Mike

A few weeks later, Helen called Heather into the living room. "Heather, I have exciting news!" she announced. "Mike enjoyed his time with you at the dance so much that he wants to take you out again. I've already said yes for you."

My heart sank, my stomach twisting with anxiety. The memory of Mike's hand on my thigh and the feel of being led around the dance floor made my skin crawl. But I knew that any resistance was pointless. I would have to maintain the disguise and act convincingly, or I risked everything.

Tracy, who has become a mixture of sister and tormentor, clapped her hands in glee. "Heather! This is perfect! We'll make sure you look absolutely stunning for your big date."

Over the next two days, I was subjected to more intensive feminine training. Tracy and Helen coached me on how to be flirtatious, how to giggle at a boy's jokes, and how to walk with an even more pronounced wiggle in my heels. I felt my masculine self-slipping further away with each practice session, but the idea of being caught and exposed kept me compliant.

The evening of the date arrived. I found herself dressed in a soft pink cocktail dress with a cinched waist and layers of tulle that rustled when I moved. My hair was styled in romantic curls, framing her heavily made-up face. My heels were sky-high, forcing my posture to remain dainty and delicate.

Mike arrived to pick me up, looking as confident and charming as ever. I forced a smile and accepted his compliments. He took my arm, guiding me to the car, and I felt that familiar mix of humiliation and helplessness. I couldn't afford to falter.

At the restaurant, Mike was the perfect gentleman, pulling out my chair and ordering for me. I played my part, laughing at his jokes and pretending to be interested in his stories. Yet, beneath the surface, my mind was in turmoil. The feminine façade I was forced to project conflicted with the remnants of my male identity, and the internal struggle was exhausting.

Then, something unexpected happened. As the evening progressed, I found herself almost relaxing. Mike was attentive and kind, making me feel pretty and cherished in a way that left me confused. I couldn't tell if it was the hormones, the psychological conditioning, or genuine appreciation for Mike's charisma, but I felt myself blushing when he looked at me.

At the end of the night, Mike walked me to the door. My heart raced, not out of fear, but out of nervousness. When he leaned in to kiss my cheek, I didn't recoil. Instead, I closed my eyes and accepted the gesture, my lips tingling from the unexpected warmth.

Inside the house, I collapsed onto the couch, overwhelmed. Helen and Tracy approached, eager to hear every detail. But I couldn't speak. I wasn't sure what scared me more: the fact that I had just had a successful date with Mike or that, in some small way, I had enjoyed it.