Why did I do it? She was cute. She was certainly well put together. She was definitely great in the sack. Why did I cheat on my lovely wife of 5 years? Because I was a stupid, dick-headed male.

Let's face it. Women are superior to men. They are smarter, more creative, more flexible and far more devious. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Believe it.

My wife, Nancy, forgave me my indiscretion. She said she understood, and since I swore that nothing like this would ever happen again we would forget about it completely.

She even became more loving. She became concerned after my health. She brought home multi-vitamins for both of us to take so that we would be that much healthier. She became stronger. I had complications.

A few months after my dalliance, I began to notice changes. My skin had begun to soften, my nipples began to feel tender and I no longer awoke with an erection. I told her how I was feeling and asked if she knew anything about this. She said it was probably nothing to worry about. She asked if I felt okay, physically? I did feel fine. In fact, I had even dropped a few pounds.

A month later, I realized I was not fine. I'd lost another 5 pounds and my hips had begun to widen. The worst part was my chest. Breasts had started forming. They weren't large but they were there. My wife measured my chest, and we were shocked to find that the tape said 34A. What was happening? My wife said she would find out. As a medical researcher she had access to a great deal of information.

A week later she told me she had found only one possible cause. Manders' Syndrome. A psycho-physiological manifestation in which the afflicted begins to change gender.

Huh? Was she kidding me? I was turning into a woman? Not really. I was changing, yes, but it was quite impossible to change my sex. This was a psychological problem with physical symptoms. I didn't know what to think. She said I should see a shrink. I was frightened. I told her to make an appointment for me.

Dr. Patricia Bernard had enough diplomas on her wall to paper the Superdome. She was a very handsome woman who exuded a confidence and strength I found comforting. Nancy had filled her in on my condition and, after speaking with me, Dr. Bernard felt sure that I was suffering from Manders' Syndrome and that there was treatment.

She told me I wasn't crazy. My guilt over cheating on Nancy was causing this spontaneous change and, with proper therapy and minor drug treatment, I could be normal again. The first stage was to accept my burgeoning femininity, to behave as though I were a woman. The better I accepted this, the more my unconscious mind would come to reject the change and improvement would come that much faster.

I was crushed. I was hoping there would be some sort of hypno-therapy, or drug therapy or something. No. This was the only way she knew of. She would give me male hormones to counter-act what was happening, but those were the only drugs that might help. Otherwise, I could develop extremely serious psychoses and, possibly, multiple personalities. I could dress like a girl or lose my mind. Some choice.

She explained to Nancy that it would be best for her to help me. She should teach me how to dress, apply make-up, walk, talk, think and do everything as a woman. First rule: No sex between the two of us. None. Second rule: We must get rid of everything in our lives that would remind me of my maleness. Clothing, pictures, possessions, everything. Third rule: I must adopt a feminine identity. I was to choose a new name and be addressed only by that name. I must also not associate with anyone who knew my real identity unless they would understand completely and assist in my therapy. The more I immersed myself, the sooner I would be well.

Like I said, some choice. Not a word was spoken in the car on the drive home. What was there to say?

When we arrived at the house, I told Nancy I wanted to be alone for a while. She understood, and said she needed to run some errands and would be home soon. I went into my basement workshop and, among my tools and oily rags, and cried.

She came home some time later. She was laden with boxes and bags. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was in them. We got them upstairs and unpacked everything. I'll say this for her, she never did anything by halves. She was very understanding about what this therapy would entail and took a very pragmatic attitude.

Shoes, blouses, panties, skirts, hose, belts, purses, lotions, creams, make-up, hairclips and more. I grew even more despondent. She held me while I cried, again. She remained dry-eyed and cool. She was strong, and I would need that strength to help me through this time.

I decided to accept my fate like a man. A woman, rather.

"What is the first step?", I asked. "A bath.", she told me. She produced a feminine razor and told me start one and get busy. The sooner I started, the sooner she would have her husband back.

I got busy. I thought shaving my face was a pain. This was far worse. It took forever, but I managed to shave my legs smooth only nicking my ankle once. My chest and stomach were no problem, being fairly hairless there, anyway. With my armpits I was extremely careful. Nancy came in and took a look at me. She suggested that I shave my groin down to a smaller triangle to match hers. Was there no end to this?

I showered down, watching my maleness swirl down the drain. Nancy had left a bottle of some skin lotion on the sink and I applied it to my now smooth body. It smelled nice, and I did feel a certain amount of pride at how good to the touch my skin felt. I was beginning to accept this.

I walked into the bedroom to see Nancy packing all of my clothing into moving boxes. "All of it?", I said?. "Yes.", she said. "Everything." I went into the kitchen and smoked a few cigarettes while she packed away even more vestiges of my identity. My identity, I thought. I was going to need a new name. Donna? No, I didn't want a feminization of my name. I wanted something completely removed from me. So what, then? I began thinking of female names I liked hearing. Something feminine, but not precious. But not too plain. Jesus, this was tough. Somewhere out of my memory the name of the girl who took my cherry swam up.

Nicole. Nicole? It was nice. Sexy. God, this was weird.

I padded upstairs to find all of my clothes gone. Packed away for the day when I could assume my real self again.

"Honey, er, Nancy? What do you think of Nicole. For me. As my new name?" A slow smile played across her face.

"I love it.", she said. "I absolutely love it." She smiled sweetly at me, and held out a pair of pink cotton panties. "Try these on, Nicole. Its time to get started."