there is quiet hiss as it slides down his body. For the first time he
feels the sensation of a skirt as the hem of his slip brushes against
his naked legs.

"Do you like your petticoat Fannie?" He has already realised the
limitation a skirt places on movement.

"Oh yes I like my petticoat." His words tell one thing but his action
another. I know his real feelings but they are of no concern to me.

The stockings are next, since he is not wearing a girdle today I chose a
pair with elastic tops. I hand him the pair and ask would he'd like to
put his stockings on.

"Yes I'd like to put my stockings on." He sits on a stool and rolls each
stocking into a doughnut before drawing each one onto his legs. I am
surprised at first but then realise that he has watched me perform this
same practice for many years.

I take his dress from the closet it's a Floral print on yellow silk
crepe de chine. It has a high rounded neckline and full length sleeves
with finish in 3 inch cuffs that fasten with three round yellow buttons.
The dress falls below the knee and has a long zipper in one side. This
dress would definitely suit the older woman and is perfect for Frank. He
looks defeated as I reveal his dress to him.

Without prompting he asks me, "Would you help me into my pretty dress."

It goes on easily and I close the zipper before fastening the self-
fabric belt at the waist. The dress suits him well and is a good fit
apart from being slightly loose around the hips. My plans for the future
included breast and hip enhancements the only question I need to resolve
is by how much.

I have a pair of white shoes with 2 inch heels and he steps into them.
He looks very unsteady in these shoes but he will soon master the art of
walking in heels. For him flat shoes are going to be but a distant
memory.

It's time to tackle his hair. I seat him on the stool and tie a cape
around him. His hair has greyed in the last few years and recently he's
allowed it to grow longer than usual. It's still damp as I run my comb
through it. I comb it into sections and then start pinning small rollers
into it. He winces at times as I occasionally jab him. That's of little
concern to me he will learn the costs of beauty often takes you down the
path of pain. In the end I squeeze some forty rollers onto his head. I
cover his head with a yellow silk scarf tied in the manner of the
forties, it's knotted at the top front of the head.

"There all done," I tell him. "Would you like to see yourself in the
mirror?" I ask.

He stands up and moves slowly across the room struggling to cope with
his new shoes. I find his discomfort amusing and know I will gain much
pleasure from subjecting him to similar experiences.

It's time to add one more touch. I have him sit back on the stool and I
take my compact and powder his face, it's only a light dusting to take
away the shine. I add rouge circles to his cheeks and along the bridge
of his nose. His eyebrows are gone I insisted that he shave them off. I
have scope to experiment with all different shapes, today I experiment
with thin quizzical ones. They transform his face completely. I outline
his eyes with a black eye liner and apply a coating of blue eye shadow
to his lids. I had him the bright red lipstick and compact and tell him
to apply his lipstick. His first attempt is a disaster and I wipe if off
and tell him to do it again.

I tell him to stand in front of me and I cast my eyes over him, a
slightly androgynous person tending towards the masculine looks back at
me. I add a final touch, chiffon and lace tea apron, favoured by matrons
at afternoon teas.

"I think I just heard the mail arrive, best go and check it Fannie."

"Dressed like this?" he asked in horror.

"Of course, dressed like that."

"I can't," he pleads.

"Now." I point towards the door. He wobbles across the hallway and
stands for a moment at the front door. Finally he sighs and opens the
door. The makes his way down the steps and walks the twenty paces to the
mail box. There is a small lock on the box and he realises he has
forgotten the key. He takes a quick look around as a car drives past but
the driver's attention is on the road. His heels click on the paving as
he makes his way back into the house. The key hangs beside the door he
removes it and returns to the mail box. There is a gentle winds blowing
and I watch as it blows his dress around, he tries to unlock the box
with one hand a hold onto his skirts with the other and succeeds in
doing neither. In the end he is forced to use both hands to undo the
lock and suffer having his dress lifted up briefly.

Relocking the box he bring several letters back with him, as he carries
them he see that they all only addressed to his wife, the erasure of
Frank is more advanced than he realised.

"Fannie, I think that it's appropriate you show due respect when
speaking with me."

"How can I do that?" he asked

"Maids traditionally show their respect by curtsying when approaching
their employer or when carrying out an instruction. From now on I expect
that from you."

"But I have no idea how to curtsey," he replied.

"That's why you'll find a  book on etiquette for domestic maids in your
new room. I want you to read it and behave in accordance with that
book."

"Okay."

"No not Okay, Yes Madam or Mam."

"Yes Madam." He made a clumsy attempt to bob.

I sent him off with instructions to gather up all of his male clothing,
pack it in plastic bags and pack in the back of the car.

"Everything?"

"Everything." For the next hour he was up and down the stairs as bag
after bag was carried down and taken to the car. Finally he returned and
informed me that everything had been move to the car.

Over the next two weeks he was immersed in learning the domestic skills
that he would need if he was to be a useful maid. He was also subjected
to a whole new range of experiences. When it came to doing the laundry I
allowed him to use the washing machine for most items, but insisted that
any fine fabrics such as lingerie could only be hand washed in mild
soap. Unless it was raining everything had to dried on the cloths line
in the rear garden. He would have to stand out in the open as he pegged
each item to the line. I could have left it that, but instead I insisted
that each group of items should be placed together and each should have
its own colour of peg. Of course this made it harder for him, that was
the idea.

Normally I would only have ironed things which really needed to be
ironed but in his case I demanded that almost everything be ironed. This
meant that it took several hours to complete this task. It amused me to
watch him as he daintily ironed delicate panties or bras. Once
everything had been ironed, it needed to be placed in drawers in sorted
into types and colours.

Early in the first week I'd dressed him a white and pink floral
patterned dress with a matching jacket, added pink hat, white gloves and
a large handbag. We drove to a nearby town where I took him into a shop
which specialised in domestic uniforms. An extremely camp shop assistant
took him into the change rooms, had him undress to his lingerie before
measuring him. He tried on one dress which proved to be a good fit.
When we left I'd bought six dresses for him. For morning wear, three
pastel uniforms in pink, yellow and blue. A grey uniform which would be
suitable for afternoon wear and two black dresses in a polished cotton
fabric.

I'd also bought him a selection of aprons ranging from small half aprons
to full pinafore styles. Finally a range of caps from simple Mob styles
to elaborate evening ones replete with ribbon and lace trim.

The bill was rather large but I was able to tell Frank that it had been
paid for with the money I received when I sold off his golf clubs. That
was another priceless moment.

Before we returned home I took him to have his ears pierced and a set of
studs inserted. While that was being done I chose several pairs of
earrings, they were cheap and gaudy, perfect for him.

I'd pondered a choice of breast forms, small, medium or large they would
be attached on a semi-permanent basis. In the end it made sense to buy
them in the same size as the bras he already had. I can tell you I
really enjoyed the first day I glued them on to his chest. He never ever
complained about wearing bras after he stood for the first time and felt
the weight of his DD girls.

The first time I'd set his hair in curlers he'd complained non-stop
about how uncomfortable he found it. I on the other hand was delighted
with resultant mass of tight grey curls. Not wanting to be to
unreasonable I allowed him to wash and condition his hair every other
day. Naturally after each wash it would need to be reset. Since he
washed his hair at night he had to endure the discomfort of sleeping
with the curlers in place. Rather than remove those curlers in the
morning, he was to keep them in place until he changed into his evening
uniform. As much as he hated that I loved it.

He also hated that it was he who had to set his hair, in the beginning
he would sit in front of the mirror slowly adding each curler. He would
come to me and I'd tell not good enough and he'd start all over. In a
way this was karma, in his eyes my hair was never properly styled and
he'd complain that I needed to smarten up.

Each day I would inspect his nails, they had to be perfectly shaped and
painted with nail polish. Only deep reds and strong pinks would do for
him and he had to change the colour every other day.

As my husband he'd always insisted that I needed to wear makeup during
the day, even if I was remaining at home. Now I demanded my maid reach
certain standards including being fully made up at all times when on
duty. Since his hours of duty were from 6am to 11pm that meant all the
time. When he was not engaged in other duties I would send him to
practice applying makeup and to experiment with different looks. I
either approved or rejected each different look and those that involved
the maximum amount of time to achieve were the one I approved.

He was never a willing cross dresser who would have adored being forced
in dresses. Had that been the case I'd probably never done this too him.
I emasculated him and turned him from a dominant husband into a
submissive servant. God I enjoyed doing this to him, I thrived on his
embarrassment enjoyed his constant humiliation.

When I convinced my doctor that I needed HRT it was never for me. There
was no deceit by me he knew what he was being given and meekly accepted
it. I doubled the dosage as well, was it harmful? who knows, did I care
if was, No!

After a month all trace of my former husband was gone. My house was
immaculate, floors gleamed from polishing and every shelf was dust free.
I was now being served meals that would not be unusual at top notch
restaurants. My lingerie draw was always full and the hamper empty. I
barely needed to lift a finger; only short tinkle of the bell by my side
would bring my maid to me.

I'd been starting to search the papers since I was going to have to find
work soon. Frank's payout had been slowly dwindling and a source of
income was now a prime need.
As I perused the advertisements one caught my eye "Perfect Lady"
underneath it invited me who wished to experience being dressed as women
to contact the provided number.

This sparked an idea, what if I set up a similar business. There already
was an extensive collection of clothing from the hoard in the loft. Over
time I could add to this collection. Best of all I already had a maid
who do much of the work for me. No doubt he would be thrilled to
dressing another male in female attire. What's not to like about this I
thought.

"Madam Zelda's" dressing service was born and in the following weeks
papers an advertisement for appeared. Frank had not been happy when I
informed him that in future he would be playing "Ladies Maid" to
visiting cross-dressing men.

Initially I set things up in blocks of 3 hours, since I felt anything
less would not be worth the effort and in any case who wants to spend 45
minutes being dressed and made up only to have to turn around and strip
if all back off. I settled on 10am til 1pm, 2pm til 5pm or 7pn til 10pm.
As a bonus any booking for consecutive periods would include a free hour
between them.

Less than 24 hours after the ad appeared in the paper the phone rang.

"Ah! Hello is this ummm Madam Zelda's?"

"Yes it is, Madam Zelda speaking."

"I'm er...interested in you services."

"We provide a complete service but any special requests might take a day
or two to arrange," I told him.

"When could I make an appointment?" he asked.

I explained the hours we were available and mentioned a bonus hour for
two blocks.

"That sounds ideal, umm what would the rate be?"

"300 for the first three hours, 250 for another three and 200 for a
third three."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Had I asked too much
I wondered.

"That will be fine, when can I arrange a visit." A day and time was
arranged.

Two days later promptly at 10am the doorbell chimed. Frank had been
dressed in one of his black uniforms with a starched white pinafore and
fancy white lace cap. I sent him to greet our visitor he was not at all
happy.

I watched as he curtsied and invited our visitor to follow him. He
brought "Peter" into the living room and introduced him to me, before
moving back and standing with his hands crossed in front of him. I
welcomed Peter and he passed me an envelope with his payment. I
explained that my Maid Fannie would escort him upstairs and assist with
his dressing and makeup. When he was dressed Fannie would show him
around the rear garden before bringing him in for Morning Tea with me.

The was a camera in the bedroom which allowed me to watch proceedings
and to record what happened. I watched as Frank lead Peter into the
bedroom, curtsey before helping him undress. He was clearly
uncomfortable in the presence of a naked man as he went about dressing
Peter. Some time later I saw them descend the stairs, Peter looked quite
nice, he was dressed in the fashion of a lady attending a semi-formal
event. The dress was a blue linen with a white flower print over it. A
plain blue jacket, open at the front. Beige stockings with white medium
heels, while his hat was a blue saucer shape with an artificial flower
on the top, a veil at the front descended below the eyes. I was
impressed with Frank's effort clearly I'd taught him well.

Outside in the relative privacy of the rear garden, Frank lead Peter
around showing him plants and selecting and picking a bouquet of
flowers.

When they returned Peter was escorted into the sitting room where I
awaited him. Franks fluttered off to prepare Morning Tea for us.

"I must say how wonderful you look today Peta, your hat is divine."

"Yes I am really pleased with it." He reached up and touched the veil.

For the next 15 minutes we made small talk as you expect two mature
ladies to do.

Frank returned bearing a silver tray with silver teapot, milk jug and
sugar container resting on it. He carried out a semi-curtsy as he
entered then placed the tray on a table in front of us. Next time he
carried in a tray bearing to Royal Albert Country Rose cups and saucers
and two plates. He set them down beside us.

"You may pour now Fannie," I told him.

"Very good Mam," he replied before taking the Tea Pot and pouring out
two cups.

"Milk, Sugar?" he asked.

Once our requirements had been satisfied he departed again for the
kitchen. The last tray held a small pile of scones, still steaming,
several small bowls of jams and a container of thick white cream. After
setting them on the table he retired to side of the room and took up a
stance with hands folded over his pinafore and eyes cast downward ready
to summoned when next needed.

Peter and I chatted on as we nibbled on the delicious scones. Who would
have thought my former husband could be capable of producing such a
treat.

Finally it was time for Peter to change and I told Frank to escort him
back to the bedroom and assist him to change. Once he left I checked the
envelope, paid in full. One client and the equivalent of two days pay. A
short time later they returned and Frank opened the door and ushered
Peter out.

When he came into the Sitting Room he held out 100 pounds. "He's only
paid part of what he owes." I showed him the other 300. "That's your tip
Fannie."

"Oh! and he also kissed my cheeks when leaving, I'll not have that."

"Fannie if a client throws you on the bed and takes your virginity you
will smile and say: thank you that will be another 50 pounds,
Understand?"

"Yes Madam as you wish."

That week we took 1200 Pounds from four very satisfied clients. At this
rate we would easily meet our commitments and more.

The following week we took 2400 pounds and a week later 3300. Then I
came up with another idea once a week we would hold a formal dinner and
invite up to 4 clients. They could come between 5pm and 7pm so as to be
dressed by 7pm. We could start with a cocktail hours and follow it with
a 3 course dinner at 8pm. I could make 1200 pounds in one evening. We
started telling each clients of this new event there was a lot of
interest from them so we set the date for our first dinner in two weeks.

The night turned out to be a great success Fannie's meal was superb (I
could no longer think of him as Frank as I banished the last trace of my
former husband) Every one dressed in evening gowns and happily chatted
with each other. All vowed to be back for another evening.

With the money flowing in I decided that we could convert the loft into
an extra bedroom another bathroom and large storage area where clothing
could be kept.

Once the renovations were complete we were able to offer overnight stays
to our clients and if they wished they could leave their own clothing in
our storage room.

One afternoon I was having Tea with our first client Peta, we'd become
good friends and I'd gradually learned more about him. Today he did
surprise me by telling me that he was a plastic surgeon and if there was
anything I needed done he would be happy to help. I thanked him and
filed that information away.

Fannie had been on her hormone program for six months now with some good
results. His hips had certainly increased in size and overall his figure
was more rounded and feminine there was an increase in the size of his
nipples but not a lot of breast development.

Next time Peter visited I waived his usual payment and told him he could
visit anytime as a guest if he carried out a few procedures on Fannie.
He asked if Fannie would object and I assured him that there would be no
objection.

Later that afternoon I summoned Fannie to the Sitting Room.

"Fannie could you bring me a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses."

"Yes Mam." He looked around to see if he'd missed someone then went off
to fetch the wine."

He returned and poured out a glass for me. "Fill the other glass
Fannie."

He looked puzzled but never the less complied.

"Sit down and join me." He sat down carefully sweeping his dress under
him as he did so.

"That's for you." I pointed to the wine. He picked up the glass and took
a sip.

"Fannie you've been in dresses now for over six months and you going to
be in them for ever as far as I'm concerned."

"Yes Mam I understand." He did look sad though at being reminded that
this wasn't going to end tomorrow or the day after or the year after.

"I don't think that you should have to glue your breasts on every few
days."

"No Mam it's not something I enjoy having to do."

"Well I have good news for you, in future that's a task you won't have
to perform."

He smiled, did he really think that I was just going to let him stop
using the forms.

"Next week you will be going into a private hospital for your own
implants."

The jaw dropped and his lips trembled, a tear formed in his eye then ran
down his cheek. I knew that he wanted to tell me that this was not
something he wanted. Still I'd brought him to the stage where acceptance
was his only option.

"As you wish Mam, can I ask will they be as large as my forms?"

"Would you like them to be that size?" He looked down at the floor for a
moment considering his answer. "Yes Mam that would be nice."

Now I moved onto the difficult part, well the difficult part for him
anyway.

"Fannie you're not going back to a male life, you understand that?"

"Yes Mam I do." He looked puzzled wondering no doubt what this was
leading to.

"So in your new life there's not much point to those bits hanging off
your front."

There was no doubt about the look of horror that passed across his face
this time.

"Oh No! you can't do that."

"Of course you're right I can't do that, but the surgeon can and will."

"Please don't do this," he begged but I could already see acceptance in
his eyes.

When he returned after the surgery he was quiet and subdued he moved
straight back into his normal duties. With the last vestige of his
manhood gone he became totally submissive and obedient. I doubted there
was anything which he would refuse to do if I so directed.

One evening I went to his room as he was leaving the bath, his breasts
were full and rounded with a prominent nipples. My eyes dropped below
his waist no trace of his male organs were left low down there was a
slit where his urethra had been moved.

"How is it?" I asked.

"Messy at the moment," he replied with wry smile.

"Never mind you'll get used to it."

"Yes I suppose I will."

And that's how I made my contribution to saving the planet by
repurposing a no longer useful husband. I highly recommend the practice
to any of you ladies in the same position.