The evening rush at L'Aube was always a swift whirlwind, a blur of glimmering silverware and murmurs of affluent conversation. As a busboy, my world was one of constant movement, catching glasses on the edge of the table and stepping lightly between diners, trying to maintain the convoluted tapestry of service. But tonight, my attention was drawn to a mesmerizing figure seated a few tables away: Elizabeth Chante.

She was the type of woman who made an entrance even when she was just seated, her presence lighting up the dim, candlelit room. Dressed in a rich emerald gown that hugged her curves perfectly, she radiated an effortless elegance. Her smile sparkled as she interacted with her companions, her laughter flowing like a sweet melody. I watched in awe, momentarily forgetting the plates in my hands. I was Dustin, a busboy. She was Elizabeth...when she wasn't called Mrs. Chante she was only called Elizabeth, not Lisa, Beth, or Becky.

I knew of Elizabeth, of course; she was a fixture in the city's upper crust. They called her a trophy wife, but the title hardly seemed to do her justice. She didn't simply fulfill the role of the pretty accessory by a wealthy man's side---she owned it. It was clear in the way she carried herself, with confidence and grace that made her seem indomitable. She was more than an ornament; she was a vision of everything I oftentimes wished for.

As I navigated my duties, I found my mind drifting. What would it be like to wake every day in her shoes? Her life seemed like a dream spun in silk and gold, a reality filled with flawless skincare routines and personal shoppers, where the most significant choices revolved around dinner parties and charity galas. Each morning, she'd glide from her king-sized bed and into a lavish lifestyle where pampering was a priority---a world where I imagined the biggest problem might be picking the right dress or coordinating the perfect hairdo. A world where she even had personal consultants to help her with those chores.

Couldn't I find contentment in such a life? I knew my own struggle well: long hours in dull uniforms, the ache in my back after shifts that stretched well beyond the sunset, and the constant battle to make ends meet. But it was hard, in that moment, to see the other side of Elizabeth's choices through the lens of anything but envy. I paused briefly, allowing myself the indulgence of imagining a morning of beauty routines, decadent brunches, and lazy afternoons sipping champagne---an existence far removed from scrubbing tables and dealing with the occasional rude patron.

I imagined life as Elizabeth: swirling in beautiful dresses, adorned with luxurious accessories, always the focus, always celebrated. There were no late-night classes or part-time jobs in her world, no worries about rent or bills. Just a serene life, floating from one grand event to the next, wrapped in the adoration of her husband and the envy of those around her.

I nearly missed an order when I snapped back to reality, shuffling to the kitchen with my head filled with daydreams. Why was it wrong to fantasize about that? I could almost justify it by the cadence of her laughter, the way it cut sweetly through the air, inviting and warm. Surely, in a life where appearances mattered, she was cultivating connections that brought her happiness---wasn't that worth something?

Elizabeth caught my eye again as she leaned in to share a joke with her friends, her laughter spilling forth like a bubbling stream. For a fleeting second, our gazes locked. I felt an unexpected jolt, a momentary connection that sent heat rushing to my face before she continued her conversation, unbothered by my observation. I couldn't shake the feeling. Somehow, that brief second made her world feel more attainable, a thread woven tighter between our realities.

What was it that made her different? Was it merely her wealth and beauty? Or was it how she embraced her role, a conscious choice to embody grace and charm? I couldn't find any issues with such a life, where the biggest focus was understood to be looking good at a man's side. Many people would kill for a life with fewer burdens, and fewer worries.

As the night wore on, I cleared the remnants of Elizabeth's meal and caught her eye again. She smiled softly as I swept away empty plates, and in that instant, it hit me: this could be more than mere admiration. I could learn from her radiance. I didn't have to envy her life, nor did I need to diminish it. There was beauty in aspiration, and by observing her, perhaps I could bring a little bit of that elegance into my own life--- into my own choices.

A moment later, I wasn't where I thought I should be. I was across the room walking back to my table. I could feel the heeled sandals on my feet. I could feel the swish of the skirt of my sapphire dress as it brushed against my knees as I walked. I could feel my earrings swing against my neck. Under my dress, I felt my tight bra around my torso and my even tighter shapewear around my waist. I wasn't me anymore. I was Elizabeth.

I didn't break stride, I knew where I was heading.

From behind me, I heard a scream and a tray full of dishes falling. I didn't turn, I had too much class for that. The general scream transformed into shouted words. "What happened to me!!!" There was a scuffle, but I continued on my way. I'm not concerned with the goings-on in the kitchen.

I looked down at myself. I expected to see cleavage over the top of the sweetheart neckline of my dress. But it was as flat as it was before. I looked down and saw my hands. They looked the same, except for the nail polish on my fingernails and the shaped nature of the nails. MY hands did look softer, but they weren't women's hands, they were my male hands if I had been using lotions and creams on them for years.

I wondered if I still had my penis. I couldn't check. That wouldn't be ladylike.

I finally reached my chair and instinctively smoothed my dress before sitting down. There were two other ladies at my table. They took notice of my arrival but weren't shocked to see me sit down.

Somehow, I realized that I knew everything I needed to know to be Elizabeth. I knew the women who were sitting with me. I knew as much about table manners as time at a finishing school could prepare a woman. I knew I was still a man and looked the same as always, but I had become Elizabeth Chante.

I followed everyone's gaze and looked toward the shouts coming from the kitchen. I saw Mrs. Chante run out of the kitchen to be restrained by the staff. She was pulled out of sight.

When Francine, one of my companions, asked what happened. The waiter informed her that with was a 'problem' with one of the busboys. I finished my meal. When I waited with my dinner companions for the chauffeur to bring our cars, I saw the police pull up and enter the restaurant through the kitchen.

My Chauffeur drove me to my mansion. I was greeted by several members of the staff as I entered my home.

I told my maid, Kathy to draw me a bath. I knew she would make sure the temperature was just right.

"Candles?" Kathy asked.

"No thank you, just the bath beads tonight."

"Very good Madam."

I grabbed my lace gown and a pair of silky panties. I knew it cost more than what used to be a month of my salary. I didn't care, it looked wonderful. Plus, I was happy to just get out of my tight shapewear and bra. Looking good sometimes can be physically uncomfortable.

Soon I was naked and relaxing in the tub. My body was hairless. I knew I kept it that way. Between my legs, my penis was where I expected it to be. Nothing important changed about my body. Physically I was still myself.

After the bath, I dried myself off and got into my side of the bed. I waited for James to get in beside me. We kissed and I fell asleep.

Morning: