Man: Wanted (The new name for Workman): Chapter Six - Part One

Sisters

1

This time when I woke up there was a “bloody hell” moment.

In fact there was a “what the fuck?” moment.

I opened my eyes, rolled onto my back and gave out a long sigh, then I sat up, running my hand through my hair. The minute – the second I felt that short man’s cut my eyes bugged out and I let out a shriek as the memory came back to me of what I’d done.

I sprang off the bed and ran to the mirror, gaping in denial at what I was seeing.

I remembered everything about my thought processes at the time and what I’d done to myself but between then and a good night’s sleep that blundering masculinity that had chased me back into my female form was gone without trace. I no longer felt uncomfortable in my own skin in the least but that meant the full horror of this disfiguring hairstyle hit me like a bullet.

I looked awful! My hair had been one of my best features! Now I looked like I was a sixteen year old boy! This was terrible!

I grasped at my head, touching it – feeling just what I’d done to myself.

I simply couldn’t believe it.

I sat on the bed, just staring into the mirror, trying to get my head round it. I sat there for forty minutes before I had to get up, and only did then because I needed the loo.

I went into the bathroom and lowered the front of the boxer shorts I’d worn to bed, reaching in to pull out my penis. For a split second I was perplexed as to where the hell it was, then cursing to myself, I sat down instead, vowing to get rid of the ring the first chance I got.

By the time I emerged from the bathroom, post-shower, I’d made a decision to at least try and make this look good. I had a long neck and pretty features. With the right clothes and make-up I could still pull this off.

Hopefully.

With a towel wrapped round my chest, I took a deep breath and opened the wardrobe, knowing that all my female clothes were gone but trying to be optimistic about what I could salvage from “Geoff’s” stuff.

I was presently surprised to find several female garments. I couldn’t be sure if I’d missed them in my masculine zeal the night before or whether the length of time I’d spent in my rightful body had started shunting the men’s clothes back to their female equivalents.

From the slim pickings I took a pair of pedal-pushers and a sleeveless top that grabbed my cleavage and shouted “Here I am!” With the addition of a wonderbra the ensemble worked magic for my abject femininity. I went to work with hair wax, teasing licks out into as spunky an image as I could manage, then followed that up with make-up.

By the time I was done I’d gone to so much extra trouble I probably looked better than normal. It was kind of funny. I never would have chosen that style in a million years of normal days but it actually complemented my features. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

I frowned, wondering where I’d left the ring.

I found it and carried it downstairs on my open palm. My handbag was in the hall. I went over to it, took another look at the ring then dropped it in.

I went outside to check the damage on my clothes. It was worse than I thought.

The bin men had been.

All my beautiful outfits on their way to the dump mixed in with the whole street’s garbage.

“What a drag.”

I scrutinised the house, then I scrutinised the empty bin. Then I scrutinised the ridiculous van I’d traded my sweet little car in for.