THE ATTIC TAPES
Hello, my name is Dr. Lorilinda Matthews (not my real name, but close enough). I teach physical science at a well-known university. Some of you reading this story might even know me, or have met me at one time or another. I live a somewhat boring, normal life; I have a good job, a home in the suburbs, three kids, and a spouse. I use the word, spouse, because I am a married transgendered male. I have been living full-time as a passable woman for almost sixteen years. Some of my associates know, and some of them do not know; however, it makes little difference in my life, and I really feel that I am a success because of my gender crossover, not in spite of it.
I have a tale to tell, but it is not about me; remember, my life is boring and not very unusual, save for my transgendered nature. The story I am going to relate seems to be true, despite the unbelievable, almost sinister events I shall retell.
It started last year, when a friend of a friend bought an old gothic mansion. When this man rummaged through the attic, he found an early-model cassette recorder. There were several dusty tapes next to it, and one still in it. The record button was still pressed. Apparently, the last tape had been left in the machine in record-mode. Since there had been no automatic shut off, it must have sat there until the batteries ran down.
To make this part of the story short, the man placed that last tape in another recorder, where he rewound and played it. Realizing that the tape was of a very unusual nature, he sent all the tapes to my friend, Sylvia Sullivan, who is a professor of English Literature at the University. Since Sylvia knows all about me, once she realized what the tapes were all about, she immediately, and excitedly, brought them to me. I have spent several months transcribing them and smoothing over the gaps. The following is my faithful record of the astonishing contents of these tapes . . .
"My name is Belinda Ferguson." A long pause follows. "I work as a secretary in the employ of Mrs. Charles James. I have never met Mr. James, and Mrs. James refuses to talk about him. Mrs. James gives me free room and board in her home, so I am at her call at all times of the day. Occasionally, when she is away, I even baby-sit her little girl, Victoria. She's a darling child, just like the one I hope to have someday.
"Today, I have sneaked up into the attic, so that I can privately dictate this story into this tape recorder. If Mrs. James caught me here, she would not be happy; she and her two sisters are not what they seem: successful business women in a small western town. In fact, I am not sure that they are even human, because they seem to have powers beyond those of anyone I know!
"I've come to question my sanity." There is soft, nervous crying. "I am a young woman, reasonably pretty. I have blue eyes, and my fine blond hair is neatly trimmed in a page boy hair cut. I am wearing a white, long-sleeved blouse and a brown A-line skirt. I am also wearing tan-colored pantyhose and low-heeled black pumps. My nails are neatly trimmed and colored, and I am wearing my favorite jewelry. Every inch of my mind and body says woman, and I have always liked being a woman.
"I have fond memories of a pleasant childhood, ranging from those of a little girl admiring her mother, of many school years, and of maturing into the woman that I am. There are no missing memories of any kind. Everything should be just fine, but I now have reason to believe that I am a fraud! I suspect that all my memories are fabricated." A pause follows with more soft crying. "My desires in life are the same as those of other women: a nice home, a minor career, a devoted husband, and two or three kids. It is not a lot to ask for, but I am afraid for my future, which may never come. I suspect I am not who I think I am. I am developing a suspicion that I have an alternate history, and I've come to believe that Mrs. James and her two sisters have powers beyond those of normal human beings.
"There is no real proof of the story that I am going to tell. All the records at my office say that I have always been Belinda, but I sincerely now believe that I used to be Mrs. James' husband, Charles, though I can't conjure up any memory any of this! My allusion to magic is not accidental. I can't even imagine what it is like to be a man, though dark images of some man haunt me in my dreams. Charles kept a journal, which painstakingly records the bizarre story. Somehow, Hilda's powers have no effect on this journal. I will now recite the contents of this journal, exactly as it was written. Though some of the handwriting is hard to read, I am somehow able to figure it all out, as if I had written it myself!"
June 4th
I, Charles James, am compelled to write this record, out of fear that I might soon forget all that has transpired around me. First, I have to establish the background. Seven years ago, my partners, Bernard Wilson and Pete Medina, and I were three lonely, but successful bachelors, who ran our own CPA and bookkeeping business. We were a rising star, and our fortunes were assured. We needed a secretary, so I hired a captivating young woman named Hilda Ackerley. Hilda was a fetching, smart, and efficient worker, who looked very much like Bridget Bardot. She also had two pretty sisters, named Loretta and Suzanne. Soon, upon the unreasonable insistence of Bernard and Pete, since we really did not have that much work for them, we also hired the sisters.
I think Hilda worked some kind of spell on me; within a short span of fourteen months, I married the woman. Despite the birth of our wonderful daughter, Victoria, some seven months later, I think the whole thing was a big mistake. In turn, Bernard married Loretta, and Pete married Suzanne. Our wives continued on as our secretaries, and our business grew as never before. It seemed to be a very idyllic situation, but strange things eventually began to happen.
Pete was a transvestite. He could make himself up to resemble a woman, almost passable, whom he had named Cheryl. It was different, but somehow Pete made it look entirely normal for him. Occasionally, mostly as a gag, he would get all dolled up and come to work. It was not big deal; Bernard and I were used to it, and it had no impact on our business. However, our wives took more than a passing interest in his behavior. They were constantly talking about him amongst themselves; they even purposely encouraged his transvestite interests.
Two years ago, something strange happened, and my life has never been the same. Pete came to work every day for a week dressed as Cheryl. However, by the next Monday, some kind of miraculous change had occurred. When Cheryl arrived at work, she looked like a real woman, with long, fine blond hair; she wore a figure-hugging blue dress that amply displayed all her newly acquired curves. She looked exceeding attractive, much like a woman that many men would have dreamt about having and holding. Cheryl's appearance and voice were now flawlessly feminine, and she seemed to have developed a slightly giggly, female disposition. Pete and Loretta switched places, and Pete threw himself into the role of secretary with vigor. It was obvious that it was more than a harmless game, and it made me very nervous. When I asked Hilda about the details, she was evasive and would not even give a hint about what had happened. Bernard and I discussed this hours at a time during the following days. We agreed that our wives had somehow engineered a change of sex for Pete, but not by any known physical means. We tried to find a way to examine Cheryl in the nude, but Cheryl would not agree, and Hilda put a stop to the whole idea. She called us perverts for even suggesting such a thing.
As if this were not strange enough, a week later everyone carried on as if nothing unusual had happened. Everyone claimed that Loretta had always been one of my partners, and they also claimed that Cheryl had always been her live-in secretary. Even Bernard corroborated the story, in a complete reversal from the facts we had discussed two days prior. When I tried to question Cheryl, I got absolutely nowhere; she had turned into a really-dumb blond, who constantly preened herself, who literally knew nothing about anything, and who dared even to flirt with me. I thought that our carefully kept company records would substantiate my memories, but they too supported an altered set of facts. I began to question whether I was losing my mind, especially since I was powerless to find any evidence to submit to the police or the FBI.
A little more than six months later, Bernard unexpectedly came to work one Monday morning wearing a dress and all the other necessary accessories. While not quite as passable as Pete had been, he nevertheless seemed to have acquired good make-up skills. Bernard claimed that he was doing it as a gag that he had always wanted to see what it was like to be a woman. Of course, there was no mention of following in Pete's footsteps, because Pete no longer existed, except in my memory.
Bernard's transvestite behavior had no effect on our business; however, one day, about a year after Pete had changed, he came to work as a full-fledged woman, whom he had named Maree. On that day, Maree and Suzanne traded places. As before, in a manner similar to Cheryl and Loretta, the transition became permanent in a week, and it was reflected in all company records. All the available facts claimed that Loretta and Suzanne had always been my partners, and that Cheryl and Mares had been their live-in secretaries for years. Cheryl and Mares now both had boyfriends, whom they dated frequently. They were both regular flirts, and I know they both had frequent sex.
The inability to reconcile my memories with all these events was exasperating, to say the least. There was also a big nagging question: was I next? I began to dread looking at anything feminine, or even just watching women! I was trying to resist feelings that I did not have.
It is now six months later. Last week, I was a normal man who never wanted to be anything but a man, but I now feel myself developing an irresistible urge to dress as a woman. It is a desire that Pete had been born with and that Bernard had mysteriously developed. I am mustering all my will to resist whatever Hilda and her sisters are trying to do to me. So far, I've been immune to their brainwashing, but I doubt I can win against an idea that has begun to penetrate my every thought. It's like sex; I sense there will be no relief until I've done it, until I begin to dress as a woman. Hilda keeps dropping hints about me dressing up like a woman, almost as if she considered it to be a humorous fantasy that I would not mind fulfilling for her. I can't walk by any kind of a women's store without contemplating buying clothing and accessories for myself!
June 10th
Today I went to work dressed as a woman. I was not convincing at all; people all gave me long, questioning stares. I could not manage the pumps with the three-inch heels. My feet really hurt. Hilda put me in such a tight girdle that using the rest room was really a chore. I was so distraught that I did not accomplish anything. It was so embarrassing! I am so glad that this day is over. Now I am back to normal . . . I hope.
June 11th
I went to work in a dress again, dreading every moment of it, but I felt unexpectedly good . . . my feet did not hurt as much, for some reason. Thank goodness, I did not wear that stupid girdle. People still stared, but not as frequently. Hilda changed the makeup, which somehow made me more passable. I think I can resist; I can't let Hilda get her way. Now I am safe at home, but only for a while.
June 12th
I've lost, and Hilda won! Somehow I've lost weight, maybe as much as twenty-five pounds. I did not notice at first, but now I have put that weight loss to good use. Today, Hilda dressed me to the hilt like a bombshell, starting with a long-haired wig that had a light red tint. I wore a pretty, but businesslike red short-sleeved dress, a feminine matching jacket of a light black color, and black pumps with very high heels. The dress has a full skirt that forms an interesting circle when I pivot around. I did not want to leave the house, but Hilda grabbed my arm and took me out on a shopping trip for women's clothing. Somehow, I make an even more-convincing woman than Pete did before his transformation. I think my face looks a little different, much more feminine than it used to be. Except for my voice and my walk, which seem to be changing, there was nothing to warn people of my true sex. I even used the ladies' dressing rooms without any problems. Several men actually paid me approving glances, and it made me happy! I know I should resist. As I stand here in front of our bedroom mirror, I think I am becoming addicted to my new appearance!
June 13th
I am continually becoming more feminine. I think my breasts are getting larger, and my waistline is shrinking. This is amazing; my belly paunch is entirely gone, despite the fact that no amount of dieting had ever reduced it. Oh, I think the pitch of my voice is changing too. I can't keep track of it all, and I feel confused. I assisted Cheryl and Maree with their typing. I made a very awkward secretary.
June 14
It is Saturday, so why did I get all made up, with this white blouse, straight brown skirt, and all the accessories, just to putter around the house? Then I checked my closet. All my male clothing was gone! Every scrap of clothing and underwear had been switched. I do not have any pants, not even women's pants! I confronted Hilda, but she just shrugged her shoulders.
I'm changing my clothes again. I am going to wear the blue satin dress with the matching jacket. It has a long, slitted skirt, and is nearly off-the-shoulder except for the small sleeves. I have to wear a strapless brassiere. It's not just because it goes with the dress, but also because I need to wear one to hold my buxom in place. The larger my breasts grow, the smaller my male anatomy seems to become.
Hilda and I are going on a double date, dining and dancing with a couple of guys. I should be terrified, but I'm not.
June 15
When I got up this morning, my voice had gone up half an octave, and my breasts had grown slightly larger. I need new brassieres, because the ones I have are now too tight. I think I should resist, but I do not know how. Worse, memories of a nonexistent girl's childhood are filling my mind. My experiences as a young boy are slowly, but surely turning into those of a young girl. Alterations are smothering me!
June 16th
Today I again, almost routinely, went to work dressed as a woman. Hilda has named me Belinda. I got many approving compliments from everyone. Cheryl and Maree giggled a lot, and I joined them permanently. It was truly an all-woman office.
It was as if I had always done this sort of thing, the way everyone casually accepted my transformation. I still think I am charge, but I know I can't change destiny. Pete and Bernard eventually became Cheryl and Maree in body and soul. This situation will relentlessly engulf me! Soon, I will forget everything I have ever known, and Hilda and I will permanently switch places; then no one will remember. I wonder if this journal will even remain intact. Will its wording change to reflect an altered history?
I have not yet changed back to Charles, though I have been home for several hours. I am not sure I even want to change, no matter how hard my feet ache in these high-heeled pumps. Even little Victoria is totally accepting, as if every father should dress as a woman!
June 17th
I think I am about to become woman for real. Hilda is doing this to me; I am quite sure. I felt too sick to go to work today, so I am lying in bed at home. I feel queasy, and my whole body either aches or seems to be in motion. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, and my groin is especially tender! My nipples are really painful. In fact, they are so tender that I can't even rest this journal on my chest while I write this entry. I think I am also shrinking in size, but I do not want to look in the mirror. I am overjoyed to be experiencing what should be too embarrassing for words. I do not know how to resist, even if I chose to do so.
June 18th
I went to work as Belinda today. Hilda and I switched places. I know the situation will become permanent, but I don't care! I like being a pretty secretary, sitting there at the desk with my pretty legs crossed. It's pure ecstasy. I don't even know why I bother to write in this journal; it's irrelevant. I am now a real woman. All my women's clothing fits me like a glove, as if it had been personally tailored just for me. It's wonderful. I think it's really great, no matter how much trouble it is to get dressed, or how much longer it takes to use the bathroom! In all the time I've spent staring at pretty girls, I never realized how fortunate they were to be who they were. Dresses, skirts, make-up, jewelry, and especially the high-heeled shoes: it all seems so indispensable to my life. Charles' life was like a boring nightmare, I think. Men lead such dreadful lives. This must be how Pete and Bernard felt. I can't resist; why would I even want to resist? With a body like mine, a man's life is certainly not for me!
June 22nd
I am sure this will be the last entry. I can feel all the memories of Charles fading into a nonexistent past. Tomorrow morning, as per the schedule that only I seem to remember, I'm sure that I will wake up as Belinda, not as Charles becoming Belinda. I hate Charles, anyway, because he does not want me to be who I am. I'm sure men are great as lovers and husbands, but I certainly would not want to be one. I can't seem to think of anything to say. Why am I writing in this stupid book? I should probably write down my agenda for tomorrow. Mrs. James says that I need to get more organized. In fact, she has enrolled me in a special three-week course just to improve my skills. I know I won't let her down. Maybe I'll even meet some interesting guys. I have a date tonight with Jim McKinney, a junior executive from an office down the hall. He's cute too, and he really likes my red dress with the short skirt. I really like the way he leads me around; he's so confident! He's going to pick me up in two hours. It's time to get ready. Afterwards, maybe we'll go to his place and . . . "
"This is how the journal ends. Apparently, this is the way I, Belinda Ferguson, came to be!" A long sigh punctuates the words. "Even though I can't remember any of this, my intuition says that it is all true! Part of the reason for dictating this story is to sort out all the facts for myself. I have to leave; I know I must get away from Hilda James and her sisters. Cheryl and Maree are totally in their power and can never escape, but I can; I have a certain amount of immunity. I like being this woman, no matter how she came to be, but I fear Hilda's powers. I do not have many possessions in life, so my identity is extremely important to me.
"My bags are packed and sitting in my room. I am truly convinced that I must leave! I do not see what choice I have. I am a good secretary, so I should be able to get a job anywhere. Mrs. James is away for several hours. She won't be able to . . .
"There's someone coming up the narrow staircase; I can hear the steps creaking. I don't know who it is, but I am tucking this recorder inside a box, out of sight. I'll resume speaking shortly."
This is Lorilinda again. Belinda apparently left the recorder on; it may have been an accident. Though the following weird event was slightly muffled, it was clearly recorded. The door opens next, and Mrs. James enters the attic. There is a pause of almost a minute, before she speaks.
"Belinda, I thought I heard you. What are you doing here?"
"I...heard a noise, like a bird trapped up here, so I came up to investigate."
"What is that book you are holding, my dear? Don't try to fool me; I see you holding it down at your side. You're up to something, I just know it!"
"It's just an old book I found. It's really nothing. Hey!"
"I'm going to see what this book is. I understand quite clearly. Obviously, you also see too."
"I don't understand, Mrs. James."
"Yes you do! I can see this tells much of the story. You are really quite resistant, but I will take care of that forever!"
"What are you going to do?" Belinda is starting to cry.
"My most powerful transformation . . . like thus!"
A scream follows. Belinda is screaming out of shear terror. Her scream is quite long, and it increases to a high, earsplitting pitch. Another moment of silence follows. A startling revelation then follows.
"Mommy, mommy, there was a scary man up here!" The voice is that of a small girl.
"It's all right, my dear Belinda. The man in the book won't bother you anymore; I've vanquished him forever. Mother will protect you."
"Oh, mommy, I'm still scared. Hold me tight!"
"I will, dear. Let's go downstairs. I will burn the bad book. You'll be safe then. Your big sister, Victoria, will be home from school soon; then the pair of you can play." Footsteps down the staircase fade into silence.
This is Lorilinda again. This is the end of what was on the tape. The implication is that Mrs. James first turned her husband into an attractive woman. However, when her domination was not complete, she then turned him into a little girl, whom she raised as her daughter. Once Belinda was reduced to a child's body and memories, there was no chance that Charles would ever again emerge.
I talked to the next door neighbor, Mrs. Miller, for more than two hours. She remembered Mrs. James and her two daughters quite well. She considered them to be darling little girls, who often came to visit her, to listen to her stories about her life and her children. When the girls were teenagers, Mrs. James moved away. The house was vacant for about five years.
However, until recently, both the girls often sent cards to Mrs. Miller regularly. Both had gotten married, and both had had at least one baby. Perhaps it was a happy ending to a far-fetched tale. Although I found many records and eyewitness accounts concerning Belinda, Maree, Cheryl, Hilda, Loretta, and Suzanne, there was absolutely no mention of Charles, Bernard, or Pete beyond what was transcribed on the tapes.
As a transgendered person, I might envy Charles' fate, but I do not wish for it. My memories, of my life as a man, make my adopted life as a woman profoundly enjoyable.
This is the end of the story as I know it. Hilda and her sisters are probably out there somewhere. Who knows what kind of mischief they are causing. I'll leave that to the imagination of you readers.
Sincerely,
Lorilinda