Fembug

…"Is there nothing you can do?" I remember asking my doctor, my softer and higher voice even sounding desperate to me, just as it likely did to her I'm sure. I had been on safari when the little tick-like bug had initially bitten me, that little monster tiny, barely a millimeter in length, before of course it had gorged itself on my blood. It's little pink body - yes, the thing was actually pink, proving once and for all that nature does in fact have a sense of humor - then expanded, much like a North American tick does. This wasn't some perverse version of Lymes Disease though, easily treated with a host of antibiotics if caught early.

This awful little thing was called a Fembug by the natives for a reason - in their native tongue that I didn't understand a word of obviously - it's particular carried pathogen changing my genetic structure, and rather rapidly, toward that of the "fairer" sex. The locals even used this little bug intentionally, on their less masculine competing and defeated tribes-’men’, to permanently remove them from the breeding pool competition for one of the tribe's few fertile females, "for the good of the tribe." This also perversely provided extra "female" hands that were in short supply for the female chores; these tribes obviously not the least bit liberated, but then again, neither was I.

It first started as a case of erectile dysfunction, or ED, accompanied by a fair amount of shrinkage; they made a little blue pill for the former, once I summoned the courage to see a doctor. It was embarrassing, especially for a famous big game hunter like myself.

My lovely trophy wife was quite supportive though it all, she even found me this particular specialist; my female sexual dysfunction doctor was also discrete, and that was important to a man like me for obvious reasons. She was also young and hot, and had I no reason to be seeing her professionally, I surely would like to be seeing her socially, as in hooking up with her behind my present wife's back. One never knows when one will need a fresh new trophy wife, although every eight years or so was my average over the last twenty-ish years so far, meaning the present one was about half way done. Nothing beats that new young and pretty fresh wife smell, kind of like the smell of a brand new shiny sports car, but I digress… Anyway, doctors are highly educated though, independent critical thinkers even, and they therefore make terrible trophies themselves. Although there is an exception to every rule; my present wife's baby sister is also a doctor, and also smokin hot too…

If I could have found a good way to tap that I already would have, but these days I had bigger problems, or should I say "smaller problems." As I said, it started with a case of shrinkage and ED, but then to my horror my boobs started growing, they called that gynecomastia. Along with that my skin started to get softer, and my body hair fell out, making me look like I had shaved myself bare, face to toe. The hair on my head wasn't affected, I always maintained a long mop of it, even though short hair was currently in fashion.

Presently, my higher pitched voice - that came out as little more than a squeak - was my biggest clothed externally obvious problem, although my ever decreasing muscle mass, missing Adam's apple, and still higher cheekbones, could be a close second. Eventually my clothes no longer fit either, and by this time I couldn't really leave our fine home, other than as a passenger in my wife's tinted window SUV, without likely causing a scene with the neighbors. She had a plan for this too, the resourceful woman she had become, but if she had ever suggested such a thing before this little disease had altered my psyche, I would have flipped my lid and given her the boot early. As it was, her plan for a disguise while I made my many doctors appointments was brilliant; my female doctor played along so as not to further humiliate me, or so she had claimed at the time.

Appearance is after all subjective, even for a formerly shallow guy like myself, but that being said my current wife's efforts at disguising me for my doctor's visits paid off. I looked good like this, makeup, hair, nails and all, but more importantly, I felt good like this; obviously just more feminizing side effects of the disease I had been given, to be sure.

I needed new clothes anyway, so, “why not buy ones that could perpetuate this new identity I needed to assume, at least until some cure could be found?” she had argued. She always won these kinds of arguments now, I observed. I needed her more than ever though, she had to know this, and this aided in my submission to her, there was just no other natural outcome, at least in the short term until I was over this thing that I had contracted. Long term was another matter, and I would eventually give this one the boot too, and maybe even hook up with my hot doctor, once she cured this disease for me and everything was back ‘up’ and working properly…

…A year after my unfortunate transformation - caused by that evil fembug - I have a new name, a new bedroom, a new job and employer, and even a new attitude. Things haven't gone my way at all, my trophy wife is now ‘Ms. Hellen’, to me, as are the staff, to be addressed as either Ms, Mrs, or Mr exclusively. Even the gardener/groundsman is Mr. Henry to me now; I was admonished not to be the slightest bit familiar with any of them when addressing them, or there would be consequences. I have had several of those already by the way. I am also to jump when they call, and defer to their judgement and orders in even the slightest detail, even the youngest of them. Being ordered about by a teen housekeeper technically in my employ isn't something I've ever contemplated, but I don't have one ounce of remaining aggression to dispute this, at least not any longer.

At one time not all that long ago was their demanding employer, actually talking down to them while directing their actions and labors, but I hadn't realized this at the time. To atone for this rudeness however, Ms Hellen, my former trophy wife, has in effect placed every one of them in a position over my own, all to ostensibly allow me to hide amongst them as another employee, and avoid the publicity that I don't want. This also allows for the much more generous vacation policy enacted by Ms Hellen, instantly much more popular with the staff with that simple move alone. This, she argued successfully, allows me to cross-train into every aspect of domestic servitude, increasing my ability to both hide, and grow more useful and comfortable in my new female persona. This will also increase my employability going forward, she has argued, in case one day she needs to give ME the boot, and I need to seek employment elsewhere…

Ms Hellen's still a stunning woman, it kind of goes hand in hand with being a trophy wife, although now this is accompanied with an inner confidence, and truthfully I find it powerful and exciting. But, then again, so do others, and with the never ending made up story that I'm on extended safari still someplace new, men visit and stay over now, not only as guests at the many parties that she throws in my "absence," but overnight in her bedroom too.

I look and exclusively dress like one of the girls now - although perhaps a more common and dare I say homely version of even the teen girls in Ms Helen's employ - and the staff even treats me as such, with a little retribution thrown in for good measure. I don't dare complain about this though, because not only have I brought this on myself, but the very next step is to deliver me someplace else entirely, for a never ending life of lowly female servitude, for perhaps complete strangers even.

Ms Helen has threatened this several times already, the most recent being just before one of my best friends, big game hunting buddies, spent the night as her guest. He was apparently oblivious to my real identity, as I served them their breakfast the next morning, or perhaps just a skilled actor enjoying my newfound feminized humility. He did look justifiably proud of his efforts that morning, after a presumably hard night of extended passions, entertaining in Ms Helen what had at one time been exclusively mine. Ms Helen deserves such though, if for nothing else than her tireless and selfless efforts to hide me amongst the hired help, and for her efforts to cure me of my ailment. And, she's an absolute tiger in bed, something I used to appreciate at one time, back when I was a functioning man.

Nobody outside the house knows who I really am, or so I am led to believe, with the exception of my hot doctor, and my wife's hot baby sister who was also a doctor. The latter administered whatever chemical concoctions that they wished to try on me next, as I no longer left the house unless I had to. The exams by Ms Helen's sister, now exclusively in our home, were the worst, ordering me to strip naked for her, the other hired help coming and going as I was examined in the center of the sitting room, with not a secret to keep. I had real breasts now, full C cups and heading for a D, and my waist was down to twenty eight, but my hips were thirty four. My guy parts down lower were pretty much missing in action too, retracted back into my pelvic cavity, but none of us had any idea what would really happen next; or so, again, I was led to believe.

"Was this the last phase of things before they turned back around for me, or would I get the whole female experience in total?" I didn't know the answer, but frighteningly, neither apparently did anybody else. Upon reflection, it did seem odd that Ms Helen - who had no love for my big game hunting exploits - was the one to book that last fateful trip for me in the first place. One could even call this female intuition, my new and softer senses attune to such things now, ironic if one thought about it though.

Again, this newfound female intuition wondered "what's next?" Each time I thought I had hit rock bottom, some new low would occur. One time it had been a bare bottom spanking with a slipper, delivered personally by one of the teen housemaids, for wrinkled sheets on a bed that I had made in her stead, all while she was down and visiting with the gardener, for their Wednesday nooner. It was apparently a tradition between them, and had I known about such games myself, back when I was a fully functioning guy, I might have liked some of that myself, but again, I digress. Another new low had been being given my new female name, Sally, and the tiny room my new humble job came with. The worst to date though still being Ms Helen's first overnight male guest, really a stand-in lover, seeing as how I couldn't perform those duties any longer either.

I had no desire, to to be perfectly honest, at least with members of the "fairer" sex. That was a secret that I wished to somehow keep, that the few men on staff were starting to be interesting to me, and my curves and blatant submissiveness were obviously interesting to them in return. If I could have seen the humor at the time I might have thought that this might lend a new meaning to "screwing with the boss!" But, I really wasn't the boss any longer, Ms Helen was, I was just the newest and least skilled employee, and as such I now had a dozen bosses, not to mention any guests Ms Helen might wish to entertain as well…