Chris was just a little late on puberty, being 13 years old and not experiencing it yet. Consequently, he was a bit confused about his sexuality. Most of his friends were already going out with girls at school, while he still couldn't relate to the fascination of young girls bodies. He knew he definitely wasn't turned on by boys bodies... the only thing that ever gave him an erection was watching his older sister Janet getting dressed. It wasn't so much her body that turned him on as the clothes she wore. Seeing her delicately lift her pantyhose to the toes of her feet, then slowly, elegantly sliding them up over her feet, up her legs, until the waistband hugged her hips and the center seem kissed her crotch. Observing her hands deftly strapping a bra around her firm, round breasts. Watching slim, stocking-clad feet slip into bright red high-heeled shoes. These were the things that aroused his sexuality. Chris always wanted to try on her clothes, but his frame was a little smaller and he knew they wouldn't fit him nearly as well as they did his sister. Then one day, something happened. He came across a picture of himself as a two-year-old, with Janet at ten years old standing near him. His mom had dressed him in a little blue shirt, but from the waist down he was clad in bright red tights. They were the same color as the tights his sister was wearing. All of the sudden Chris felt his penis stiffen and throb, confusion beginning to cloud his mind. He had erections before, but this time it was different. A shiver went up the spine, heartbeats quickened slightly, and a strange tingling, tight feeling engorged his penis. He stood up, and hurried off into the attic in a state of confusion, not knowing what was going on. There were several dressers in the darkness, lit partially by a window at the far end of the room. The attic was spooky without anyone else around--Chris almost never went up there alone. But something called out in his subconscious. Look around. Quickly. Open the drawers. Search.


    In about twenty minutes, all of the dresser drawers had been opened, odd clothes were strewn about the floor. Then something caught Chris' eyes. With the bottom drawer of the big mahogany, bureau pulled out, space beneath was exposed that revealed a shiny red garment. He reached in and grabbed it. It was soft, stretchy, and very slippery. Held at full length, it had the shape of a body, from neck to toe, with long sleeves and a small zipper in the back. What was it? Like tights and a leotard joined together, but no seams except along the arms and up the inner legs. A full-body unitard. He dropped them. What a strange feeling! Like doing something wrong, yet so compelled to indulge. In a brief moment, Chris had all of his clothes off and he sat on the cool floor. The air had a slight chilling effect, causing a tingling sensation across his skin. The zipper of the unitard slid down easily, revealing the inviting insides of the lycra garment. He rolled up the right side and pulled it onto his right foot, covering the toes the way Janet put on her pantyhose. Swiftly and eagerly, the spandex slid upwards, a snug fit to the upper thigh. He repeated the same with the left side, his crotch throbbing steadily. Standing up, Chris gave a firm but gentle tug, and the whole lower half of the unitard covered him up to his waist, a soft smooth snug feeling all over. He darted both hands through the arms, reached behind, and pulled up the zipper. Ohhhh..... The light from the window danced across his body, and he could see himself in a mirror on the adjacent wall. There stood a young boy, clad so snugly in red lycra from neck to toe. At this point, Chris had trouble containing himself. Hormones coursed through his body, tingling sensations shot up the spine, and a compelling tight feeling surged through his maleness. How could something feel so good?? Both hands raced all over, taking in the stretchy smoothness of the lycra encased about him. He laid down and hugged himself gently, drenched in ecstasy. Moments passed. "Chris? Oh, Chris! Where are you?" It was his mother calling. Oh no! She couldn' find him like this. What would she think?? He laid perfectly still, not to make a noise. Her voice came closer, approaching. Suddenly, he noticed that the attic door was slightly open. Certainly, that would lure her to open it further and look inside! "Chris??" His mother was only a few feet away now. But suddenly Chris was distracted. He felt a little odd, the unitard was slightly tighter around him somehow. And it got worse. The lycra seemed to have a life of its own, pulling, stretching, almost seeking to embed itself in his skin. He wanted to cry out! "Chris?? Where are you? Humph! I could've sworn he came up here after school." A hand reached for the door handle, casting a dim shadow onto the attic floor, right beside a limber leg completely covered in red lycra. Chris felt hot flashes waving across his body. He began to shake slightly, a tight tingling sensation welling deeply in his penis. He felt like he was going to explode in a sexual fervour, like never before. Thunk! The door closed. Footsteps walked off, downstairs. His mother was gone. Shiver! Tremble! He couldn't control his body. Crotch pulsating, nipples pinching, skin crawling. As if he had been punched in the stomach, Chris doubled over and moaned. His voice cracked, caught between boyhood and puberty, then smoothed with a feminine sigh.


  Something was wrong. It felt as if the nipples on his chest were swollen. What happened? He reached down between his legs, hands sliding over the red lycra, to find that his penis was gone! Small thin lips running up and down, a small bump on the top that tingled with a touch, was all that was left. His hands felt smaller, his legs were thin, feet smaller. He touched himself more, only to finally realize that he had lost something--his boyhood. He now had the body of a girl! Christine, not Chris. Her vagina pulsated, fresh from the transformation, eager to be loved. In a confused daze, she slowly brought her hand to it and stroked softly. Her newfound girlhood called for more. She pressed firmly between the lips of her vagina, massaging the clitoris. More, faster, firmly! Her head turned to the side and she caught sight of herself in the mirror. In spite of the shock, she could see how lovely her new body was. Sweet long legs stretched out to the sides, pretty feet pointed outward, small breasts with nipples perked tightly. Her hand rubbed more briskly as her eyes stared back in anticipation. A quivering began, deep inside, like she never felt before. Like the rumble of a tidal wave, pleasure quaked through her body. The red lycra body danced in the dark, to a tune of newfound sexuality. Christine gave out long deep moans with each repeating orgasm until she was completely spent, her love juices darkening the unitard between the legs. Her heavy breathing relaxed, giving way to slow soothing sighs. She rested and thought about her new predicament. What would she do, now that she was no longer a boy? She giggled, revealing a peaceful smile. What did it matter? She never felt better before in her whole life. The End



AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE

  My Mother had always told me to take my vitamins, which I did. My father had run off and it had always been just me and my mother. I helped her with the laundry and during that chore noticed that her clothes were different than my blue jeans and T-shirts. For some reason I lingered over her clothes and marveled at the difference. They looked and felt so nice and were so soft. When I took a bath, I found myself noticing her stockings drying over the shower bar. When I asked her about what a run in her stockings meant, and why my socks didn't have runs, she tried to explain it was a girl thing. Then I decided one day to look in her dresser and that experience changed my life. Everything was so smooth and soft and smelled so good. I decided to revisit that dresser when I got the opportunity when I got the chance. I thought my chance came when my mother was at work and I got out of school at 3:00. Careful to remember where everything was placed and how it was folded, I took some items from her lingerie drawer. There were silky things and other items that looked tight and felt stretchy. For some reason I decided to put on one of the stretchy things that had legs in them. It was hard to get it on but I managed. It felt nice yet strange. My little parts between my legs felt constricted but somehow I felt wonderful. I also loved the smell of her perfume and opened a container of one, spilling a bit of it on me. I carefully replaced the cap and put it back on the top of her dresser. I spent an unknown amount of time enjoying my feelings and sensations. Then I heard the door open !!! It was my mother! I was in her bedroom, in her girdle and smelled like her perfume! I struggled to undo what I had done! I found myself on her bedroom floor, her girdle around my ankles, trying to crawl under her bed. The expression on her face gave me no clue as to what she thought. I undressed - embarrassed and afraid. We ate macaroni & cheese without a word spoken. I went bed fearful, yet exhilarated from the emotions and feelings that came from my mother's dresser that day. Nothing was said for a year. A year later I was in our garage and found some boxes. I rummaged through them and discovered the mother load. So many girdles, so many panties and skirts - blouses, bras and everything feminine! I couldn't resist myself! In a wave of ecstasy I dressed again. Nothing else mattered. Then I heard my mother's voice! Again I tried to scramble for cover! Again I didn't succeed in my deception! This time my mother insisted we talk. Afraid and shy, thinking I might die or be punished. I told her that I liked being in her clothes. Then I cried, went to bed and shivered.
Nothing was said again for about a week. She was my mother and I knew she loved me. I was 11 years old. At breakfast soon after she told me that I had to take some new vitamins. I took them as always and ate my oatmeal. I studied hard, made good grades but wasn't very good at sports. I continued this regimen for the next 2 years. Six months after my garage experience I told my mother that I was feeling a bit of pain. She asked me where and I said it was in my chest. She took off my shirt and examined me. My pain seemed to come my nipple areas and I thought that I felt a lumpiness that was new to me. She told me that I was O.K. and it was part of growing up. When I went to Jr. High School I was told that I couldn't take P.E. because of a medical condition. I still did art, studied hard, but didn't understand the obsession the other boys were starting to have in girls. I liked most of the other girls and even some of the boys, but I didn't somehow seem to fit in. I was a loner but still kept taking my "vitamins".   Now it was the era of long hair for boys and other social changes. There were other major changes happening to me. Some of the boys were growing mustaches but nothing that way was happening to me. Other things were though! Slowly I noticed things in the mirror! My pants didn't fit right! They were loose around my waist and my bottom and thighs were looking fat! My mother encouraged me to grow my hair long because it was now in fashion. Then I noticed in the mirror that not only did I not have any chest hair but that my chest looked like I had breasts! Over the next six months they were undeniable! I had larger breasts than half of the girls in my high school! I also started having feelings for some of the boys that were hard for me to understand. I also kept close to some of the girls who told me that I way of relating to them that "other boys" didn't. I wore loose shirts, kept my hair log according to the style and tried to figure out that which was getting very difficult to disguise! My waist was thin! My breasts were large! I had a body shape that caused most people to call me miss or young lady! I was surprised that most of the time I enjoyed it! I still kept taking my vitamins - but it was time that I had to express my concerns and intimate feelings to the only family that I had known - my mother. My breasts were now large, my waist was thin and body had a shape that some girls would envy. I felt attracted to boys in a way that scared me and excited me too. My voice didn't sound like the other boys and because I was teased I kept to myself for the most part. Confused, I turned to my mother again. Dutifully I still kept taking the "vitamins" as always. She suggested that we have a talk, keep taking my vitamins and that she had something to tell me! What she said both floored me and relieved me. She related that since my father left her she had a distrust of men. She tearfully told me that she had always wished to have a daughter. She couldn't fathom raising a son and had early on decided for me to be her daughter. We both cried. She then told me that she had a couple of surprises for me. In my old bedroom was a new dresser. She asked me to open the drawers. Inside them were the prettiest panties, the coziest night gowns and in the top drawer were barrettes, head bands and ear rings! I sighed, was excited but didn't know quite how to express my feelings. I was glad inside but then knew that it was time for us to have a real "girl to girl" talk! We proceeded to have that talk and I expressed my honest concerns and fears! I took my vitamins, sat down with mother as she told me of her last surprise! She told me that she had been saving her money and had befriended a skilled doctor. Over the next 2 hours I thought, cried and went more than twice to the mirror. Among the options I considered was being the boy that born as. The mirror told me otherwise. But there was still the matter of a particular piece of anatomy that made my mother's wish for a daughter impossible - or was it? After another heart to heart discussion with my mother, I decided to finally resolve my ambiguity. My anatomy could finally be in sync with the rest of me!
    The arrangements were made, and with trepidation I checked in, was prepped, sedated and went to sleep. When I awoke it was over and a nurse told me all was successful. I had completely become the daughter my mother had always wanted and there was no turning back! Eventually I healed, we went shopping together and even looked at catalogs. My reasoning was that over 50% of the population was female, I didn't feel comfortable as a male and we have nicer clothes. I enjoy doing my hair, picking out earrings and necklaces and dabbing perfume. I enjoy being a girl. The best "came later". Since being a woman I naturally wanted to try out my new equipment. I did however require that it be with a nice and loving man. Since my mother has passed on I have considered lesbian options. Either way I love to be loved, love to have my breasts loved and enjoy an orgasm. As a woman it is a bit of an inconvenience to pee when camping or to always have to sit on the toilet, but I have come to enjoy being touched, lotioned, and cuddling! The first time I was entered I was scared and it was a little painful. I sure it was the same for all girls at first. Believe it or not one of the most pleasurable experiences I now have is to walk by my bathroom mirror, look at myself and then apply the soap to the body that my mother so long ago envisioned her son/daughter having. Enjoy being a girl - a boy - but living!

Here I am with my plum colored hair in a feminine cut and style. I have full make-up on, mascara, permanent eyelashes, lipstick, eye make-up, fully made up. With my permanent arched eyebrows it’s so obvious that this is not a one-time dress-up. If anyone sees me that will know that I’m being femmed up for life. My little maid’s cap is perched on my coiffed hair. I have super glued posts in one set of my ears, it cannot be removed and every few days my ears are checked to be sure that the glue isn’t coming loose. If this happens I have to mince and get more glue for Sarina to re-apply.

 

I have on the frilliest panties, lace all-around with fishnets today. Other days I wear various stockings or pantyhose. 4-inch patent leather pumps are the usual shoes when I’m in my maid’s attire. With lots of toe cleavage are on my feet. Sometimes Sarina likes to glue them on if she feels that I’m being lazy and I try to sneak them off.

 

I have on a lace-up bustier, with my glued on breasts. And this is covered with a black satin maid’s dress. With lace on the hem, puffy sleeves and peasant collar. I have the ultimate addition for embarrassment. It’s a crinoline full petticoat that fits around my waist. This puffs my dress out so that you can see my panties, and my stocking tops. Permanent glued nails with rings and of course the maid lacy gloves are on my arms. I have a little frilly choker around my neck as well. Its so over the top that its really girly for even a girl.

 

I have to go to the mall looking like this. I pull into the parking lot and wiggle in to J.C.Penny’s. Because it s a few days before Halloween, all the female clerks giggle and laugh and are so complimentary on my outfit. I tread the humiliation when I have to go shopping again next week and the weeks to come in the maid’s outfit and they realize that I’m a sissy and completely under my wife’s control. I have to take the escalator and buy several items, mince out to the parking lot and go to my next assignment. Here I am going to a Convenience store.

 

After I buy my wife’s lunch and pick her up. She orders me to go in and buy a paper and some candy. A woman across from where we are parked calls out and comments on my shoes. I have to tell her that my wife dresses me like this all the time, she giggles and says she wishes she could get her own husband to dress like that.

 

Next stop after I drop off my wife is a liquor store, there everyone looks and laughs and the cashier loved my shoes, she makes comments about my plucked, thin arched brows and she tells me that she can tell that this is a serious outfit, and that it looks like I’m dressed like this for some time. I smile and tell her that this is what I have to wear to go out shopping and I have to get used to it. I have a young man carry the case of beer out to the car. He laughs and tells me that I look good in the outfit.

 

Then I go to a card store to buy some tape and it is filled with women. The getting out of the car, straightening my skirt, and walking across the parking lot, or anywhere in these heels its so embarrassing. You have to take little steps and wiggle to get anywhere.

 

There are at least 6 women in the store when I mince through the door. Besides the 2 working there who giggle and smile when they see my sissy outfit. Everyone comments on my shoes and dress. They all think I look cute. What will they think when I have to go back in a few weeks, still in my maid’s dress, with the heels clicking along the cement and me wiggling into the store trying not to look too embarrassed as I buy a card.

 

Sarina tells me after a while I will not be so humiliated. I will get used to being a maid. She is looking forward to my cleaning and running her errands and knowing that I am sitting at home waiting for her. When she comes in I have to curtsey and take her coat.

 

And every time I enter and leave a room I have to curtsey each time. I cannot sit down except in the kitchen. I have to do all the cooking, make the meals etc and of course clean each room in my outfit. Sometimes sleep in panties and stockings and the one of the most embarrassing is wearing a tampon when my wife gets her period. I have to change it when I go to the bathroom. And I also must wear the panty liners as well. I have to experience all the problems that females have.

 

I am so worried when I have to go into the food store this weekend, days after Halloween and shop for the groceries. It will be so embarrassing. Will I ever get used to being in the outfit wiggling around town on my days off?



THE CHANCE

  Since I was seven I had had just one real wish, to be a girl. In the following years this wish grew stronger and stronger, and as I entered into puberty, this problem became ever more difficult. I saw how the girls developed into women with their wonderfully shaped bodies and breasts. I wanted to look like that too, but instead I developed into a man with an abominable body and this thing between my legs which, instead of disappearing, just got bigger and bigger. I tried to cope with this problem and live my life as a man, but I just wasn't very successful. Last year, at the age of 24, I made the decision to undergo a sex change, to take hormones, and to submit to an operation that would approximate a sex complete change. Naturally I would have chosen a simpler method, but this was the sole possibility (at that time). For weeks I surfed the internet in search of information that could help me on my path to become a woman. As a part of that I registered myself in a transsexual forum, in order to discuss my problem with people concerned with such matters. I registered using the name Jennifer. Then 3 months passed, and I just was preparing to begin hormone therapy, when a participant of the forum contacted me. She called herself Alexandra and wrote in her message just the following sentence: "If you would like to be a woman in 24 hours, then get in touch with me!" Naturally I thought right away that this was some stupid joke or a game. I was just about to shut down the computer, when I thought, it can't hurt to give this mysterious person an answer and to go along with the game. So I wrote her a reply: "Yes, I would give anything for that to happen." Scarcely had I sent off the email, when the answer arrived: "Then at 7 o'clock tomorrow morning be at the main train station in Zurich, track 12. Wear a white pullover and a hat and hold a book in your hands." That was all that she wrote me. I was overwhelmed by distrust and decided that I'd not go to Zurich, since from the start I suspected this to be a bad joke. So I did shut down my computer and went to bed. But I couldn't help thinking about this thing between my legs and how I would love to have it gone. But I kept thinking about this Alexandra and how wonderful it would be, if it were no joke. It was at 4 o'clock in the morning that I decided to travel to Zurich.
    f821_1557.jpgSo at 7 o'clock I was standing at the station, track 12, and I wore a white pullover, a black hat, and had a book in my hands. I waited... By 7:15 I was convinced that, as expected, this whole thing was a joke, when suddenly a woman came up to me on the bench where I sat and spoke to me: "Jennifer?" I turned toward her: "Yes. Alexandra?" "No, my name in Manuela and I'm supposed to pick you up here. Alexandra is waiting for you now." She stood up and walked toward the parking lot. I hesitate a brief moment, then I decided to go along; my curiosity as well as my fear were growing steadily. Without saying much I got into her car and we drove about half an hour into a Zurich suburb, where we went into an office building. On the fourth floor we came to a firm by the name Mental Trading, Inc. Manuela led me into one of several rooms, where a woman was waiting for me. "Jennifer. Please, come in! I am Alexandra." She was about 40 and made a friendly as well as a serious impression. "Hello" was all that I could say. When I had seated myself, Alexandra began to speak: "I know that you have been full of suspicion about my offer since yesterday evening, her into the hall. "The 6 candidates are living at this time in these rooms. They are one-room apartments, but we also have a recreation room, where the candidates can meet. Unfortunately I can't show you these facilities, since before making your choice you are not permitted to come into contact with other candidates." She led me into another room. "But I can show you this room; here the actual body transfer is completed. You will enter one of these cubicles, the other person goes into the other cubicle. The cubicles are connected with each other. After a short time you will fall asleep and the transfer begins. When you wake up, you will be very weak, that's why we'll take you into a care center, where you'll remain lying for a few hours before you can leave our clinic again." "How long does this transfer take?" "About 50 minutes." "How will I know how I'm going to look afterward?" "We will now show you the photos of our 4 female candidates. Before that, however, I'd like to ask you to take off your clothes, so that I can take a picture of you, because those 4 candidates must also want your body."
    So I undressed and stood naked in front of a camera. I was getting unsure again, as to whether this wasn't a joke after all, but my curiosity and my hope were too big, to allow me to back out now. Then the flash went off... "O.K. That's that. I'll put your photo in the databank and wait on the answers of our lady candidates. Before you can see their pictures, we still have one more thing to finish up, that is, the financial part." I'd been waiting for the time when this was brought up. "How much does it cost? "It's not so expensive. 15,000 dollars for a new life is actually not bad. For the usual sex-change, you'd pay a lot more." She was right there. "Naturally, the entire amount isn't due until the body change is complete, on the other hand, I need a down payment of 1,500 dollars. The financial risk for something like this was pretty small. So I took my credit card out and paid the 1,500 dollars on the spot. "Wonderful," she said. "And finally still one very important piece of information: So that you can live your own life after the body transfer, this afternoon I'll have your name and gender legally changed. I've got good contact with the authorities, so that this should go without any hitches. Then you'll receive your new ID papers in the next few days." That sounded too good to be true, but I didn't want to hold back from this step. Alexandra now led me to a computer, where she showed me the photos of the 4 candidates along with their personal information. "I'll leave you alone now. If a candidate suddenly disappears from the screen, that means that she has no interest. Good luck!" "Thank you." Alexandra left the room. Now I sat there and looked at these 4 women. The thought that I would be one of these women in a few hours caused me anxiety on the one hand but joy on the other. On the first picture there was a redhead with long hair, age 28, 5' 4" tall, a pretty face but with a large nose. She was rather slender with relatively small breasts (A-cup). On the second picture was a blonde also with long hair, age 23, 5' 9" tall, a delicate face. She was also relatively slender and her breasts were larger than in the case of the redhead (B-cup). The third was a brunette, who also had long hair. She was 26 years old, 5' 6" tall, an angular face, but feminine nonetheless. She was not as slender as the others, but still very much okay. Her breasts were significantly larger, a good C-cup. The fourth was another blonde, but with short hair, age 25, 5' 7" tall, and a very beautiful face. She was athletically proportioned and her breasts filled a B-cup.
    f821_1753.jpgThat was all the information that I had available. Now I had the torment of making a choice, and I had to decide for myself, which criteria were most important to me. I asked myself, what I was really imagining. One important point was height. I didn't want to be all that short, and red hair wasn't for me in anyway. That left candidate one out. The brunette followed a short time later, because somehow I couldn't identify with her face and her breasts were also a bit too large for me. Each of the two blondes made a good impression, maybe I felt a tendency for candidate two. Now I could only wait and see, if one of the ladies had no interest and which one might accept my body. Five minutes before time ran out, the redhead disappeared from the screen, but this was no problem for me at all. A minute before the end, however, candidate two disappeared from the screen and this disappointed me a bit. Soon after than Alexandra came in again. "Have you decided?" "Yes, I've chosen candidate four." Although she was not exactly my first choice, I could be enthusiastic about her body and after all who has the choice to pick out one's own body. "Great, I'm glad to hear that. Now everything will go quickly. Please, undress now and enter the cubicle to your right." I did, what Alexandra required of me. Then I had cables attached all over my body. Alexandra closed the cubicle and now I became truly nervous. For several minutes (it seemed like hours) nothing at all happened, till I suddenly got tired and slowly went to sleep... "Jennifer, wake up!" Alexandra stood before me, and it took a while before I realized where I was. I lay in a bed and was covered. Manuela stood next to Alexandra and so I slowly realized what had probably happened. "It's over," grinned Alexandra. "You are now a woman. I'll have to ask you though not to move much in the next half hour; after that you can try to stand up and check out your new body." My heart was turning somersaults, but I couldn't make a single sound. Alexandra and Manuela then left my room. After several minutes, however, there was nothing that could keep me in bed. I tried to move. At first I moved my arms and my head. After a while I could support some of my weight on my arms, and now I felt for the first time the weight on my chest. As I looked down, I noticed two roundnesses, and it was unmistakably clear, that these were genuine breasts and that they were mine.
    f821_1754.jpgNow I tried to move my legs and this went well, too, so that I was soon sitting up. In that motion feelings registered between my legs for the first time. But I didn't want to touch this place with my hands yet. After several attempts I succeeded in standing up and I walked slowly back and forth in the little room. After about an hour of this I could walk without any problem, and now I felt ready to stand in front of the mirror and take stock of myself. It was with a shock of joy that I stood before the mirror. There I was, with short blonde hair, a lovely face with expressive eyes, a sweet mouth. Then I looked down a little and saw these curvatures again. Now it was time, to pull off the nightgown and see the full results. First I freed my breasts and touched them quite lightly as I did so. It was already a very intensive moment, which excited me a lot. Then I let the nightie fall and was able to see the result between my legs: a vagina, a real vagina. With great respect for my body I drew my hands across my breasts and stroked them, which caused me to give out a small groan. That made me realize that I had a new voice. I began to speak and giggled now and then. The voice was not terribly high but rather a deeper woman's voice, but I had no problem with that. Then I let my left hand wander further down till it came to my vagina. I moved my hand back and forth several times and felt how this excited me more and more. I decided to lie down on the bed, spread my legs apart and began to investigate my new genital region by stimulating my clitoris. I was becoming more and more excited and noticed how I was slowly getting moist between my legs. Now I pushed two fingers into my vagina and then pulled them out. This was repeated and the movements got faster and faster till I was just moaning and had my first orgasm as a woman. When I opened my eyes, Manuela stood in front of me and smiled. "Nice feeling, isn't it?" "Heavenly. Men don't know what they are missing." We both giggled. "Jennifer, it's time to pack up. I've put the clothing of your predecessor into your bag and I've some clothes for you to put on now. As soon as you are ready, you can come into Alexandra's office." "Thanks so much," I said with my new voice. When Manuela left the room, I took the clothing, which she had given me and stood before the mirror. Then I discovered a package of tampons lying there. Oh, yes, that's a part of it all, I thought. But joy was to dominate today. I took a tampon out of the package and guided it into my sheath, a strange feeling. Then I took some panties and pulled them on. It was wonderful, how my panties didn't bulge but rather clung closely to my skin. Then I took the bra and pulled it over my breasts, it fit perfectly. Then came my socks and a pair of tailored pants. Now there was just a white top, which delineated my breasts nicely. Finally I pulled on a pair of sport shoes and looked into the mirror a last time before my departure. Makeup wasn't really necessary, since I already looked very good and had a natural appearance. I took my bag, left the room and walked into my future as a woman...

HER SISSY

It wasn’t that she was tired of me or the life we had created for ourselves, it was more that she wanted to be in control.

 

That she knew what she wanted almost made it worse, because she didn’t know how to go about getting it. Oh sure there were times when she felt the way she wanted to feel. She felt that kind of power and control when she would tease me so that I was almost ready to come, then she would make me beg her to let me fuck her.

 

She had been thinking about those times when she had taken the dominate role and after a bit of thinking she started to realize just how easy it was for her to get me to submit to her.

 

Kelly was a bright girl and she gave the whole thing quite a bit of mulling over. In fact she had even conducted a couple of experiments over the last two weeks. Once she refused to let me come until I had tounged her to numerous climax’s. Another time she had pretended to be upset with me and after telling me over and over how bad I had been she got me to agree to letting her spank me.

 

She couldn’t think of a better demonstration of my submissiveness then to be bending over while I held my dress or skirt up around my hips so that she could spank my now defenseless ass cheeks, unless it was what she was planning on doing to me.

 

She hoped that forcing me to listen as she told me how much she enjoyed punishing me would make me eager to let her do it to me any time she wanted. “Yes, I think that out of all of the things we have done together, I enjoyed spanking you ilke a naughty little girl more then anything else!” She told me. She smerked when I told her that I was glad that she enjoyed it. “Any time I can be part of something that you enjoyed doing I feel like I’ve done something nice for you.” I told her, then I added, “If there’s anything else that you think you would enjoy doing don’t hesitate to try it. Just go ahead and tell me what you want me to do.”

 

“Really?” she asked, sounding as if she didn’t believe me. “You just go ahead and tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” I told her. She smiled and then told me that she wanted me to be her slave so that I HAD to do what she told me to do.

 

“Then consider me your slave.” I told her. “And I’ll just assume that I have to comply with anything you want of me.” She looked at me for a moment, then she ordered me to spread my legs so that my balls were completely accessable for her. I swallowed hard and then slowly moved my legs apart until they formed a wide Vee.

 

She nodded as she slid her hand up between my upper thighs. “I love to think that they are hanging like they are and just waiting for me to decide what I want to do to them.” She told me.

 

“They are.” I said. “You own my balls as well as everything else if I’m your slave.” I told her.

 

“That’s right.” She said with a smile. “And that would mean that I had a perfect right to do anything I wanted to them. Anything at all!” She closed her fingers around the two small nuggets. “What I want to do to my balls is make them hurt!” She said wickedly. She then crushed them aginst each other as she made her fingers form into a fist.

 

I doubled up and groaned as my tummy was gripped by strong cramps. “Oh yes. I can tell that they hurt.” She gasped as she squeezed them even tighter. My hands pressed into my tummy as I fought to catch my breath.

 

“Spread your legs wider slave, as wide as you can!” She ordered. I heard her laugh when I opened my legs as wide as they could go. “Yes, now I can do anything I want to them.” She said. “Even smash them under one of my knee’s!” She added as she slid one leg up between mine.

 

She released her grip, then raised up slightgly. When she lowered herself down I felt her hard knee start to flatten them under it. Once again I was doubled up from the way she was abusing my balls.

 

“God, they feel as if they just flattened right out like squashed pancakes.” She sqealed, then she lifted off of them. “If your my slave and I own your body, then I also own your asshole!” She exclaimed with a chuckle.

 

But all and all she still wasn’t sure how to go about doing what she thought she wanted to do. That is until my birthday started to get close. She had purchased a new monitor for my computer and she decided to hide it in the garage.

 

There were a number of boxes of old paperwork and such and she felt that one more box wouldn’t be noticed. The Friday before my birthday she got home several hours before me and she went out with the idea of moving things around so that she could stash her present in an inconspicuious spot.

 

Most of the things were covered with dust and such and she quickly got fed up with trying to make it look like nothing had been disturbed. Finally she had had it and shoved several boxes to one side so there would be room for hers, but when they landed on the garage floor she was suprised by what spilled out.

 

From her perch on the ladder she could clearly see all kinds of womens clothing. After a closer inspection she knew that these things weren’t just a bunch of old discarded garments. Some of the blouses and other pieces were up to date styles. In fact she found a slip that she knew was part of Vanity Fairs newest line.

 

With a growing curiousity she looked through the two boxes of lingerie, dresses, skirts and blouses. She even found a fair number of almost new high-heels in the second box along with a very complete collection of make-up.

 

She was still a little confused when she picked up the small square booklet, but her confusion didn’t stay with her very long as she glanced at the photographs that were inside. I had been crossdressing since the age of 12 or so and although I had tried to stop, I found that I couldn’t. I had never told her about it and dressed up only when she was away. Over the years there had been some pictures friends had taken of me when I was completely dressed and made-up.

 

She was not only suprised to learn about this part of me, but she was also suprised to see that I made a very good looking woman. As she glanced at the photo’s a smile began to appear on her face, a smile that kept growing bigger and bigger.

 

After putting the boxes back like they were she put the computer monitor in her car so she could return it. She had a better idea about what she should get me for my birthday then that.

 

That weekend she went out of her way to be a tease. She would flash me her fanny and more of her breasts then she usually exposed and at night she would eagerly engage in fourplay, but we didn’t seem to ever get around to having sex. She wanted me to be as fustrated and horny as she could make me when my birthday came.

 

The same thing continued to happen that Monday and Tuesday and by Wednesday morning I had an almost permanent erection. I was just finishing my cup of coffee before going to work when she came into the kitchen and informed me that she had called my work and told them that I was sick.

 

“In fact.” She said gleefully. “I told them that you probably wouldn’t be in until next week.” Now it was my turn to be suprised as she took my hands and pulled to my feet. She led me into the spare bedroom, then told me take off all of my clothes.

 

“I bought you several new outfits for your birthday.” She said. Her playful attitude was contagious and I was starting to have a good time just getting undressed. She took each piece as I removed it, including my shoes and my watch. She told me to wait where I was, then disappeared through the doorway.

 

I didn’t know what to think when she returned empty handed, but she didn’t give me much time to think about it because she stood right in front of me and started to take off her clothes as well. After slipping off her high heels she slipped her hands under her dress and skillfully pushed her pantyhose down off of her legs.

 

She left them laying on the floor by her feet as she did the same with the pair of brightly flowered panties she was wearing. Only instead of letting them fall to the floor she made sure that they hadn’t goten turned inside out and then she held them out in my direction.

 

“I thought you might like to wear some of my things!” She said knowingly, then she added. “In fact I know that you would like to wear them!” She stared at me while she continued to hold her panties out for me to take.

 

Inside I was almost out of control at the prospect of her dressing me up in her feminine garments, but I tried not to let it show. “I don’t understand.” I said as I took her panties into my hand.

 

She planted her hands on her hips, then narrowed her brow. “Don’t you give me any of that crap!” She said sternly. “I know all about you and I know that your nothing but a little sissy at heart.” She swung her hips back and forth in an exagerated feminine movement.

 

“And I also know all about your dressing up in girls clothes!” She said matter of factly. This caused me to almost go into shock and I stood and stared at her, not saying a word. “Now, you be a good girl and do what I tell you to do so I don’t have to punish you!”

 

She said in a stern voice she outright ordered me into her panties. “Now put those panties on right now!” She stamped her foot just to make sure I knew she was serious. She wanted to jump with excitment when she saw me hold her panties open and then step into them, but she remained like she was as I pulled them up my legs and passed my hips.

 

As soon as I had done that she unzipped her dress far enough that she could pull her arms free. “After you put on your bra your going to go into the bathroom and shave all that hair off of your legs!” She said as she unfastened the clasp so that the lace and satin bra slid down her arms. Just like she had done with her panties she held it out. I was still dazed as I gingerly took it from her. I pulled it around me and hooked it together, then pulled the straps up onto my shoulders.

 

She stepped closer to me and started to adjust the straps so it fit me. “I noticed you didn’t have any trouble getting it fastened closed!” She said in a teasing voice. “You must have had plenty of practice.” She added.

 

Once she was satisfied with how she had adjusted the straps she pointed toward the bathroom. “Now go shave off all that ugly hair.” She ordered, then she said. “Young ladies don’t have body hair sprouting out all over like that!”

 

She knew that she had made the correct judgement about me when she saw me start for the bathroom like she had ordered. In truth she didn’t know how right she was because I became very submissive when I was dressed.

 

Fifteen minutes later I was standing in front of her while she examined me. I had shaved my legs like she said, but I also shaved my chest, arms, armpits and had shaved around my now small triangular pubic area.

 

“Very good!” She said after looking me over. “Your looking more feminine already!” She said in an obvious attempt to embarrass me and when she saw that she had made me blush her confidence doubled.

 

“Go pick up the nylons I was wearing and put them on next!” She said with a nod. I didn’t waste any time complying and after my legs were encased in her nylons she made me put on her high heels. In just a couple of minutes I was standing in front of her again.

 

She let me stand like that for a little bit as she cupped and carressed her firm naked breasts. “Hmm. I like telling you what to do.” She coo’d in a sexy voice. “It makes my nipples hard.” She added.

 

After a bit she lowered her hands to her sides and then lifed her dress a couple of inches so the lacy hem of her slip peeked out from under it.

 

“Do you like my pretty slip sissy?” She asked, using that teasing tone of voice again. I told her that I liked it very much. “You want to wear it don’t you panty-waist?” She taunted.

 

Again I told her that she was correct. Hearing this she dropped her dress down so the slip was no longer exposed. “Then beg me to let you wear my slip sissy.” She told me. “I want to hear just how much you want to wear it!”

 

I slowly got onto my knees so she was towering over me. “Please Kelly let me wear your slip.” I begged. “I love slips and I’ve never worn one that had been worn by you first.” I pulled my panties up so that my cock was clearly visable under the front panel. I had been slowly getting harder and harder and now it was pretty close to being fully erect.

 

“Just look at how hard my cock is from me just thinking a about wearing your pretty slip. Please let me put it on and I promise to do whatever you say. Please!” I begged. She stood over me smiling for a little while, then she nodded. “Ok, you may take it off of me and put it on sissy.” She said, with a snicker. I gently reached up under her dress and carefully pulled her slip down her legs and then held it while she stepped out of it.

 

Once she had I eagerly slipped my feet into the waistband and then pulled it up into place. The lacy hem came to just above mid-thigh. “Oh you look so sexy in my bra, nylons, panties and slip!” She said softly. “So sexy you make me wet. My little sissy makes my pussy wet when he does what I tell him to do!” She said in an athoritative voice.

 

“I’m glad you think I’m a sexy.” I said meekly, then added. “And I love it when you tell me what to do.” She smiled when she heard me say that.

 

“Good.” she told me. “Because from now on I’m going to be telling you exactly what to do. Understand?” She asked. I lowered my head and then told her that I understood.

 

She pushed her dress down so it fell in a circular ring around her feet. Daintily she stepped out of the center of it. She told me to pull it up into place, but added that I shouldn’t zip it closed just yet. I worked the dress up over my hips, I had to tuck my slip back down afterward, then held it tightly around my middle.

 

Kelly had busied herself with something in a box, but now she turned so she was facing me again. “These are what I got you for your birthday sissy!” She said, holding out a pair of silicon breast forms. They were so realistic that they jiggled like jello whenever she moved her hands.

 

I felt them for a minute as I thanked her and after she handed them to me she pored a thick layer of super-glue on the back of each one. “You know what I want you to do.” She said as she snickered.

 

“I want you to push those breasts into place so they will be permanently glued to your chest.” She reached out and pulled the straps of my bra down off of my sholders, then pushed the satin and lace cups so they were forced a couple of inches lower then they would normaly be.

 

“Come on sissy.” She ordered sternly. “Glue those titties to your chest. I know you want to!” I slowly raised both breast forms up toward my chest. “That’s a good girl.” Kelly said to urge me on. When they were about an inch away from where my own breasts would be, if I had any, Kelly placed her spread hands on the nipple side of each one.

 

With increasing pressure she pushed them closer and closer until they were being firmly crushed aginst me. It only took a second for the super-glue to set. She pulled my hands away along with hers. I felt the expensive silicon breasts pull at my chest as they were allowed to hang freely on thier own.

 

She began to knead them with her fingers. “I don’t know how you would ever get them to come off.” She said happily. “But that’s ok, because this is how I want you to look.” She ordered me to pull my bra back up and then gave me permission to zip up my dress.

 

Once it was securly fastened closed Kelly stepped back and looked me over. She was now naked and I was wearing what she had been wearing just a short time ago. She spread her feet to about sholder width.

 

“I’m going to put make-up on you because I want to make you into as much of a woman as I can. But now while your still obviously nothing more then a sissyfied male I want to watch you eat my pussy.” She said forcing me to my knee’s.

 

“I can always remember what you looked like right now, because your never going to look this masculine again!” She added as she pulled my face tightly aginst her wet crotch.

 

Kelly had busied herself with something in a box, but now she turned so she was facing me again. “These are what I got you for your birthday sissy!” She said, holding out a pair of silicon breast forms. They were so realistic that they jiggled like jello whenever she moved her hands.

 

I felt them for a minute as I thanked her and after she handed them to me she pored a thick layer of super-glue on the back of each one. “You know what I want you to do.” She said as she snickered.

 

“I want you to push those breasts into place so they will be permanently glued to your chest.” She reached out and pulled the straps of my bra down off of my sholders, then pushed the satin and lace cups so they were forced a couple of inches lower then they would normaly be.

 

“Come on sissy.” She ordered sternly. “Glue those titties to your chest. I know you want to!” I slowly raised both breast forms up toward my chest. “That’s a good girl.” Kelly said to urge me on. When they were about an inch away from where my own breasts would be, if I had any, Kelly placed her spread hands on the nipple side of each one.

 

With increasing pressure she pushed them closer and closer until they were being firmly crushed aginst me. It only took a second for the super-glue to set. She pulled my hands away along with hers. I felt the expensive silicon breasts pull at my chest as they were allowed to hang freely on thier own.

 

She began to knead them with her fingers. “I don’t know how you would ever get them to come off.” She said happily. “But that’s ok, because this is how I want you to look.” She ordered me to pull my bra back up and then gave me permission to zip up my dress.

 

Once it was securly fastened closed Kelly stepped back and looked me over. She was now naked and I was wearing what she had been wearing just a short time ago. She spread her feet to about sholder width.

 

“I’m going to put make-up on you because I want to make you into as much of a woman as I can. But now while your still obviously nothing more then a sissyfied male I want to watch you eat my pussy.” She said forcing me to my knee’s.

 

“I can always remember what you looked like right now, because your never going to look this masculine again!” She added as she pulled my face tightly aginst her wet crotch.

 

Her response was to ram her hips forward a third time. She kept applying more pressure until her hips were pressing firmly into my ass cheeks. “You took all of me cunt!” She rudely told me. “I love the way you look bent over like you are and with my cock buried as deep as it can go into your pussy!” I felt her grab my hips with her hands. “Now I’m going to show you what it feels like when you get a good hard fucking!” I was gasping and pleading with her to be more gentle as she moved her hips away from me so her cock was withdrawn from my tummy.

 

But all of that stopped when she slammed it back into me, sinking all the way in with the one thrust. My legs were convulsing and my inner thighs felt as if they had been slashed with a sharp knife, but the stabbing, searing pain flooding out from my violated hole into my groin and cock was all I really felt.

 

Several more times she plowed into me like that, which left me laying under her like a limp rag. I was slipping in and out of reality as she started to steadily pump her cock in and out of my once virgin pussy. I regained my sense’s and was greated by the still painful sensation of her rythmic fucking.

 

“Oh you take it good bitch!” She moaned. “Your so nice and tight, just the way I like them.” She added. I felt her sink all the way into me and then hesitate for a moment, but then she picked right back up with the same ferious tempo. Several more times she hesitated like she did before.

 

I was still finding it hard to move my legs and I moaned when I felt her take my cock into her hand. She bent it back between my thighs and then pulled my panties back up where they belonged so that the crotchband kept it like that. I could only gasp when she began to use both hands to stroke along the narrow strip of my panties that passed between my legs.

 

She knew how to make the smooth nylon move over my imprisoned cock so that in less then sixty seconds I was almost ready to squirt my come right into my own panties. She sensed how close I was and she started to give my swollen cockhead a good working over.

 

“Come on bitch!” She yelled. “Come in your panties for me!” She forced the head of my cock down between my cheeks. “Show me how much of a slut you really are cunt!” She shouted. A couple of strokes later she began to spank my ass cheeks with her open hand right through my panties.

 

“I ordered you to come you little slut!” She said swatting me even harder then she had been. She wrapped her fingers around my shaft as far as my panties would allow, then she started stroking me from the front of my panites to back over the head.

 

She saw my inner thighs tense up right before my hot sticky fluid started to shoot out of my cock. That gave her time to slip one hand under the waistband and shove her fingers in front of my cock. This allowed her to catch every squirt on her fingers, which she proptly shoved into my well fucked hole.

 

In this manor she managed to force my pussy to be filled with my own sticky sperm. “Oh sissy!” She gasped. “I got hot thinking about your own come being forced into your pussy!” She said as she pulled my panties back down to my thighs. “So I’m going to have to fuck you again!” She said with a laugh.

 

“Oh god, you’ll kill me!” I cried out meekly, but I was suprised at how easily she sank into me.

 

“Your come makes a good lubrication bitch, just like all women’s pussy’s are suppost to do.” This time I actually felt myself pushing back to meet her forward thrusts.

 

“Oh Kelly, fuck me.” I begged. “Fuck my pussy good, fuck my pussy hard!” I gasped.

 

“You can count on it slut!” She gleefully told me. “You can count on it.”



But when I turned 13 I suddenly became more serious. I wanted to wear underwear, jewellery and make-up. I wanted people to pass me in the street and look at the sensible young girl across the road. I had wonderful fun working out the order in which the clothes went on and feeling the beautiful constricture of a bra for the first time. After about 18 months of bunking off school or pretending to be ill and sneaking into my mother's wardrobe I wanted to go out dressed. My opportunity came one cold November afternoon. I had been left in the house on my own with the certainty that I would not be disturbed until early evening. My only task was to walk the dog. On hearing the front door close I decided to start the day again en femme. I went to bed in a nightie for a cat-nap and woke up and had a bath. I then went over to my mother's dressing table and applied make-up, mascara, eye shadow and lipstick, none too expertly. Having put my face on I put on a pair of earrings and a pearly necklace. I then dived into the wardrobe, desperate to transform myself from a gangly teenager to a gamine young woman with a taste for sensible clothes. I stuffed my white bra with a pair of socks, put on a pair of matching panties and dark blue tights and a lovely slip with a lace trim around the hem. I then chose a white chiffon blouse with bell sleeves and a long bow at the collar and a dark blue pleated skirt. I donned a pair of dark blue patent leather court shoes and after choosing a handbag I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I looked so feminine it was ridiculous to think of me as anything else. It was then downstairs to find a suitable coat and headscarf (well it was the 1970s and I did not have a wig) to protect me against the cold.
    Closing the back door behind me with the, rather bewildered, dog on the lead, I felt the cold wind in my skirts - it was delicious and I felt a quiet gasp of pleasure at this sudden vulnerability and internalising, all- pervading femininity. I felt my movements grow calmer. If someone had spoken to me at that moment my voice would have been higher and softer. Sneaking out the back gate I looked both ways and seeing there was nobody about I ventured out with quick short steps. As I got used to walking and gained confidence I began to mince a little. I loved the fact that it was cold and that I was being kept warm by wonderful women's clothes. I walked for miles, slowly gaining the confidence to walk on the same side of the road as passers-by. A rather alarming incident occurred when another dog started to pay attention to mine and its owner, a middle-aged man, seemed to want to engage in conversation about canine matters. I smiled sweetly and nodded my head a few times and carried on. I don't think he ever twigged. I was so ecstatic I could have skipped. It was beginning to get dark and it was time to head for home before the nightmare scenario of my parents and siblings being in the house whilst I, dressed up to the nines, was outside. I walked home quickly nervously checking to see whether any cars had returned before me. Had there been I do not know what I would have done apart from go into a quiet, blind panic. Waving mischievously to the old lady across the road in the semi-darkness I slipped through the back gate and into the house. The house seemed very hot after the cold of outside.
    I hung up my coat and scarf in the cloakroom and went upstairs and undressed, taking care to put everything away exactly as I had found it. I then had another bath to wash off all the make-up and whilst I was in the bath the rest of the household returned. "Could you leave the bath in," came my mother's voice through the door. "Yes," I said. "Did walk the dog?" "Oh yes." I said more dreamily. "She had a good walk." As I thought of the blissful last few hours I sank back into the bath and I am afraid did what teenagers do in bathrooms. That night my parents were going out. I had to smile when I saw my mother dressed in exactly the same clothes as I had been wearing only a couple of hours before. I thought she looked lovely and showed great taste. My first outdoor experience dressed as a woman remains to this day my finest.

I can’t,” He whispered.

 

“You’ve got to,” She replied, firmly but encouragingly.

 

“Lift up your arms,” she ordered. He continued to stare at her.

 

“Do you want me to put you on that train?” He shook his head vigorously.

 

“Then lift up your arms.” Slowly he did as he was told and his mother slipped the dress over his head. She knelt down in front of him and did up the little buttons down the front of the bodice. She stood up and looked at him, nodding her head with satisfaction. The dress fitted him perfectly. With his full head of now blonde hair nobody would associate him with Roger, she decided.

 

“Sit down,” she said kindly, handing him the white ankle socks to put on. As he pulled them on his mother produced a flat heeled pair of white court shoes. They fitted perfectly.

 

“Come over to the dressing table,” she said.

 

He went over and sat down in front of the mirror staring in horror at the little girl that was him.

 

“It’s lucky we managed to stop your father having all you hair cut off,” his mother said. It was, in fact, almost shoulder length – not at all uncommon in the early seventies.

 

“No!” Roger protested as he saw his mother produce two wide pink ribbons.

 

“Don’t be silly, Roger,” she sighed, “It’s all part of the disguise.”

 

Roger sat silent and miserable as he watched his mother tie two large bows in his blonde hair – one each side of his head.

 

“There,” she said triumphantly, “Nobody would ever guess that you were a boy now. You really do look very convincing,” she smiled.

 

“It’s so embarrassing,” muttered Roger.

 

“You’ll soon get used to it,” his mother assured him brightly.

 

He stood up, his beribboned head downcast, his hands automatically searching for non-existent pockets. Eventually he simply clasped them in front of his skirts.

 

“Rita – that’s what we’ll call you. From now on you’re Rita. Alright?”

 

“How long” How long do I have to be a girl? he asked.

 

“Until we’re safe, darling. As soon as we’re safe you can be Roger again,” his mother assured him.

 

“But how long will that be?” Roger persisted.

 

“Don’t be silly Roger – Rita, how do I know? We’ll just have to see how things go. Come on now, help me get packed up. We’ve got to get away from here as soon as possible.”

 

Roger helped his mother pack. She insisted on packing all his clothes in one suitcase this time which took a bit of re-organising. She did not tell him but the lot would be dropped off at the nearest Oxfam shop. She wanted no incriminating evidence left around.

 

She gave Roger a little white cardigan to wear before they left the room, her carrying two suitcases and Roger carrying one. As they entered the car park Roger felt the breeze explore his skirts and unaccustomedly bare legs.

 

“My legs are cold,” He complained. His Mother laughed as she heaved the cases into the boot.

 

“You’ll soon get used to it. I suppose I could buy you a pair of tights if you like.”

 

“NO! It’s alright,” He assured her hurriedly.

 

They both sat in the car as his mother put on a head scarf – she did not want the hotel receptionist to notice that she’d dyed her hair blonde when she went to settle the bill.

 

By mid-afternoon they were in the Didsbury area of Manchester looking for a furnished flat to rent. By six o’clock they were unpacking their suitcases in an attractive little two bedroomed flat on the second floor of a large Victorian house on a broad tree lined road.

 

Roger’s mother had rented the flat in her maiden name – Brown, a name so common that her husband would find it virtually impossible to trace her.The next day she opened a new bank account in her new name. Roger had pleaded to remain in the flat but she insisted on taking him with her. He had to get used to wearing girl’s clothes in public and the sooner the better, she assured him.

 

Three time that morning complete strangers had told his mother what a pretty girl she had. Roger had squirmed with embarrassment, but his mother was delighted – obviously the disguise was excellent.

 

It took only ten days for his mother to find herself a job in a large firm of architects in Manchester. During those ten days she had dragged Roger round most of the stores in Manchester buying him a whole wardrobe full of girl’s clothes from dresses to skirts to blouses to underwear to nightdresses. All his male clothes had disappeared and so he was now totally committed to wearing girl’s clothes all the time, whether he liked it or not.

 

By the time his mother had permed his blonde hair into little curls – a process he only agreed to when she promised that he would not have to wear ribbons anymore, and he had gradually got more accustomed to wearing skirts and being introduced to everyone as Rita, the problem of his schooling arose.

 

“We’ll have no problem getting you into a school next term,” his mother assured him.

 

“But I can’t go to a girl’s school!” Roger protested, “I’d never get away with it. What about games – showers and things?”

 

“My closest friend at University is now a headmistress at one of the best girl’s schools in Manchester. I’m going to see her tomorrow. I’m shall tell her the whole story. I’m sure she will be able to help – she’s always been a very resourceful lady.”

 

The next day Roger was left in the flat on his own while his mother went to see her old friend. He was wearing a little blue skirt and a white frilly blouse that had taken his mother’s fancy in Debenham’s earlier in the week.

 

Indeed, she hardly ever went out these days without coming back with some pieces of female clothing for Roger to wear. She seemed to be enjoying having a daughter!

 

Roger was sitting in the bay window watching the traffic going by when he heard the door bell ring. His heart started thumping – should he answer? He waited. Again it rung. Reluctantly, his knees almost knocking, he went into the hall and slowly opened the door a little. Outside was a girl of a similar age. She was dressed up in jeans and a t-shirt.

 

“Hi,” she smiled.

 

“I live in the flat underneath. My name’s Polly and I wondered if you would like to come down ad play. What’s your name?”

 

“Roger, Rita,” he corrected quickly.

 

“That’s a nice name,” she smiled. “Do you want to come and play?”

 

“”I can’t. My mother’s out and she said I wasn’t to leave the flat while she was away.”

 

“Oh, well, never mind – perhaps tomorrow,” she suggested.

 

“Yes, perhaps tomorrow,” Roger agreed. “Goodbye”

 

“Goodbye,” she grinned as Roger closed the door again. This was something he’d never though about – he would be expected to play with other little girls as if he was a real one!

 

His mother was full of herself when she got back. Roger was careful to say nothing about Polly’s visit – he did not want to be made to play with her.

 

His mother’s friend Miss Jacobs had been delighted to see her again and had been extremely sympathetic about her broken marriage and predicament with Roger. She wanted to meet Roger and, provided that she felt that he was really convincing as a girl, she would enrol him in the school as a girl. Roger would be officially excused all games and P.E. on the basis of some obscure medical condition.

 

The following day Roger was taken to meet Miss Jacobs at the school. His mother had dressed him in the pink gingham dress that she had bought for him in Birmingham, explaining that it looked a bit like a school uniform and anyone who saw him at the school would simply think he went to another school… To be continued…



 A Novelette

I never thought that by escaping I would become a woman. I had grown up in Islington, where my father had bought a shop on his retirement from the sea. He had brought home his lovely French wife, and settled there. My mother regretted this. Not only had her family disowned her for marrying a non-Catholic, but she soon found my father ill-tempered and selfish. I grew up speaking French as well as I could English. And although my real name was Anthony, she called me Antoine. I was very close to my mother, and it was hard for me when she died in the first few months of the war. She could not bear to hear what was happening to her beloved France, or perhaps my father was eventually too much for her. Under my mother's influence for so long I had grown up loving quiet, pleasant things. I liked flowers, listening to pleasant music and walks in the parks. I never did well at school, but could read very well. I spent much of my time reading stories. My mother had brought some French novels with her, and she had read these to me at night. I could not read French very well, but I knew most of them. After she died I found myself wanting to read them again. They all had girls or young women as heroines, but I did not mind that. At times I used to identify myself with these women, before I remembered that I was a boy.During the first two years of the war I went on working in my father's shop. This I did not do very well, and he was forever beating me.   I never cared for all that was being said about the war. All the young men in the street went off to fight. I never wanted to go, especially when I heard of so many of them being killed at the Front. Many people whispered that I had no business not being in uniform, that I was a coward, and worse. But I used to shrug it off, even when one young girl gave me a white feather. Then at the end of 1916 we all heard that the government was to start calling men up to go into the army, whether they wanted to go or not. I was terrified, for I knew it would soon be my turn.Needless to say, by February my call-up papers arrived. Of course I had to go, as someone said I may be shot if I didn't. My father laughed, saying it would make a man of me.
  At least, I remember thinking, I would be free of him now. I hated every minute of army life. From the moment they cut my hair so short, to the time of the events I am about to tell you about. My basic training at Longmoor was sheer purgatory. I never did well at anything, not drill, shooting or combat. The sergeants were always striking me, and I was often on a charge, or on extra duties. I was never at ease with my fellow soldiers. They all used such bad language, and talked about nothing but sex and women. They drunk heavily, swore all the time and got into fights and rowdy behaviour. They would not talk to me if they could help it. They knew I was not one of them. I knew it too, but realised that I could do nothing about it. I could only wish the war would not go on much longer, and that I would not be killed in it. I know that no soldier liked the trenches, and I found them even worse than Longmoor. It was such a nightmare. The raids on enemy trenches were the worst, and I do not know how I came back alive from any of them. I do not think that I ever killed a singleGerman. Somehow I survived. I took it a day at a time. I lived in hope that this nightmare would end, and I could be away from all this, and not killed.   We had been in the same trenches for months. Even the best soldiers were battle-weary. Or dead. In September we were told that we would be taken out of the fight for a short while, for even the senior officers realised that we had had too much. We were overjoyed, all expecting that we would go back to Blighty for a time.But we were only moved a few miles away. We were sent to a village called Eglise Saint-Martin, which was also used as a supply station for the Front. In our tents we could still hear the guns in the distance, and often saw German planes fly over us. At night we saw the flashes of the guns and bombs on the northern horizon. Still, we were glad to be out of it. It was there that I finally became useful to my regiment.In all this time the army had a low opinion of me. I am sure that my sergeant resented that I was still alive, while so many real soldiers had been killed that summer. But when it came out that I spoke French fluently, and that I was almost the only one who spoke French at all, I was much in demand. I was assigned to a Lieutenant Carruthers, an officer who was not much older than me. He was a public school boy, it seemed. He treated me with the utmost contempt, except when he needed my services as interpreter, and kept watching my legs as I walked. It was said that he was queer, and I did everything I could not to be alone with him.
  Carruthers was liaison officer with the civilian population. This was a joke, as he could not manage twenty words of French, and his haughty behaviour always soon got the French annoyed. I often had to change the wording as I interpreted what he said, but they understood his attitude well enough. A fortnight after we arrived I was told to drive Carruthers out of the village to the home of a Madamoiselle de Mallarmes, who wanted to organise a canteen and entertainment service for the troops. He complained all the way to the chateau about having to give sweet talk to some old French spinster, without any real point to it. He was really sick of the war too.   But when we arrived at this modest mansion a few miles out, the story was different. Colette de Mallarmes was a young woman, about twenty-eight and fairly pretty. She had taken over the keeping of the house, she told Carruthers through me, after her father had died on the Marne, and as her brother was a prisoner of war in Germany. She was very pleasant, and businesslike too. I could see that she had little regard for Carruthers' attitude. But she took a liking to me. I had to be there to interpret, and at one point she broke off the conversation with the officer began asking me about myself, in French. We had a pleasant conversation, and Carruthers hung about listlessly. She was definitely interested in me. But when she began to ask me if I really wanted to be in the war, Carruthers butted in again, even though he understood nothing of what we said. Carruthers was constantly trying to use his scanty French to ask her to go out to dinner with him. She kept acting as if she did not understand. Later I was sent to the kitchen with the maid Marie to be given something to eat, while Carruthers lunched with Madamoiselle. I got to like Marie too; she was in her late thirties, and with a sharp tongue. Soon after Madamoiselle joined us, having somehow given Carruthers the slip. She seemed to take pleasure in talking to me. I did not know why, but perhaps she saw me as one who needed protection from the horrors of this war. In that she was right. Our pleasant conversation was shattered by Carruthers bellowing `Harris! Private Harris!' through the house. (That was me: 1246745 Private Harris, Anthony.) Sir wanted to go straight away, and took his leave in as gallant a manner he could manage. Madamoiselle bid him farewell politely, and warmly added when speaking to me in French that I would be welcome if I were to call. Carruthers said nothing on the journey home, and was beastly to me for the rest of the day.
It was a week later that I saw Madamoiselle again. The soldiers' canteen was set up, and she was serving behind the counter. She instantly recognised me, and called me aside. Once again she invited me to call at the chateau. She even persuaded me to call that very night, which I did. I know that she was of a different class than I was: she would normally only associate with officers. But she told me that she thought our officers were just like little boys who liked playing soldiers, and I agreed with her. Of course I understood that she was not interested in having an affair with me, and I then realised that I had never had any interest in women. Still, so that the tongues were not wagging, I never told anyone where I was going when I called at Chateau Mallarmes. But she allowed me to call her Colette, and called me Antoine. Colette knew some English, but we mostly spoke French. She spoke several times about her feelings on the war. She said it was terribly wrong that young men should go off to get killed, as a result of what was really a silly game played by the crowned heads of Europe, and for reasons the soldiers on the whole did not even understand. This I saw quickly. I did not know exactly why we were fighting the Germans. I knew it had something to do with an Archduke being shot, but I could not say why that meant I was the trenches. It was fine for her being a woman, she said. She did not have to face the death and horror. But too many men were going through all this, and it was all wrong. And throughout those few weeks she gave me her support. She had seen I was different in temperament from all those other soldiers. She provided for me a safe haven where she could show me her drawings and play music on the piano. I was no expert in either, but loved to see and hear all this. During the day I even found it bearable. We were being trained in new tactics, for when we went back to the Front. Almost every evening I could, I went to Chateau Mallarmes. While the other soldiers went off drinking, or in search of women, I set off on the road from Eglise Saint-Martin towards the house. No-one asked me where I had been. No-one was at all interested. The house was a few miles out of the town. It may have been fairly large, but Colette lived there alone with Marie. All the other servants had left, either to go to war or because she could not easily maintain a large household. Some of the family's lands were being fought over by the two armies, and she had to make economies while the war was going on.
The house was so feminine in its way. Colette had lived there without men for nearly three years. All the decorations were feminine, where there were plants in pots, and flowers in almost every room. After so long in the trenches, though, I found such a feminine decor so enchanting. There was a scent of cologne and talcum powder throughout the house. I so loved to be there. Such pleasant conversation with Colette, and sometimes Marie. The music, art and stories. I forgot the war when I was there. Perhaps she was lonely too. There was that last night, or so it proved to be. After Colette had played the piano, and I had sang. She had joked before about the way my voice had not really broke. I still sang a little too high for a man. My voice was a joke all over the camp, but I did not care about that then, for I so enjoyed singing with Colette. Then we sat in the salon, drinking coffee. Colette then said to me, in the conversation that last evening: `You know, Antoine, and don't take this the wrong way, it might have been better for you if you were a woman. You don't seem to be the kind of person that can live easily in the world as men have to nowadays.' I had never thought about this before. But before I could ask her why she said it, Marie entered saying that Madamoiselle had a surprise visitor: Colonel MacGregor, my Commanding Officer. We both knew that there would be trouble if I was seen at her home, for a common soldier may not associate with a lady of breeding, so Colette spirited me away. She had Marie take me down the back stairs to the kitchen, and I slipped out of the kitchen door without the Colonel seeing me, and then round the back of the house, avoiding the officer's driver. I walked home, wondering about what she had said. Of course I had never thought of myself as anything other than a man. And often felt ashamed when I was accused of not acting in a manly way: I was clearly no soldier, and was often afraid that I would show cowardice in the face of the enemy one day, and be court-martialled and shot for it. But it was far from my mind to be anything other than a man. As a child I had usually got on better with girls than boys. But I had never thought much about lady-friends. Nor did I think much of the whores that often hung about garrisons. Some other soldiers had noticed my lack of interest, and hinted that I may be some kind of nancy-boy. This I certainly thought not. But the idea Colette had given me about being a woman. That both filled me with horror, and got my imagination. Of course it was impossible, even if I wanted it, I told myself. But I could not stop myself thinking about it all the way back to camp. I was seeing myself in long skirts, with long hair, and sitting primly in a drawing room. I would be sewing, or playing the piano. Of course this idea was awful to me. I was, after all, a man. And I was certainly no pansy. But there was such an air of peace around this idea. I found myself thinking about it even as I lay awake in my tent that night.I tried to dismiss it.
No, Tony, you are not a woman. You could never be a woman. You are a man, for better or worse. You can forget all this. But I could not just forget it. It made such a pleasant fantasy.But at the same time, I found myself thinking that being a man had its drawbacks. To be a man at that time, in 1917, meant wearing a uniform and scrambling about in a muddy trench, just to kill and be killed. For a short while this fantasy of being a woman felt such a good one. It was a sad end to a lovely evening, but also the end of a great time. The next day, unexpected, all the soldiers were told that we were to march back to the Front immediately. Jerry was pushing forward they told us, and every man was needed to hold the line. As we had just had a holiday we were ready to return to the fight that very day. I could not even go to say goodbye to Colette. It was again sheer purgatory, much worse for having been away from it for a time. Again I was wallowing in the muddy, filthy trench, with shells and bullets raining over my head.
  Almost a week later, I was perched upon a parapet looking out to No Man's Land, taking my turn as lookout. Word had come down the line that the Germans had reinforcements and were soon to attack. The bullets and shells were coming at us in force now, and my platoon was ordered to stand and watch for any enemy advances. I was still saddened to have been pulled away from Colette's house, where I had felt like a decent person again, especially when it was back into this hell-on-earth. I thought of all this with tears in my eyes. I was feeling very tired, resting against the trench parapet.........and then I was in the conservatory at the back of the chateau, moving along among the plants, almost floating. I saw Colette coming towards me, laughing and reaching to take my hands. Colette led me out into the garden, where the sun shone brilliantly, and there was not a cloud, or a shell, or an enemy plane, to be seen. Colette breezed along, taking me with her, in the sense that we had both escaped from a nightmare, into the light. She wore a long, wispy white dress to her ankles, her long brunette hair flowing. I wore a white dress too, my hair, just as long, flowing behind me. We two danced down the lawn with joy, our beautiful white dresses flowing as we went, and.........a shell exploded in No Man's Land. It woke me up. I had been dreaming, as I slept on the parapet. The guns opposite were blazing, and below me the sergeant was saying something about Jerry softening our trenches up before charging us. I was saddened when I had waken from that dream, but puzzled too. Why was I wearing a dress in that dream, and looking like a woman? A minute or so later I was wondering if what Colette had said had anything to do with it, that last night. Why did she say that? I was still wondering about all this, and trying to make sense of this fantasy I had picked up, when all hell broke loose. A shell fell into the trench behind me. There was an explosion. The flash and the roar stunned me.It took me almost a minute to realise that I was not dead. In fact, I was not harmed at all, only shaken and mud spattered. But beneath me was a sight of gore and destruction. The sergeant and the six men with him all lay in several pieces. I had seen many awful sights like that throughout the summer. But it shocked me so much that I had come so close to being blown to pieces like that. I stood gaping at it all. Then a sound in No Man's Land caused me to turn around. The battle-scarred ground fifty yards away from me was filling up with soldiers: soldiers with greenish uniforms and spiked helmets. Their bayonets flashed on the ends of their rifles. The Germans were coming in my direction, and I was the only soldier left alive in that part of the trench. I threw down my rifle, jumped down into the trench, and ran.Before I knew what had happened, I was running down the trench which led away from the front line, towards the sleeping quarters. My helmet had fallen off. A tall figure barred my way.`Harris! Where are you going? And where's your weapon?' It was Sergeant-Major Daly, who had been a terror to me since my first day in the regiment. `Germans coming, sir' was the most I could get out. `Right, I'll send some men down. Go back to your post. Get your rifle and hold them as long as you can.' I was horrified. Back where I had just come, there was a commotion. The enemy were in our trenches, and were running down them to kill every Englishman they could find. Daly wanted me to go back and face them alone, or so it seemed. He was mystified when I did not move. Angered, he bellowed `Go Back!' at me. I knew I could not. I panicked. I pushed at Daly, and ran past him as he fell. Away from the German bayonets. I was running further away from the war all the time, and I heard his voice bellow `Stop that man! He's a deserter!' But everyone was soon running to defend themselves, and none hindered me as I ran on, through the trenches, and then along the supply road.
I only stopped running when I was in the main street of Eglise Saint- Martin. I must have ran for miles. Then I realised what I had done. As far as the army were concerned, I was now a deserter; I had shown cowardice in the face of the enemy. And I had acted with violence to a superior rank. The army would not wish to hear about panic, or shell-shock or trench fatigue when they caught me. None of these existed as far as the high command was concerned, I knew from hearing of other men who had ran. I would certainly be arrested, court-martialled and shot, as an example to all other soldiers. Perhaps this was far worse than facing the Germans. All I could do now was to keep moving. It was about four in the morning, and few people were about. Before the military police saw me and questioned me, I had to leave the village. The roads were out of the question. I took to the fields, dropping my webbing straps as I went. If I was thinking where I was going I would have reasoned that I could not go to Chateau Mallarmes, for I could not expect even Colette to harbour a deserter. But it seemed at that point a safe place to go, the only place I could think of in my panic. As dawn was breaking I remember falling down on the kitchen doorstep, just as Marie was opening the door. `Monsieur Antoine!' she exclaimed, as she saw me, mud spattered, agitated and just collapsing. `Help me!' I remember saying, just as all went black. It must have been some hours later, for when I woke up, I was in a bed, in a room that was getting dark. My uniform was lying across a chair, and I was wearing a nightshirt, a little old and worn. I noticed that I had been bathed. I lay there a while, and Colette eventually came in, with Marie. Colette looked very serious; not really angry, but very sad. `So you have deserted, dear Antoine?' I nodded, knowing I had put her in a serious position as well as myself.`I thought you would, as a matter of fact.' She sounded very sombre and practical. `Still, it is very dangerous, but I feel I must help you. I am willing to hide you, but we must take desperate measures. Can you get up now?' I could, and rose from the bed. I told her what had happened, and she was silent for a few minutes before answering.`Antoine, you know you cannot go back now. They are certainly looking for you by now, and you know you will face a firing squad if they catch you. The only thing I can do is hide you. And I will.' I was so glad, and was just about to thank her, but she motioned me to be quiet. Then she went on:`But I can only do that if you do everything I tell you to do from this moment on. Now, I must hear you to agree to do what I say, without once questioning or disobeying, and only then can I help you. Now, Antoine, do you agree to do exactly what I tell you to do while you are hiding here?'
At first I wondered what she had in mind. I was giving up my soldiers' obedience for another domination. Still, she was helping me even if it meant risking serious trouble for herself. And anything was better than being shot at, either by Germans or English.I said `Yes, Colette, I will do exactly what you say.'I felt strange, as if I had let myself in for something terrible. Colette nodded to Marie, who went over to the chair, where my uniform lay, and picked it up. Colette told me to follow them both down to the kitchen, where the great fire blazed. `First of all,' Colette told me, `we must get rid of any evidence that you were ever here. For this reason everything you brought with you must be destroyed.' She nodded again to Marie. I stood there in the nightshirt while the maid threw my battle dress tunic onto the flames. She poked the fire as the uniform was consumed, and soon ceased to be recognisable. Then each of my boots went on the fire. Then my soiled underwear. I was at first glad to see the end of it all, and felt that I was being freed from the horror of army life. Then I saw my uniform trousers go on the fire, and feeling the breeze around my legs, wondered what I would wear now. Soon all I could see were my tunic buttons, and Marie went on poking, so that these would melt. No evidence that I was a soldier remained. Nor any male clothing but this threadbare nightshirt. Then Colette led me away, barefoot in the nightshirt, to another part of the house, leaving Marie to keep my clothes burning. `Now I am going to change you so much, not even that stupid officer would recognise you if he saw you.'
I had never been upstairs in the chateau before. We went into a bedroom, not very large but bigger than most I had been in. It was a ladies' room, I could see. It had pink and white wallpaper, and almost all the furniture was trimmed with lace. The coverlet on the bed was soft and lacy too. There was a dressing-table covered with bottles and flasks, and other ladies' cosmetics. Was it Colette's room, I wondered. As if she had read my thoughts, she told me `This used to be my room, before my father died and I moved into the master bedroom. It will be your room from now on.' I could not understand this. How could I be expected to live among such feminine surroundings; this confection of pinks and creams?`Now Antoine, you must lose your nightshirt. You will take it off.' This was shocking: no woman but my mother had seen me naked. But Colette was talking in the same businesslike way she had got me to accept her conditions. I knew I could not refuse. While I stood naked before her, she looked me over. My body was far from manly. I was rather small and thin. In fact I looked much more like a young boy than a soldier. My manhood was not the largest either. I had very little hair on my body. Even my voice was a little high-pitched for a nineteen-year-old boy, as I have already said. Colette asked me if I shaved yet. She was pleased to hear I did not. I was certainly underdeveloped for my age, and Colette seemed pleased at what she was seeing. Despite her businesslike manner. Then she opened a drawer at the dresser, taking something out. Coming back to me she told me to put them on. They were a pair of knickers. At that time knickers were long, coming down past my knees. They were cotton, with wide lace trimmings around the hems of the legs. I felt strange as I pulled them up. They were fairly modern for the time: they did not have an open crotch, as some still did. To feel them against my skin was the strangest sensation. They hung loose, and felt so light, with the lace tantalising my thighs. Then I was told to put on a camisole. This fitted well with the knickers. I now realised how rough the material of my uniform was. This felt very soft, and in a way a gentle caress of my abused body. I was beginning to see what she was doing to me. To my dismay, Colette was dressing me as a woman. Of course I felt that I did not want this; I am, after all, a man. But I had promised to do all she said, in order to hide from the Military Police. If it had been anyone other than Colette who was doing this to me, I might have refused. Then again, I was in a state of near-panic, knowing I would be shot if I was found. I could not think straight, and just did as I was told. Colette then spoke. `Now, Antoine - and I'm calling you Antoine for the last time - I will need to change you completely, and the only way I can hide you is to disguise you as a young woman. I want you to grip the end of the bed while I put this corset on you.'I was shocked to hear this, but did so, while she put this garment around my waist and upper body, threading the strings through the holes in it. Then she was pulling the strings tight, and soon I felt as if I was being crushed, as my waist went inwards, and the flesh on my chest was being pushed upwards and outwards. For a moment I was gasping to breathe.
  Colette drew the strings together, tying them into a bow. She then inserted pieces of material into the bosom of the corset. I was finding by now that I could breathe, if I took small breaths. My chest could not expand as I breathed, and for a short while I struggled to breathe. The corset felt tight, and I still found it very hard to wear. I could see my reflection in the dressing table mirror; I had a narrow waist and breasts, just like a woman. It had another effect at the same time. I felt so constricted, I could not easily do anything, other than what I had been told. A sense of being submissive, that I had to accept whatever she did with me, came over me at this point, and stayed. What was she doing to me? I was a man (though not much of one) and she was turning me into a woman. This was to hide me from my pursuers. But even as I had given up the trenches and the army, I was being subjected to something as terrible as this. Me, as a woman! I wanted to die. Now came the stockings. These she rolled up my legs, and tied them above the line of the knicker legs with garters. I was feeling very strange by that time, but apart from the very strange feelings I was having, I was near to panic. But I knew I could not go anywhere from here. In any event the Military Police would soon see me on the road or at a station, and I could not hope to get very far. And I then realised with horror, that all my masculine clothes had gone into the fire, and were at this moment being reduced to ashes. I was trapped, and felt a little like crying. Colette moved me onto the seat in front of the dressing table. `You see,' she said, `even if I disguised you as a Frenchman someone would ask why you were not in uniform, and check on you. You have no papers. And I do not think I could hide you in the attic. Not for as long as this war may last, and someone would look there first. Now, we must hide that ugly sun-tan.' She began to put rouge and powder on my face. `For the time being, you must become Antoinette, my cousin and companion. you must learn to walk as a woman, to act and even think as a woman. I will show you everything you need to know. If you learn properly no-one, not even your Sergeant Major, or your idiot officers, would ever suspect that you are the boy that has run away.' I wanted to ask her for how long must I do this thing. But I was in no position to question her, and realised that there was no easy way out. I had agreed to this, and it would after all hide me from the wrath of my officers.
She painted my lips bright red. `From now on, Antoinette,' she was telling me, `you must not speak any English. If anyone speaks English to you, you must act as if you did not understand. You must speak French all the time. You already speak it well, and I will help you improve it, so that in a while you will be able to speak it without any impediment.' She walked away. I saw my face in the mirror, covered with paint and powder. It did not look right, as my hair, like any soldier's, was cropped short. Colette returned, carrying a wig. The hair was long, and it was reddish brown, a colour almost like mine. She eased it onto my head, and put it into place. It seemed to fit perfectly, and looked so much like real hair that nobody could tell the difference. Now in the mirror I saw a young woman in her corset and frilly knickers. The cosmetics showed their effect. Truly, no-one who had known me would recognise me now. In spite of myself I was soon tossing my new hair over my shoulder, and thinking how pretty I looked. Then I again realised what was happening, and did not know what to think. Colette then put a silky petticoat over my head, bringing it down over me, and it cascaded around my ankles in a wide motion, at the same time hugging the top half of my body. This was the strangest yet. I knew it felt all wrong, but I was feeling strangely soft and at ease with myself. My new clothes were causing me to relax and feel protected from the fears of war and of being caught deserting.Now she produced a dress from the wardrobe to put on me. It was a deep purple, and went down to the ankles too, but I could not help feeling somewhat resigned to it, and at the same time put at ease by this too. Colette did up the buttons, and soon I was a woman, in outward appearance.I cannot describe how I felt when the hem of the dress reached my ankles. The feel of what was clearly a feminine garment. Of course I resented it. No ordinary man would not. But I was no ordinary man, I realised. Although I would not admit it then, there was a sense of reassurance about it. As if by being put into a dress I was being protected from the harshness of the world. Not completely a woman, for then I was told to put on a pair of high boots that laced up and with high heels. It felt difficult at first to walk about in them, for I kept feeling that I would fall over. Now Colette brushed my new hair, saying that we had best see about jewellery the next day. In the mirror I saw my transformation was complete. I saw a young woman, in a long, purple, flowing dress, with long, reddish brown, flowing hair. It was true, I realised, that nobody in their right mind could decide that I was a soldier, had they not known what had just happened. I was truly horrified at what I had become, but fascinated as well.
Colette led me downstairs. I found it so hard going down the stairs, balanced on those high heels, but she held my hand all the way down. When we reached the drawing room she told me to sit down, and rang for Marie. The maid looked surprised when she saw me dressed in that female apparel. Perhaps more surprised at how I looked than the fact that I was wearing it at all. Colette, with a mischievous smile said, `Marie, I wish to present Madamoiselle Antoinette de Colbert, my cousin. Do you think she looks pretty?' `Yes, Madamoiselle, she looks a very pretty young lady.' Marie smiled as she said it. She was obviously in on the deception. `Shall I serve the Madamoiselles tea?' Colette agreed, and Marie left. I noticed straight away that Colette referred to me in French as her `cousine', not as `cousin,' as a male cousin would be in French. Also when Marie said that I was a `young lady' (demoiselle). Strangest of all, both had spoken of me as `she' (elle). This was all very clear in French, a language where male and female are shown as clearly different. This was not the last time I would be aware of my new gender through language. When Marie had gone Colette spoke to me in a softer manner than before. She had been so businesslike while she was changing me, but now she was more conciliatory. `I'm sorry, Antoinette, I know I've forced you into this, but believe me, it is the only way. I know you will find it hard to dress and act as a woman, but at least you stand the best chance of not being discovered. I told her that I understood what she was trying to do, and that I truly appreciated she was putting herself in danger by helping me. She was after all giving me a disguise that no-one would be likely to suspect. `I have thought of all this before,' she told me. `I thought for a long time that if I could save one soldier from this blasphemy that goes on at the Front, it would be a good deed done for reason and common decency. At least you may never face German bullets, or British ones, ever again. Even in such a terrible war no-one would ever shoot at a woman civilian. `But first you must learn a new name and new ways. You are Antoinette de Colbert, my cousin from the Antilles'(the French West Indies) `who has come to live as my companion for the duration. We will say you are from the Antilles to explain your unusual accent. And I really do have relatives living over there; the de Colberts. I was there before the war, and will tell you all about Martinique.' `At the same time you will need to be trained in all the ways of womanhood. I will need to teach you to walk and move gracefully, to entertain, and all kinds of arts such as flower-arranging and playing the piano. It will be difficult, but you must try to be as convincing a woman as you can.
`But you must realise that your life depends on how well you can do all this. You may not see very many people, but I am sure that your soldiers will be looking for you. And they will hear if anyone notices anything strange about the new young woman at Chateau Mallarmes. You must work very hard indeed at everything I teach you.' I was still horrified at being changed into a woman. But I found the idea of flower-arranging and playing music pleasant. Far more than acting like a soldier and being shot at. Still I had to bring up one important issue. `Colette, how long will I need to go about dressed as...like this?' Colette looked very serious indeed. `I do not know, Antoinette. I have no idea at all. I do not think we can do much while your army is so close. I feel it may not be until after the war is over, and then a little longer.' I was mortified. `But that might not be for years!' I remembered when everyone said in 1914 that it would be over by Christmas. Now that was three years ago. `I could not go on living like this all that time.' `Do you think there is any other way?' I clutched onto straws. `Yes, if I wore my uniform, or if you lent me some farm-worker's clothes, I could take my chances on slipping past the MPs and getting back to England.' `Oh, Antoinette, you are mad!' (she said `Tu es folle' and not `tu es fou:' Another feminine form in French.)`You must have already been reported as having deserted. You cannot hope to get any farther than the railway station. If that far. They are looking for anyone with your description. And they would want to see your papers, which you have not got. They will be looking for you at the Channel ports, and almost everywhere from here to Boulogne.' `And worse still, you no longer have any male clothes. We just had to burn your uniform, remember. The only men's clothes we have in this house is the old nightshirt you were using earlier. Even that will have to be burned this very night, to avoid any suspicion. Of course you are free to leave as you wish, but you have no alternative but to stay. And you must stay on my terms.' It was true. My skirts and petticoats whispered around my legs as in silent mockery. In running from the war I had doomed myself to an indefinite period of dressing and masquerading as a woman. Still, it was better than death - or was it? After talking for a few hours more about dresses and feminine behaviour Colette ushered me up to bed. After undressing me, cleaning off my face-paint and helping me wash, she tucked me up, in a long night dress and cap, between the soft sheets.
Then she kissed me good night, and told me `Tomorrow, Antoinette,you have much to learn.' I was still in a state of shock, and did not know what to think of it all. But I now felt assured that no-one would ever again make demands upon my manhood which I would never be able to meet.
  As promised, my training began the next morning. Marie had filled a small sit-in bath by the fire, and I sat in it, noticing it had sweet-smelling herbs in the water. Then I was dressed in a set of underwear like I had been the previous night. The worst part of it was being laced into my corset. Why should women wear such a garment, that made it so difficult to even breathe? For all that day I could not forget this constricting mass of whalebone and cloth, pinching at my waist, and pushing at the flesh of my chest. At least I had learned to breathe before the day was over, in short breaths. On reflection, there was no doubt, I thought as I looked in the mirror, that my shape was very feminine. My body came out with my false breasts, went in at the waist, and out again at the hips. With this garment under my clothes, I looked unmistakably like a woman. And safe from being arrested, I was beginning to think. Then I was shown an array of dresses and skirts. Some were very narrow, from before the war, although Colette steered me towards more full, wide skirts. `Perhaps I should get you some shorter ones' she said. I noticed that she was always wearing the new style of skirt that came down just below the knee, showing her dark stockings. Would I like to wear shorter skirts myself? I caught myself thinking. But for me, at least for the present, I had to prance around in long skirts, learning to take little steps. I was to learn how to sit, rise, pour tea, and to place objects, all in such a feminine manner. Colette had me walk around the room, talking little steps, for a long time. It was hard to do all this, in shoes that seemed to want to tip me over. Then she had me walk around with a book balanced on my head. `A young lady should be able to move with grace and decorum' she told me. Colette often smiled as she had me doing this. I knew that she was trying hard to teach me all this. If I was not a convincing woman, I realised by now, I was in serious danger of being seen through, and arrested as soon as I met someone else. It must have been a total of very many hours that she had me sitting and rising in a very feminine way. I was beginning to like sitting in the drawing room, in that soft armchair, though.
There was a certain serenity in sitting there in my skirts. Once she showed me about sitting at a table. She demonstrated how a gentleman would pull out my chair, while I would sit down. I found the idea of another man behaving towards me in this manner a little strange, and horrifying. I wished at the time she had not mentioned men. I felt as if I was living in a small, imprisoned state. My movements were so restricted, that I was forced to go on in such a dainty manner. Later in the day I tried to cheer myself with the thought that I would stand a better chance at being taken for a woman if a military policeman saw me. I felt pleased with such a thought. Or at least that was what I thought I was pleased at. Most of the day my training went on. Even when I sat down to eat, it was the same. Colette made sure that I ate slowly, taking small mouthfuls. I had got used to eating heartily in the trenches, but Colette told me: a young lady must behave in an elegant fashion, especially at the table. I had never used a table napkin before, but now I learned the arts of proper folding and use. I did not really want to know which fork to use, but Colette taught me mercilessly. A young lady must know all this by my age. She would be taught it all. Indeed there was a large amount of table manners that I had to learn, even before the many arts of entertaining that a young lady needed to know about would be revealed to me. But I must know all of this, and be proficient. If I showed I had no idea of all these feminine arts, someone would be suspicious, and I would risk being caught. At the end of the first day Marie got me ready for bed. When she unlaced my corsets I was surprised at the effect. I could breathe again. Colette came in to brush my wig, to show me what cosmeticsto put on to make my skin soft and beautiful, and eventuallykissed me good night. I fell asleep not knowing what to think. It was a high price to pay for not getting shot at, I thought at the time. But was it at all unpleasant? I felt embarrassed in a masculine sense. I should not be expected to dress as a woman, but Colette was adamant all the way through that there was no alternative. The next morning I was waken by Marie again. I was bathed in the same way, and then laced up again in my corsets. These were a little easier to wear, as I was breathing the right way. Once again I was dressed in petticoats and other lingerie, and then in a blouse and long skirt. More training followed, throughout the day. I was getting so much of it that I was getting confused. And it was so alien to me that I was finding it difficult by now. Perhaps there was a feeling of resentment in me of dressing and learning to behave like a woman.
There was a time that day that Colette said she thought it may be better if she gave up training me as a lady. Perhaps I would be better suited to pose as a servant-girl. This seemed really awful to me. The thought of scrubbing pans and serving her under Marie's supervision, while still wearing women's clothes. It was even worse than wearing women's clothes and a life of leisure. That made me try much harder. I even tried very hard to master the arts of table-manners, so that this would not happen. Colette later said that I was a good pupil. Later I realised one of the reasons why I tried so hard not to be made a servant-girl. The thought of wearing a maid's uniform, similar to the one Marie did, was terrible to me. I felt that I would not like to trade my soft skirts and lacy petticoats for a life like that. Before I had been there a week, I knew the names of every type of female apparel (in French), could put powder and paint on my face well enough, could go about with a walk and movements that were decidedly feminine. I was speaking French all the time, and was learning new words as I went. Even though I was not to be a maid, I still took my turn in household duties. The house was too big for Marie to keep clean on her own, so Colette and I did some light dusting and sweeping. I put an apron over my blouse and skirt, and went around with a feather duster. Of course I resented all this. I was still a man, wasn't I? If my fellow soldiers heard about all this, they would laugh and deride me something awful. Then again, they had treated me with contempt the time, and I had never been able to live up to what a man was supposed to be, or even wanted to. I even went through a phase, in the second week, of considering that I had forfeited my manhood by running away, and that my fate of being changed into a woman was a just punishment. So I was `hiding behind women's skirts' in more senses than one. I had been called to fight for my country, I reasoned. And when the time had come to give my all, or die resisting the Germans, I had shown cowardice. So this was to be my fate: rather than being shot as a deserter, I was condemned to dress and act as a woman. I was to wear dresses, skirts, petticoats and corsets, and to act in a passive manner. The exercises Colette had had me do: this elegant way of walking, sitting down, curtsying. Of course I was to do all this. I was not a man any more, and was only fit to be a woman. It was a just penalty for a coward, for one who had not been a man when his country called him. I had proved to be no man. So now fate had decreed that I should be a woman. Poetic justice. I thought for a while this may be a fate worse than death, and a deserved one. But later I thought again.
I see now that being a man, as society demands, is a wrong idea, and that I should not have been expected to behave in such an aggressive manner. As Colette had told me, because the crowned heads of Europe had a silly quarrel over who was the top nation and who should have what lands, young men should not have to prove their manhood by killing and being killed. This I was beginning to understand. But by the third week, I was finding being a woman much easier. Perhaps when I looked out of the window to the north, every night that week, to see the flashes of the gunfire and bombs on the horizon, I was feeling safe and reassured that I was not in the middle of that, even if I was dressed as a woman. Or perhaps it was then that I began to like the sensation of lace and satin on my body. Especially after my uniform, I felt soft and at ease with myself. Of course it may be a little more difficult to move around, but even then I was able to do so without stumbling. And it was still not very comfortable wearing corsets all day. It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but my new life in skirts and petticoats was bringing me a peace I had not known since I was a child. Colette noticed in that third week how much at ease I was, and told me that I was doing very well indeed. I was trying the many dresses, skirts, blouses and lingerie that I found in my wardrobe. They were all very pleasant. It might have been hard to admit it, but I, a man, or perhaps a man no longer, enjoyed wearing all these women's clothes. Underneath I wore the same type of knickers, corsetry and petticoats as usual. On top I always during the day put on an ankle-length full skirt and a tight white blouse, often fastened at the neck with a cameo. In the evenings I was expected to wear more elaborate dresses, satins and lace, as Colette did. My hair - or the hair of my wig - was often tied up in an elaborate style, or pinned up in a simple bun. I was beginning to wish my real hair would grow longer more quickly, so that it could be styled too. Ringlets, perhaps. It was late October, almost a month since I had become Antoinette, that I met someone else in my new sex. Unexpected, Marie announced that Madame Monan and her daughter Michelle had come to call. Colette told her to show them in. I was sitting by the fire, in my long frock, when it happened. I almost panicked, and rose, trying to leave the room before they came in. Colette ordered me to stay (she had not commanded me to do anything for two weeks), saying `You need to meet people, Antoinette. You have the training to do it, and you cannot remain hidden forever. But if you say no more than you need to, you will get through it.'
I dropped Madame Monan a curtsy when Colette introduced me. Madame remarked what a pretty young lady I was. Colette asked me to pour tea, and the conversation went on. I was feeling less tense all the time, and even found it fairly easy to engage in polite conversation. The two French women stayed for almost an hour. I was still nervous, but Colette later told me that I had done very well. When I was introduced as Antoinette de Colbert, Colette's cousin (or rather `cousine'), who had come from Martinique to be her companion, I found it all very strange. Madame Monan had to know everything about my family, the Antilles and about me. I told them about my father who owned a sugar plantation, my sister who was married, and my own education at a convent school, just as Colette had drummed into me how I must tell it when asked. I was even talking about Sister Anne-Marie who taught me Latin, and how I loved embroidery (this last was true, although Colette had just started teaching me), when Colette intervened, asking me to pour tea, and then changing the subject. I liked Michelle too. She was nearly eighteen, and giggled very often. When her mother asked to see something in another room, and Colette had to go to show her, I was alone with Michelle for a while. Colette later said she was very nervous about leaving me. Michelle told me about her own convent school, which she was leaving at Christmas, and about some funny things that happened recently. We both sat there giggling without stopping. Madame Monan invited us to dinner on Tuesday week just before she left. I felt that I had scored points there, and both Madame and her daughter seemed to like me. Colette then said with a smile, `It appears that you ought to get about more, Antoinette.' So the following Sunday, I went with Colette to church. When I was much younger I used to go to the French church in London with my mother, but that was some years before. Now I felt such a sense of ease, sitting in the Mallarmes pew with Colette and Marie. It felt a little strange, though. As a woman I was wearing a hat, and I had had to take my hat off when I had gone to church as a boy. The mass was also attended by a number of British soldiers. They sat in pews separate from the French, and I had no reason to speak to them. But I knew I needed to avoid coming too close to them, just in case. I had never known until that Sunday that Sergeant-Major Daly was a Catholic.
But at the end of the mass I found myself in a dilemma. I caught sight of the confessional. Surely what I was doing was a sin against God. Men should not be women!. I was just on the point of going straight into the box and confessing all to the priest. But Colette realised what was happening. She took my arm. `There will be time for that later, Antoinette,' she whispered to me. `You cannot afford to do anything now, or else you risk being discovered. Come, perhaps you can speak to Father Bernard another time.' Then she steered me to where Madame Monan and Michelle were, along with some other of the `better' families of the area. That was the first time I had ventured forth as Antoinette. Now there came several trips to the village. Twice we went to do some shopping, and also to call on various people. I got to know Madame Fourrier, Doctor Martin and his wife, and the Lazaire sisters, two young girls, who thought the world of me. There were no young men around in any of these families, for they had all gone away to the war. This I realised was better for me, for I did not know how I could talk to a man, in my new sex. I soon found all this very easy, as I entered the polite society of the district. No longer was I afraid of being discovered. Colette had trained me very well, I now saw. I felt sure that everyone who met me saw a pleasant young woman. I realised I liked the thought of it. Now I no longer resented my skirts and feminine manner. Of course I told myself all the time that it was better than the trenches. But it may have been hard to admit that I was enjoying my time in the world of women On the Thursday Colette told me that I needed a new dress, as we would be dining with the Monans the following week. She gave me a detailed account of what to expect. It was then that I asked her how I could ever repay her for what she was doing for me. She only said that there may be a time that I would do her family a great service, but not yet. I did not ask her any more about it.So on the Friday we took the carriage to Eglise Saint-Martin. I was shown into the fitting-room of Madame Arouet's dress shop. When the time came for me to remove my dress and petticoats I almost panicked, but did so without the shopgirl noticing anything. Colette had made me put on a kind of strap which tucked my manhood away, just for times I was to be seen without my skirts and petticoats. It was again very strange, when the shopgirl talked to me, as if I really was a girl from the Antilles, and needed to know what were the right clothes and underclothes to show off a young lady's figure the best. Soon it was over, without any incident, and I was to return on the Monday for the dress.
Just before Colette and I mounted the carriage, Colette suddenly remembered something she needed at the haberdashers'. She ran off, telling me to wait for her. She was not thinking, because up to then she had made sure I never left her sight when we went out. Still, I was alone in public for the first time since I became a woman, and I felt pleased. I went over to the milliners' to look in the shop-window. Yes, I was by now looking at ladies' hats, thinking how I would look in them. No qualms about it. But I was paying too much attention to these creations to realise that someone was coming up from behind. `Mam'selle, turn round, will you.' said a slurred masculine voice in English. I turned to see two British soldiers. Two lance-corporals, both rather drunk, and looking as if they thought a lot of the sight of me. `My name's Pete, and this is my pal Henry,' said one, the smell of beer on his breath. `What's your name, love?'I was mortified to hear them. And even more horrified to realise that `Pete' was Lance-Corporal Millson, who had terrorised me since I got to the Front. Now he was making eyes at me, in his drunken way. They were both being very offensive, as if they were thrusting their groins forward as they spoke to me. It was both fascinating and horrifying at the same time. I recovered my presence of mind `Excusez-moi Messieurs, je ne parle pas anglais. Je dois partir..' I babbled on, trying to convince them I did not understand them. I turned away, knowing how dangerous the situation was. But Millson grabbed my wrist, a little too hard. `Allez..nous... Mam'selle' he slurred. Then he said to his companion. `If we can get her down the back alley, she'll drop them for a shilling.' I felt his other arm snake around my waist, first hugging me, then coming to rest on my buttock, which he squeezed. I squirmed as he touched me there, and felt sick smelling his beery breath. I was terrified. Did they take me for a prostitute? Or were they planning to rape me? Now they would certainly discover my true sex, and would probably beat me up before they turned me in. I opened my mouth to scream, but realised I might easily give myself away. All kinds of questions might be asked, and I may not be able to maintain the deception Here I was, in the middle of the street, with a British soldier holding onto me, one hand holding my wrist, and another caressing my bottom. Millson was pressing up against my body, his groin against my other buttock, where I could feel his rising manhood. This last was the most horrifying, and the most exciting.What could I do? If I screamed I would risk attention drawn to me. Much worse if I tried to fight him off, and even then I would not do very well.
All I could do was to struggle a little, pleading quietly `S'il vous plait Monsieur...lachez-moi...Monsieur...' Millson was paying little attention, he was both pressing closer to me with his burgeoning penis pushing at me in his trousers, and at the same time trying to steer me towards an opening to an alleyway. `Stop, you men!' said another male voice. The two soldiers looked up, their faces going white. I looked round, to see Sergeant-Major Daly had just appeared. `Corporal Millson, unhand that young lady.' He did so, with a sheepish look on his face. Daly gave them a lecture on bothering ladies of breeding, ordered them back to camp, and told them to see him that evening. When the other soldiers had gone he turned to me. He raised his hat. `I am sorry that this has occurred, Miss' he said in English. `Are you all right?'I babbled on in French. `Merci, Monsieur, je suis tres bien. Ce n'est pas compris. Je dois get her down the back alley, she'll drop them for a shilling.' I felt his other arm snake around my waist, first hugging me, then coming to rest on my buttock, which he squeezed. I squirmed as he touched me there, and felt sick smelling his beery breath. I was terrified. Did they take me for a prostitute? Or were they planning to rape me? Now they would certainly discover my true sex, and would probably beat me up before they turned me in. I opened my mouth to scream, but realised I might easily give myself away. All kinds of questions might be asked, and I may not be able to maintain the deception Here I was, in the middle of the street, with a British soldier holding onto me, one hand holding my wrist, and another caressing my bottom. Millson was pressing up against my body, his groin against my other buttock, where I could feel his rising manhood. This last was the most horrifying, and the most exciting.What could I do? If I screamed I would risk attention drawn to me. Much worse if I tried to fight him off, and even then I would not do very well. All I could do was to struggle a little, pleading quietly `S'il vous plait Monsieur...lachez-moi...Monsieur...' Millson was paying little attention, he was both pressing closer to me with his burgeoning penis pushing at me in his trousers, and at the same time trying to steer me towards an opening to an alleyway. `Stop, you men!' said another male voice. The two soldiers looked up, their faces going white. I looked round, to see Sergeant-Major Daly had just appeared. `Corporal Millson, unhand that young lady.' He did so, with a sheepish look on his face. Daly gave them a lecture on bothering ladies of breeding, ordered them back to camp, and told them to see him that evening.
When the other soldiers had gone he turned to me. He raised his hat. `I am sorry that this has occurred, Miss' he said in English. `Are you all right?'I babbled on in French. `Merci, Monsieur, je suis tres bien. Ce n'est pas compris. Je dois partir...' I had to convince him that I was French, and female, if I were to walk away free from this meeting. But then he offered `May I escort you to your home, Miss?' I answered again in French, as if I did not understand him. Luckily, Colette returned at this point, and immediately took charge of me, and after hearing what had happened from the Sergeant Major, thanked him while she steered me towards the carriage. Before getting up to the carriage, I thanked Daly again, in French, and dropped him a curtsy. He responded by raising his hat again. I said little to Colette until we had left town. Then I told her all about it, and who Daly was. Of course it was a near miss, but I had succeeded in convincing him that I was a young girl. And when I was the same soldier who attacked him as I deserted! `Of course,' said Colette, `you must have made his day. he saw you as a delightful young woman that he had the honour of saving. He's probably dreaming about you now.' At first I felt very uneasy about the thought that men could be interested in me sexually. This made me feel vulnerable. But I also saw the funny side of it - Daly had acted in a totally different manner than I had expected him to when I last saw him. We laughed the rest of the way home. That night as I lay in bed, I found myself thinking about my encounter with the soldiers. It was not so much that near escape that was on my mind. It was the feeling of being helpless, restrained by Millson. The sense of being menaced in this way gave me feelings which were not completely repulsive to me. It was the way his erect penis was so close to me that I could feel it. Of course I thought Millson was revolting, but what if it were a more handsome, pleasant young man... Perhaps now that I had become a woman, some experiences on these lines would be possible. I drifted off to sleep, without much thought as to how practicable such ideas were.
The day arrived when we went to dine at the Monans. It was to be another target in my transition into womanhood. Colette had been training me all week for it, and I was less wary about being caught out by then. We arrived at the Monan home in the early evening. The footman took my wrap, and I went with Colette into the drawing room, me wearing my new, beautiful, pink dress for the first time. How proud I was of it, especially when both Dr Martin and Monsieur Monan, a local businessman, both turned to look at me admiringly when I entered. Almost everybody knew me already. Michelle and the Lazaire sisters were present, with their widowed mother. I later met Monsieur Lachaille, Monan's business partner, with his young second wife Claudine. Their son would arrive later, they said. I was seated when the Lachailles were introduced to me and shook hands with them sitting down. I had always been told to stand up to do so before, but Colette had told me to remain seated to shake hands as women always did. The girls all had much to say to me. They were fascinated by this young lady from overseas. In no time at all we four were sitting giggling and gossiping. The younger Lazaire sister, Marguerite, was in the same class as Michelle at school. Colette felt no need to stay with me then, but went to discuss matters of more importance with Claudine Lachaille. Shortly before dinner was served another guest arrived. A young French cavalry officer entered, and I was introduced to Lieutenant Emile Lachaille. He looked a smart young man, only about twenty, and I found myself thinking that he was rather handsome. I was a little surprised when I held out my hand in greeting. He took it, clicked his heels, raised my hand to his mouth, and kissed it. The sensation of his lip, with his moustache, pressed against the back of my hand. I had butterflies in my stomach as he did it. I found it hard to keep my composure. But I succeeded in holding a pleasant conversation with him. Then came another shock. After the dinner-gong sounded Madame Monan asked Emile to take me in to dinner.Now I did not know how to handle it. I put my arm in his while he escorted me into the dining room. The feel of a young man's touch was not something Colette had prepared me for. I did not know what to do: should I pretend to enjoy it, in order to keep my credibility? And then, if I was really enjoying it, should I do so? I may be dressed convincingly as a woman, but I was after all really a man. I decided to put all that out of my mind, while I was in such pleasant company.
We had a lovely conversation all through, as he was seated next to me. He deliberately avoided talking about the war, which I was glad of, but talked mostly about his life at the training academy, where he had just finished. I did not tell him any more than the details Colette had furnished me with about Martinique. I did a lot of listening to his pleasant conversation. Then came the moment Colette had warned me about. Madame Monan and Madame Lachaille exchanged nods, and all the ladies rose to leave. I rose too, giving Emile a smile as I did. As I gathered my long, flowing skirts to go, I noticed him watching me, an appreciative look on his face. As was the custom at that point, the ladies went up to use the lavatory, and to attend to their toilet. I took my turn at the mirror, touching up the rouge on my face, titivating with my hair, and joining in the conversation that was already developing among the young women. Then we went down to the drawing room,where we went on with our conversation and gossip. We had left the men to their port and cigars, and their conversation about business, politics and the war.During this time Colette whispered to me to ask if I was all right. I told her I was. At first I had felt a little annoyed about being expected to leave before such `important' conversation went on. Then again, I soon realised that I did not really want to smoke, drink and talk about war. In fact this lively talk about dresses and young men was far more interesting to me. I joined the other young girls about the sofa in the drawing room.`You temptress, Antoinette,' Marguerite Lazaire called me as I sat down. `You have Emile Lachaille all over you. I am sure he is really smitten by you.' I played the role by saying that Emile was a very handsome young man, and that I enjoyed his conversation. I was speaking as if I were a real young girl, who would be really enamoured of such a young man. I was beginning to notice that I was actually feeling exactly like that. Francoise, Marguerite's elder sister, whispered in my ear that Emile had long been expected to marry Michelle. Was I going to take him from her? `No,' I said `I do not think so.' Shortly after the men came in to join us. Michelle succeeded in collaring Emile, and I needed not speak to him again that night. I joined in a conversation about music with Colette and Doctor Martin. Colette later played the piano, and the evening ended pleasantly. But it was the first of several evenings. I did not see Emile again for a while, for he had to rejoin his regiment a few days later, but all those people, especially those young girls, I saw a lot of those few weeks.
There were no balls at that time, for all the young men were away at the war. Still, Colette taught me to dance. In the manner that all young girls learned, as she told me, she wound up the gramophone and we danced together the waltz and all the other dances. `It will be different when you dance with your first man,' she told me. I was surprised that I no longer found that idea shocking. Of course I was telling myself that I should pretend very hard in order to get away with this. I should even try to feel exactly what a young woman should. But this was already coming very easily. Indeed I was getting butterflies in my stomach whenever I thought of Emile. No matter, I was very convincing, wasn't I? And it was a few weeks after that first soiree that I received a letter from Emile. It was addressed to `Madamoiselle Antoinette.' Colette had to help me read it, because I still found it hard in places to read French. It said little other than he was thinking of me, especially in those dark times. But it was not hard to read between the lines. `He's enamoured of you, Antoinette,' Colette chuckled. Of course I was flattered, but glad he was so far away. It could be complicated otherwise. Again, I thought, a young man at the Front would be glad of a beautiful young woman to think of, and I was doing him a service. Indeed it was not so long before that I was a young man at the Front myself, as I had to remind myself at that point, and at least as a young woman away from the war I could do a little good. That was my reasoning. But over the next few weeks I was allowing myself all kinds of daydreams. They concerned myself and Emile, where I dance with him at a ball, and how we slip away, and he kisses me in the dark. I was so looking forward to seeing him again. I did write two letters to him. I used some soft, pink writing paper, and sprayed a little perfume on them. Young men like receiving letters from ladies like that. But on Colette's advice I did not write anything that sounded like I was attracted to him. Even if it were true, she told me, it was not the done thing for a young girl to appear to be `fast.' Just after Christmas, my first pleasant Christmas since my mother died, we did meet at that ball. It was to be the only ball for some time, given how the war went. How glad I was when I sat in my beautiful pink-and-white ball gown (from Colette's wardrobe, with an alteration so that I need not show much of my breasts), Emile came up and asked me to dance.
Colette was right! How I loved sailing across the floor, Emile's arm around my waist, and one of my hands on his shoulder and the other in his hand. I felt so dainty, and so special, to be treated like this. Such a fine young man, and I was so proud to be seen on his arm that night. I felt the envy of so many women. But he did not try to get me away from the ball. And I knew by then that I should never make the first move, for men did not like forward women. It was then that I noticed that I was not the only girl he was paying his attentions to. My adventure did not happen, as I secretly hoped it would. At the gathering of the New Year, Monsieur Monan announced the engagement of his daughter Michelle to Emile. I was very disappointed. I even found myself crying a little in private. Then after a while I dried my tears, while I reasoned that it was much better this way. Of course I could never marry a man, as I was not a real woman. It was very pleasant having this young man's attentions, and certainly showed how convincing I was. But I must remember that I was only dressed as a woman in order to avoid being shot as a deserter. But I was truly enjoying being a woman. So many lovely experiences. By now there seemed to be no time in sight when I could return to being a man. By the New Year of 1918 I was no longer even thinking about this time. Now I felt content with my frocks and petticoats, and my feminine ways. There was no hurry to become a man again, I now felt. I could happily wait out the war as Antoinette, living the life of a young woman.  

 The Office Boy

My name was Mike Grant, and I say was, because it's different now. I have two years of college and I'm taking classes at night to finish with a degree in Business. In order to support my school expenses and have some spending money, I found a job working in an office as sort of a glorified office boy. I'm 5' 7" tall with soft brown hair and blue eyes and I have never weighed more than 140 in my entire life. Valerie Hooper, the woman I report to is in charge of the office, and also prepares parties for Christmas and so on. Valerie is about 50, married, with two sons and a husband. For Halloween she wanted everyone to come to work in costume, fully expecting a lot of monsters or ghosts. When I told her I wanted to do something different but had no idea of what, or who, to come as, she smiled and told me that I could easily come as Diane Benson, the actress, when she was my age! "You have the same facial structure she does, and with the right makeup you could be her twin Mike. Think about it and let me know. That night I told my mother what Valerie had suggested, and to my surprise she agreed! "I can help you if you like Mike. Your sister still has a lot of her clothes here so that would not be a problem. Besides, it could be a lot of fun!" I told her that I would think about it. For years I was lonely, depressed, angry at myself, the world, and the gods that made me this way. I knew I was smart and had a good job, but at age 20, I was still driven by urges I never had any control over, no matter how hard I tried. I often felt the urge to dress as a girl, but each time I did, and then looked in the mirror, I saw a clown instead of the woman I wanted to be. Including my makeup, I was merely a parody of the woman in my dreams. My frustration at my inability to achieve any semblance of the woman I felt I wanted to become had driven me into silent secrecy when I did try to dress up. That night, in my robe, I munched snacks as the television played in a muted tone. The young women on the screen were a constant reminder of what I wanted to be able to look like, and equally, my inability to either conquer my desires, or forget it, or become the woman I had so many dreams about. In my heart I knew I was going to do it, because even though I had secretly tried on my sister's clothes many times when I was growing up, and always felt like a clown, this time I would have my mother to help me. My mother's tacit approval lifted the veil of frustration and I felt as if I was soaring. I knew, in my heart, that this time, I would look good. Since Claire was just a year older than I was, most of her clothes fit me pretty well, and I was sure that with some help, I could look pretty nice. My biggest concern was how everyone in the office would react to me dressed as a girl. The next morning, when I told mom about my concerns, she told me that in her mind, the best way, if I was going to do it, would for me to be perfect. Since I didn't want to come off as a clown or one of those freak of the week people, I agreed. "I'll get a few things today and we can see how you do tomorrow. If you like it then you can stay dressed as a girl until Monday." Someone once said that tears are merely a reflection of the soul, whether its fear, joy, or sadness. All those years of hiding, frustration, fear, and secrecy came to a head all at once, and I started to cry. Why are you crying Michael? This is what you want isn't it? To live and work as a female?" My head popped up, and out came, "What!" "I'm sure its true Michael, based on the number of times you wore Claire's clothes!" Shocked that mother knew about my dressing up as a girl, and afraid of what I might blurt out, I kept my mouth shut. "I said I would help you if you let me Michael, and I think that you should practice dressing every day after work, and each weekend from now until the day when you go to work." I started to say something, but mom held her hand up and said, "You did say that you wanted to be perfect didn't you?" "YesÉ" "Well this will give you a few weeks of practice before the party!" I could find nothing more to say about it, swallowed my pride, nodded my head yes, and quietly went to my room. That night I decided that mom was right. I would do the best I could or not at all, and if she already knew about me dressing up and wanted to help me then no matter how I thought I looked it wouldn't matter.


    On Saturday morning right after breakfast mom told me to go to my room. I have everything you'll need. I'll just show you how to use it and you can take it from there." As far as my mother was concerned it was a done deal, and that combined with my natural desires made it easy for me to stay silent in my agreement. Mom gave me the stuff, which I recognized as a popular hair removal cream. As soon as she left the room I stripped and quickly had a coat of the cream all over me, from the eyebrows down. After a shower and a close shave I stepped out and patted myself dry. I had never yet shaved my body or used hair removal cream before, and I was surprised at just how smooth my skin felt. My beard, while not what you would call light, was a light color and only moderate in growth, and after I shaved I had nice soft skin. With the towel wrapped around me I went into Claire's bedroom and closed the door, hesitating for just a moment because I was pretty sure that as soon as I was dressed and stepped out of the room I was not going to want to quit. Ignoring that thought I forged ahead, opened her dresser and selected a pair of lavender colored cotton panties and slipped them on. When Claire was younger she had a shape like a pencil and used a padded pantybrief and some breastforms to give her some shape. I had found them while I was in her room dressing once, and made sure I left them right where I found them. I slipped on the pantybrief, adjusting the pads to suit me. The pantyhose went on easily, but the nylon against my now naked skin was like an electric shock as I slid them on. I went to the vanity and sat down facing the huge mirror. Makeup was the only thing I had managed to almost master simply because that was all I could do on so many occasions. I applied the foundation using a powder to set it, brushing away the excess as soon as it dried, leaving my skin looking soft and smooth. On my eyes I used a mint green with copper and gray highlights with deep black eyeliner both over and under my eyes. A bit of rose blusher on my cheekbones and black mascara on my lashes. My naturally curly hair was thick, and as it was drying the ends started to curl, so with a brush I was able to create a modest if messy pageboy that framed my face. The curly ends added just the right touch to the style. I didn't even need a curling iron. I heard mom knock on the door, and when she came in the room and saw me, she told me that my makeup was fine. "Let me help you with your nails." I opened the small drawer and pulled out the box of fake nails. Using the glue in the box mom attached one to each of my nails and filed them into an oval shape with rounded tips. The polish I selected was one shade up from pink. It took a while for the polish to dry, and while I waited I stood in front of the closet and tried to select what I was going to wear for my first public debut. As soon as my nails were dry I slipped my arms into the lavender bra and settled it in front after I fastened the single front hook. The breastforms were flesh colored, filled with silicone to a small 'B' cup, which was perfect on my frame. The waist nipper was beige with eleven hooks and a zipper, and once I had it on it made my waist a trim 25 inches. Unable to decide on what to wear, mom picked out a light blue floral summer dress for me to wear. She said it would 'go with' my bra and panties. I wore off white sandals and a matching blue jacket. Mom redid my hair a bit and it seemed to flow around my face. I looked in the mirror and was floored! The reflection in the mirror I saw that I did look like Diane Benson in a way and I stood before the mirror in a dream like state looking at the girl standing there. I loved the image I was seeing. The girl that I had only dreamed of stood in front of me, not perfect of course, but I did not feel like a clown this time. The image I saw in the mirror burst all of the illusions I had about my maleness! Inside, in that private place we all have, I knew that I would never again be happy again unless I was able to become this young woman more than once in a while.


    The girl, me, was looking back from the mirror, and like my sister, she is stunning. Her large blue eyes with their long lashes look deeply into me. She has wide, pouty lips highlighted by sensual reddish pink lipstick. Her soft brown hair falls a few inches above her shoulders, styled with bangs, gently brushed without a single hair out of place. White button earrings and a thin white necklace merely enhance the simple blue dress. The simplicity of the dress draws my eyes to my face. Without any fanfare at all I turned to face my mother, and when she looked up I heard her gasp. "Damn!" Mom stood up and had me turn around for her. "If I did not know it was you I never would have guessed that there was a boy under that dress!" "Thank you mother." I sat down facing her, my knees firmly locked together and my hands in my lap. "I can see that you know how to do makeup and get dressed, but how are you in public?" "I've never been out of the house mother." "Then it's time that you experience things all women enjoyÉ like shopping, having your nails done and your hair styled." "Like this!" "Of course dear! How else?" "ButÉbutÉ" I started to sound like a car that needed a tune up, but mother had made up her mind! "Michael, you and I both know that you want to go out and make people think that you are really a girl, don't we? Lets stop pretending that you are so attached to your macho self and admit that you love being a girl." Why did she always know? Are all mothers able to read their children's mind like this? Without waiting for an answer she said, "Get a purse and put your wallet and some lipstick in it and I'll get cleaned up a bit before we go." As I waited for her to get ready I knew that mother was right. I no longer had any reason to use excuses or delaying tactics. The time had come; I had to step outside wearing women's clothes. I had to, and wanted to, act enough like a real girl to convince everyone that would see me that I really was a girl. I had to act in a way that everyone who saw me would believe I was a female. The very thought of being a convincing girl made me feel weak and vulnerable, yet fear was attacking every nerve in my body, and the longer I waited the more my fear grew. Mother finally showed up, but before we left the house she asked me what my girl name was. "I never picked one mother!" "Then why don't we use the name of the actress you look so much like?" I agreed, and from that moment on she called me Diane. The first thing that I became aware of was how the breezy air felt on my nylon covered legs. That same slight breeze also kept teasing its way up and under the hem of my dress. It was a new sensation, but I have to admit that I loved it. I found that wearing high heels made my hips sway, and I had to walk with a better posture just to help me to maintain my balance. It wasn't long before I began to hold my arms up at my sides bent at the elbow instead of putting them in my pockets like I normally did. Mother saw the way I was reacting to the clothes, but instead of saying anything she just smiled at me warmly, with approval written on her face. I wondered about that, and finally I asked her about it as we drove to the mall.


    "You would have done this sooner or later anyway Diane. If I help guide you then you'll have an easier time of it and I get to have another daughter who is a lady to her core." She glanced at me and saw the worry on my face. "Diane, you are a boy, that's true. But only on the outside I think. Inside, where it counts the most I think you're a girl. That wasn't clear to me until I saw you for the first time this morning, then it was obvious, to both of us I think. Am I right?" It was my moment of truth, and without even thinking about it I nodded my head yes. "I don't think that you feel you're much different from any other girl at this moment Diane. I know that you want people to think you're a girl, and you want them to treat you like a girl, so we'll have to make them think you're a girl, won't we?" Again, I nodded my head yes, but this time I knew I had a smile on my face. "You'll need panties and bras of your own Diane, so why don't we start there." It was a statement of course. We both knew I would do whatever she wanted. I walked right beside my mother, keeping step with her, noticing how she held her hands and like her shadow, I began doing the same things. In the lingerie department we bought a dozen panties and three new bras before we moved to the junior department where I tried on several skirts and dresses which we bought along with two suits. In the shoe department I tried on shoes and found that Claire and I wore the same size, so I only bought a pair of beige flats. "Let's put the packages in the car Diane, and then we can have some lunch before your appointment at the salon." "My appointment?" "While you were in trying on that nice pink suit I asked the girl to call ahead and get you an appointment. You do want to look your best on Monday don't you?" "But I thought I was going to do this on the weekends for three weeks before I went to work as a girl!" Mom was pushing me to see how far I would go, so in a fit of bravery, I one upped her to see what she would do. "Of course! Maybe I'll get my hair colored and a nice perm at the same time." "That's probably best if you're going to work as a woman. Maybe they can pierce your ears at the same time." Mother was not about to be one upped by me, and had even raised the stakes a bit higher. Unfortunately I had nothing else to offer and my bravery made it firm. I could only smile in my acceptance. I had walked up to the cliff and stepped right off so to speak. After lunch we walked to the salon in the mall and a woman named Betty took me to a chair. "This is Debbie, she'll be your stylist." I looked at her and smiled. After some discussion about what I wanted, Debbie concluded that I didn't have a clue, and she simply told me that she would do a 'modest' amount of work on my hair before she started on me. I simply let her do her work with a minimum of chatter. When I had to move to the dryer another girl came over and started in on my nails, removing the ones I had put on that morning then made them slightly longer and used a light red polish on them. While she was doing my nails another girl pierced my ears and added small gold hoops! When Debbie was done and I looked in the mirror I was stunned at just how much a simple hairstyle can make a person change. My once soft brown hair was now blond, done in soft waves on top that terminated in sharp curls behind my head. My hair was just below my ears, brushed out to frame my face with bangs that were swept to one side. In my ears sat small gold hoops. I looked so different that it was hard not to keep looking in the mirror!


    Mom and I drove home and at mom's urging I moved into Claire's bedroom. I put the clothes away and started to move things from my old room to the new one, moving some of Claire's things, like underwear, to my old room. Later that night I went on line and found a site I had visited before. They sold things to help make men look like women, even if they were naked. I had visited this site many times in the past but had not yet bought anything. I saw that they had improved everything, so I used the on line ordering system to buy a few things I knew that I would need. I did not tell my mother. That night we watched television, mom in her flannels, me in a nightgown and robe set that was not much more than a diaphanous swirl of light blue The next morning I got up, brushed my hair, did my makeup and dressed in a skirt and blouse before I went to the kitchen and started the coffee. Mom came in shortly, and as we had our breakfast, she asked me what I had in mind for the day. "I have a few things I want to do on the computer, but I would like a picture of me first." "I'll get the camera!" Mom snapped the picture as I stood in front of a blank wall, handing it to me when it popped out of the camera. I took the picture and in my room I scanned it into the computer so I could clean it up a little. Then I scanned in my college ID, drivers license, and work ID. With the software it was easy to cut my old picture and paste the new one in its place. Changing the name was harder because I had to match the font, which was different on all of the items. When I was done, I printed out one of each on my printer, in full color, and other than the picture and name, I had exact copies of each piece of my ID. My name on each was Diane Michelle Grant. My dad had used a laminating machine quite often, and it was still in his office, so I went in and laminated each one. I was so elated at being able to dress as a woman that almost could not stand it. I fixed up a wallet that I had found in Claire's room with all of my new ID, moved my pictures, credit cards, and money to the new wallet and put it in the purse. My image in the mirror kept my attention, which was narcissistic I suppose, but I loved the way I looked and did not want to give up being a girl any sooner than I had to. At three that afternoon the things I had ordered arrived. Their ad was correct! Next day delivery! Mom signed for them, and as soon as I saw her she gave them to me. "What is this?" "I'll show you in a little while mother. Right now I have to examine them to make sure everything arrived undamaged." Of course nothing was damaged. It's hard to damage latex just by shipping it. I eagerly opened the package, and right on top was the panty with the artificial vagina. I set it aside and pulled out the box containing the breastforms. Each of the breasts was made so real looking that it was scary! I eagerly stripped my blouse and bra off, read the instruction sheet carefully, and using the enclosed adhesive, attached them to my chest. As soon as I smoothed out the seams they seemed to become one with me as only the almost invisible seam remained. The vaginal panty was harder to put on, but again, following the instruction sheet, I managed to slip it on, removing all traces of my manhood. Naked, I looked in the mirror and saw a young girl from head to toe. In my reverie I failed to hear the door open; when my mother gasped I turned to see her ashen face.


    Without a word she walked up to me and touched the breastforms, assuring herself they were fake I guess. She knew for a fact the vagina was a fake. "I see that you have become a girl after all! Do you have to take that off toÉ" "No mother, but I have to sit just like any other female." "Well, since you're so much a girl now why don't we go out tonight?" Without waiting for an answer she told me to wear the same blue dress and walked out of the room. After shopping, and a trip to the salon I knew that I was not a clown at all. I was now able to present myself as a female and make people believe it, but mom had posed a challenge of a sort, so smiling I went into the bath and after washing the old makeup off, I shaved as close as possible. I was not yet able to make myself over into the various 'types' girls, but I knew what I wanted to look like. I wanted silky soft skin, full, sexy lips framing a radiant smile, a gorgeous outfit, and perfect hair. I did not want to be a girl with a sweet childlike look, but instead I wanted to look pretty, like the proverbial girl next door grown up into a sexy woman. I went to the dresser and pulled out a corsolet and tossed it on the bed, then added black panties to the pile. I was going to wear black, not the same dress I wore earlier in the day. I found one I liked better. This one was also a sheath dress, but it had a plunging back with a low cut front and was a very hot mini dress. I had seen Claire wear it exactly once, for a dance she had gone to, and spectacular does not describe how she looked in it. I hoped I would look half as good! Sitting at the vanity I did my makeup, and with the new cut, my hair seemed to fall in place with a minimum of fuss. I no longer needed the padded pantybrief and slipped the black panties on. The corsolet was a lot harder to get on than I imagined. It had eleven hooks up the front with a zipper over that, and laces up the back. I was unable to tighten the laces on my own so mom came in and did it for me. Once I was all cinched in, my 'breasts' sat in the cups, the nipples barely held in. I pulled on the pantyhose and reached for the dress. The dress had a single strap that went around the back of my neck attached to the sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice and hip hugging skirt. I slipped it over my head and mom zipped it up for me. The hem of the dress was a good three inches above my knees while the bodice defined my now trim waist and my breasts were clearly displayed. Smiling I went to the jewelry box as mom left for her room. I found the black and gold chandelier earrings and attached them, then fastened the matching choker style necklace around my neck. On my left wrist I wore a thin gold bracelet, which was all the jewelry I wore that night. I did my lips in a deep red and spritzed myself with perfume. Looking in the mirror I knew without a doubt that this is what I wanted. I could not simply give her up now that I had been allowed to find her, and I made up my mind right then. Diane was going to stay no matter what.


Mom said nothing when she saw me, but I saw her smiling as she turned to get her purse, and I knew I had made a good impression on her. Dinner was at a new place by the river, and as we dined mom and I talked about the transformation that had come over me in just a few days. It was my turn to tell her the truth. "Mom, I've always felt this way, I just never had the chance or the nerve to tell you about it. When Valerie suggested it I was afraid to tell you. When I did, I was sure that you would be angry at me. But now I know that I have to dress this way, all of the time, even at work. I have to become Diane all of the time or I think I will bust!" Mom reached out and took my hand in hers, and told me she knew that the first time she saw me. "If that's what you want, then I'll support you of course, but you have a lot of catching up to do if you want to be a real lady. Starting now, I'll teach you all you have to know to become a woman." I spent all day Sunday getting ready for my debut at work, which made mom just shake her head. "You don't have to do anything special Diane, you look very nice right now!" But my concern manifested itself in an obsession to be better than just okay. I used the hair cream again then shaved every inch of my body that I could reach until my skin was as silky smooth as any woman. I washed and cleaned the vaginal panty and breastforms before I put them back on. This time, rather than rely on pressure to hold the panty in place, I used glue to secure the seams in the crack of my butt. The breastforms were pert with no sag, and made me feel very feminine once I had them secured to my chest. Somehow they felt natural, like I should have had them all along, and I could not, or did not, want to visualize myself without them. Mom had given me an aloe based skin lotion, which I rubbed in all over, making my skin softer to the touch and smelling of flowers. I slipped on some panties and a bra then some shorts and a tee top and began to select my wardrobe for the next day. In my heart I knew that the only thing I was going to wear was the new pink suit mom and I had bought on my very first outing as a girl. It had a straight skirt that was above the knee a little, and a fitted jacket with no lapels. Both were lined, which meant that I didn't need to wear a slip with it. For a blouse I selected a thin gray pullover blouse that had a single button at the neck, in the back. The blouse was mom's but because of the vagaries of women's sizes it fit me perfectly, and I wore a size 12 to her 10. Claire had a pair of gray shoes that I borrowed, size 8 by the way, and in my mothers jewelry box I found pearl earrings and necklace set. I already had a gold watch and two rings. Once I had everything ready, I relaxed and made a late lunch. With the vaginal panty it looked as if I had rounded hips and a natural taper in the front, just like all women did. Mom even commented on it once. "You might want to call Valerie and tell her how you'll be dressed in the morning Diane. I'm sure she won't mind, and at least she'll be prepared when she sees just how pretty you are." That made sense, and right after lunch I called Val and told her that I would be dressed as a woman when I showed up for work. Her only comment was that she would look forward to it!


    I spent the night in curlers, getting up early to do my hair and makeup. As I slipped the panties on and saw the cleft in the front a feeling of calmness came over me and I relaxed and got dressed. A soft, lace trimmed demicup bra in white, nude pantyhose, and a white waist nipper. I pulled the skirt on, then the blouse, stepped into the shoes and pushed the earrings into the small holes in my ears. I pulled the jacket on and used a soft reddish pink lipstick to outline my mouth, added perfume, the necklace, watch, rings, and bracelet. Looking in the mirror I could see no trace of the man I was just a few days ago. Once unleashed, Diane had taken over and consumed me, and now, I was Diane Michelle Grant, inside and out. My purse was filled with my wallet, lipstick, tissue, and car keys. Drawing in a breath I left the house for the biggest event in my life. Whatever happened today, a spectacular success or a colossal flop, everyone would know that I wanted to dress and work as a woman, and there would be no going back. Strangely, the fear that had consumed me before did not cross my mind as I drove into the parking lot. I locked the car and walked to the door, showed Walter, the guard my phony ID and walked in. It was no longer a maybe, and I walked into the office and straight to my desk, and the first thing I saw was the nameplate. 'Diane M. Grant' etched in white on a blue background sitting on my desk! I stashed my purse in my desk and went to get a coffee, returning just as Valerie walked in. She took one look at me and broke out in a huge smile. "I was right! You look spectacular Diane!" She went to get a coffee, returning to my desk quickly. "I'll introduce you around today Diane. The way you look, nobody will believe it if we told them who you really are, so I'll let them assume you are a new hire and we can go from there okay?" It really was the best way, so I agreed. As I was introduced around the office I saw a lot of different looks that I had never seen before. From the men it was mostly an evaluating look and each time I felt as if I had been mentally stripped. From the women it ran from indifference, (from the pretty ones), to envy (from the older ladies). Valerie motioned me to join her in her office, and as soon as I was seated she asked me for my ID. I gave her the one I had made up, and after a quick look made arrangements for me to have a new one made. "You'll have the same duties Diane and the same rate of pay of course." Then she explained the looks I got from everyone. "All men are on the make all of the time Diane, and to them, you're fresh meat so to speak. Ignore them and they'll relax after a few days. The older women are jealous of the way you look while some of the younger girls see you as competition. You can ignore them as well, or play it as you see it." Then she had me go and have my picture taken for my ID card, assigned a new computer sign on, and I went back to work, doing the same exact job as before. During the morning I settled in and finally relaxed as I discovered that everyone accepted me for what I appeared to be; a woman, about 20 years old or so. At lunch Kelly and Beth asked me to join them, and we sat together at one table. I got an earful as they discussed the single men that worked in the office, in graphic terms, and some of the older women who they thought were ready for the retirement farm. It was a very educational lunch!


For my part I paid close attention to what the other girls wore and so on. My new ID card arrived at two, just as I had my first phone call. In person mom and Valerie both told me that I looked like the actress I had taken my name from, but I sounded like Kathleen Turner. On the phone I had no idea how I would sound, so I was relieved when the male caller addressed me as a woman. That night I collapsed on the couch from the stress mom said. After that it got easier each day, and at the end of a month it was as if I was a natural born female. I hated shaving close every day because my face became sore and very tender. That's when I saw an ad in the paper, showed mom, and she agreed. I made an appointment by phone, and that Saturday morning at eight I was at the clinic. I was shown in to see the doctor, and was surprised to see it was a woman. I had to tell her my true status of course, which was hard because by now I did not look like a male in any way. She sat there quietly while I told her all about myself and the dilemma I found myself in. When I was done I fully expected her to toss me out, but all she did was ask me some medical questions, my medical history and so on. Then she asked me if I would like to have my own breasts! "Of course, but I'm not taking any hormones, so that seems out of the question right now." "Maybe not Diane." When she told me how she could do it, that day, I was all smiles and agreed to it right then. I was out for the entire procedure, but essentially, she used a laser to remove my entire beard, then Liposuction to draw fat from my waist and used it to make breasts, the same size as my fake ones. When I awoke I was sore, but not bad, and I had a few small stitches. But I also had a 23 inch waist and two perfectly formed, completely natural breasts. I was in heaven as I got dressed and then drove home. Mom knew I was going to have my beard removed, and when she saw my slightly swollen face she started clucking like a mother hen and immediately wanted me in bed. I was just too sore to argue with her and let her help me get undressed. When I removed my bra and she saw me, a common occurrence in our house, she saw my brand new boobs and narrow waist for the first time. "Those are real!" "Yes, they are! Aren't they nice?" Then I explained how the doctor did it. Mom helped me get a nightgown on and I went to bed, staying there until late the next morning. In the shower I felt my new breasts, washed the stitches in my navel carefully and wearing just panties I slipped on a top and a skirt, which fit a lot better now that I had a smaller waist.


    During the next week I became used to having sensation in my breasts, and loved every minute of it. On Friday Valerie invited Kelly and I to her home for a barbecue on Saturday afternoon. She failed to mention that both of her sons would be there. I picked out a tan floral summer dress, and wore tan sandals with a thin, short sleeved jacket. My hair, now trimmed, flowed around my face like a halo. I had a small brown leather purse to complete the outfit. I examined myself in the mirror. My hair was longer now, cut and styled in a more business like way, but still casual. My shoulders, accented by the short sleeves of the jacket, were trimmed with brown piping. The top of the dress did not have a deep neckline, but it was low enough to allow a hint of my cleavage, and that was accented by delicate gold locket suspended from my neck. I wore a minimum of makeup, just a hint of eyeshadow, a soft red lipstick and my best perfume. As soon as I arrived at Valerie's her youngest son, Mike greeted me and showed me to the patio. Unlike Valerie, who was my size, Mike was huge! He stood at least 6'3" tall! I had to look up to see his face! Kelly was already there, sitting with Douglas, Valerie's other son. He was also quite tall. Both of her sons had dark hair, Mike with green eyes and Douglas with blue. Her husband was not as tall as his sons, but he had the same build. He was wide, with a barrel chest, and dark hair. It was immediately obvious that Valerie had arranged this little party so Kelly and I could meet her sons! While I had been living and working as a woman for almost four months now, I had never had a date nor had I ever looked at a man like a woman would. I had known that sooner or later some man would hit on me, and now, it seemed, was the time. Mike almost, but not quite, doted on me, and I often saw his gaze drift to the top of my dress; I knew he was not admiring the material my dress was made of! When I looked up at him I could see that atypical look of male superiority on his face. I felt so feminine right then, and it was a wonderful new feeling. I now knew what my mother had told me about men was true. They had a magnetic appeal to women that simply could not be denied. I knew that there could be a lot of joy to be had in being so attractive to a man, and the thought of being Mike's new girl friend ran through my mind. I was flattered that he thought I was pretty enough to make him come to me, yet in the back of my mind I wondered why I felt this way. Until I had started to dress as a woman I had never had a sexual thought about another male in my entire life! Now I was thinking about Mike in ways I had never dreamed of before. We sat at the table side by side eating, and even though I held up my end of the discussion, I was thinking about the way Mike had looked at me. Thinking of Mike, as my boy friend did not turn me off at all, instead it had just the opposite effect. I was a girl and I had a real live male catering to me, like a boy friend would. Not only that, but I was flirting with him the way girls do to their guys. I began to feel hot inside as my thoughts drifted to more erotic places. That scared me momentarily, because up to that moment I had never had an erotic thought about a maleÉ ever! As our food was eaten and just the drinks were left, I felt his hand on my leg half way up on my thigh! Right then Valerie started to clear the table and Kelly and I jumped up to help her. It saved me from making a decision whether to let his hand stay there or ask him to remove it.


"My sons seem to be taken with you girls." That was obvious, but it was Kelly who stated it. "Like you didn't arrange this Valerie! I'm certainly not complaining mind you, Douglas is very nice." They both looked at me, and all I could do was smile. Nobody said anything else, and we filled several pitchers and rejoined the men. Mike asked me to take a walk with him, and took my hand in his as we walked along the waters edge. We rounded the point and as soon as we were out of sight he spun me around, held me close, and kissed me. He was gentle but urgent as his tongue probed against my mouth and I opened so his tongue could enter me. I was unable to pull away, not because he was so big, but because I didn't want to. He asked me out for the next night, and I agreed. By the time I got home I had become like a young girl in my anticipation of this date. I know mom saw it, and when I told her about it all she did was remind me what good girls did, and did not do. Big help she was! I had chosen to wear a skirt that flared slightly at the hips with square cut pleats in a dark green. A simple white blouse, and black two inch heels. I added jewelry and perfume. My makeup was for evening, darker eyeshadow and a dark red lipstick this time. I was nervous as I waited for him to arrive, but when he did I calmed right down. He took me to dinner, and later, he drove to a secluded spot by the lake. As soon as he kissed me all of my mothers admonitions went out the window, especially when his hand found my breast. Every nerve ending was on edge as he manipulated me like a musical instrument, making my body play his tune. When he took my hand and placed it on his member I felt myself shudder, not in revulsion, but in lust. I wanted this man to take me, love me, make me love him back, and he did. Unbidden my hand began to stroke him and I felt the buttons of my blouse come undone and his hand found my naked breast while I unzipped his pants. He popped out all engorged and hard, throbbing in lust as my hand again found him. The skin was like velvet, yet hard like iron beneath my hand. I was stroking him when all at once he gushed, filling my hand with goo. "Sorry about that Diane." He gave me a hanky and I cleaned up. "This isn't the place for two people our age Diane, why don't we go back to my apartment?" Common sense kicked in and I asked him to take me home, and like a gentleman he did.


    Mike called me every day at work and each night at home. Valerie told me he was so in love he could hardly stand it. Kelly asked me if I had slept with him yet, and when I did not give her an answer she assumed that I had. On Friday night Mike and I had a date, and I knew in my heart that I was going to have sex with him, so I packed a small bag to take along. Mom could hardly miss it, but this time all she told me was to be careful. "That vaginal panty is very good Diane but this can lead to disaster if your not very careful." "I'll be careful mom, but this is the last hurtle isn't it? I have to do this even if he finds out." Later it turned out I was right, because right after dinner he drove us to his place. As soon as he had closed the door he was all over me, and I once again became like warm bread in his hands as he massaged my nipples with his fingers. I felt the zipper of the dress going down, and when it did I stepped out of it and tossed it aside. Mike watched as I removed my bra and tossed it aside as well. I reached out and began to unbutton his shirt, then his pants. He stepped out of his pants and just stood there. I ripped his briefs down in a single motion leaving him naked in front of me. I sat on his couch and removed my pantyhose and shoes, leaving my panties on as he grabbed my hand and took me to his bed. He found every single spot that turned me on and some I didn't know I had. I wanted him to be mine and pushed him on his back. His erection stood tall and proud as I went to my knees, bent over, and kissed his member. It was not unpleasant, and when my mouth opened I took all I could in a single motion. His hands held my head as I bobbed up and down, until I felt him starting to tense up. I straddled him, and helped him find the opening in the vaginal panty. He slid in and I began to rock back and forth, watching his face the whole time. His eyes closed and he was moving his head, but his hands remained firmly on my breasts as I pumped him. I was now in charge of this man and I loved it! Finally he released and filled my panty. Spent, he fell back as I went to the bath to clean up. He was still naked in the bed when I returned, also naked as his hand reached out and pulled me to him. I lay next to him, my hand on his manhood while he kissed my breasts, renewing my excitement. He grew hard once again and once again my mouth found him. This time I wanted to taste him, and did not move as he swelled and released his seed into me. I spent the night with his arm around me firmly cupping a breast with his hand. I woke before he did, dressed in the skirt and blouse I had brought along, brushed my hair into a ponytail, and started the coffee. It was a very domestic scene for sure as he woke up and saw me. Naked, he went in and took a shower, returning in shorts and a tee. I put both of my hands on the cheeks of his butt, and tried to keep him from moving to far away. I wasn't surprised to find that he was rock hard once again. I genuinely hoped it would not be too long before he wanted to take me out on a date. Then Mike kissed me again. "Eat your breakfast Michael, you'll need your strength for later." I know it was coquettish of me to tease him, but I simply could not resist. After breakfast he helped me wash the dishes, and then his hands found my breasts again.


He had the stamina of a bull and it was another two hours before he took me home. Valerie was there talking to mother when he dropped me off. "By the look on your face I would say that Mike is a very happy man this morning!" "A polite woman never talks about her conquests Valerie, even if it is the bosses son!" "He's going to ask you to marry him Diane, probably this week." "Diane, I think it's time that you told him about yourself, and made arrangements to make yourself into a woman, don't you?" Mom was right, Mike deserved more than a lie. "Okay mom, but maybe you and Valerie could be here when I tell him." They looked at each other and nodded their heads yes. "We'll be by tomorrow Diane, around six." The next day was hell as I wondered how I would tell Mike about myself, and Valerie was no help either. All she said was that Mike and I would have to find a way to overcome this minor obstacle. After dinner mom and I did the dishes and I sat, waiting for Mike and Valerie to arrive. Promptly at six the doorbell rang and I admitted them into the house. "Mom says that you have something serious to tell me Diane, what is it? Valerie and mother had mysteriously disappeared, leaving me alone with Mike. Direct is usually the best approach, so I drew in a breath and told him. "Mike, I'm not a female, but I love you and want to be your girl, and hopefully, your wife." "What do you mean your not a girl? You and I slept together, and I think I would know a girl when I saw one, especially when she is naked!" "I'm sure that's true Mike, but none the less, I am not a female. I will be shortly, but not now, right this minute. I wear a special kind of panty that lets me have the look and feel of a woman Mike. These are my boobs of course, but the rest is all latex." By the look on his face I was sure he was going to hurt me and started to back up. "I'm angry that you weren't honest right up front Diane! You tricked me, and that is wrong!" "Yes I tricked you Michael! What would you have said if I told you, "hey fool, I'm a man just like you!" You would have dropped me like a hot rock and you know it! But it wasn't deceit on my part so much as my desire to be your woman, or your lusting after me, panting every time you looked at me. No Michael, this goes both ways. I love you, I really do, and I will make you a fine wife if you let me. I just need time toÉ become that woman you want me to be!" By then I had tears running down my cheeks and ran out of the room straight into my mother's arms. "He hates me mother!" My tears ran down my cheeks because I was ashamed of what I had done. I was not a woman, I was a pile of latex trying to be what I was not. I tried to tear myself away but I felt Mike's hand on my arm and in a rush of emotion I fell into his arms. "Oh Michael, what are we going to do?" he said nothing as he picked me up like I was a feather, and carried me to my room, slamming the door behind us. "We," he said very forcefully, "are going to make love again and then we are going to talk about this problem we have." Then he unbuttoned my blouse and began to undress me. I stood very still as he slowly ran his hands all over me, making me tremble in delight and lust. Then he stood there as I undressed him, ran my hands all over him until I reached his manhood when I began to stroke him. As he purred I slipped into bed and lay there, naked and smiling. He took me quickly but forcefully, and then later, slower and with a methodically slow tempo which drove me crazy. Unable to quiet his lust, I rolled over, got on my knees, put my head down and allowed him to take me. We were both panting when he completed and lay there for a moment. Then I got a warm washrag and cleaned him up so that I could use my talented tongue once again. He stayed in my room that night and we talked about the future. I told him how it all began and why, and in the end he asked me to marry him. "You have a year Diane, after that we get married!" The he went back to being forceful again, but I said yes and that night I slept like a baby. Less than a year later I was a woman, and on our wedding night he found out just how much of a woman he had married.



OSCAR WILDE AND TRANSVESTISM

  f688_1148gnrsfeatofoscarwildeI have nothing to declare but my genius' said Oscar Wilde on his arrival in America in 1882. But what more he could have declared, if only he dared... Wilde was a bi-sexual, as the world came to learn through the celebrated court case that ended with his barbarous gaol term. But he was also a transvestite. His mother, Jane Francis Agnes Wilde, was a formidable woman, nearly six feet tall, big-boned and with a strong profile. Oscar was her second child; her first was a boy - she had hoped, almost presumed, that Oscar would be a girl.oscarwildeandmother It was at first a great disappointment to her, but she compensated for this in his early years by virtually bringing him up as a girl, sending him out to play in pretty little dresses with ribbons in his specially curled hair, and banning him from rough, boyish pursuits. A third child was born, and this time it was a girl, much to Mrs Wilde's relief. Oscar slowly lost his dresses but kept to his feminine style of clothes, preferring to play the dandy. Even as a 13 year old at school he wrote complaining that his mother had sent him his brother's grey flannel shirts by accident, instead of his own in scarlet and lilac. But then his sister tragically died at the age of ten, and Oscar - a gentle dreamy boy - was the most distressed of all the family. He wrote a poem that ended "All my life's buried here. Heep earth upon it." As a man, Oscar's love of dressing was confined to very small, intimate circles - transvestism was more than just frowned upon by the hypocritical Victorians. However, there are more than enough reports to realise that here was a man who continued to live out his mother's fantasy of his early years. During his trial the Crown used Oscar's appreciation of cross dressing as a sign of his moral degradation, despite the support of his friends. As the writer Max Beerbohm acidly pointed out from the witness box, an earlier crown witness, an army officer, had been "wearing Her Majesty's uniform, another form of female attire." One of the few occasions when he was actually seen in drag was when he posed for pictures as Salome, the lead role of his play which starred Sarah Bernhardt in Paris but which was banned from the London stage. He himself would have loved to have performed the dance of the Seven Veils in the long skirt and Oriental headdress, but the world wasn't ready for that...oscarwildesalomi Although he knew he could never play the part for real, it didn't stop him from dressing up as Salome and posing for the photographs. A fantasy, perhaps, that we can all relate to.