"Mrs. Hollingworth" Project Author: mhpn

Word count: 5196

"Mrs. Hollingworth" Plan

"Of course I'll stay for the wedding, I won't miss it, dear Tiffany!" said Mrs. Lawrence, smiling, standing behind me. Meanwhile, I was sitting in my luxurious and feminine living room, checking my makeup and giving my hair a final touch to satisfy my feminine vanity. I combed my curls neatly and then firmly styled them. Mrs. Lawrence looked delighted; this beautiful woman had been with me like a shadow for two and a half years, and no one was better at educating women than her. Her name was Grace, but because of her air and womanly demeanor, calling her Grace seemed inappropriate, so everyone called her "Mrs. Lawrence." The amiable 50-year-old woman possessed an unassuming appearance that seemed incongruous with her looks. A silver chain connected to her horn-rimmed glasses hung around her neck, and her slightly graying hair was neatly styled in a tight bun, not a single strand out of place. Her old-fashioned makeup was equally impeccable; you would never see a single snag on her stockings. For her, it was all a way of life. She had run an etiquette school for upper-class women for many years, and was semi-retired when Rick approached her to work with me. It was a very unusual job, but she accepted due to the substantial income.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Ms. Lawrence, wearing stilettos, turned and shuffled through the room. Her shoes were paired with zippered nylon stockings, and her satin-trimmed wool skirt rustled with each movement, accentuating her voluptuous figure. She wore a long-sleeved satin blouse with a bow tie, which clung to her large, swaying breasts. She opened the door, her bright red nail polish standing out as she turned the handle. Two female employees stood outside; after greeting them, she noticed the suitcases and plastic bags they were carrying. “Once you’ve packed everything into the trash, I think there’s no need to keep those things.” She said, leading them into the room. The three of them quickly walked to the spacious wardrobe, opened the white double doors, and went inside. When Ms. Lawrence returned to my side, I could hear the sounds of employees packing things into boxes and plastic bags.

“I wanted to talk to you about those magazines and brochures this afternoon, darling,”
she said, standing beside me as I finished my hair, makeup, and smoothed out my dress.

“So early?” I was a little surprised.

“The divorce is only three months away. You need to pick out your wedding dress and then wait for it to be sewn up. Then you have to try it on. Everything takes time,” she explained. "Are you going down for breakfast, darling?"

"No… I want to be alone and think for a while. I think I'll spend this morning by myself."

"Then shall we look through these pamphlets together during afternoon tea?" She smiled, but her voice held a hint of authority. I had learned to obey that voice long ago.

"Yes, yes, that's fine, Ms. Lawrence."

A moment later, the female employee from the storage room came out carrying full boxes and overflowing garbage bags. Ms. Lawrence followed them out of the room, accompanied by the rustling of nylon stockings and the scent of her perfume. I was left alone in the spacious women's living room.

At this time of day, I should be downstairs having breakfast, starting my day like a pampered housewife. But the upcoming wedding and all the details kept swirling in my mind, making me dizzy and my stomach cramp. All I wanted to do was lie down for a while. Awakened by vanity, I got out of bed, turned off the light above the mirror, and shuffled to the closet, taking out a hanger wrapped in satin. I untied my dress and hung it up to prevent it from wrinkling, then picked up a white satin-trimmed long dress from another hanger and put it on. As I looked around the closet, I realized that the people had done a thorough job; the three men's suits, shirts, and two pairs of wingtip shoes that had been there were all gone. My tennis shoes, two pairs of casual shoes, all my shirts, t-shirts, several pairs of jeans, three baseball caps, and all my shoelaces and belts are gone. My baseball bat and my favorite baseball glove are gone. Even the prizes I won in golf tournaments years ago, my diplomas, and other trophies, along with the trinkets I've collected over the years, are all gone. Because those clothes no longer suit my new lifestyle. As for those prizes? They belong only to Tim. Du Bois, a name that exists only in slowly fading memories. Through Richard's money, power, connections, and Ms. Lawrence's continued patronage, Tim has become history, replaced by Tiffany. One fact I cannot avoid is that I am now a woman forever! I am Tiffany, and soon I will be Richard. Mrs. Hollingworth!

My gaze passed over rows of high heels, rows of dresses, blouses, and gowns, finally settling on a long mirror at the other end of the wardrobe. Inside, a fully dressed woman was looking back at me, wearing a white satin gown with a slit in the front over her lingerie. What I saw was the graceful curve of her body, her slender waist, her full, womanly hips, and those very full breasts, which seemed about to overflow from my white lace nylon bra, the exquisite bra paired with a well-fitting blouse. Ms. Lawrence's hairstyle for me was as perfect as ever, the hair curled and styled into a perfect classic look. My makeup was flawless: long eyelashes, eyeshadow, blush, diamond earrings dangling from my pierced earlobes, and a pearl necklace adorning my smooth, perfume-scented neck. The shimmering red lipstick complemented my expensive ceramic finger cots, the same color used in my pedicure, the vibrant red clearly visible even through my thin nylon stockings. Five-inch stilettos with back laces gracefully draped over my silk-stockinged feet. The floral scent of perfume enveloped me, filling the air.

I shook my head, the earrings clinking softly. I lifted the hem of my dress and stepped out of the closet, my stomach churning again. I turned off all the lights in the room and turned on the small bedside lamp, its light spilling from the pale pink lace lampshade. Then I closed the heavy satin curtains. I could feel the friction between my shirt dress and corset, my waist-cinching panties and full-cup bra. Thankfully, Ms. Lawrence had allowed me to forgo the corset today, opting instead for a white front-clasp corset. As I tiptoed towards the bed in my stilettos, I could feel the involuntary sway of my waist and the sway of my breasts, the familiar rustling of my nylon stockings filling the air. I took off my dress, placing

it on the cushioned chaise lounge beside the four-poster bed, then sat on the edge of the bed and removed my shoes. I lay on the pale pink satin sheets and mattress, pulled the lace-trimmed duvet over myself, and waited for my chaotic thoughts to slowly dissipate.

My name is Tim Benson, male, 25 years old. I live in a cramped single room, drive a
rickety old car, and work for a domineering hardware store owner. As the store's best stock clerk and manager's assistant, I'm barely making minimum wage. While the store pays overtime, it doesn't provide any holiday pay, dental insurance, 401k (retirement benefit plan), or retirement plans. That's all the work the store offers us—a purely work-for-money plan. I'm stuck here, unable to go anywhere, and the days pass quickly and peacefully. I have been looking forward to a better future.

But now, I was dressed from head to toe, inside and out, like Joan Clifford and Donald Reed, in the women's bedroom of a multi-million dollar mansion! A jumble of thoughts continued to swirl in my mind. I thought of Tim, but it was difficult to recall anything related to him, and it became increasingly difficult over time. This might be partly due to my "training," but I think the main reason was the two injections I received every month and the pink pills Ms. Lawrence gave me every morning, watching me swallow one before leaving satisfied. I could feel the estrogen, the female hormones, coursing through my veins to my brain, directly affecting my thoughts, softening them, reshaping them, forcing my ideas to change, forcing me to accept my new body and the new identity that would accompany me for life! The mental chaos left me exhausted. When I tried to think, to recall the past two and a half years of my life, to understand those things, I felt like I was drifting. Then, I remembered that Halloween Eve gathering again.

Yes, that was where it all began. Someone once said that missing a bus or making a decision can change a man's fate.

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