The Witness - Part II
by: Marina Twelve

 

The Last twenty four hours had been the most incredible series of events in my short fifteen year life. Heck, most old folks had never had an experience that would even come close to my own.

At this time yesterday, I was Tony Zanzetti, your typical city / suburban kid who was riding my skateboard down a back street in town. There was no way I could have known that this was also the time and place that the local "crime boss", (at least that’s what the rumors were) "Fat Eddie", had chosen to personally pump three nine millimeter slugs into a rival. I had seen it all! And Fat Eddie and his goon,"Slick" had seen ME! If Eddie’s car hadn’t been parked in the wrong direction in the narrow alley, and if I hadn’t had my intimate knowledge of the intricate twists, turns and passageways in the areas behind those buildings, I would have been dead now too.

I escaped my pursuers, only to find, when I got home, that the "Feds", who were secretly keeping tabs on Fat Eddie, had already identified ME and had shipped my mother and Sister far away under some witness protection program.

They told ME that not only my own, but my mother and sister’s life would be in danger unless I was able to testify at Fat Eddie’s trial and help put the guy out of business for good. I didn’t want to do it at first, but when they told me that it was Fat Eddie who was responsible for the death of my father, in a robbery, several years ago, my thirst for vengeance got the best of me. I agreed to testify. Little did I realize what I was in for.

Fat Eddie had an extensive network of spies and informers, so the Feds would be extra careful with me. They put me under the care of two of their best operatives, Julie Parker and Louis Harris. This morning, after we felt that we had effectively eluded any of Eddies people who might have been following us, Julie took me to a certain "beauty parlor" in town where I was to be disguised to the point of unrecognizability.

Although the very idea of dressing up like a girl, did not particularly appeal to me, the prospect of me getting shot by one of Eddie’s minions was even less appealing. It was surprising what I would do if I felt the necessity.

I was squeezed into corsets, padded in critical areas and packaged in feminine clothing. Then I had to endure hours sitting in a chair while what seemed like "tons" of long extensions were glued and woven into my hair, my fingernails lengthened and painted and my face worked over with everything short of plastic surgery.

The results were better than expected for all parties concerned, especially myself. Not only did I look female, I looked, as a result of my facial features, most specifically because my somewhat largish nose, perhaps ten years older. And I looked GOOD too. I had to agree, with one of the beautician’s comments that I did "somewhat resemble" "The Star Trek girl", the Counselor Troi character. Hey, she’s quite a pretty lady, so I had immediate confidence in my disguise. She decided to call me "Dianne".

Julie gave me some quick lessons in "the proper way" to walk and a few tips on sitting and climbing into vehicles etc, before we embarked upon the short walk up the street to where our TAXI would meet us. It would take us to "the apartment" which would be my new home for the immediate future. Unfortunately, there were a couple of unforeseen developments.

We were both taken aback when we were accosted by two costumed, nerdy looking guys whom I immediately recognized as "Trekies", somewhat "eccentric" Fans of the "Star Trek" series. They actually THOUGHT that I WAS the actress, Marina Sitris, who plays the Troi character. Now Julie didn’t plan this, my resemblance was purely an accident of my appearance, owing to my Mediterranean heritage, and Julie’s efforts of camouflage. Yes, we had noted the similarity of appearance, but it wasn’t like I looked like someone "really famous", like Julia Roberts. Miss Sirtis was on the celebrity "B list", to be sure, and likely wouldn’t be recognized on the street by anyone---Except these guys!.

Then it hit me. The "Great SCI FI CON" was in town! The place would be crawling with "Trekers", "Trekies" and lord knows what else. The Two Trekies were very insistent and begged me for autographs. There I was, with less than a half-hour of "girl training", my cover was threatening to be blown big time. Then there were the ethical questions. Would I get into trouble with Miss Sirtis’ people if I managed to "fake" my way through this, if only to make a hasty escape? I signed the autographs anyway and hoped for the best.

The guys left, but soon we saw them coming back with a LOT more friends. Julie and me were able to duck into a florist’s shop and thus elude the throngs of my "adoring public" who didn’t see where we had gone. Julie called a cab to pick us up at the door, when the coast was clear.

 

I was impressed when the cab let us out at the apartment building. It was a low, two story structure built in the Spanish Mission style. Though not a "millionaire’s villa" by any means, it WAS a bit more "upscale" than the typical suburban apartment block. It was one of those places that housed people that could have otherwise afforded to own a home, if they desired.

Julie had a key that fitted into the iron gate that allowed the tenants to enter the central courtyard into which all the apartments opened into. It had a nice pool and clubhouse and lots of palm trees. Life could be good here---provided one was not being squeezed nearly in half by a corset.

Julie approached a silver "Mustang" convertible, that was parked in the corner of the parking area, and tried her keys in the door lock. "This will be "our" car" she said. "Cool!" I replied.

She led the way up the private stairway to what would be our second floor apartment and opened the door. It was nice. There were two bedrooms, each with their own bath on either side of a centrally located living room /kitchen/dining area.

What would be MY bedroom was well furnished and didn’t look too "girly". It didn’t look like a man’s room either. It was too "clean" and "stylish". It was something completely in line with what a single adult woman would have. I also noticed that it was completely outfitted with cosmetics on the vanity and underwear and other clothing in the dressers and wardrobes. It would take no time to "settle in" as everything seemed to be here already. I wondered about how they would know the proper sizes, but then realized Julie must have called that information in, from the Parlor. I was stuck in that place for over six hours, there was plenty of time for whoever outfitted this apartment to procure the necessary items.

Julie changed into a Skirt and blouse, and then told me to get out of my own clothes, myself. She helped me release the bra and corset. Wow! That felt good! I was overjoyed to be able to breathe again.

I stood there in only my panties and looked at myself in the full-length mirror as Julie fished around in the dresser drawers for several items.

With my smooth bare skin, the long nails, hair and makeup, I saw clearly, to my chagrin, that I now looked like a girl even when I was nearly naked. Sure, a flat-chested girl with no hips and waist, but STILL like a girl. It was spooky. I remember thinking that it would not take very much at all in the area of body modifications to have changed me all the way.

Julie broke my reverie by tossing to me a white, cotton bra. It was the same size as the other, but not as low cut. As I no longer had "myself", with help from the corset, to help fill it, She inserted a pair of full sized, soft "jiggly" "breast forms", into the cups after I had put the bra on.

In struggling with the bra, I began to realize that the long fingernails were beginning to become bothersome. I had to change the way I grasped things and even make a conscious effort to hold fingers that were not needed for a specific task out of the way.

At the same time, however, I noticed that in doing so, my hands were forced to assume what looked like very "feminine" poses and gestures. Disturbing in one respect, but relieving in another as the gestures came instinctively, as a result of the obstacles that the nails presented. It was one aspect of "femininity" that I would not have to learn.

She then handed me a pair of pink panties. "What’s this?" I wondered. They were covered with ruffles, indeed they seemed to be entirely made of pink satin ruffles. "Put them on!" she demanded when she noticed a bit of hesitation on my part.

She turned her back and I did as she had requested me to do. I removed my current set of plain panties and donned the "frilly" things that she had given me.

When I had done that, she handed me another garment. I stared in disbelief when I discovered what it was.

"You’re kidding, right?" I asked as I held it up by its straps.

"Just put it ON!" she replied, in a tone of voice that told me that she was running out of patience.

"It" was a pink, satin "Babydoll" nightie.

I pulled it over my head and slipped my arms through the inch-and-a-half wide straps that would be the only things covering me above my armpits. They DID do a good job of hiding the bra straps.

An elastic band around the top circled my body just above the top of the bra. Another elasticized band in the garment encompassed me just below the breasts. From there on down, a short skirt extended, just long enough to cover the ruffles on my butt.

I thought that this was some kind of a joke. "I’ll look ridiculous in this" I thought. BOY was I wrong!.

More skin than ever was exposed now. My arms and shoulder areas were bare. My legs, which now seemed a mile long, extended all the way up to my butt. The breasts looked good, pressing out the crinkled fabric between the elastic bands. And the way the skirt hung from my midriff down, completely hid the fact that I had no waist and hip curves.

Anyone who might have seen me, however, would assume that I did.

The effect was incredible! I looked just like a girl should look in one of these get ups. I sort of reminded myself of "Chrissy" on the old ‘Threes Company" TV show. All I needed was blonde hair!.

"You will find THAT more comfortable to wear around the house, Dianne." Said Julie. Until we can figure out a way to change you a bit without compromising your disguise, you will be confined to quarters for a while."

As I looked at the image in the mirror, however, I became concerned about other things. There was a familiar stiffening arising between my legs once again, and without the barrier of the lycra briefs, was becoming evident through the panties.

This time there was not enough fear to hold it back. I was afraid, however, that Julie would notice. She did!

"Go to the bathroom, and do what you have to do." She said, nonchalantly. " Be careful and don’t make a mess! Tuck it backwards and between your legs when you are done"

Obviously she HAD done this before. She knew what to expect and how to handle it.

Needless to say I had one of the biggest orgasms in my life. In a way it was like "the ultimate penetration" I could be no more inside the girl I saw than I was now.

 

When I was finished, Julie met me outside the door.

"Here", she said as she handed me a bottle of pink nail polish. "Make yourself useful. I am going out to buy a few things. I want to see your toenails painted when I get back."

I didn’t know how to paint my toenails. Sure, I had seen my mother and sister do it, but I never was into such things. It had to be done, I suppose. They would have done it at the Salon, if I hadn’t been wearing the panty hose.

Well, for Julie’s sake, I would try. If I made a mess of things, I could blame it on her making me do something I was never trained to do.

It wasn’t as hard as I thought. The first couple of toes on my left foot were not too neat, but I found that I could do the rest of the toes, except the big toes, with a single pass of a well-filled brush. Not bad for a first try.

My toenails were almost dry when Julie returned with a bag full of groceries and several magazines that she placed on the table.

Immediately I could see that they were "Star Trek" and several Sci Fi "fanzines", each with articles about Miss Sirtis or her Troi character.

Julie checked my toenails. "That will do." She said, and told me to put on the high-heeled sandals once again. "You can use this time to practice." She said.

Julie then explained what the magazines were all about. "First of all we will see just how close this resemblance is. Then we will find a way to make you look less like her."

I Sat at the table at picked up a hand mirror. I read the articles and closely examined the photos, and at the same time, using the mirror, myself.

The articles said that Miss Sirtis, though English, was born of Greek parents. That would explain some of the physical similarity, as I was Italian myself.

To my delight, I discovered that there were SOME physical differences after all. I was almost TWO inches taller than she was. I also noticed that, in profile, my own chin didn’t recede as much. My first impression when I had seen myself in the Beauty Parlor mirror was right! I did look somewhat better than SHE did. At least in my OWN opinion.

But THERE was the RUB, as the old bard said. So we weren’t identical twins after all. But the resemblance was still DAMN close. In fact, thinking about it, I appeared a more "idealized" version of "Troi". "I suddenly remembered, from school, some commentary by Mark Twain where he saw a man that looked "More like him than he did himself". "Oh God!", I muttered as I sank lower into the chair.

"Julie," I said, "Perhaps we can cut off some of this hair or dye it blonde or something?"

"Not on your life!", Replied Julie, " that weave job cost a fortune. It nearly blew this month’s budget! Dyeing it is out of the question too. Blonde dye does not take well to dark hair like yours, it’s too hard to get even. Besides, your eye and Skin color wouldn’t work well with blonde anyway."

She reached over and grabbed a handful of my hair and held it for a couple of seconds on the top of my head.

She looked at it for a few seconds, dropped it back down and looked at a couple of the magazine pictures again.

"Damn!" she said, under her breath, "Hair up, hair down, light lipstick, dark lipstick --- That woman has more different looks than a chameleon!"

"It looks like we are going to have to keep you indoors for at least four more days, until the Convention is over."

That was all right with me. But I couldn’t stay inside forever. One day, at least, I would have to go to the courthouse. Lord, I sure hoped that all those Trekies were from out of town.

We took my hair down, parted it in the middle, and clipped the sides back a bit to keep the hair out of my face. It didn’t make me look THAT much different, I still looked like "Troi", but with yet another a different style.

There were perhaps a few other minor changes we could make later, but still, Julie decided that I should stay inside until the convention was over.

Fortunately, the apartment had two television sets with video and full cable. I would have something else to do, besides practicing how to walk and sit. There was also a computer, one of the newest "486" models (This was a few years ago), that Julie said that I would be able to use to communicate with my family via something called "e-mail".

Julie allowed me to "lounge around" the rest of the afternoon—so long as I did it "like a girl", meaning mostly paying attention to how I held my arms and hands, and ESPECIALLY keeping my legs, at least my thighs, together. Believe me! Wearing THAT babydoll nightie thing sure encouraged it. I still kept having these "Three’s Company" visions every time I looked down.

About ten O’clock, we heard Harris’ special knock on the door. I started to run to my room, but Julie stopped me. "Oh god!", I thought, "Now Harris is going to see me like this!". I wanted to curl up into a ball and evaporate.

Julie let the man in. He began to brief her on the events of the day, but froze up when he glanced in my direction. I thought his eyes would drop out.

"That’s not?. . . No, it can’t be!" He managed to stammer.

"You ARE good, Julie. That’s your best piece of work yet."

Julie smiled. "The ladies at the Parlor deserve most of the credit." She replied. "But we do have a slight problem".

She thrust one of the magazines into his face.

"Son. . . of. . . a. . . bitch" he exclaimed in quiet amazement as he looked at the picture and glanced back at me.

"I’m working on it", said Julie. "But I thought that I should keep him… er… HER out of circulation until the Convention was over"

"That would be a good idea." Harris replied, "we don’t need to be attracting any attention to ourselves just yet. Word is, Fat Eddie has his men and informants scouring the city right now, searching for any signs of the kid. Luckily, our inside people tell us he still has them looking for a fifteen-year-old BOY. Still, we do not need to be taking any unnecessary chances."

Harris soon left and I realized just what kind of trouble I was in. My disguise was my only protection. I knew that I had to learn how to manage it, and do it properly.

 

According to Harris, even several members of the police force were on Eddie’s payroll. ANYONE could be one of his lackeys. No wonder Julie wanted me to stay in disguise 24 hours a day. I began to feel paranoid.

"Hey! What about Julie?--- or Harris himself?" The thought crossed my mind. "I’ve only known THEM for not more than a day." "But then again", I figured, "If they worked for Fat Eddie too, I would have been likely killed already." Fat Eddie did not seem to be the type who fooled around playing "head games" with his victims. He was quick and efficient. "Perhaps Julie and Harris were trustworthy after all." But THEY would be the ONLY people that I would trust.

 

That night before bed, Julie took me into my room and instructed me how to remove my makeup, had me brush my hair at least 200 strokes, and then showed me how to pin it up for the night. I began to learn that a girl required a lot of maintenance.

The next morning, after my shower, Julie gave me another clean "babydoll" to wear for the day, a yellow one this time, with off the shoulder, puffed sleeves. As it had a built in bra, I didn’t have to worry about the straps. I spent the morning learning how to apply makeup, and tried several different "looks" until I settled on one that was not quite as "intense" as the day before."

I kept my hair in the hanging style that we had created the last night. It was easier, at least for me, to maintain, than the topknot ponytail thing, and besides, it made me look, if not like myself, at least a little less like "Troi".

When Julie returned from shopping that morning, She presented me with a package. I opened it and found a pair of Women’s eyeglasses.

"They are Fashion Frames," she said, as I was trying to figure out what the point of the item was. I certainly did not have any vision problems.

"They have plain glass in the frames." She explained. "Some women buy them just as a fashion accessory."

Then I realized what they were for. I put them on. The "Troi effect" miraculously vanished. I was still just as beautiful, but the large frames broke the lines of my face just enough, that when combined with the new hairstyle, I no longer looked like the Counselor on the USS Enterprise anymore.

"Heeey, I have a secret identity!" I joked.

This was the first time that I had seen myself in the mirror without a dazed "deer in the headlights" look on my face. I actually smiled for once.

Despite this one minor success, Julie told me that I still would not be going outside until the Convention was over. But then again, it didn’t really matter. What was there for me in the outside world? I certainly could not associate with my friends, especially like I look now. Skateboarding was definitely out. Shopping with Julie?—I don’t think so. The only thing waiting for me outside was a chance to screw up in public—royally, and perhaps even catch a bullet in the bargain. No thanks, I was perfectly happy staying right were I was, behind my double lines of defense, the apartment walls and my skirts.

 

Three days later, I was making a list of what videos I was going to watch that day, when Julie announced a change in my plans. "You need some fresh air and sunshine." She said. "Now that the convention is over, there are no more excuses."

We went to my room, where she once again laced the corset on me. Soon I had my figure, back, tits and all.

She dressed me in a plain, sleeveless, yellow blouse with a low cut, round neckline. Once again my cleavage would be on display. I felt like Julie had done that on purpose, just to rub it in a bit with me as to my feminized condition. It kind of made me angry.

Julie, however, noticing that I was "irked" somewhat, explained. "Just think of it as a safety measure, a little overcompensation. It might save your---OUR butts if you should forget some of your "female" lessons. We can’t afford to have anyone even begin to think that you might be a boy.

That made me feel better, but just a little.

She told me how to roll a pair of light tan panty hose up my legs, and then made me do it myself. Next she selected a yellow print, full skirt and helped me put it on. It hung across the curve of my hips beautifully and flared out a bit slightly just above my knees. A pair of tan, open toed high heels, completed my ensemble.

She led the way down the steps and we both climbed into the silver convertible. The top was down. I had to admit the sunlight sure felt good, after being cooped up in the apartment for the last four days.

There was a long, print scarf, made of an almost transparent, gauze like material, lying on the seat. I picked it up, to move it out of the way, but Julie intervened.

"Put it on." She said. "Otherwise that long hair of yours will be flying everywhere."

As I held it in my hand, trying to figure out what to do with it, she snatched it from my hand. "Here!, like this" said Julie, as she pulled it across my head and wrapped the long ends around my neck several times. I glanced in the mirror and thought that I now looked like one of those 1950s movie stars. All I needed was the sunglasses.

Julie was up to speed in that department too. She took my clear frames away and thrust a pair of Polaroid’s, with large round lenses into my hands. Well, the sun WAS bright.

"Where are we going?", I asked as Julie drove the car out of the gate.

"I thought that we would take a ride out in the country, perhaps have a picnic lunch at the lake in the State Park. You know that it is unhealthy for you to remain indoors all the time. Besides, you need to learn how to relax when you are out in public. You are a very attractive and even sexy looking woman, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. The kind of attention you will get from both men AND women will be of an entirely different magnitude and nature than anything else you have previously experienced."

"Yea, I kind’a figured that" I replied. "I noticed it in the eyes of the cab driver." It was something entirely different than the "trekie" thing. They were drawn to me mostly because of whom they thought I was, the cabby was observing WHAT I was, or at least what I appeared to be. Julie was right. I had to learn to deal with "that kind of attention", just like every other woman did.

We reached the lake by lunchtime. Fortunately, the park wasn’t very crowded, so I could allow myself to relax somewhat. We established ourselves at one of the tables and began to eat. Julie had packed some sandwiches. By now I had learned to curl my lips out of the way, when I bit down, to keep from getting lipstick on my food—Yuck. I still left traces on my drinking cup however, but that was unavoidable, and something else I would have to get used to.

We finished the meal, without event and took the long route back to town, down the road through the National forest. I laid back on the seat of the car as the wind blew across my face, and the loose ends of the scarf blew behind me in the breeze. For a moment I could forget my plights and troubles. I was in heaven.

Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality by a loud bang!. Julie swerved to the edge of the road.

"Damn!" she said as she pounded the steering wheel with her fist. "we’ve blown a tire!"

"Was THAT all?" I thought as my heart began beating again.

The left rear tire was flat. Julie got out and ordered me to follow her to the trunk. At least I knew how to change a tire. I was pleasantly surprised when it became apparent that Julie was no "wuss" herself and did not expect me to do the job alone. She managed to remove the jack and the spare tire from the trunk. We were just getting things set up when another car pulled up behind us.

A friendly enough looking man got out. "Do you need help ladies?" He asked.

"We can handle it, thanks" Replied Julie pleasantly.

"Please, I insist!" sad the man as he walked between Julie and myself. I had just finished placing the jack under the fender.

When I stood up, The man, from behind, suddenly grabbed me around the waist! I could feel by the change in his grip that he was momentarily surprised at the "hardness" of my tapered body, owing to the corset, which was quite tight, but that did not slow him down. He lifted me off the ground and attempted to drag me toward his car.

I was in a sheer panic situation. Reggie Brown, the Bully that often tormented me had once used the same grip on me not long ago. So I decided to do now what I did then. I brought my heel right down onto the instep of his right foot.

The maneuver had worked with Reggie, he DID let me go,--- but then he punched me in the face! Something different happened THIS time however. I hadn’t been wearing spike heels when I fought Reggie. Instead of the "Thump" that I expected, there was more of a "penetrating crunch" the heel seemed to have actually went into something! And I actually heard a bone snap! "Holy shit!" I realized that I had suddenly concentrated all of the strength of my body to the very small area of the heel, the force could have been incredible.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment. The guy must have been in horrendous pain. This was better than a shot to the balls! I wriggled free, just as a scream of pain and anger emanated from his lips.

This gave Julie a chance to respond. With a roundhouse kick, she sent him flying across the lid of the trunk. As he groggily attempted to charge her again, another kick to the sternum knocked him to the ground. A karate chop to the side of the head, and he was down for the count.

"Holy shit!" I said once again as I looked at Julie and then, her victim, sprawled out in the grass.

"Agency training kid!" she said answering my unasked question.

Julie didn’t want to call the police; we didn’t need the attention. She recruited me to help drag the man’s limp form to his own vehicle, where we rolled him into the trunk—and locked it. Julie glanced into the window and saw a purse and a few assorted items of women’s underwear on the floorboard by the back seat.

Turning to me, she handed me a Kleenex from her purse and told me to wipe my shoe. I looked down and saw at least an inch of the tip of my right heel coated with sticky red blood! I thought I was going to be sick! Not from the gore, mind you, but from trying to imagine how painful that must have been. I had made Julie’s job considerably easier.

We managed to replace the tire and get on the road again. I had ruined the knees of my panty hose, and chipped some nail polish, but was otherwise none the worse for the wear. Julie called the police with her cell phone, but did not leave her name. She told them where to pick the guy up.

"How can they arrest the man if we are not there to tell them what he tried to do?" I asked.

"When I saw that stuff in the back of his car", replied Julie, "I knew that he was the guy that had been assaulting women in that area from some time." The police will soon figure that out too. The car was full of enough evidence to put him away for good.

"So he had nothing to do with Fat Eddie?"

"I sincerely doubt that Dianne, He is just one of the predators in this world that us ladies have to watch out for."

Julie briefed Harris on the events of the day after we arrived home. Harris had more news for us. Fat Eddie’s trial was now scheduled to be held four month’s away.

"Does that mean that I can take a break from this "Dianne" gig?" I asked. The prospect of living in this corset for that long was not a pleasant one to contemplate.

"By no means!" Julie retorted.

"Fat Eddie will be using this time for more than just getting his defense ready. He will be dedicating all of his outside resources into finding and eradicating YOU!"

"Yes, four months is a long time, but you are going to have to play this game through." She continued. " There IS a danger however, that in that time, your own body might betray you. Your voice might change and your body build may not allow for such a convincing feminine appearance as you now have. You are past due for some of that already."

"So it’s called Puberty," I remarked. "There is nothing you can do about that."

"Yes there IS Diane, yes there is. You won’t like it but you will have to do it." Said Julie. It certainly beats getting shot, and besides, you soon wont need to be wearing that corset either."

I didn’t like the sound of that. What was she going to do to me next?

 

End of Part II

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Marina Twelve. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.