Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“I look like a fucking hippy,’” Reagan groaned, passing a mirror on his way to the back room of the high-end dress shop in Winter Park, Florida. As the initial shock and astonishment at his appearance had subsided, it was replaced by a lingering unease and a sense of vulnerability he’d truly never experienced before. This free-spirited floral top, with its clashing patterns, felt utterly alien to him, a stark contrast to his usual confident persona. Even more unsettling than the feminine garments themselves was the image they projected: a carefree, bohemian spirit miles away from his typical sensibilities.

“Just grip with your toes, Reah,” Eva replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I wanted you to feel comfortable for a little while, because after today, there won't be much time to relax.”

“I’d be more comfortable in shoes with toes,” he muttered, “and if my legs weren't so exposed.” He wasn't unfamiliar with shorts, wearing them whenever the occasion called for it, but the sight of his hairless, moisturized legs on display felt different - somehow more intimate.

“Okay, okay,” Eva chuckled, glancing down at her own red pumps. “I don't think you'll have to worry about that much longer.” She wisely refrained from mentioning that strappy heels often complemented the exact kind of gowns he'd soon be wearing to fundraising dinners.

Reagan wondered how many hours were left in the accursed day, but when he reached for his father’s pocketwatch, it was nowhere to be found. The gold timepiece was left behind in his disgusting apartment, along with whatever shreds were left of his manhood.

Secluded in the back of the shop, behind the lingerie department, yet another pair of women were given the task of handling Reagan like a child, as they stripped his new clothes from his body while he stood on a tailor’s riser. Suddenly the bohemian ensemble didn’t seem so offensive when once again he was left bare for all to see.

‘At least this time I don’t have to worry about getting a boner.’ he thought to himself, as both women were old enough to be his grandmother.

For this new humiliation there would be no scrubbing, there’d be no fondling, just two seasoned professionals, armed with tape-measures and chalk, sizing every nook and cranny. The girlishly attired politician could only stand tall, butthole clenched tight, as he hoped the old bitties wouldn’t suddenly grip his manhood with the same irreverence as the girl from the salon. Fortunately for him, neither could be any less interested.

All their notes jotted down, the taller of the two announced, “We'll need to reduce the waist by at least two inches for a camera-ready silhouette. Three would be ideal, but two is acceptable for now.”

She spoke as if he were a prize pig being prepared for display at a fair. Reagan had no time to voice his anxieties. Without hesitation, and with no need for verbal confirmation, the other elderly woman wrapped a dark black corset around his torso. With the efficiency born of years of diligent practice, she threaded every hook through every eyelet in the blink of an eye.

Reagan thought, ‘That wasn't so bad,' but quickly realized how little he understood the tortures to come. The shapewear's strings danced between the woman's fingers. Without an anchor point, she gave a single, firm tug, her bony hands surprisingly strong. The feminized man felt himself squeezed in two, expecting a release from the pressure that never came. She had already tied a firm double bow and stepped back.

“We'll return with the garments after making the necessary adjustments.” she explained. “Feel free to use the space as you wish. We only pulled her in an inch. We'll address the final inch after she's had time to adjust. You did bring the prosthetic, right? We'll need it to ensure proper fit before you leave.”

“Yes, of course,” Eva replied, pulling a mass of silicone from her shoulder bag along with a bra, perfectly matching the panties, an unwanted reminder of what currently concealed his modesty. “She'll be ready by the time you return.”

“And remember,” the woman cautioned, “if her proportions change after the alterations, we are not liable. Any necessary adjustments will be at your expense.”

The campaign manager replied, "Absolutely," knowing the woman must have said those same words countless times before, her voice weary. "Thank you so much for your efforts."

While they talked, Reagan ran his hands along the sides of the corset. He had heard of the Regency foundation garments, but mostly thought of them as relics of the past, seen only in movies. Now, here he was with the vice-like garment cinched around him, and the old woman had promised to tighten it further.

If Reagan had paused to consider it, he might have realized this was the kind of establishment that took days, if not weeks, to fulfill an order. Yet, somehow, Eva had managed to secure him an appointment that very day. He was too preoccupied staring at the bra she left on the table. Even adorned in the corset, panties, and painted like a fine porcelain statue, there was something undeniably alien about the support garment. It was obviously designed for a body type men like him simply didn't possess. "Don't you have anything...warmer...?" Reagan asked, shivering in the chill of the air-conditioning. "It's cold in here."

"You don't need to worry about that, Reah," Eva said, closing the door behind her. She walked over to the small table, sipped the complimentary champagne, then retrieved her bag and the discarded brassiere. "We’ll be here at least a few more hours, and with all the practice you'll be doing, I don't want you to get too sweaty."

"Practice?" he asked, bewildered. What kind of intense physical activity could they possibly undertake in this small studio? It wasn't exactly large enough for even a game of table tennis.

"Silly girl," the woman teased, thoroughly amused by her friend's visible cringe. She fastened the bra behind his back, and then situated the breastplate in place until it rested in a natural position. "There's a lot more to being a woman than a dress and a haircut. You're going to have to learn to walk in these, and you're going to have to learn to do it well." From the bottom of her bag she produced a pair of red, round-toe pumps, and dropped them on the floor in front of her **** student. "We can't have you pulling a Joe Biden the next time you walk up a flight of stairs. The media would have a field day with that."

"That's enough, Eva," he replied, feeling ready for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. "It's bad enough that you jammed these earrings through my ears when we got here, I don't need anything else hanging off of me. Just stop calling me Reah, please. That isn't my name..." His voice grew louder as he spoke, before he looked down to see the synthetic, but feminine assets now proudly attached to his chest. "Can I please take off these silly fake tits now?" he asked in a quieter voice.

Back in college, Reagan decided to get his ear pierced in an attempt to appear cooler to the girls on campus than the typical political science major. A simple diamond stud in his left lobe wasn't particularly unusual among his peers, but that didn't stop his friends from giving him endless grief about getting it in the "wrong" ear. The next day, he returned and got a second piercing to prove them wrong. The shame of being seen as gay was the worst thing his juvenile brain could conjure up at the time, so much so that he didn’t take time to learn that he’d gotten it right the first time, and his so-called friends were just screwing with him, not that his notoriously fragile ego wasn’t begging them for it.

Unfortunately Reagan was an unusually fast healer. While he quickly grew tired of the look, the holes never fully closed. Ten years later, Eva was still teasing him about it. Fortunately for Reagan, he wasn't the only man to embrace such an aesthetic in the post-millennium era, so any public scrutiny was minimal and had no impact on his polling numbers.

"The breastplate has to stay, Reah," Eva said, looking him directly in the eye as she reemphasised his new moniker. "Do you think I want to do this? What I want is for you to win - to take the next step forward. And thanks to the circumstances we find ourselves in, this is the path you've chosen. Someone tore your life apart, but you are the type of person to look them right in the eye, and say, “fuck you”, spin it to your own advantage, and march on those new heels right into the Senate.

Eva couldn’t help but feel a little smug at her own impromptu speech.

"So, starting right now, you're going to relearn how to walk. We need everything to feel as natural as possible for the foreseeable future. Also, leave those earrings in. I chose them specifically to help you become more aware of your weight distribution as we work on your gait. Now, quit whining like a child. Be an adult, and strap on those pumps. We’ve got our work cut out for us."

For two hours, Eva was unrelenting. Reagan would take a step, and if anything wasn't to her satisfaction, his ruthless instructor would relentlessly critique every little detail, from the bend of his elbow to the position of his ten new acrylics. Eva had never been a fan of Annisa Demir, the family matriarch, though she had supported her friend during the woman's passing. Eva, and probably half the attendees at the funeral, would have happily danced on the witch's grave. Annisa was the kind of person who shouldn't have had children but decided to have four anyway. She treated them as extensions of herself, and through a mixture of lavish praise and relentless judgment, she created her magnum opus: the feminized man running for office. While Eva didn't approve of Mrs. Demir's methods, the damage had been done long ago. To get what she needed from Reagan, Eva would have to draw from the hateful creature's playbook.

"You know, I can't believe you're not as good as Callie when it comes to walking in heels. I mean, sure, she's been doing it her whole life, but she doesn't have your natural athleticism. I can't say I'm not disappointed."

It didn't matter that his legs were on fire, his knees shaking, or that weeks of depression had eroded his muscle mass. It didn't matter that he felt like he'd been walking for an eternity already. The mention of his little sister's name was enough to **** Reagan upright, pain be damned. He tried again, and again, and again. Eva would chastise him, and he'd whine about his ineptitude, claiming a man like him could never master such a task. But his actions told a different story. With each attempt to cross the room, his feet grew firmer, and with each attempt came a new critique. He'd reach the finish line only to discover it had been moved, and like a mule chasing a dangling carrot, he'd keep right on after it.

"Elbows in, Reah. You need to glide like the wind. Flat shoes are for the libs."

This went on, non-stop, for nearly two hours. Reagan's toes, ankles, knees, hips – every single muscle screamed in protest. Eva zeroed in on the adequate combination of disappointment and terror, so her new protégé was now thoroughly proficient in the art of walking in heels, each step as perfect as it was painful. At one point, the campaign manager turned tutor thought she might have gone too far by tying his elbows to his torso with one of the tailor's loose tape measures, but that only seemed to fuel the politician's determination. Though she already knew it before the day started, Eva could officially confirm that the best way to get Reagan to do anything well was to tell him he was bad at it.

An hour later, the sun was beginning to set, and Reagan was finally ready to leave the cozy dress shop. His corset had been tightened further, much to his chagrin. He'd tried on a dozen skirts, a dozen blouses, and a dozen dresses. The two seamstresses pinned hem after hem until they'd gone through his entire new wardrobe, then set them aside for stitching over the next few days. Afterward, Eva chose a piece that required no extra work and handed it to her protege.

Looking him directly in the eye, she subtly issued a challenge, "You don't want to walk out of here looking like a hippie, do you?"

"More focused on being able to breathe right now," he replied. He wasn't known for his sympathy in everyday life, not that he lacked it entirely, but he rarely displayed it openly. Eva, in return, offered none.

A short while later, Eva opened the door to the Demir Campaign office and held it for her boss. He took his sweet time, summoning all the courage left in his reserves before stepping through the threshold.

"We don't have all day, Reah. There might be more donations coming in, but we probably shouldn't waste it all on overtime. Let's have this meeting and get it over with."

Eva checked her watch twice while Reagan finally managed to enter the building. His worst fears were immediately realized. All eyes were on him.

The new candidate was a vision, with perfectly applied makeup, and sleek, stylish hair, not a single strand out of place. He wore a simple black sheath that clung to his form in all the right places, paired with the same red heels that had tormented his feet for hours. The outfit was simple enough, but Eva had one final lesson before they left the dress shop, that a simple statement necklace could truly elevate an ensemble. The jewels and pendant of the piece glistened in the evening light, swaying with each step, mirroring the movement of the equally heavy pendant earrings. They served as a constant reminder of how he should be swaying his hips with each step.

The staff, one by one, realized their gawking and blushed, returning to their work. Meanwhile, Reagan, now even more crimson, began to cross the floor after Eva gently prodded his spine with an extended finger. Behind the glass windows of the large center office, Ryan sat at his computer, tapping away at his keyboard. He only glanced up from his screen to acknowledge Reagan with a disinterested nod before returning to his task. A palpable awkwardness hung in the air, though it certainly wasn't emanating from the senior advisor, who remained all business as usual.

Stage fright had never been an issue for Reagan, but for the first time in his life, he understood what it must be like for others. One of his greatest strengths was his ability to not only put a face to a name, but to remember them. Yet, not a single face in the room was familiar, and all of them were now watching him - judging him while he was dolled up like a woman. It left him speechless.

"Shall we have the meeting?" Eva asked. His nerves were so raw her words startled him, even though he knew she’d been there the entire time.

Ryan nodded in agreement and closed his laptop. The three leaders gathered the staff in a circle at the front of the office. Reagan couldn't believe that, even after 8 PM on a weeknight, they now had more staffers than before this whole fiasco began. It was insane to have that kind of turnover. It was a relief that he still had Eva and Ryan in his corner, though that did little to calm his nerves.

Eva's call to start the meeting echoed across the room, quieting the murmuring hum. "Okay people, we're going to go counter-clockwise. Everyone give a quick report so we can get Miss Demir up to speed, and then you're all free to go for the evening."

A younger man was first, though it took him a minute to realize that, to Eva's annoyance. It took him another few moments of fumbling with papers before he finally managed to speak.

When his friend of many years called him "Miss Demir" a title he usually associated with his mother, he felt a stab to his ego. Others, more hot-headed than him, had gotten into barfights for less. While it bothered him, he tried to focus on the room.

'Come on, Reagan, get it together. New people, new faces, new names. These are my foot-soldiers. Remember their details, and make them feel appreciated.'

He knew from experience that people were willing to go the extra mile when they felt noticed, respected, and valued. It didn't matter if they actually were, it only mattered that they felt that way.

His biggest problem was his garb. The lining of the black dress felt silky smooth against his bare skin, a constant, distracting sensation. He could also feel the cool circulating air on his legs while his feet remained awkwardly bent in the red heels. That wasn't even the half of it, but he tried to push past the discomfort.

"So, umm...right." The intern stumbled, trying to find the line he needed on his paperwork. "Yeah, here we go. It looks like in terms of donations for today, we've received about nine hundred."

"Dollars?" Reagan asked, his already wounded ego deflating faster than when his new employees saw him in the revealing dress.

The nervous young man looked back to his paperwork, suddenly unsure about the good news. "Umm…thousand dollars, ma’am."

Reagan tipped his head back slightly, his red-painted lips parting as the number ran through his mind. He was glad he wasn't sipping the latte he'd been carrying to keep his nervous hands busy, because he'd have spit it out all over the floor. "You're kidding me!"

"Umm…no ma'am. It's mostly small donors, but there are a few PACs in there, as well as one or two private donors who previously pulled their contributions. They've come back on board, but they'd like to meet with you soon."

"Right, thank you, um…" Eva searched her mind for the young man's name, but with over forty new faces, it was hard to keep track.

"Thomas, ma'am."

"Thank you, Thomas. Please set that up. I'd say they've already purchased a plate at the next fundraising dinner. Just make sure they're seated on the dais next to Miss Demir. Okay, next."

"Hello, Miss Arnoult, Miss Demir," said a mousy young brunette in a pair of dark-framed glasses. "Next week we have the shoot for the new ad campaign first thing at ten, and after that it's meet-and-greets for the rest of the day. I know you said you wanted a down-to-earth outfit, so I've got a few choices for you to decide between. Photos are in the folder, and I've left them hung up in Miss Demir's office if she wishes to try anything on."

"Wonderful, thank you, Denise. See if we can get that swapped around. Those shoots can run long sometimes, and that way we’ll be able to meet all our obligations. Okay, who's next?"

This went on, until every single staffer came back with excellent news and optimistic projections. Even the interns seemed to get everyone's coffee orders correct. Even though they were approaching the end of August, it was a Christmas miracle as far as Reagan was concerned .

For much of the evening, Reagan felt like he was on display in a shop window. Typically the only time he ever allowed his legs to remain so exposed before was on the golf course. He could taste the waxy lipstick every time he nervously licked them. The weight pulling at his shoulders from the silicone draped across his chest was far from comfortable, and neither were the heavy earrings.

Despite these unfamiliar sensations, the overwhelming deluge of good news was enough for Reagan to briefly forget his circumstances. When the circle had made its way around to him, as he'd done a thousand times before, he stood upright and began to make a speech.

"I want to thank everybody for staying late tonight. I can't say it won't be the last time, but I assure you, your hard work is valued." Reagan took the time to look across the room, making eye contact with everyone for just a heartbeat as he spoke. "A couple of days ago the polls said our goose was cooked, but I can say that in no small part, thanks to the efforts of everyone here, we've got a shot at this thing. If you stick with me on this, we'll make it across that finish line. Thanks again. Everybody have a wonderful evening."

Eva watched as the entire room hung on every word leaving Reagan’s lips. He wasn’t saying anything particularly intelligent, or necessary, or even useful for that matter, but each person’s eyes were glued nonetheless. Losing the entirety of the previous staff following the controversy was a blow at first, but now they had something even better, true believers, or at the very least, people good enough at faking it. Either way, they’d get the job done better than any of the jaded Washington types that filled the building before.

Deciding the next step, she thought to herself, ‘Looks like she’s still got it, but we’re really going to have to do something about that voice.’

As the staff filed out the door, Reagan leaned back against the desk and relaxed for what felt like the first time in ages. Just then, three of the new interns knocked on the door just before he, Eva, and Ryan could begin the leadership meeting.

"I just want to say, you're such an inspiration," the first one said, her honey-blonde hair waving as she stood under the air-conditioning vent.

"Seriously, it's such an honor to be working on your campaign. Your courage is an inspiration. Thank you for the opportunity," the other agreed, her short dark style matching her short dark skirt. The two had stars in their eyes while their friend sat by the door rolling her eyes.

Immediately, Reagan's thoughts flooded with fantasies of the two of them giving him a little more personal attention. "Of course," he replied, flashing a lustful grin and going to stroke his beard, only to stab himself right in his denuded chin with his brand new French tips, shattering the image he'd conjured in his mind.

"And I just love that outfit. Where did you get it?"

"Yeah, it's delish. I bet with legs like those, you have to beat the guys off all the time." When the young intern realized her gaff, her new boss was already blushing a bright pink, shining brightly through the layer of foundation. "I'm so sorry, Miss Demir," she apologized, her face nearly as crimson as the prospective senator's by this point.

"It's okay, girls, we'll see you tomorrow," Eva said, shooing them from the office and closing the door behind them.

What the girls didn’t realize was that the walls were paper thin, as Reagan preferred. It was easier to keep tabs that way. “Way to suck his dick, Sadie.” an unfamiliar voice said, leading all in the room to assume it was the intern who never introduced herself.

“Shut-up, Gabrielle! She’s amazing! What are you even doing here anyway?”

“There’s no way that he-she gets elected, but this’ll look great on my grad-school application. Besides, if the queer somehow does win, I’ll probably get a cushy Washington gig out of it.”

The voices tapered off to silence, as they left the building, and mortified, Reagan turned to face his campaign manager. “Fire them.”

Eva nodded, and though he meant all three, she figured he was just being his usual temperamental self, and decided to spare the first two, but little Miss Gabrielle needed to go. Besides, Amy Jo’s grandfather was a congressman, and she didn’t want to open that can of worms. She quickly hurried out to the parking lot, to save herself an awkward phone call later, leaving Reagan and Ryan alone.

While Ryan couldn’t have been more preoccupied with his work, his eyes glued to the computer screen, Reagan suddenly completely exposed once again. He couldn’t help but dwell on what the young man in his silver glasses was actually thinking. Did he think he was a he-she just like that little twat? Once again his cheeks burned, and there was no sign of them stopping any time soon.