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My training as her maid began immediately. At first I was so happy spending so much time with Cindy I didn't notice what was happening. But day by day I was learning to do housework and laundry, serve drinks and meals, and generally act like a rich girl's maid.

Cindy's friend Debbie, another model, helped with my training. The two of them would show me how to get dressed in all the clothes and stuff. If I did something wrong they corrected me firmly, but they were never harsh with me.

"Always wear your garter belt over your panties, Cissie,' they'd say seriously. "It supports your stockings better that way, and your panties will fit nicer, too.

Debbie giggled and added, "It's slightly less convenient in the powder room, but that's the price we pay for fashion, Cissie!" She assumed that I would be "squatting" instead of standing...she was right, it was just easier.

Fashion assistants loved offering Cindy their suggestions on how to dress me, and would give her sketches of ideas for uniforms. They were interested not only because I was a male, but because I was a maid. It was a nice diversion for them to design fashionable uniforms for a servant.

At the beginning, Cindy brought a female impersonator in from a trendy club downtown, with the idea that "she" help teach me how to dress and move more like a girl.

When the impersonator left the first time, I told Miss Cindy, "She' was kind of...cute! I mean, 'he' actually was kind of pretty.

"I know, Cissie," Cindy broke in with a laugh, "Sharie is one of the prettiest I've seen. I met him last year when we all went out to one of those clubs. You know, where all the 'girls' are actually guys. I thought he might be able to help you with some things and your attitude."

"Does Sharie... ahh.. still have everything, Miss?" I asked nervously, not knowing whether I really wanted an

answer.

"Well, I'm sure there's something tucked back in her panties, Cissie, but I doubt it still works, since she takes so many female hormones," Cindy answered without a hint of a giggle, adding, "Sharie for all intents and purposes is a female. . .you can learn a lot from him."

Sharie had taught many men to become women. She was a hair dresser by trade and brought me many wigs and cut my hair into a girlish page-boy style. The wigs were in almost

MAID IN FORM "A". 19 every color and styled from very short manish to a glamorous blonde.

I was apprehensive after seeing what the impersonator had in mind for me and I told Miss Cindy about my reservations. "I don't know if I actually want to be a girl like Sharie, Miss. I don't think I want to go that far.

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"You won't have to if you don't want to, Cissie. I just thought you could use some suggestions and she'll help you keep your hair and wigs styled properly. You'll look so much better in your uniforms if you appear feminine and I encourage you to develop a graceful, ladylike manner.

Sharie was amazing. The little chic dresses fit perfectly on his rounded and feminized figure. He liked being a girl and it showed from his lip gloss to his proudly displayed bosom to the way he perched vainly on high heels.

He liked 'feminizing' and worked me mercilessly until I had my comportment down perfectly.

My formal training didn't last very long. In a few weeks Cindy told me I was now, officially, her maid. Of course, I'd been doing her housework and laundry right from the first day, so this announcement really didn't signal any big change.

"Anything else you need to learn I'll try to teach you as we go along, Cissie," Miss Cindy said as she tied my apron on me one morning before she left for work.

"And thanks for trying so hard, Cissie. I know it's strange, but it's not that bad, is it?" she asked in a way that assumed the proper answer.

"No, Miss it's O.K. at least so far."

―

Those first days were so strange. Every now and then, when I was alone, I would absentmindedly touch my dress uniform or lay a hand over my padded bra. These gestures usually brought out a foreboding sense of anxiety. An unwelcome recognition that I was no longer a virile, flat-chested representation of a man. The click of my high heeled pumps were a constant reminder that I was a sissy doing girl's work in a girl's clothes.

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