Stepford - When One Door Closes

George tossed his suitcase onto the hotel’s bed, slumping down on the chair beside it. As soon as he settled into the chair, he felt heavy. He was exhausted, but he only noticed it once he had now stopped moving. He had spent the whole day travelling and it had finally caught up to him, finally with a chance to rest in his meagre, if functional hotel room. It was plain and unimaginatively furnished, but he didn’t mind. He would only be in town for the business conference, and the hotel room was little more than a place to rest between buzzword filled seminars and tiring networking.

The man checked his watch, annoyed to see it was still only early evening. He was tired, but he knew if he tried to go to bed now it would throw off his whole sleeping schedule, and he needed to be on top form for the next day. With nothing else to do, he began to lay out his suit for tomorrow. It had been a year since George was made single once again, and as a way of coping with the traumatic break up, he had thrown himself into his work. The endless meetings and late nights spent working kept him distracted enough that he didn’t notice the loneliness that was eating away at him. He was not happy, instead keeping busy enough to not notice his unhappiness. Deep down, George knew it wasn’t sustainable, and longed for a change.

With his clothes now laid out, George was stuck on what to do. He knew he could sit down and just mindlessly scroll his phone for several hours until sleep finally took him, but he wanted to do something more productive. After a day spent breathing in the recycled air of planes and trains, he decided to head outside to taste the evening chill, if only as something to keep him busy before bed. Leaving his suitcase behind in the room, George headed back out into the corridor, locking the door behind him.

As he walked over the cheap carpet and tried to find the exit, George found himself wandering. He hadn’t paid too much attention on his way up to his room, but now the maze of corridors was all starting to look like the same drab shades, merging into one another as he tried to retrace his steps. Whether it was from his tiredness or the hotel’s confusing layout, he couldn’t find the stairs that led down to the lobby. Infuriatingly, he even found himself back at his own door. However, just as he was about to unlock it and head back inside defeated, he noticed something.

Directly opposite his own door, was another, matching in style if not for the soft pink colour. Next to it, a clock was mounted on the wall, the hands stuck at 2 o’clock. Curious, George checked his watch, relieved to find he hadn’t been lost in the hotel for that long. The clock on the wall was simply stuck. As he approached the door, he realised that it hadn’t been there when he left the room earlier. He would have noticed it immediately, perfectly in his vision as he opened his own door. The colour stood out from all the other brown doors in the corridor. Had someone placed it there as a joke while he was walking? He looked at it closer – it wasn’t merely painted onto the wall or some projection, it was real wood, in a frame, set into the wall. George stepped back from it, believing it to be some sort of supply cupboard or hopefully some stairs back down. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door, but to no response. He twisted the handle, surprised to find it open.

On the other side of the door was a plush living room. George could see a large, opulent sofa, thick rugs, and beautiful artwork hanging on the wall. Light was streaming in from the windows, bathing the whole room in a soft, welcoming glow. It was utterly at odds with the rest of the hotel, and George was certain there couldn’t be a window halfway down the corridor. Keen to know more, and taking the unlocked door as an open invitation, he stepped inside.

At first, he thought that it may have been some sort of lounge for more premium guests. Then, as his feet were swallowed up by the soft carpet, George realised it was part of a much larger building, impossibly connected to the hotel through the door. Turning around, George could see the door back to the hotel now standing strangely in the middle of a wall, next to a fireplace. He paced over to the windows, seeing a patch of bright green grass and a white picket fence, next to a road in a quaint suburban neighbourhood. The room was impossible, as if he had teleported from the hotel to a completely different building just by stepping through the door. On the mantlepiece, he could see photographs of two women, one with large blonde hair, the other with dark hair in a high ponytail. They were both in their thirties and smiling with a love for each other that George could feel even through the photograph. He set the picture back down. If they were the owners of the strange house, he didn’t want to disturb anything.

George headed back through the door to the hotel, if only to confirm his strange theory. As he stepped through, he was back in the hotel, exactly as he had left it only moments before. He even opened the door to his room, seeing his suit still ready for tomorrow. He could hear faint ticking coming from the clock beside the pink door. Strangely, the hands were moving backwards, counting back from two. He watched it for a moment, trying to piece together what was going on. Was it some sort of timer? What would happen in two hours once it reached midnight? With nothing better to do and led by an intrigued curiosity, George headed back through the door and into the house beyond.

Now when he went through, he was struck by a sense of peace and serenity. The roar of traffic was gone, replaced by gentle birdsong somewhere beyond the walls of the house. The whole room was well furnished and decorated– modern and stylish while still retaining some retro-charm. George sat down on the sofa, feeling the fabric cushion him better than the cheap chair back in his hotel room ever could. He could feel his burdens being lifted, the furniture making him want to stay and ignore the conference he had to prepare for. Eventually, he stood up. He remembered the clock on the other side of the door: he had two hours to explore, and he was going to make the most of it.

George passed through a large, well-equipped kitchen, full of gadgets and ingredients that he didn’t recognise. He had never been much good in the kitchen, but whoever lived in the house treated it with respect. A row of quaint recipe books were neatly stored on the shelf. He idly ran a finger along the counter, unsurprised to find no dust or grime. The whole place was immaculate. Inquisitive, George opened the fridge, finding several brightly coloured cupcakes and an apple pie, the rich, cosy smell filling his nostrils. A part of him wanted to serve himself a slice, but he resisted. He didn’t know when the owners would be home. Despite how lovely they looked in the photograph together, he doubted they would take kindly to a stranger rifling through their food. At one end of the kitchen, he saw two stools by the counter with small coffee mugs already placed out. The couple that lived here clearly did everything together, George thought as he continued onwards. He could almost picture them sat down together before work, discussing the latest news or the local gossip. He soon found himself at the base of a great spiral staircase and began to climb it, the sheer size of it practically dwarfing the man as he ascended.

The upper floor of the house was as beautiful as below. Tasteful, pastel wallpaper was surrounding him, and amongst the well-read bookshelves he spotted more photographs of the happy couple, laughing in each other’s arms. George felt a tinge of jealousy when he saw them. As much as he tried to fill up his mind with work, a part of him wanted what they had – love and stability, safe in the knowledge that you were spending the rest of your life with someone who wanted the same. George tried to push the thoughts aside, walking through a large white door on the landing.

His shoes clicked against the tiles as George found himself in an opulent bathroom. There was a shower set in the corner, a wide mirror with two small stools in front of it, and a large free-standing bathtub, raised off of the floor by four metallic feet. Just this room alone was larger than his hotel room, and far more luxurious. Warm, natural light came in through a small window, and George opened it. The air smelt fresh, the scent of flowers and springtime bursting through into the bathroom, and George breathed deeply. It was like he had walked into a whole different world entirely, far removed from the stress of his job. As George looked over the shining bathtub, a temptation began to grow. His hotel room only had a shower – why shouldn’t he treat himself? He remembered the clock back in the hotel room, imagining the seconds counting down until he imagined he would be forced out of the strange reality he was in, reminding himself to not waste any more time dithering.

George began to run the bath, watching the water steam and bubble as the tub filled. He quickly stripped off his clothes, folding them and placing them on the side. As he waited for the bath to fill, he inspected the huge range of bottles and ointments arranged by the mirror. There were more products than he could ever understand – specific varieties of conditioners and body lotions that made it clear that the bathroom could have only been used by two women who took great care of themselves. George found one, a glass bottle filled with a viscous pink liquid, and began to read the label. It was a bubble bath, supposedly infused with healing crystals and vitamins that would leave his skin smooth and radiant. George chuckled to himself as he watched the liquid swirl around, thinking it nothing more than a marketing ploy. He uncorked it, and gave the rich, girlish fragrance a sniff. George had never had a bubble bath before, but told himself he would only have an opportunity to be as luxurious as this once. He poured it into the filling bath with a smile. Soon, a rich layer of pink and white bubbles formed, making it difficult to see the water underneath. George turned off the tap, and slipped in.

The water was almost too hot, George instinctively pulling away his toes as they touched the water beneath the bubbles. Slowly, he eased in his feet, and by the time his ankles went beneath the water he was adjusting fast. It was hot, but refreshingly so, like a humid sauna or a hot day after a winter’s cold. Eventually, he was lying down, underwater from the neck down. His head rested on the fluffy bubbles, gradually popping in his ears. Whether it was from the rich fragrance or the steam, George found that he was breathing easier, more naturally. He closed his eyes, letting the hot water soothe his worn-out muscles.

Beneath the bubbles, George began to change. The water worked along his skin, and slowly his body hair began to disappear. Across his legs, arms, and chest, the water shifted slightly, brushing the hair away as if it was never attached at all. Across his manhood, the hair faded, leaving a small, soft patch just above his groin. George swiped away some of the bubbles that were clinging to his face, and with them his stubble vanished. The hair disintegrated into the water of the tub, fading away completely. George was surprised to find that supposed vitamins and crystals in the water beginning to work, a soft tingling feeling spreading across his now hairless skin. For a moment, the water felt uncomfortably hot, but then he quickly adjusted once more. His skin was growing softer and more sensitive. The slight callouses on his hands faded, as if he had never had to labour a day in his life. The blemishes and old scars disappeared, leaving his flesh perfectly smooth.

George let out a low, relaxed groan as he sunk further into the bath. Despite knowing that the timer was ticking away somewhere back in the hotel, he wished that he could stay here forever. He longed to be able to take long, refreshing baths like this more often, rather than rushing around and stealing a chance for a shower when he was able.

Under the water, further changes continued throughout George’s body. Though never broad and bulky, his shoulders lost some of their masculine edge, slimming down into a daintier figure. George, his vision obscured by the bubbles, didn’t notice the changes, only feeling more relaxed as his body felt more comfortable in the tub. His entire torso shrank down, the bones painlessly reforming into a slimmer shape, with a narrow, tapering waistline. Around his hips, the opposite happened, with his pelvis reworking itself to be wider than before. With a relaxing stretch, George’s legs extended, long and thin.

The fat across his body all began to shift, sliding further down his body. Though his whole new form was soft and pliable, around his rear the fat began to build in excess. George adjusted in the tub, the water now seemingly coming to a slightly different level than before as his body changed. The fat continued further, leaving George with thick thighs and a rounded, soft behind that pressed comfortably against the tub.

The water gradually began to grow colder, and George knew he should get out of the tub. Before his time was up, there was still more of the house to explore, and potentially even better ways to relax that his own room couldn’t offer. As he emerged from the water, standing nude and dripping out of the tub, he realised something was off. The whole room seemed larger than before. He realised he had lost several inches of height. The window that was easy to open before the bath was now a far more difficult stretch to reach. As he looked in the large mirror, George noticed even more changes.

George knew that the bath had altered his body as he stared at it, looking back over his shoulder to view his new rear from behind. He squeezed it, marvelling at how soft it was. Strangely, he didn’t feel panicked. He knew that any time he wanted he could go back through the door and go back to his old hotel, and he assumed, his old body too. Besides, he thought as he took a few measured steps, enjoying the new centre of gravity, he found that he was enjoying the changes. He hadn’t felt this young or flexible in years. His body jiggled slightly with every step, but he found that he enjoyed the sensation. Curious as to what else the house had to offer, George wrapped himself in a towel and sat down at the mirror.

A pink hairbrush was on the side. George could see a few long blonde hairs still clinging to the bristles, the bright shine matching the woman from the earlier photographs. Though George’s hair was cropped short, he decided to try out the brush, enjoying the sensation of the hard bristles against his scalp. George brushed more and more, and soon he noticed that the brush had found more purchase, his hair having grown. Amazed, George looked closer in the mirror. Where he had brushed it, the colour had changed from his usual dark brown. Strand by strand, his hair was turning blonde.

Excitedly, George brushed more. Soon, his hair was tickling at his ears, the brown colour almost lost entirely. Then, it was at his shoulders, tumbling down in a bouncing wave. George squeezed and scrunched the hair in his fingers. It felt so thick, but still light and airy, shimmering in the window’s light. Tempted, George wanted more. He began to brush at the hair on the top of his head, willing it to have more volume. Backcombing it, his hair grew larger and larger, a bright blonde crown above his smiling face. Finally, George was satisfied. He had a beautiful bouffant, almost supernaturally perky above his head, as if held in place my immeasurable cans of hairspray. Two long locks flowed down either side of his face, framing it with soft blonde strands. George couldn’t help but twist and play with his hair, loving the weight of it on his head and how it tickled his shoulders. Almost giddy with excitement, George stood up and headed out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel and keen to find out what more he could change. He left the bathroom, jumping into the next room along.

This room was a beautiful bedroom, with dark wood furniture tastefully arranged around a massive bed. The lighting was soft and relaxing, and George found it easy to imagine the couple spending many long hours cuddled up together beneath the thick, soft sheets. Another dresser was in the corner with a full suite of makeup. Looking at himself in the mirror, George was still recognisably him, despite his gorgeous hair and softer, curvier body. Looking at the different makeup on offer, he wondered how much more he could change. Sitting down on the stool, he picked up a foundation brush, reminding himself that he could go back through the door as soon as he was done having fun.

George had never played with makeup before, but now he was taking to it like a natural. The brush felt comfortable in his hand, and he began to dust it over his face. As the foundation was applied, George felt his head slim down, his hair seeming even larger in comparison. His nose slimmed and his forehead grew smaller. Next, George grabbed some highlighter, applying it along his jawline and cheeks. George was incredulous as his jawline painlessly shifted. His cheekbones rose up, giving his whole head a more pointed, feminine look. With an eyebrow pencil, George traced over his eyebrows, the once bushy lines now perfectly shaped. George blinked rapidly as he applied some mascara and curled his eyelashes, his eyes looking larger and more doe-like. With a small brush, George put some nail gloss onto both his finger and toenails. Despite it being a slow process, he was surprised that he found it relaxing, like painting a tiny, satisfying portrait on each nail. Finally, George selected a tube of bubble gum pink lipstick from a plethora of other bright colours. Puckering his lips, he applied it like an expert, his lips growing plumper and poutier. Teasingly, he blew himself a kiss in the mirror, loving how he looked. His face was now that of a beautiful young woman, bright eyed and gorgeous. George was enjoying embracing his more feminine side, though as he looked down at the towel wrapped around him, there was still more to do.

He walked over to the wardrobe, spotting another photograph of the happy couple together one the wall. Now, it was clear his face was the spit of the smaller blonde-haired woman. George knew it was only temporary – it was a fun game he was playing until the timer ran out, nothing more.

Inside the wardrobe was a massive selection of clothing, all in a vintage, retro style. There were long dresses, delightfully short skirts, and cosy jumpers. They were all tiny, but George knew that they would fit his shrunken body. Before he could try on anything else, he knew he had to start smaller. Finding a drawer, George opened it to find several bras, all with an ample cup size. He folded up the towel, placing it on the back of a chair. He grabbed one of the bras, judging it to be both comfortable and sultry, some teasing lace framing the soft silk. Awkwardly, he slipped the straps over his shoulders and fumbled with the clips until they attached together at the small of his back.

The moment that George heard that satisfying click, he felt a sudden burst of pleasure. It was far different than the relaxation of the bath from earlier, and he could feel it sending an erotic charge down to his dormant manhood. The cups of the silky bra hung loose on his chest, but as George watched, he could see that more fat was forming. His nipples grew wider, swelling, and the pleasure built more and more. Overwhelmed, he fell back onto the bed, squeezing the fatty mounds as they grew. They were larger than he had ever expected, stretching the bra to its limit. George could feel his erect nipples poking through the bra, the arousal having suddenly taken hold of him. The breasts felt heavy across his petite frame, and he was unused to their weight on his back as he sat up, gasping. They had finally finished growing. George spied himself in the mirror. Now, he was unmistakably female, if only for one small feature. As he walked over to the wardrobe once more, breasts jiggling, he put aside his worry. He wasn’t going to lose his manhood, just temporarily experience something new. He couldn’t have much longer on the clock, and he wanted to make the most of it.

Opening the drawer below the bras, George found a pair of panties that mostly matched the bra he was wearing. Giggling, he headed over to the bed, laying down. Raising his legs in the air, he stretched the silky panties up, over his gradually thickening legs. He had to strain to fit them over his behind, but soon the silk completely covered his manhood. George was struck by another wave of pleasure, causing him to gasp daintily. Beneath the silk, he could see the bulge of his shaft shrinking. George didn’t mind – in a way, he wanted it to go, if only to explore the strange new organ he expected to find in its place. He giggled as he felt it slide up inside of himself, followed by his testes. A wet slit had formed. George grinned; his bright pink lips delighted. Nothing of his male body remained.

Curious, he teased one finger down past the hem of the panties. Soon, his glossy fingertips found his new vagina, and he began to explore. If his growing breasts earlier had felt pleasurable, this new part was on an entirely different level. Whether it was from the transformation or his own heightened sensitivity, his vagina was wet and desperate for his touch. As he rubbed his clitoris, George moaned loudly, glad the house was empty. This felt far better than he expected. He instinctively found himself rocking his hips as he rubbed, squeezing at his breasts barely contained by the bra. The sensation was building to a powerful climax, and then George was overcome. With a feminine wail, each of his nerve endings felt bursting with pleasure. He clutched at the sheets of the bed for some support as his body was overwhelmed by the sensation.

After a moment spent blissfully idle in the longer, stronger orgasm, George slid out of bed, unsteady on his feet. He had never expected a woman’s orgasm to feel so divine. He knew his time was running out, and headed over to the wardrobe for another new sensation.

Amongst the other skirts and dresses, all in various shades of pink, George found a cute, low-cut dress, with a teasingly short skirt. George was in love. He had never appreciated women’s fashion before, but now he wanted nothing more than to see how his body looked while wearing the small scrap of silk.  His dainty hands shaking with excitement, George manoeuvred his curves into the dress, finding a matching pair of pink heels. He walked over to the mirror and gasped. He was beautiful. A beacon of femininity and grace, delicate and delightful. He spun slightly, watching as the skirt twirled with him. It fit him perfectly, as if specifically tailored for his body. His curves were emphasised, his waist tapering.

Just then, George heard keys in a door downstairs. A wave of panic surged in him. He could hear the heavy door closing, and then a womanly voice called out.

“Honey, I’m home!”

George knew that logically, he had never heard the voice before. But somehow, it felt familiar. He found himself entranced, and slowly descended the stairs to greet her.

In the living room of the house, another woman was putting her coat on the coat rack. She was taller than George, even while wearing his heels. Her dark hair was done up in a tight ponytail. A white blouse framed her buxom figure, and a black pencil skirt spoke of a workplace that demanded authority and precision. She turned, locking eyes with George. The moment that they connected, new memories rushed in. They didn’t replace his old ones, but merely sat alongside them. Somehow, they seemed more real than his old ones ever did. This was his wife, Marie. She was an executive at a fashion design firm. They had lived together since they were married – several years ago. All of these thoughts flowed into George as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you okay, Didi?” Marie asked. “You’re looking a little flustered.”

The name felt right. She knew it was a pet name – short for Diane.

“I’m fine!” Diane said. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought for a second…” she said, her voice trailing off. It was higher than ever, a delicate soprano. The taller woman approached her, and as somehow Diane knew she had done a thousand times before, wrapped one arm around her waist, dipped her slightly, and kissed her. When their lips touched, Diane knew that this was what she wanted. She wanted to be here for Marie when she came home from work each day and greet her with a smile.

“You can be so ditzy sometimes”, Marie said teasingly, still holding her wife. Diane giggled. She knew she was intelligent, but it was easy to get distracted at home. It was a chance to relax – she didn’t need to put on a front of intellect like Marie found it so easy to do. “What have you been up to today?” she asked. Diane tried to think – she knew she had only come through the door just less than two hours ago. She hadn’t done much else.

“I took a bath, which was nice”, she said, twirling her blonde hair around one pink painted finger. “I baked a pie, too!”, she added, remembering the apple pie in the fridge.

“A fantastic day for my stay-at-home wife”, Marie said with a smile, releasing her from her embrace. “And I can see you’re wearing that dress again.”

“Do you like it?”, Dianne said, finding it natural to lean in slightly, exposing her cleavage. She could feel Marie staring at it.

“You know I do, that’s why I made it for you”, Marie said, chuckling. “You’re so scatter brained sometimes, Didi”. It made sense to Diane now – Marie had made everything in the wardrobe.

“But you know, I’ve had a long day at work”, she said, her voice growing lower. She took her wife’s hand, squeezing it. “Perhaps you can help me let off some steam?” Diane bit her lip excitedly. She wanted nothing more. The two women headed upstairs, giggling.

Moments later, Marie’s legs were spread apart on the bed. Slowly, Diane leant in closer, mere inches from Marie’s womanhood. She took a deep breath, loving the smell of her wife. She extended her dainty tongue and set to work. Soon, Marie began to moan, Diane teasing and toying with her clit. Marie’s hand went to the back of Diane’s head, pushing her head closer into her, making the blonde-haired woman apply more pressure. Marie was in control, and Diane loved it. She hadn’t realised she had wanted this all along. This was a simple life – she lived it in a loving subservience to her partner, there to make sure her life at home was as relaxed as possible. New memories grew of their relationship, their first date, even their wedding day, surrounded by friends and family. Diane suddenly gained knowledge of their many intimate encounters, and she remembered exactly how Marie liked to be pleasured. She knew that it was her duty as her wife to make sure she was treated well. Soon, Diane could feel Marie’s legs shaking beside her small face, and a pleasured sigh escaped her lips as she came. Diane felt proud.

Soon, the two were cuddled up together, spooning on the bed. Diane felt safe and protected as the little spoon, Marie’s large body cradling her. She could feel her running her fingers through her soft blonde hair. She smiled, taking a moment to enjoy the sensations. She was loved, safe, and without a care in the world. There were no deadlines to meet, no conferences to attend. Just her, her wife, and their beautiful life together. Diane thought back to her life as George, stressed and unhappy, back in the hotel room. As Marie cuddled in tighter, kissing her neck, she made her decision. This was her life now, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

Back in the hotel, the clock struck midnight. The pink door faded away, leaving nothing but a blank wall behind.

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A commission for GWW1992. This is based on the 'Hotel Monnaie' setting by iamthetransient, who has given very kind permission for its use and produced the brilliant artwork to go with this piece.

I hope you enjoy reading it! It's been a while since I've done a Stepford story, and these are always fun.