I stood in line at the grocery store with some much needed things for my empty fridge, and as I waited I looked at the tabloids and their outlandish cover pictures. The best one had a rather ordinary looking college aged boy, and next to him was a voluptuous young woman that kind of reminded me of the secretary that caught my husband's eye last year. I couldn't blame her to much for stealing my charming man, and for him I eventually felt pity, but after my seething rage cooled.
While she was every man's dream, she WAS every other man's dream as well, and I just knew one would steal her away from my former husband when his cash ran out.

In bold letters above the tabloid picture it claimed these were before and after pictures of the same boy after he spent all night laying in a field of femmi weed. I laughed out loud when I read that, and the nice older woman in front of me looked like she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but in front of me in line. I showed her the cover of the tabloid just so she wouldn't think I was insane, but with the thin paper now in my cart I don't think I convinced her.

...I did some research, and I found there actually was such a thing as femmi weed, and after an exhaustive search I had some of their seeds waiting in my mail box. It was more of a joke than anything else as I didn't actually believe the tabloid article, but I planted some of them anyway in a large pot in one of my spare bedrooms. This particular bedroom faced the morning sun and had a set of glass sliding doors, and several skylights overhead as well. I had several other plants in there, and it was a wonderful place to sit and read in the morning. My femmi weeds wouldn't germinate despite my best efforts, and I contacted the people I got the seeds from and ordered some of the special soil they were said to need.

My second attempt went much better, but with the cost of the soil and the shipping I was pretty heavily invested for a joke. I sat in my reading room several days a week with all my plants, to include now two pots with the pretty weed sprouts. Weeks went by and my coworkers asked if I was going to a gym, and one of the bolder ladies asked me if I had some "work done". I answered "no" to both, but started to pay attention to my changing body, almost as much as some of the men at work now did.

I found myself growing in places that could use it, and loosing in others, and this forced me to shop for some new underthings and clothes that properly fit my new body. These were brighter and more cheerful things to match my new mood, and gone were the drab earth tones from my closet. Men started asking me out, whether it was my new and sexy clothes, or the cheerful way I found myself looking at things I can't say, but things were starting to be "fun" again post philandering husband. I had read all about the femmi weed legend, and if my new body and attitude were due to my brief exposure to the pretty weeds, so much the better. I suspected just being in the same room and watering the plants were all I needed to keep this slow transformation going, and as an unintended consequence they kept me randy all day long. I had developed a reputation as a "fun" date, and fun dates never have to pay for anything!

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All my fun seemed like it came to an end one rainy night when I found my former husband standing on my doorstep, apparently both his very young girlfriend and all his cash, along with his good job lost in one terrible month. Terrible for him, but vindicating for me! I was only wearing shorts and a tee shirt while catching up on my chores around the house as I had been out twice during the week with the same man, and neither time I slept at home. His eyes popped out when he first saw me with the effects of the femmi weeds, and I could tell for a moment he thought he had the wrong house. There was no car in the driveway, and I assumed he was dropped off by a taxi so complete was his fall.

I should have sent him packing, but my conscience wouldn't let me after he graciously paid for most of the house I now called my own. He was soaked to the bone and drunk, and foolishly thought he might spend the night in my bed just like old times. I laughed at him instead and told him to strip and take a shower, and I would hook him up with a room for a few days until he worked things out. I threw his stinky wet clothes in a garbage bag, and then in the trash. He came out still drunk, but smelling much better, pretty like the lavender body wash I used instead of soap. He was wearing the short sexy robe I leave in the shower as well, and both his new fragrance and the robe gave me a devilish idea.

I put him up in my reading room with the femmi weeds just for the night to see what happened. I had other rooms, but this one at least had a futon. If the weeds transformed me oh so slowly just by breathing up their scent week after week, perhaps one night in there would help him to get in touch with his feminine side. I slept alone in my bed that night, but it was hard as I had a perpetual smirk at the prank I was pulling off.

...The next day he cooked and cleaned my house wearing some of my old pastel colored sweats that no longer fit me, but at least earning his keep. I had no way of knowing if his domestic desires were due to my femmi weeds, or just good manors, but it was nice all the same. He was however cramping my sex life, but there was no way I was going to let him spoil my long planned Halloween costume party at the house.
Several of my guy friends would be there, including one former coworker of his named Ted, as well as other women friends of mine. We were to be annominis in our costumes, and I told the ladies I intended to dress provocatively, but they were free to do as they wanted. I originally bought a French maids costume and eye mask, it wasn't the most creative idea in the world, and when I saw a sexy little Bo peep costume I bought it as well. My ex didn't know it yet, but one of them would be his costume. He knew what some of my woman friends looked like, and was excited when he heard of my party, and that I was allowing him to stay if he wore the costume I had picked out for him.

I showed him both costumes and I expected him to explode with the implication that he dress in drag, but to my surprise he picked the French maid's costume and only said that he would need some things to make it look good on him. I smiled at the picture I formed in my mind, and then again when he came out of the shower shaved smooth everywhere in preparation. I shopped at a special boutique the next day, convinced he was really going to go through with this. Queen sized thigh high stockings, high heels to fit, a large bra with falsies, and gaff panties to keep his package out of the way. As an afterthought I bought him a shaper, it wasn't quite a corset, but would make his shape more feminine. His long hair that had fallen out of style some years ago would be pinned up under his maids bonnet as well.

The gaff panties had a pocket that he slipped into, and the position forced him to sway his hips when he walked to avoid crushing his sensitive man parts, but presented a flat front where his man junk would ordinarily be by design. I bought them small on purpose for my former philandering husband, but he didn't complain at all, even when I pulled them up tight for him sinking his man junk deep into a spot it was never intended to fit. I already had all the makeup we needed, and I helped him into his costume hours before the guests were due to arrive anticipating all sorts of problems. I was pleasantly surprised not to have any, and I discovered he was actually into this French maid thing in a big way, making me think he had some natural curiosity about women's clothes. Either that or he knew I had invited one of his former coworkers and he didn't want to be recognized by him.

I had to warn him repeatedly not to touch his face more than once as I worked on his newly effeminate features, and his lipsticked lips broke into a smile when he finally saw the results in my mirror. I realized he wasn't faking this, and it was a side of him I didn't know existed!
I also realized this was the perfect opportunity to tell him about the femmi weeds in his room, and he laughed at me when I did telling me he read the same article on line. I offered him a wager as I didn't need them any longer, (and they were getting old this late in the season), if he slept on a bed of them and nothing happened, I would go "around the world" with him in my bed just like we did on our honeymoon. If he did change into a real woman however, I told him he would have to do the same with at least one of the men at my party. I knew this would make any transformation stick, if the story was true in the tabloid.
Mine stuck, and I had consummated my transformation many times over the last few months.

He laughed at me again, but stopped instantly when I held out my hand to shake on it. He hesitated a moment, but grabbed my hand and shook it without letting go. I thought he was certain he had me, but I just smiled back at him and told him he would make a great maid either way.
I walked away, only to return with my nearly empty bottle of astroglide from my nightstand, and I handed it to him and told him he would need this one way or the other. The blank look on his pretty face was priceless!

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I had time to spare and jumped into my bath before I transformed myself into little Bo peep, and I heard my French maid setting up for our guests, thinking to myself that he wanted to be the maid for the party. When I finally came out he had set up his futon as I described to him, and he was napping on top of the freshly cut weeds as we agreed in our wager. I suddenly realized how old and dry the weeds looked once cut, but I really couldn't loose this bet, as the worst case scenario would have me doing something I didn't mind at all with a man who was once a skilled lover.

As it turns out there were several identical French maid costumes at the party, and I was glad I wasn't one of them. I also lost track of time with my friends and assumed my ex had slept the night away, and when things died down I checked on him only to find him under a blanket face down and sound asleep. How the blanket got on him I didn't ponder in my inebriated state.

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I was woken earlier than I wanted with a blanket wrapped woman,( who looked far too much like the girl my ex left me for), inches from my face excitedly telling me she had the strangest dream, and she went on to describe how she dreamed that she did several guys last night down in the laundry room, pinned down on top of the washing machine as it went through it's cycles. From her description of the events she wasn't taken against her will, and any restraint was cooperatively applied.

Ted, the man who shared my bed, woke and rolled over. "Sweetheart that was no dream, it's all the guys were talking about last night!"

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...Six months later Ted is a regular in my bed, and my ex even has her own bedroom in the basement as well. We call her Sandra these days, and she is much happier cleaning my house and doing the occasional threesome with Ted and I than she would ever be serving time for embezzling funds from her former employers. She admitted to me privately that when she realized the femmi weeds worked, it seemed like the perfect escape from the law...

She's a randy little slut these days, and we have her cleaning houses and providing other services for our clients at fair market pricing.
She read the same article I did about the femmi weeds, but in her interpretation she needs to consummate the transformation every few days.

Who am I to correct her?