It was almost dark now when Paul left the office and made his way to the station to catch the train back to his flat, but all the shop windows in the mall were brightly lit. As always, he checked them out as he walked past, in the hope of spotting some really gorgeous dress. Paul was a cross dresser with a penchant for formal gowns and wedding dresses - which unfortunately meant that his wardrobe contained only pre-loved examples - he could never have afforded to buy new. One shop window never disappointed - it was actually up at first floor level, and in it were displayed several bridal gowns. How wonderful it would be, he mused, to be able to wear such beautiful gowns!

Many times, Paul had dressed up in one or other of his second-hand wedding gowns and imagined bridal fantasies. In the confines of his rather cramped flat, it was never very satisfactory, and he longed for space to walk about in a long, full skirted gown with a sweeping train. He imagined himself doing this now, as he gazed up at a particularly attractive gown he saw displayed up there.

This Friday evening the shops were all open late. In the window he spotted one really fabulous gown in particular and suddenly, his normal reticence was overcome by the desire to inspect these beautiful dresses more closely.

Screwing up his courage, he entered the shop and followed the signs to the elevator which took him up to the bridal salon on the first floor.

Alighting there, he found himself in a spacious showroom, with several groups of mannequins displaying a variety of gorgeous wedding and bridesmaid's dresses in various poses. For a moment, Paul was almost overwhelmed by the visual feast presented by the sight of so many wonderful gowns, and in a daze he made his way over toward the one in window that had caught his eye. Even before he reached it an assistant approached.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she enquired. Paul felt himself blushing as he tried to think of a reply. Until that moment he hadn't considered how very much out of place he must seem, but now he noticed that there were several other customers in the showroom, all female, naturally, brides-to-be with their mothers. What on earth was he to say?

"Well, no, really, I just wanted to have a closer look at this model that I saw from the street". He wished she would just leave him to it, but the girl hovered nearby, embarrassing him still further by her unwanted attention. As he expected, the gown revealed itself as truly exquisite, with intricate beading and embroidery, and the perfection of the design left him breathless. "One of our most beautiful models, if I may say so", said the woman, "You have someone special in mind, no doubt?"

Oh yes, I do indeed, he thought, "Yes, of course", he muttered, devoutly wishing she would simply go away! "Rather unusual, to have a man taking such an interest", she replied, softly, "Is the lady your fiancé perhaps?" Paul found himself tongue-tied, unwilling to pursue the lie, but what could he say? "No, not exactly", he said, finally, "It's just that the style, the design of this one really appealed to me, I just wanted a closer look......"

"Just a moment, sir", she said, and without him seeing, she beckoned an older woman to come over. Paul looked from one to the other, confused. Now what? he thought. "What's the matter?" he demanded, "Aren't I allowed to look?" "Of course you are, sir", the older woman replied, "But you see, this is a very expensive model, and it's a size 8, much too small for you. Would you like me to show you something similar, just as beautiful as this one, in your size?"

To say that Paul was flabbergasted would be an understatement. Recovering from his shock as best as he was able, he answered with as much indignity as he could manage to summon up, "Whatever do you mean? I never meant.... I mean, it's not for me.... I...." Not only was he was lost for words, but he was also very aware that he was blushing furiously.

She laid a hand on his arm. "My name's Cynthia", she said quietly, "Please don't take offence." Leading him gently away from the display, she asked him, "And your name, sir? It's perfectly all right, I do know how dreadfully difficult this must be for you, but I think that the reason for your interest could just be that you see yourself as a bride maybe, beautifully dressed in a gown like that one, am I not correct? And please don't be angry with me if I'm wrong, but I would very much like to help you in any way that I can, in complete confidence, of course. You are not the only man who longs to see himself as a bride, you know, so don't be afraid to tell me if I'm right".

Cynthia was gazing directly into Paul 's eyes as she uttered these astonishing words. Red faced, lost for words, Paul could think of no response. She knows! he thought, she's seen right through me! How can I tell her she's right? How do I know I can trust her? But hell, does it matter? She knows anyway!

As Paul struggled to respond, "I think I am right", Cynthia said, "So please don't be embarrassed. Come with me", and she led him to her office at the rear of the showroom. Closing the door, and indicating he should sit, she offered him a glass of water. Thankfully, Paul took a sip. "What made you think.... I mean, how did you guess that...? I mean, I'm not a drag queen, I... I just dress up sometimes..." There, it was out. Never before had he told anyone that he was a cross dresser.

Cynthia shook her head. "Relax, Paul, do! Whatever you tell me is completely confidential, I assure you. You are a cross dresser, aren't you? And you fantasise about being a bride, am I right? Because if I am, I could make your dream come true, you know! Are you interested?"

Paul was overcome. All at once he was shocked, astonished, appalled, ashamed, yet relieved. His secret was out, yet he wasn't being ridiculed. On the contrary, this woman was offering him - what? The chance to be a bride?

His resistance collapsed. The prospect of fulfilment of his dream blinded him to any possible reservations he might have had. He knew that what he should really do was to leave now - at once! But his legs refused to obey him. Weakly, he looked up, looked into Cynthia's eyes, eyes that seemed to peer right into his innermost, most secret longings. Why resist? Why pretend? Give in!

"You're right", he confessed. "Yes. I adore beautiful gowns, especially wedding gowns. To me, nothing is as wonderful as a bridal gown. The dress itself, and all it implies.... but I've never worn one. I've never experienced what it like to actually wear one, to imagine myself as a bride. It must be such a fantastic feeling, to be so exquisitely dressed! It's my ultimate dream, I have to admit. And did you say...?"

"Yes, Paul, together we can make your dream come true. You see, you are certainly not the first man to be fascinated by the idea of becoming a bride for a day, so I decided to offer a special service to men such as yourself. For a modest fee, I will transform you into a bride , wearing the dress of your dreams. All in strictest privacy, naturally. It's a service I've been able to provide before, you're not the first. And my clients have all been extremely grateful for the experience. I have to charge, naturally, but the fee is quite modest, nothing like the cost of purchasing one of our gowns! And incidentally, I must say you have excellent taste! The model that interested you is one of our most expensive! Did you realise that it would cost you over £2500 to purchase?"

"Yes, I do know how costly those gowns are", Paul replied sadly, "Which is why I couldn't ever see how I could get to wear one. But you say that I can?"

"Certainly. I take it you're interested, then?"

"Yes" Paul replied. Yes, yes, yes! "But ....er... What will it cost me?"

Cynthia weighed him up carefully. How much could she charge without putting him off? "£200 is what I normally charge" she said.

Paul's face fell momentarily. "That's - quite expensive", he said, "but what exactly...."

"What that includes" Cynthia continued, "is a full day as a bride. We start with a complete makeover, my assistant will attend to that, so that you look your very best. We include a wig, properly styled. All underwear is supplied, hoops and petticoats, and the gown. Then we give you all the appropriate accessories - headpiece and veil, jewellery, gloves, bouquet. All this will take an hour or more, after which you will be a bride, from head to toe! From then on, for the rest of the day, you will be free to admire yourself in the mirrors here, and I will take some photos for you to keep. This will all be done here, on a Sunday, when there will be no-one else here. How does that sound?"

Paul's head spun. This was too good to be true! "And when would you be able to do this?" he asked. Cynthia consulted her diary. "Sundays are all right with you?" she queried.

"Certainly"

"Well, what about the 16th? or the 23rd?"

"The 16th sounds fine"

"Good. Now, there is one condition that you will have to agree to. I'm sure it won't be a problem to you. You see, I cannot stay here all day to supervise you, and I have to ensure that you don't interfere with the displays or anything else in the showroom while I'm away. And also I have to ensure that the expensive gown you'll be wearing doesn't get damaged in any way. So I arrange that while I'm not here, that you will become in effect one of my mannequins - you'll be able to see yourself in the mirrors of course, but you won't be free to wander around. Can you agree to that?"

Paul gaped at her, confused once again. A mannequin? What did she mean by that? Fidgeting a little, he said, "Well, I suppose I could, but I'm not sure what you mean - I mean, how do you - are you going to tie me up or....?"

"Oh, no, of course not! I shall just attach you to a stand so that you'll stay in one place, that's all! You needn't concern yourself with that"

That didn't sound so bad. To be left alone to admire himself in the mirror was all that he wanted after all. The full implication of what she had told him barely registered, so entranced was he by the alluring prospect of spending an entire day dressed in such splendour.

So he agreed to the condition, and they proceeded to discussion of details. First and foremost, the selection of the gown itself. "That gown you were admiring - that's the style you'd prefer?" Cynthia asked him. "Yes", Paul replied, "I think that style is ideal - I love everything about it". "Well, I agree, it is one of our most beautiful models, but it is made for a girl with a very slight figure. Now you - well, I'm happy to say that with your build you will be far easier to suit than most men. But even so, you will need to be corseted to fit into a size 12, which is the largest size which we stock for that style. Do you wear corsets?"

"Er, yes, but only ordinary, you know, elastic ones - I've never had one that's really tight" Paul replied apologetically. "Lace-up corsets are a little hard to come by!"

"Well never mind, we can rectify that" Cynthia assured him. I'll just check your measurements before you go. But let me show you the gown. Just wait here a few moments".

Cynthia left the room, returning two minutes later carrying an armful of plastic wrapped silk gown. Carefully unsheathing it, she hooked the hanger onto a stand, and pointed out all the features - the texture of the silk fabric, the beading, the sheer infill at the neck, the sculpted bodice contrasting with the fullness of the upper sleeves and the billowing skirts and train, and the row of tiny pearl buttons fastening the bodice behind.

"There's no way you'd be able to button all these up yourself", she said, "You'll need me to help you". She left unsaid the obvious corollary, that he would also need assistance to get out of the gown, an idea that he found curiously exciting.

"I realise that", said Paul, "Which is why the whole idea was really just a fantasy until you made this offer. Even if I could have afforded to buy the dress, I'd have no-one to help me dress in it. But now... Well! I can hardly wait!"

Reminding Paul that he was to bathe and shave meticulously before presenting himself at the back door in the laneway behind the store at 7 am on the Sunday, with the money in hand, Cynthia finally showed him out.

So, early on the appointed Sunday, Paul turned up at the door, shaved and squeaky clean. The streets were almost deserted at this hour, and he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps this was all a hoax, that the bell would remain unanswered, with no-one inside. But his pulse quickened as he heard steps approach inside, and the door was opened. "Good morning, Paul, I'm glad you are on time". Cynthia greeted him. "Come along upstairs and let's begin".

He was a little taken aback to find another young woman waiting for him. Cynthia introduced her to him." Paul, this is Marie, she will be doing your make-up". Marie smiled. "Good morning, Paul," she said, "Don't worry, this is all in strictest confidence. Now, let's have a look at you. I hope you had a bath this morning? Good. And you are completely shaved I trust? Would you like to go behind the screen there and get yourself undressed - then we can begin." Obediently Paul stripped down to his singlet and underpants. "Good", she purred, "You've done a very thorough job, I'm pleased to see. Now, put on this panty girdle please, and make sure you are neatly tucked away". She handed him a white long legged panty girdle, and Paul slipped behind the screen to do as he was bid. He discovered that the garment had a tunnel sewn into the crotch, into which he fed his member, which was then securely trapped between his legs. He tugged up the waistband of the very tight girdle and smoothed down the legs, which he noticed had suspenders attached inside. He was pleased at the way the girdle smoothed away his offending bulge. When he emerged from behind the screen, Marie handed him a beautiful strapless brassiere, which she helped him to fasten, then placing a pair of breast forms in the cups, smiling as she did so, to reassure him. "Better already, hmmm?"she said.

"Now for your corset" she told him, "How do you like the look of this?"

The corset was covered in ivory silk, heavily embroidered, and appeared to be rigidly stiffened. The features that struck Paul immediately were the rows of metal eyelets, and the web of lacing connecting them. Paul had never worn anything like it before. Marie slackened off all the laces and spread out the corset, then made him step into it. She then lifted it up and eased it past his elastic sheathed hips before settling it in place about his waist. She then began to draw up the laces and thread them through the remaining eyelets. "Now", she warned him, "Here we go! Breathe out please!"

Bit by bit she pulled on the laces, tightening first the upper part, then the lower. Suddenly Paul felt himself firmly gripped. "Phew!" he exclaimed, breathlessly, "It's - very- tight!"

"Oh, we haven't started yet!" Marie replied, taking a firm hold on the laces, "Now, breathe out, hard! And again!" With each breath Paul expelled,
Marie tugged harder on the laces, and the edges of the corset drew closer together until only a narrow gap remained. "Well done!" she exclaimed, tying off the laces and tucking away the loose ends.

Paul gasped for breath, barely able to speak. "It's - far - too - tight!" he gasped, "I.....can't.....breathe!"

"Of course you can! You'd faint if that was the case! You see, you'll get used to it in a minute or two. That's why we put it on now, so that you can get used to it. In no time you'll not be giving it a thought!"

Paul found that impossible to believe, but even so, he realised that he could in fact breathe, if only shallowly, and he didn't feel he was in any danger of passing out. In a strange way, he began to welcome the sensation of being so tightly contained.

"Now, just slip on this housecoat and we'll start on your make up."

Paul felt goosebumps on his skin as he slipped into the sensuous silky lace trimmed robe. Marie sat him down and carefully put a pair of sheer silky stockings on him, as Paul was quite unable to bend forward sufficiently to reach his feet. Marie unrolled the stockings up his legs and attached them to the suspenders. "Now for your pretty shoes" she said, "These should fit you". She produced a beautiful pair of high heeled bridal bootees, covered in ivory satin, that laced up to above the ankle. They looked quite dainty on account of the heels, and Paul doubted that his feet could possibly fit in them, but thanks to the silk stockings, they slid in smoothly enough. When Marie laced them up, however, they were definitely a snug fit. "There!" she said, "Very dainty! I'm so glad you aren't one of those horrible huge men! You'll look quite stunning as a bride by the time we've finished with you!"

Paul flushed with pleasure, feeling faint as he gazed downwards, over the swell of his so prettily enfolded breasts, the embroidered busk of the corset, the sheen of the panty girdle and stockings, to the pointed toes of his impossibly neat and pretty shoes. Is this really me? he asked himself, Is this a dream? Already he was able to ignore the constriction of the corset. It was as if he was growing into the form he was being forced into. Marie took him by the hand as he rose unsteadily to his feet, and led him to the dressing table. Even though he was fairly well used to high heels, the combination of these ones with the extreme constriction of the corset was unfamiliar; he felt a weakness about his waist, as if his upper body was only loosely connected with his legs.

After first gently rubbing in a moisturiser, Marie applied a heavy foundation to mask Paul's beard shadow, faint though it was. She followed this with an overall foundation, then a dusting powder. As she worked, she explained what she was doing; though Paul had used make-up himself, he learned several refinements from her. Blusher, eyebrow and lip pencils followed, then lip gloss. "We're aiming for a fairly subtle effect here", she told him, "a pale mid pink for the lips and cheeks, and with your colouring, I think greys and blues for your eyes would be the best". She worked with eye shadows, blending and brushing, then applying eye liner. "I don't think mascara will do much for you, your lashes are too fine, so I think we will give you some false lashes, even though they're a bit of a fiddle. Have you used them before?" Paul said no, he hadn't. It took several minutes before Marie managed to get them just right, but finally she was satisfied.

The face that now looked back at Paul from the mirror was now practically unrecognisable as his own. It was astounding, the difference expertly applied make up achieved! "Not bad, eh?" Marie suggested. "And now for your wig!"

Paul's hair was dark, almost black, as was the wig that Marie now brought over. It was a medium length, straight style with a fringe. Marie settled it on Paul's head and carefully brushed it back , tying it behind. "It's a synthetic wig, so we can't really style it", she told him, "but I prefer a young bride to wear her hair in a simple style, not elaborately permed, so that it looks natural. In any case, the veil will conceal much of it". The effect of the wig was awesome. It was no longer Paul in the mirror. Without any doubt, it was now Pauline. The wig was the final transformation.

"Now, before we get you dressed," said Marie, "We'll just take up some slack in these laces".  "What?" Paul asked, but then he realised what she meant, when she took hold of the corset laces and proceeded to tighten them even further.Paul wouldn't have thought it possible, but sure enough, the merciless grip of the corset constricted him even more than before. He felt slightly faint, swayed a little, and had to sit down for a moment to catch his breath. "Now, slip these on", she said, bringing him a pair of lace trimmed bloomers. "Whatever are they?" he asked. "These will protect your legs from the petticoat hoops" Marie explained "So step into them, that's right." The lace trims fell well below his knees, feeling most odd. Then she gave him a pair of elbow length ivory satin gloves to put on. At first, Paul thought they would never fit as they seemed far too tight. "They don't make these in any larger size unfortunately". Marie said, "but these will fit, you see". She eased his fingers in, one at a time, milking them into the gloves, until they reached the tips of the gloves. Paul found that he could barely flex his fingers, so unyielding was the fabric that sheathed them.

"Now, my sweet, at last we are ready for the hoops and dress! Here are the hoops". She helped Paul to his feet, and deftly dropped the hoops over his head, making them fast about his waist. Five springy steel hoops held the petticoat well away from his legs. Paul's eyes, however, were fixed upon Cynthia as she approached, with the dress draped across her arms, and he felt almost dizzy as he anticipated what it would feel like to be ensconced in those glorious clouds of silk. Smiling, the two ladies gathered up the voluminous layers of skirts and petticoats, and, turning the dress inside out, offered up the bodice of the dress to him. "Now put your arms into the sleeves" Cynthia instructed, and as he did so, they eased the dress over his head, and smoothly it slid and cascaded down to envelope him completely. Paul's head emerged from the neck opening, the sleeves slipped fully up his arms, and the skirts fell into place in a swishing and rustling of silks. Cynthia smoothed the bodice around his chest, and fastened a short zip at his waist, before commencing the task of doing up all forty of the tiny pearl buttons that extended right up to the high neckline. While she did this, which took several minutes, Marie fastened a dozen similar buttons at each wrist, tightly encasing his gloved arms.

"Some final touches, now". Dainty pearl drop earrings, a stranded pearl necklace were clipped in place, and then a tiara and veil were painstakingly arranged on his head. Paul thought he'd faint with sheer pleasure, so intense was the surge of ecstasy he experienced as his metamorphosis was completed.

Satisfied at length, the two ladies stepped back to admire the finished result of their efforts. "Perfect", Cynthia judged, "Just perfect, Pauline - you are now a bride! This is your day! Enjoy it to the full, my sweet!"

Paul clutched at his skirts, with some difficulty owing to the tight gloves which made it hard to get a hold on the slippery fabric, lifting them as he gingerly walked over to a low circular pedestal set before triple mirrors. Mounting the stand, he saw before him, and to each side, reflections that confirmed his beautiful appearance. Cynthia fussed with the train of his gown and with the drifting layers of the tulle of his veil, ensuring all was perfectly arranged.

Paul was totally awe-struck. The illusion was complete. Every detail of what he saw in the mirrors proclaimed that he was indeed a stunning bride, superbly adorned in the gown of her dreams. As a finishing touch, Cynthia brought him a bridal bouquet and placed it in his hands, which he promptly dropped as he failed to grasp it. Cynthia picked it up and tied it to his wrists with a ribbon. Paul was so absorbed in self admiration that he didn't at once notice that the ribbons actually bound his wrists together. When he suddenly realised, he demanded to know why she had done that. "Only to help you maintain your beautiful pose with the bouquet" she replied. "After all, you will be standing there for a very long time, aren't you? It wouldn't do for you to get up to anything, this way you'll stay nice!" Paul blushed, guessing what she was referring to. Already he was aware of pressure in his crotch, as his member attempted to swell and escape its confinement.

Paul swayed, still slightly unsteady on his high heels. Cynthia steadied him, gently resting her hand on his elbow. "Would you like to take a few steps?" she queried, "You need to practise, for that walk up the aisle!" Hesitantly, Paul stepped down off the platform, and took a couple of steps. Realising that he wouldn't trip, thanks to the hooped petticoat which held his skirts clear, he advanced slowly down the showroom, feeling the drag of the train as it was drawn along behind. As he approached the end of the room, he circled around so as not to entangle himself with the train. "Very good!" Cynthia said. "Just take it slowly, hold your head up - good!" A wide smile began to appear on Paul's face, as he was transported - living out the fantasy he'd imagined for so many years! Here he was, fully adorned as a bride on her wedding day! He hardly dared believe it, even now.

Oblivious of Cynthia, he slowly paced and paused, turned and posed, paced again, turning from side to side to see himself reflected in the wall mirrors as he passed.

Finally, he returned to the circular pedestal, mounted it, and settled into a fetching pose, content to rest and admire the incredible images he saw reflected.

Time stood still. Paul was as if in a trance. Cynthia came over to him (Marie had already left). "You look wonderful", she said, "Just let me adjust those skirts for you. I'll have to leave you soon, so it's time to fix you up." Lifting up the skirts and petticoats from behind, she inserted a length of chromed pipe into a socket in the platform. "Just back up a touch" she said, and as Paul did so, he felt the pole nudge his backside. "What's that?" he asked, vaguely, as he was barely aware of what Cynthia was up to. "Just making sure you won't run away - remember what you agreed to?" Deftly she wrapped a soft leather strap around Paul's ankles and around the post, and fastened it. Paul shuffled his feet, finding that he could move neither more than a few inches. He felt a wave of pleasure course through him as he realised that he was now trapped - but oh! how gorgeously! He almost swooned with rapture, thinking he'd be happy to stand there for ever!

Cynthia was not finished, however. Again lifting up his skirts and train, she gently tugged at the silky bloomers, locating an opening in the rear, and with her other hand at his waist, she gently pulled him towards her, so that he stood directly over the top of the post. What Paul didn't realise was that the post was actually a tube, containing a smooth plastic rod with a rounded tip and coated with lubricant. The rod was concealed inside the post, but it was spring loaded and held down by a catch, which Cynthia now released.

Paul yelped with shock and alarm, involuntarily springing onto tiptoe in a vain attempt to evade the totally unexpected intrusion. "Aaaaagh!" he screamed, as the rod plunged upwards, smoothly insinuating itself inside him despite his clenched sphincter muscles, until it had penetrated to its fullest extent, when it locked in position with an audible click.

Still dancing on his toes, but hampered by the ankle straps, Paul yelled "What - what have you done to me? , as he frantically scrabbled at his skirts trying to reach the offending prong on which he was now securely impaled. Of course, with his wrists bound together, he got nowhere in that attempt.

Cynthia said nothing, concentrating instead on smoothing and arranging the skirts and train. "There you are, my sweet", she said, soothingly, "Now you are my most beautiful model, displayed to perfection." Paul repeated his question. "Only what you agreed to", Cynthia calmly replied, "You agreed to become a mannequin, did you not? And now that is exactly what you are, and what you will remain until I return, so calm down, compose yourself, and don't even try to escape, because, as I'm sure you realise, it's out of the question." She carefully spread out the veil as Paul slowly sank back onto his heels, the rod pushing still further inside him. "But - but I never thought....."

"Hush now, my pretty. Just relax and make the most of your day! Don't tell me you won't enjoy it! Now, I'll put on this music for you, and then I'll leave you on your own for a while. I'll come back later to see if you've had enough. Enjoy your fantasy, darling!" And disregarding his protests, switching off all but a few lights over the pedestal, she quietly left the room and abandoned him.

Paul gazed at his reflection, his pulse pounding, but slowly subsiding as he came to terms with the predicament he had brought upon himself. Wasn't this exactly what he'd hoped for? Apart from the shock of being impaled, of course. But he couldn't imagine how he could have more effectively been rendered immobile. The rod inside him not only anchored him to the spot, but also prevented him from bending forwards more than a fraction, and with his wrists and ankles restrained, there was practically nothing he could do, except turn around - he found that he could take little steps around the post, but what good would that do him? He was pinned there as helpless as a butterfly in a case.

He was mesmerised by the sight of his reflection. His lips parted as he gazed in awe and self love at the extraordinary vision he presented.

Motionless, he lost awareness of the constriction of his costume and the intrusion of the rod, and saw only the beauty of his reflected image. He was barely even aware of the music playing softly in the background, and lost all track of time.

An hour passed, and another, before normality began to seep back into his consciousness. Little by little, the strain of standing motionless began to fatigue him, and he started to become aware of the considerable discomfort that the corset, the tight shoes, the gloves, and the restraints imposed upon him. The moment he relaxed his stance, the rod sharply reminded him to remain erect. His chest ached from the merciless grip of the rigid corset. His feet were numb. He was thirsty. How much longer, he wondered, before she returns? When did she say she'd be back? What was the time now, anyway? He had no idea.

Another hour passed. As his discomfort increased, he racked his brain for some way of escape. Surely it was possible, he thought, and he made a serious attempt to free his hands. But try as he might, he simply couldn't. In despair, he resigned himself to having to wait. He couldn't take his eyes away from the mirror. The girl he saw there gazed impassively back at him. Her lips slightly parted, unsmiling. In a dreamlike reverie, he stared, became numb to his suffering, as if it were not his body that was so painfully constricted and transfixed. His pulse slowed.... further..... further....

It would be a very long day.

Did you enjoy that story? More in the same vein may be found at:

http://www.transbride.freeola.net/Stories/Fiction/menu.htm 

(By the way - if Sandra Johnson sees this - I tried to email you but your address was blocked. The story you were looking for is there!)