Short Story

Nov 201520

The Luckiest Man

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The Luckiest Man

I couldn't believe it! The lights came on and Jen grinned mischievously at me and threatened to pull my wig off. Jen and Andrea were loving this. I was loving this but I was as scared as I could be. This is not a work of fiction, this is a true story. One of those true stories that when you read it, it must be a work of fiction; the sort of fiction that comes under the heading Transvestite stories: fiction. I was in a club in Brighton, near the pier, popular with not so serious clubbers, but an ordinary club all the same, open from 8:00 till 2:00am and I was in it sometime after nine with Jen and Andrea and I was completely dressed up and having the bizarrest and most exhilarating evening I had ever had. It started like this. I'm 32 and married to a fantastic wife who is more or less tolerant of the fact I like to dress as a woman. Well, it was her birthday party and we were having a great laugh with loads of mates and I was chatting and having a laugh and circulating and found myself sitting next to our next door neighbour Jen and her friend Andrea. Jen and Andrea are great fun and up for anything and I'm not sure how we got round to it but suddenly and without my prompting I'm being invited out on a girl's night out with Jen and Andrea dressed as a girl. "Go on, I dare you!" she chided in her Cardiff accent. What! She can't possibly know, can she? I'm paranoid, like most men I imagine, about letting it slip, about being found out, but how could she know? She can't have. Andrea can't have. But here is a plate put in front of me and a fantastic chance lay upon it. In front of me. Asking to be snapped up. How could a girl refuse? This was a Saturday and I had to wait for the following Friday and the week was agony under the weight of expectation tempered with the thought of the crushing disappointment if it didn't happen. The wife? Oh yeah, Well I had to ask her permission and she knew that it was something I wanted to do so "Don't worry, I'll baby sit for Jen so you can go out." In fact, she bought me some stockings and made the lovely, sexy and elegant elbow length gloves with a feather trim that I was pulling over my shaking hands as I got dressed in Jen's bedroom the following Friday. I had gone round there desperately trying to hide my enthusiasm and exploding Joy and Jen said "right then,", upstairs, use my room and I'll get you made up when you come down." Gulp. No ceremony. No do you want to wimp out just go upstairs and get dressed! So now I am walking tentatively down her stairs wearing a slightly tarty but dangerous outfit. First I had put in the black shiny bra that fitted very snugly and with a little padding gave a good representation of breasts, then very feminine cream suspenders with little frills and bows on. These were attached to the fresh black stockings that seemed painted on my legs and stopped the regulation distance from frilly, teasingly smooth black knickers that held me in place and felt so amazingly sexy. If they saw these then they'd know.

I put on the animal print top and then from my bag a dangerously short skirt that only just covered the stocking tops. I couldn't believe this. I was about to walk down stairs and face two whistling, laughing women wearing the sort of clothes that had never left the safety of my house and present myself to them. The last touches were some Pat Butcher like jewellery and a pair of Lady DI high heels - a genuine mix of cheap tat and expensive shoes. Their faces when I opened the door and tottered in were a picture - both Jen and Andrea were screaming with laughter as they sat me down and teased me and admired, jealously in Andrea's case, my legs. They didn't shave them, luckily I'm fair haired, but they did go to work on my face and cover me with silky foundation and lashings of mascara, lipstick, eye shadow etc. They were having more fun that I was. Finally the long blond wig I had brought from Transformation was placed on my head and arranged to look deliciously feminine and an overly generous spray of perfume was aimed at me and then I was ready. Ready for a night out with no keys, my money handed over, no male clothes, no surrender, total reliance on my two friends (why do women seem to love humiliating and titillating men like this) and no way home until they said so. Fantastic. Who ever has been out for a walk dressed up will know that stomach knotting feeling of apprehension, especially when the seconds drag by as someone walks towards you, or drives past, but suddenly, no matter how "interesting" I looked no one was really paying me much attention. There was no way that I could be 100% disguised but people just weren't paying me any attention - at least not to my face. The British sense of reserve is a wonderful thing. And then before I really knew it the short drive was over and we were in the queue to get into the club, chatting and Joking and still no one seemed to pay me much attention and then I was paying for my entrance ticket and then walking into the bar and then "Well, hello there!" The DJ had spotted me, oh yes, and to him I was a perfect target. "Look at the gorgeous girl who's just walked in." Ok, it's roughly half eight and the place only had about a hundred people in it but that's 200 hundred eyes staring at me. Oh my God. The fear instantly rose. There was a big bunch of guys at the bar already getting drunk. I expected to get through the night relatively unscathed but this could go anywhere. Jen seized the moment perfectly and went up to him and said I had lost a bet on the England - Argentina World Cup football match and this was my punishment (if only you knew Jen, If only you knew.) an then the DJ got really mischievous - as did Jen as she conspired to win me a bottle of champagne from the DJ if I danced on the stage with her - IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. The wind from the smoke machine nearly raised the skirt to new heights as I was paraded on the stage and made to dance with Jen as Andrea took photograph after photograph. It was then that the fire alarm went off and Jen decided that now might be a good time to pull my wig off. Jen! People from my work come to this place! But she resisted the temptation and I got my bottle of champers - but we could hardly drink it for laughing so much. Any tension I had left disappeared as the alcohol flowed and from then on it was non stop and I was on the dance floor, in the ladies toilet (when I needed to pee), in the arms of a Thai girl who thought I was very sexy (this is all true), back on stage with a hen night from Rayleigh, getting chatted up by a very excited gay bloke, dancing with Jen and Andrea and some other girls, having more make up and perfume applied and then, finally being allowed to relax and sit down with a more manly pint of beer at some time around 1:30 and then "I'm starving. Let's go to the local store and get some food." Said Jen. This was getting bizarre and bizarrer still! By two thirty we were walking round the 24 hr store in Brighton in and out of the aisles while Jen looks for cheese and onion pasties and Andrea for some sandwiches and then having negotiated the giggling girl on the till who could only just find the composure to scan the items we had bought, I had to sit with the girls in full view of the late night shoppers while they sat and ate them. What a night for the staff of the store! All the time, I was made to feel like a princess, but a naughty one who had to do what her wicked aunts demanded. Bliss. Finally, closer to three, I was dropped off home and we sat and giggled and laughed and recounted what an amazing night it was. If it were transvestite fiction I imagine this would be where the kinky sex scene would be put but there was none of that. Just a gentle end to a thrilling night. My wife was so happy to see me home unmolested and un-beaten-up but she thought the whole thing was hilarious and wants to come out again next time. They'll definitely be a next time, but maybe not to that club again. Kim Shaw.

Nov 201520

Wedding Bliss

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John felt nervous sitting in the lounge of The Black Horse opposite his fiancee, Veronica, to whom he'd been engaged for eighteen months. They had begun to see each other more and more until Veronica had pushed it to seven nights a week. "John, why are you so worried about seeing me every night?" she asked in a dainty feminine voice. "No real reason." "We'll be married in a week - surely you'll not want a night off then?" she frowned. "Of course not." "Well, what's the matter? You can tell me. We don't have secrets do we?" She smiled and held his hand beneath the table. John looked deep into her eyes and smiled. He loved Veronica dearly but he also had something on his conscience. "Look, Veronica. Perhaps we should call the whole thing off," he blurted out. Veronica looked up from her glass, letting his words echo through her mind. "What?!" she shouted, then blushed as people looked in her direction. "Did I hear you right?" she asked, melting into the chair. "Perhaps I'm not the right man for you..." "Of course you are, John. We love each other." "But there's something you don't know about me. A secret only a few other people know about..." Veronica stared at him. "Surely you can tell me?" "You wouldn't understand." "I will! Look, we are getting married and nothing you say will alter my mind," she insisted. John paused, then: "I've been talking with some of my special friends and they said it would be better for you to know now rather than later, and have to go through a divorce." "Divorce?! We're not even married yet!" she retorted. "Drink up, I'll take you home and show you something..." They finished their drinks with John refusing to answer any more of Veronica's questions. Once in his house, he opened a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. "You must promise to stay down here," he said. "Where are you going?" "Upstairs, I won't be long," he said nervously. "I thought you were going to show me something?" "I'll be half an hour. Amuse yourself," he insisted and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Once in his bedroom, he removed his shirt, trousers, shoes and socks, then stood before his long mirror in black tights, a pink pantie girdle and a pink bra. He put on a full-length underskirt and filled his bra with foam padding. His hands caressed the dainty feminine material before he put on a knee-length green dress with a zip-up back. Sitting before the dressing table mirror, he quickly applied his make-up. First foundation cream, then powder. Picking up the applicator, he covered his eyelids with green eyeshadow. Mascara followed, then blusher and finally lipstick. He looked at himself, turning right then left before finally feeling satisfied that everything was perfect. Picking up his wig, he carefully put it on and clipped it firmly in place. A quick brush and he looked the part. He glanced at the bottle of nail polish and then at his watch, asking himself if he really had the time. With a deep sigh, he shook the bottle and unscrewed the top. Soon his nails became a bright cherry red. A quick blow with the hair dryer and they were dry. He stepped into his black three-inch high heels and strutted proudly towards the door. The only thing missing was his handbag. He gave the problem some deliberation and decided to take a small clutch bag. Going down the stairs, he wondered what Veronica would say. He pushed the lounge door open, his stomach churning with butterflies. A second later he was standing in the room and a very surprised Veronica stood up to face him. "This is my secret and the reason why we shouldn't get married. I have thought it through and it wouldn't be fair on you." He stood still while Veronica caught her breath. "What do you mean?" she asked after a few seconds. "I'm a transvestite." "A what?" "A transvestite. I like to dress up in the clothes of the opposite sex." She gazed at him and chuckled aloud. She walked around him and sighed, waving her head from side to side. "You really have brought something on me. I never expected this." She lifted the back of his dress gently feeling the soft material of his girdle. "Do you really enjoy wearing these clothes?" "Yes, I do." "I must go to the loo," she said nervously. Some time later John heard the flush go. "Look, John, I have to think this over," Veronica said upon entering the lounge. "I've ordered a taxi, it'll be here in a few minutes." He went to hold her but she backed away, smiling as politely as she could. "I need time, John. You may as well stay in those clothes as you love them so much. I suppose you have a nightie as well?" "Yes, and a negligee with slippers. If you are leaving you may as well know the worst. I go out to special parties dressed up like this. You see, I was right to tell you, I knew it wouldn't work." "What size are you then?" she asked, surprising him with her question. "Eighteen," he replied just as a taxi sounded its horn. "Goodbye John. Don't call me, I'll call you." She quickly left. John spent the rest of the evening drowning his sorrows in wine.

Two days later, Veronica arrived at his house. He was surprised to see her as he had grown sure the wedding was off. "I've talked with some doctors and read some books on the subject," she said once she was in the lounge. "I see. I'm sorry about the other night." "Never mind. I think I can live with it. Here is a present - try it on," she commanded. He took the bag. Inside was a skirt and blouse. He gazed at her, wondering what was happening. "Hurry up, I'll cook tea," she said with a broad smile. Fifteen minutes later John returned downstairs in the new clothes. "Do they fit?" "Perfect!" She walked up to him, brushing the blouse with her hands. As their faces met, she smiled and leaned forward, kissing his lips. The kiss turned into a long, drawn-out lustful one as her arms wrapped around his body and his moved around hers. "We have some talking to do. I would like to see your wardrobe. And your make-up is dreadful. You'll need my expert help there, and that wig just doesn' suit you at all." "Is all this as a friend or what?" "A lover and a wife. To save any embarrassment later I've told my parents all about you." "That's incredible," he sighed. That evening, with John wearing stockings and bra, they made love as they had never done before. The two days to the wedding soon passed and John had a surprise package delivered by hand with the early morning post. Inside was a pair of white stockings, panties, bra, suspender belt and cami top in white satin and lace. A simple note read "Wear them for me". The wedding went without a hitch. They were due to fly out to Spain for their honeymoon the following day. Instead of spending the night at the airport hotel as planned, Veronica insisted they stay at John's house. Watching him undress, she saw he had done as she'd asked. "I like these clothes on you," she said grinning and fondling them. "They feel adorable. I have a surprise for you," she said giving him a large bag. He opened it in silence and grinned. "It's your wedding dress!" he gasped. "Now it's your wedding dress." "But it won't fit me!" "Try it on," she commanded. John stepped into it. As he pulled it up, millions of tingling sensations flowed through his body. He put his arms into the sleeves and to his amazement they fitted. Even the zip fastened properly. "But how??" "When I changed this afternoon, I gave my dress to a seamstress who quickly did the alterations for your size. Darling, you look almost as beautiful as I did." "Then you really don't mind?" We are going to have the best relationship we could have ever dreamed of. Girlish outings, shopping for all those dainty clothes, and above all, the love to go with it." She clung to his dress, feeling his arms around her back. As they kissed together, the white lace veil slipped over their heads, joining them together for ever.

Nov 201520

Cross Dressing For King And Country

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A Cross Dressing Story

They were the "volunteers" enlisted into the various concert parties which were used to keep up morale amongst the troops. Many of them were probably closet trannies anyway, glad of a chance to slip into a frock, but even those who weren't at least learned a trade they could use in civilian life. One far more useful than killing people. And use it they did, taking their feminine tricks of the trade onto theatre stages throughout the country in all-male revues that were highly successful into the 1920's and beyond. One of the most celebrated wartime concert parties had been called Les Rouges et Noir in France, but changed its name back to splinters back in Britain. The cast of cross-dressed ex-soldiers played to full houses in Shaftesbury Avenue and the London Coliseum before launching a provincial tour that ran with various changes of company for another twenty years.

The success of another concert party has been uncovered by researcher Peter Farrer for a recently published book. He found a review of their show in the British Army newspaper The Balkin News, which listed seven men playing girls' parts. The star part of Lizzie was played by Private T Wardle who "has a future to be envied", the paper reported, "with charming manners and soprano voice." The paper continued to gush: "The costumes must have been one of the many surprises. One hardly expects to find these things in a troupe from "up the line", but they were splendid, espacially Lizzie's who had to reveal the contents of her boudoir more than once." On the whole, it sounds like Private Wardle had a bad war. As well as a third-party review of the concert party, we have a first hand account of what it was like to be a male actress in those days. For luckily one member of the cast wrote to the newspaper "Bits of Fun", which Peter Farrer has used as reference for his collection "Confidential Correspondence Part II 1916-1920" Regular readers will remember that the first part of this collection was reviewed in our last issue. Peter Farrer has now followed it up with another batch of letters, almost 300 in total, which provide further fascinating information about cross-dressing in that period. The writer of the letter was a sergeant in the Mechanical Transport section, who had been a closet TV since he was a small boy. Suddenly, the war had given him the opportunity to wear his fantasy clothes in public for the very first time.

"For the past 18 months I have shown almost every night ....dressed up in women's clothes", he wrote. "I wear the tightest of corsets (23ins), high heeled boots and shoes, long, tight fitting black or white kid gloves, silk stockings, ladies' undies, a wig and above all, long heavy earrings, for which I had my ears pierced." Signing himself simply as JEH, the sergeant follows up his letter with a second a month later when he writes about attending a weekend houseparty as a girl, and staying undiscovered throughout. Peter Farrer's research identified the writer through a review in The Balkan News as a Sergeant Howard. He was in the same party as "Lizzie" Wardle playing a fairy called Fifi. It's such attention to detail that makes Peter Farrer's collection so interesting. These are real men writing of their experiences in dresses at home and at war, some voluntary and some forced to take on female roles that nature never intended.

Nov 201520

Diane's First Dress

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DIANE'S FIRST DRESS

I was 10 when I first discovered the joy of donning a dress. It was white satin, the bodice trimmed with white feathers; it was long and strapless. The year was 1938. Since age 5 I had many times rummaged through my older sister's dresser drawers for 'soft and feminine' things to soothe my aching mind and body - I had sorely wanted to be a girl, and experiencing the feel of silk panties and slips was intoxicating. My favorite place to play was the attic where there were two, large cedar closets. The one at the top of the stairs was for seasonal clothes like heavy jackets and my father's WWI uniform; the other was tucked away in a far corner for clothes waiting for my younger sister and me to grow into. Since there were 10 years separating my sisters' ages, there were only winter coats and leggings for my younger sister; feminine fashions changed constantly even 'way back then,' so there was little of the 'feminine' there for me. For years the only feminine attire that held any interest for me in the 'seasonal' closet were my mother's skirt-suits and dresses, none of which felt 'right' on me. My mother was very small and ultra-conservative, having come upon the planet before the turn-of-the-century. I remember the day, wet and blustery, when my best friend and I were in the attic playing. He had discovered my father's uniform and had put it on - I never had. As he paraded around the attic he came upon the other closet and opened the door. Something shiny-white inside caught my eye, so I went in and turned on the light. Lo-and-behold, the closet was now filled with my older sister's evening gowns. I could hardly wait to try them on, but I was afraid at the time of what my friend might think of me. I knew that I wasn't 'normal.' The following day was a schoolday, and I had nothing else on my mind for the entire day but those pretty dresses. The energy rampaging through my body was exhausting, and the run home and to the attic did little to ease the excitement. Besides the cook who was preparing the dinner, I was the only other soul in the house so I raced to the attic, went into the far closet, turned on the light, closed the door and locked it from the inside. I had found a New World to hide in. Moments later I was naked except for my socks which protected my feet from the wooden floor.

I looked at the array of long dresses for what seemed hours but could not have been more than a minute, trying to decide which dress I would try on first. Is that a 'feminine' trait? I first noticed that the shiny-white dress that had caught my eye the previous day was strapless, and I took several moments wondering what it was that was going to 'hold it up.' I came to the conclusion that it was the breasts that would hold it up, and since I didn't have any, I should forego that dress and try the others first. That was a painfully disappointing moment, coming-to-terms with the fact that I did not have breasts and probably never would. To me, that dress epitomized what it would feel like to be a girl. One-by-one I stepped into or let fall over me every one of those dresses, closed the zippers as best I could - most were in back - and marveled at the luxurious feelings of femininity. As time passed, and I knew it would soon be time to appear before my parents and the dinner table, I arranged the closet as I had found it and then stood there eyeing the one dress I had yet to put on. I knew intuitively that, if I did not satisfy a most powerful inner urge to at least step into the dress, I would never forgive myself. I unzipped the back of the dress, held it in front of me and stepped in. As I eased the dress up my body, I became very aware that it was the smoothest and most delicate of all the dresses I had put on. I managed to get the back zipper all the way up, but I had to hold the dress up and close to my chest lest gravity pull it down to my knees. Holding the top of the dress up at the sides, I looked for a mirror to see how I looked in the dress, and how the dress looked on me, but there was no mirror; there would be the next time I came. I swished and twirled and curtsied and danced to the music in my mind, reveling in the most powerful feminine feelings I had ever experienced. Rather than let the dress fall so that I could step out, I dutifully unzipped the back and stepped out of it, put in on its hanger and returned it to its proper place on the clothes rack. As the weeks and months passed and my body grew larger, I would periodically go to that far closet in the attic and see how that white gown would fit me. I still believed that it would be my 'breasts' that would hold up the dress, and I could see no way of making that come to pass short of putting on one of my sister's bras and filling the cups with her silk stockings (nylon had yet to be invented). But that would not be what a strapless dress was all about; it was going to take real breasts, and I promised myself that some day I would have my own. I was as yet unfamiliar with the phenomenon known as the 'strapless' bra; it would be more than a year before I would.

When I finally did become more familiar with bras, I would go to the attic with a 'proper' bra, panties, stockings and a garter belt in order to dress 'properly.' By the time I was 12, the dress almost fit me and the strapless bra had finally come into common use. Now the dress would stay up if I used enough padding to fill the strapless bra cups, but it felt awkward; there was something unnatural about having to use padding. Girls my age were beginning to develop their breasts, and here I was with the prettiest dress imaginable, and I had nothing of my own to hold the dress up. I would look down at my flat chest and feel diminished. I remember about having had quite a dilemma wondering how I might be hurting myself by continuing to indulge myself by 'dressing up,' but you, Reader, know why I did not and could not stop. By the time I was 14, the dress was fitting me perfectly except for what I had always believed was intended to 'hold it up;' the trauma of seeing the other sex blossom with what I thought was rightfully mine was excruciating. Most of all, I was now going to formal dances myself - in a tuxedo - and wanting with all my heart to wear that pretty gown hanging in that faraway closet. Envy of the girls in their pretty gowns was near-all-consuming. In my bed later, I would cry to vent the hurt. I was at a dance one evening when I finally came to realize what was actually holding strapless dresses 'up.' It was by observing girls who I knew were small-breasted that I finally understood. It is the depression of the female waste above the widened hips that 'holds up' the strapless dress by supporting the top from underneath. I smiled, but I really wanted to cry; I lacked not only the breasts, but the shape of the lower torso. Once again I was reminded of what my mind said that I was, and of what my body said that I was not. It is now many years later, and that dress continues to be the most elegant and feminine article that has ever draped my body, including all the lovely nighties and undies that fill my dresser drawers and adorn my body every day. Best of all, though, is that feeling of wholeness and completeness that I have today of being able to now hold the top of that dress up the way I had originally thought it should have been... by my very own bountiful breasts. Thank you Transformation! dianemorrill@juno.com

Nov 201520

The Wedding Dress

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Amanda's World - The Wedding Dress

It was the only thing in the window. That is, apart from a paper banner in bright red with gold lettering proclaiming 'SALE'. It was the window of the dress shop specialising in wedding wear and normally filled with half a dozen wedding dresses, page boys' outfits and smart, uncomfortable looking dresses or suits for the bride's mother. And, of course, in the background to contrast with all the feminine finery, a tailor's dummy dressed in a morning suit and grey top hat. But this morning there was just one dress, the sale bargain of the week, with a discreet price tag: £349... I paused in astonishment. Before I had even seen the price tag I had been quite taken with the dress itself. Perhaps because it stood alone in the window, it had caught my attention as I hurried by and drawn me to the window to loook closer. My breath was taken away by its beauty - it was of cream satin, with a demure round neckline beautifully embroidered, and the design carried on down over the bust to the waistline. The puff sleeves carried a similar design with a delicate lace edging at the cuffs. Below the waist, the gown billowed out fully, but plain, to the scalloped hemline at the front, while at the back it was gathered into a full bustle from which masses of material descended into a wide flowing train, yards long, with delicate embroidery. I could readily imagine how beautiful it would appear as it was held by pretty bridesmaids following the wearer up the aisle to the wedding ceremony, and afterwards as she walks on the arm of her groom - the hem rising and falling with each slow pace to the sound of the wedding march, and the swish of the satin skirt along the floor of the church.

The only other item in the window was a matching headdress, a hoop of artificial orange blossom with a full veil attached to give a hint of mystery as she entered the church, and to be flung back after the ceremony to reveal her beauty and happiness as she led the bridal procession from the church. I stood for some time admiring the dress and dreaming. I felt the excitement of the wedding morning, the last minute preparations to ones hair by the attendant hairdresser, the beauty treatment and the make-up, the careful adjustment of the new bra specially bought for the occasion to fit under the dress, the feel of the new expensive sheer stockings as I rolled them on to my freshly smooth legs and fastened them to the suspender belt (not new, but worn in compliance with the old adage about something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue). I would have borrowed my sister's lovely earrings and tucked a pale blue handkerchief away out of sight for emergency use. I could imagine the giggles of my bridesmaids - hiding their nervousness on this great occasion - and, taking my father's arm, I would have sailed down the aisle to be given away by him to the man of my choice, to love, honour and obey him as commanded in the words of the age-old service. I could have afforded to buy it to live my dream in the privacy of my own home, but I knew as I asked the assistant that the dress was at least two sizes too small. She offered to show me other dresses, but this was my dream and I fled the shop, but not without a backward glance at the dress in the window. I passed that way again about a fortnight later. The dress had gone from the window, presumably sold. I wonder who the lucky girl is? I would have liked to have met her. From the bottom of my heart I wish her all joy in the wearing of my dress, and all the happiness for the future.

Nov 201520

The Realisation Of Michaela - A Transvestite

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Short Story - The Realisation of Michaela - A Transvestite

I suppose that some of us 'Girls' are more lucky that others and that a very lucky few are luckier than most when it comes to being able to realise our Dreams, but not one of the many 'Girls' that I have ever met seems to have had my enormous amount of good fortune down the road to total feminine release. Which only goes to prove that being in the right place at the right time is probably the Fate that you rightly deserve, if only once in your lifetime, and is the 'lift' that you are dying for, to bring you out of the Closet and into the open, rightly and properly. Here is the story of one very lucky person: Michaela My name is Michaela Jane and I am a totally fulfilled Transvestite. By total, I mean that, at last I am able to live the complete life as a young woman with my own Home, Bank Account, Car and Job - All registered under my 'Femme' name, which must surely be the object of fullfilment for most serious Babes wishing to make the change. Of course, none of this came easy and time seemed to run away with me once I had really started on my 'conversion', but the perfect opportunity arose when my Wife discovered my 'Secret' - A neatly hung selection of female clothing, in a smaller size than her, secreted in an hidden alcove behind the built in wardrobes in the Master Bedroom! Yes, being a bit of a DIY freak, I had made part of the back of our unit slide across to give access to the hidden alcove behind the main unit, and fitted it out with Drawers and a Hanging Rail - That is until the fateful day that I forgot to close the hidden door and my Wife decided to change her daytime outfit for an Evening Dress prior to our going out to a Dinner Dance on that fateful day - Febuary 14th Valentines Day! I will not bore you with the details of the upset that followed when I told her the truth about my 'desires' and my 'feminine' side, except to say that, unlike the other wives that I read about - you know, the ones that fully understand and end up 'going along' with the wishes of being a transvestite husband - She totally 'flipped' and insisted that I left our home, there and then - and that is how it has been to this day.... Well, one can't win all the time! (But one can in the end). I'm writing this, just having emerged from a long, hot scented Bath where I have been lying in for a very long while thinking how wonderfully relaxing being a fully fledged 'girl' really is - Admiring my long smooth legs, narrow waist and almost totally hair free body. (I find it so much cooler to be into almost total depletion). I have had a Heart-Shape tattoo outline done around a small pubic area, and depleted only up to that outline and shorten the pubic hair within the outline to a nice close crop style. But no hair left anywhere else on my body exceept for my own natural auburn head of hair, which is now down to shoulder length and professionally 'done' once a week. Anyway, now I must emerge from this Bath and proceed to apply some scented moisturer to the whole of my body to take away the slight male feel of some areas of my skin. Whilst I am doing this, I will tell you how I am going to get dressed and what I am going to wear whilst I tell you more of my 'story'.

I always treat the phrase 'What am i going to wear?' as meaning a total look and feminine 'aroma,' as perfume is so very important and must be treated as an 'overall' sensation to bring out the best of the female attributes. So, starting with a light talcing all over my body, I begin to feel and smell my female self. Next I apply the wonderful matching perfume between and under my breasts, around my neck and behind my ears, before venturing down to the more intimate places, finishing with a final squirt down the bottom of my back and between my tight little bottom cheeks. It's really surprising how very feminine one can feel just 'dressed' in a quality scent. So I pause a while just simply breathing in the delicious aroma of my all-ready female self, whilst looking in the Mirror that I am about to watch myself getting dressed in. Before I explain what I am wearing as I complete my dressing process, I should explain that it is now some 5 years since I became totally female, and my body has changed physically to a great extent, due to various drugs and some physical manipulation during my story, but more of that later. I am fortunate that, having had cetain treatments to my now reduntant 'testes' etc, I am able to disguise my former Male self by the wearing of a tight pair of mini-panties, which are always my basic first garment that I prefer to soak in a little warm scented water before I continue dressing as they tend to shrink to a perfect fit in all areas, as they dry out from the warmth of my body, and gives me another 10 minutes to admire myself and them! Today, I have chosen a Sky blue pair with side tie drawstrings and I have pulled them up tightly, tying a long bow just above the hip bone, which gives me a really feminine look, even before I am dressed. I add an extra little touch now by slipping my feet into a pair of sky blue Mules with a 2" heel, as I always feel better getting dressed with some sort of heel beneath me. So here I am, just that little bit taller, with a nice all over tan from my Sunbed. A scented topless Beauty. Next, I select my 36D Bra for today. This is a matching Sky blue Full Cup lacey underwired quality item i purchased some time ago. These days I usually shop in the High Street.

My boobs are now fully grown and make a perfect fit in my Bra's - In fact, I do worry a little that they are still growing even though I am no longer on my Hormone treatment - but I digress. I prefer to put this very important item of underwear on to my body in the proper manner, as this seems to me to be a part of being feminine, so I carefully place my arms through the shoulder straps and reach behind myself, to fasten the hooks at the back and then, carefully lift each breast upwards in turn, before lowering them into the cups of the Bra. I give great attention to this method, before tightening up both straps in order to lift my breasts to the required height for the outfit that I am about to wear. So far - so good, and now for the next item. Today I have chosen to wear a suspender belt and stockings - not just any stockings as I prefer to wear Holdups with suspenders, as they tend not to pull on the suspenders so much, and give a much 'sexier' feel. Now, I slip off my Mules and gently ease the stockings up my long elegant legs and attach them to the Blue lacey matching suspender belt that is now tightly secured around my waist. I pause to run my hand down my Nylon clad legs. A really fantastic feeling! Now it is time for my shoes, as I want to look at myself in my underwear, with nice high heels. Today, I have chosen an outfit that requires a white shoe, so I select a simple pair of Court shoes, but with a fairly high heel of 4". As I slip my feet into them and stand up in front of the mirror, I am instantly tranformed in to the full woman that needs just a little pink lipstick to complete the picture and that is no sooner said than done in front one of my full length Bathroom mirror. Looking at myself, I feel that I would like to wear some further underwear today, and choose a matching blue set of silk Camisole and French Knickers to overlay my Bra and Mini-Panties, and they do make me feel so silky and smooth, that I know that I have made the right choice. Just my dress now needed to complete the outfit, and today I am going to wear my loose fitting white favourite. This has a short full skirt that 'flares' out when I twirl and a Gypsy top to expose my arms and a wide neckline. I compliment this with a tight white belt that shows off my narrow waist, without 'advertising' the actual belt. Now all I need to do is to select my accessories, including my Coat, Handbag and Jewellery, 'do' my face and Hair, and I'm ready to get on with my day - Is it any wonder that us 'girls' take so long to get ready to go out! I love long dangling earrings, so I select a pair with a matching necklace and bracelet watch, studded with red rhinestones, and put them on in fromt of the mirror. I team these with a white clutch handbag and decide not to bother with a coat, as it is a nice sunny day. Just a little 'sit-down' to brush my Auburn shoulder length hair which falls easily into place, as I only had it done yesterday! So I'm finished and ready to leave home, looking good, smelling fantastic and tasty enough to eat, I'm ready to launch myself on the world yet again, in my wonderful life. When I come home, we'll have a nice 'Girly' chat over a great bottle of Wine, whilst I tell you how by sheer chance and Lady Luck led me into my wonderful new life after being a mere downtrodden Male for far too long. Michaela. End of Part One -- Part Two is here.

Nov 201520

Class Reunion

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

CLASS REUNION

I was nearly ready for bed when the telephone rang. Hastily smoothing my night cream, I slipped into my negligee and sat on the side of my bed to take the call. "Is that......?" a female voice asked, using the name I have long discarded. "Yes", I replied guardedly after a pause. "I don't suppose you will remember me. Elizabeth Price. We were at school together." Of course I remember her. And all her friends. Denise, Maureen, Joyce, Beryl, Margaret, Hilary and the other girls in our mixed class at the local grammer school, more years ago than I care to enumerate. I could remember the desks at which we all sat, the boys on the right facing the teacher, the girls on the left. Classes were not so large those days, only twenty five in our year. Some of the girls, now mature women with husbands and families, had got together and thought it would be fun to organise a class reunion. Elizabeth and I chatted for hours on the phone, reminiscing about old times. She gave me the date and time of the reunion and exhorted me to come and to bring me any memorabilia of school life, especially old photographs if I had any. I stalled for time, said I wasn't sure that I could make it, suggested that I ring her back in a day or two to tell her whether I could come. Truth to tell I needed time to sort out the implications of taking part in this reunion. Long after I had put down the phone, I sat on my bed manicuring my nails and thinking about those days long gone by. How I had envied the girls as I sat on my side of the classroom wishing with all my heart and soul that I could be on the left hand side of the classroom. How I would like to have joined in their huddled conversations from which the boys were excluded.

And secretly, I used to wonder what they would have thought if they had known that on occasions, after school when I had the house to myself, I would find my secret hoard and dress for a short time in my long stockings, navy blue knickers, school uniform skirt and blouse and girl's hat worn provocatively on the back of my head. With a touch of Auntie's lipstick and a blush of powder I would gaze at myself in the mirror and wish and wish and wish that I were one of them. I even fell in love. Infatuation would be a better term. But I couldn't show it as the girls did. He was the most handsome boy in the class. And when he started to take Margaret out and I saw them walking home together from school, or standing in close conversation on the playing fields, I was insanely jealous. I could have scratched Margaret's eyes out. There were times when I thought I would grow out of this obsession. But mostly I didn't want to. And as the months and years rolled by the obsession became stronger and stronger. After leaving school I went to college in a distant part of the country and lost touch with all my old classmates of both sexes. And it was at college that I was finally able to lead a more satisfying life than anything previously, when in my lodgings I found I could dress and live as I felt my true sexual identity to dictate. So, back to the present... Before putting out the light, I got up and surveyed myself in the long mirror. Slowly I removed my negligee and smoothed my long silk nightdress over my breasts and thighs. No, I thought, this woman is an entirely different creature from the shy wistful youth who had so envied those girls their femininity. They would not recognise him after all these years and she might be an embarrassment to their spouses at this reunion. Sadly I realised that I could not go to the ball, but like Cinderella would have to stay at home with my memories.

Nov 201520

Story - The Realisation Of Michaela - Part 2

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

Hi There... Here I am back home ready for a nice shower to wash off that dreadfully, scruffy 'Outside World' feeling that I get everytime that I am forced to leave the private and personal Female World of my much loved home, with it's feminine colours, tastes and the multitude of Mirrors that pander to my vanity. So, why don't you open up the Wine whilst I take a little time in the Bathroom, getting myself all 'prettied up' for a nice relaxing evening in something silky and comfortable before I begin to tell you my story... I don't know about you, but I love my Bathroom and much as we like a nice relaxing scented Bath, I have a very special routine for the full enjoyment of a warm Shower at least once a day. I usually watch myself in the wall mirror, as I slowly undress down to just my Panties, before pulling on my pretty shower cap with my hair folded up underneath it. I like to start my shower whilst still wearing my Panties, as I leave my 'private parts' until last to get that lovely feeling of pulling down the wet, soapy Panties. Next, I stand under the water making sure that I am nice and wet all over, before turning off the water jets. Next, I proceed to slowly rub my perfumed shower Gel all over my body, starting with my arms and then my neck, breasts and back. Still keeping away from any water, I proceeded to smooth the perfumed Gel down over my Panties, carrying on down each leg to down in between my toes, making sure that the perfume finds it's way into every crevice, before I gently lower my Panties to apply the Gel to my private areas and the inside of the Panties, and to allow the perfume to be absorbed into my skin.{product_snapshot:id=98|560|166} Finally, I pull up the Panties as tight as possible and just stand there, all covered in the perfumed Gel for a couple of minutes whilst I enjoy the aroma that is me! Re-starting the jets, I begin to wash off the Gel leaving just the wonderful aroma clinging to my body for as long as possible.

So here we both are. All warm, relaxed and cosy, drink in hand and ready for a quiet 'girls' night in. Where to start my story is the real problem, so I suppose that I had better start by skipping the 'usual' parts about my desire to cross dress from the age of 15 when my father was beating me on a regular basis, yet leaving my sister alone. So, I soon decided to get out of there while I was still in one piece! By the time I was 20, I had a reasonable job and a new wife! All should have been fine, except that I had been wearing my sisters and my own female underwear for several years prior to marriage, and then started to buy my own 'things' in the forlorn hope that my Wife would either 'understand' or that I would be able to hide the whole thing from her...Some chance!...I did not take me very long to ascertain what her thoughts about Transvestites and cross-dressing were, so there was no chance of going down the 'Confession' route...The urge just got stronger and stronger and I spent hundreds of pounds on 'closet' goodies, only to throw them all away every time I felt guilty about my simple Fetish. In the end, I just gave in to 'it' and vowed to not Let her find out...Or did I WANT to be found out. We shall never know, as the whole think came to a head on February 14th...Valentines Night...Just before we were about to go out for a romantic dinner to celebrate our third Valentines Day as a married couple. I had been at home most of the day while my wife had been to visit her mother in the next town.Naturally, I had taken advantage of her absence to indulge in a fantastic session of perfumed Bath etc, before spending the remainder of the day totally crossdressed. I was 'changed back' and ready for her when she returned and was waiting for her to get changed prior to our night out together. All was well, until I saw her coming down the stairs carrying an armful of MY dresses and some underwear. My throat went dry as I realised that the dreaded day had arrived. I had been found out, and she was FURIOUS. 'I can't believe what you have been doing' 'I am so disgusted with you' and so on, and so on.. Like a fool, I had left open the sliding door in the back of the spare Wardrobes that I had built in behind the fitted units in the second Bedroom, where she also kept her 'special occasion dresses'..Why did I not think that she would be needing to go to THAT wardrobe on Valentines Day..and then for me to leave the 'secret' door OPEN! Well, no doubt most of you have 'been there', so I won't bore you with the details of the disgust, temper, shame etc, except to say that I had no alternative but to leave the house there and then.. The only difference was that I never went back, ever, as she later made it quite clear that we were really finished, and that she was going to move in with her female friend from the office, and as the house was rented anyway, there was no great loss...I still wonder if the incoming tenant ever discovered my secret wardrobe!

Just a pause to gently remove my Panties and attend to the rinsing of my private parts, I am now ready to step forth out of the Shower where I begin to dry myself with a huge and very fluffy towel, by gently patting all parts of my body. I never rub myself with the towels, as I find that too masculine. Next I 'dress' myself with a heavy dosage of Talc (of the same perfume as the Gel that is still lingering). Again, no portion of my body goes without in this procedure. You can't have too much of a matching perfume, as perfume should be a total experience. Unlike some other 'Girls' I just can't walk anywhere without heels, so before doning my satin bath robe, I step into my matching 2 Inch mules and enter my Dressing Room, which was originally the 'Box' Bedroom, that I have had to have had converted into a Link Room between the Bathroom and the Main Bedroom, due to my inability to call a halt to my retail therapy where Female Clothing is concerned. I think that this is due to the fact that I was 'deprived' of Female Clothing for so many years and I am trying to make up for lost time! Pausing only to remove my Shower Cap and shake my Hair down, I try to decide what to wear to relax in this evening. Since I have a Guest waiting for me, I decide to wear my Red Satin Lounging Pyjamas with matching Satin 2 Inch Mules over some fresh black, warm damped tight Panties under a black mesh 'strechy' body and no Bra! This way, I will feel comfortable and only need to apply the minimum of makeup. I go into the Bedroom, turn the lights on around the Dressing Table mirror and do a simple Make Up job using just a tinted moisturiser, a little eyeshadow, and a suitable gloss lipstick. I even miss out my usual 'primer' coat of a lighter coloured lippie! I sally forth into the Lounge to rejoin my Guest and lounge on the Setee next to you, as you pour me a glass of wine. I have a feeling that this will be the first of many tonight - my friend.

But, back to that day. Leaving home with just your car and the clothes that you stand up in, presents a few problems ...namely where to stay! I soon found a boarding house for the night and decided to start a new life 'tomorrow' and that, this time, I would be honest with myself and everyone else that I came into contact with. The following morning found me buying a few clothes to see me through the week, and making my excuses about 'severe personal problems' to the office, as a ruse for a few days off to sort my life. I had spent most of the day reading notices in shop windows trying to find a flat or rooms in the area near to my office, when I caught sight of myself in a shop window, and looking at my hair, was reminded of one of the jibes that my wife had hurled at me, about the length of my hair. 'You LOOK like a woman,anyway' 'I don't know why you don't just get a sex change and have done with it!' I decided that I should probably have it cut anyway, as I had also had some comments at the office, due more to the fact that it was naturally wavey, rather than just straight and long. On the High Street, I came across a Unisex Hairdressers and decided to 'go for it'. As I had no appointment, it was decided that the owner, a lady called Gwen, would attend to me as soon as she had finished her present 'cut'. They gave me a cup of coffee and I sat down on a settee and waited, absorbing everything about the place as this was the first time that I had been in a ladies hairdressers..I loved it, especially the atmosphere and the smell of the lotions etc. Gwen finally came and surprised me by addressing me as 'My Dear' rather than the more usual 'Sir'. I liked it, as it made me feel feminine, and suddenly all thoughts of a 'short back and sides' were never further from my mind! What lovely Auburn hair you have..with such a natural wave' said the quietly spoken Gwen ' What would you like me to do with it for you? Or would you like me to suggest a style?' I stammered out - 'Well, what do you suggest - I just wanted it a bit shorter' She replied ' It's a pity you're not a lady - I could do wonders with this, but if you want it shorter, I'll just shampoo it, cut the ends a bit and pop you under the dryer - hows that?' 'That will do fine - I'll leave it to you'....I told her. As you do in hairdressers, we got to talking and I mentioned that I was looking for a flat or rooms in the area. Gwen said that she knew of someone who had a room to let locally, if that would help and agreed to give me the address when I left I have to say that I had never felt so pampered in a hairdressers in my life before then. By the time Gwen had finished with me, I had had my first conditioner and who knows what else done to my hair.I was even put under the dryer in very large rollers in order to bring out my natural wave, (I was told). I was enjoying it so much, that when offered, I even went along with a manicure and had my nails finished in a translucent nail polish. When they were finished, and I saw myself, I was amazed. Even though I was masculine, my hair was so nice, I really felt feminine. Why had I not tried this before? I vowed to return to Gwen again and again. Clutching a slip of paper with the address of the 'ROOM TO LET' written on it, I ventured forth into the late afternoon, looking for the address. I soon fount the very pleasant double fronted house standing in a secluded garden. I rang the bell and chimes echoed from somewhere inside. If ever I needed some GOOD luck - I thought�

Nov 201520

Laura's Living Doll

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

A Living Doll

I tried my speech for the twentieth time in the hope that eventually I would get it right. "Laura, my darling... I have something to tell you... I... I'm a transvestite." I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror. It was wrong - entirely wrong. No matter how I phrased the speech, it still sounded wrong. Perhaps I could scrap the word transvestite. "Laura, darling... I ought to have told you before, but I like to dress in women's clothes..." I imagined Laura's face freezing into a mask of horror. More likely, it would crumple- as a prelude to tears. With an effort, I could just picture her melting into my womanly arms - but only as part of an unconvincing romantic novel. Maybe I could lead up to my bomb shell gradually. "Laura... you enjoy wearing beautiful things, don't you?" It wasn't the first time I'd faced this problem. Seemingly in another lifetime, I should have told Margaret before our wedding. I'd thought of it, but had lacked the courage. As a supposedly easier alternative, I had thrown away my feminine clothes and resolved to make an end to my transvestism.{product_snapshot:id=96|78} At the start of our marriage, Margaret had only half of me - the better, feminine part remaining buried. Later, wearing Margaret's clothes was almost a physical necessity. My ugly masculine garments felt like a prison. The first time I slipped into my wife's things was akin to homecoming after years in exile. There was no dramatic scene in which Margaret discovered me dressed, although she once came close to it. I was putting her clothes away when she returned two or three hours earlier than expected. I hastened to place the underwear out of sight. When she entered the bedroom, I was hanging her dress in the wardrobe. "It'd come off its hanger," I explained. "I was just tidying up." This was not, I assured myself, a lie. The dress had come off its hanger, and I was tidying up. The question of how it had come off the hanger, and why, was another matter. If not a lie, it was certainly deception.

Eventually, Margaret and I drifted into divorce, not through a single confrontation, but via a thousand smaller divergences. My transvestism didn't seem to be the cause of our separation, but it must have contributed. At first, unwilling to venture into dress or lingerie departments, I suffered frustration as well as loss. Three or four weeks later, however I discovered a specialist shop with everything a transvestite could need - including a number of products entirely new to me. The girl assistant was very helpful. She was, as far as I knew, the first person to see me in a skirt. Her matter of fact approach gave me a degree of confidence in my femininity that I'd never achieved before. I slipped into a can-can petticoat for the first time and instantly lost my heart to its multiple layers of satin, ribbon and lace. They sold shoes with stiletto heels, of course, something I'd long coveted. Margaret's had been three sizes too small for me. Walking in them, while wholly pleasurable, proved more of an art than I'd anticipated. They re-distributed my body weight, necessitating a characteristically feminine step. I entered a period of comparative contentment, a relief after the death throes of our marriage. In the evening, and at weekends, I relaxed in an expanding wardrobe of ladies wear. Colleagues remarked on my being an easier person with whom to work. Then, I met Laura. It was the way she dressed that first drew me to her - pleasing styles that I'd have loved to wear. Our taste in clothes was almost the same. The great divide between us, however, lay in it being socially acceptable for her to dress thus, but not for me. In the early weeks, our relationship remained platonic. We did things together as a pair of women friends might. I'd have loved to be with her in my feminine persona, but thought it would spoil things between us. Revealing my secret would have seemed an intrusion -thrusting my private life upon her. It was her suggestion to go down to the coast on a wet and blustery March day. We were clambering over a large rock when I placed my weight on a piece of damp seaweed. Reaching out, Laura held me back from what could have been a nasty fall. Her arms remained about me to take the weight from my twisted ankle.{product_snapshot:id=81|82} Our lips met, and we were no longer platonic friends. It came as a shock to realise that I was already in love with her. But I was determined my secret crossdressing should not come between us, as it had between Margaret and me, I had to tell her. If our relationship was doomed, better to end it quickly than risk greater pain - in allowing it to develop under pretence of being something I wasn't. "Laura, there's something I must tell you," I began. "I love you..." I had intended to add 'but' and continue into my confession. Before I could say more, however, she kissed me again. When our lips parted my resolve had weakened. The moment for my coming out had passed. "I love you too," she said, "but let's not talk about it- not now, anyway. People spoil too many moments with unnecessary words."

I'll tell her tomorrow, I thought on our way home. It would be wrong to spoil this moment with unnecessary words. I meant it, too, although it didn't work out as intended. Going to see her the following day, I wore my prettiest underwear and seamed stockings below masculine outer garments. That way, I felt sure, the matter couldn't slip my mind. I didn't forget my intention to tell Laura, but didn't act on it, either. Wearing my feminine clothes made me feel more submissive, more passive. In my girlish state of mind, it was difficult - seemed unnatural - to direct the course of our conversation. It was surely better to delay my confession until the following night, wearing more masculine, more assertive things. As the evening progressed, a fresh fear arose within me. What if this was the night we went to bed? Undressing, there would be no need to explain my secret. I didn't want her to find out that way - it was only fair to let her know beforehand. "I see you're not the kind who expects to go to bed on a first date," she said archly. "No... no, I'm not... It's not that you don't turn me on..." "Good. I was afraid it might be." "I just don't want to make the mistakes I made with Margaret." It was the truth, and the nearest I'd come to confession that night. My stomach churned at the thought of explaining what mistakes I'd made with Margaret. I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to tell Laura about my transvestism. Perhaps I was already repeating the mistakes.{product_snapshot:id=560|48} "Margaret?" "My ex-wife. I don't often mention her. It doesn't seem right to talk about my ex... not with you... Maybe I'm superstitious - she might cast a cloud over you and me..." "Oh, I see. No... I don't often talk about Bill, either." The moment for our going to bed passed. For the first time, Laura talked to me about her ex-husband. He was evidently a beer swilling football fan with whom I had nothing in common. Her obvious distaste for the macho Bill made me hope that she might consider acceptable my feminine persona. The following evening I wore my usual socks and Yfronts, but found it no easier to say what I must. That night we went to bed together. Thereafter, our relationship developed rapidly. A fortnight later she suggested that I move in with her.

I'll tell her tomorrow, I thought on our way home. It would be wrong to spoil this moment with unnecessary words. I meant it, too, although it didn't work out as intended. Going to see her the following day, I wore my prettiest underwear and seamed stockings below masculine outer garments. That way, I felt sure, the matter couldn't slip my mind. I didn't forget my intention to tell Laura, but didn't act on it, either. Wearing my feminine clothes made me feel more submissive, more passive. In my girlish state of mind, it was difficult - seemed unnatural - to direct the course of our conversation. It was surely better to delay my confession until the following night, wearing more masculine, more assertive things. As the evening progressed, a fresh fear arose within me. What if this was the night we went to bed? Undressing, there would be no need to explain my secret. I didn't want her to find out that way - it was only fair to let her know beforehand. "I see you're not the kind who expects to go to bed on a first date," she said archly. "No... no, I'm not... It's not that you don't turn me on..." "Good. I was afraid it might be." "I just don't want to make the mistakes I made with Margaret."{product_snapshot:id=71|570} It was the truth, and the nearest I'd come to confession that night. My stomach churned at the thought of explaining what mistakes I'd made with Margaret. I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to tell Laura about my transvestism. Perhaps I was already repeating the mistakes. "Margaret?" "My ex-wife. I don't often mention her. It doesn't seem right to talk about my ex... not with you... Maybe I'm superstitious - she might cast a cloud over you and me..." "Oh, I see. No... I don't often talk about Bill, either." The moment for our going to bed passed. For the first time, Laura talked to me about her ex-husband. He was evidently a beer swilling football fan with whom I had nothing in common. Her obvious distaste for the macho Bill made me hope that she might consider acceptable my feminine persona. The following evening I wore my usual socks and Yfronts, but found it no easier to say what I must. That night we went to bed together. Thereafter, our relationship developed rapidly. A fortnight later she suggested that I move in with her.

"At some point I was going to tell you about Pauline," she said, sitting down. "I suppose it isn't very urgent, though... would you like your say first?" "No," I said hoarsely. "I'd like a few minutes to gather my thoughts." "OK... though maybe I could do with collecting my thoughts about Pauline... the manufacturers called her Paul..." "Barbie's boyfriend?... I see... that accounts for the short hair, but not the dress." "Yeah, I had to make the dress myself. Pauline's a bit bigger than the other dolls. Their clothes didn't fit her properly." "Yes... but why?" "Why put Paul in a dress? I think it was my Mum and Dad who started me thinking about that. They took me to a pantomime. There was a dame - a man in a woman's dress." "All pantomimes have dames. I was taken to several myself... I don't see..." "Yes, they have dames, but not like this one. She was glamorous-I mean really glamorous-looked a million dollars... sequins, ostrich feathers, the lot... I t got me thinking, why do men have to wear such ugly clothes?" "I've sometimes wondered about that myself." I replied, sensing what was coming. "You have?... Well, I kind of found the idea exciting. I made outfits for my Paul doll. Later, I had these fantasies about men in women's dresses." "Just fantasies?" "I'm afraid so. I asked Bill if he'd indulge me, but he wasn't interested." "And that's what you wanted to ask me? Whether I'd dress up in glamorous outfits for you?" "Yeah... I was hoping... but I suppose it doesn't matter... you're not keen, are you?" "I wouldn't say that - in fact, I'm perfectly ready and willing to oblige..." "Really? That's great! What about tonight?"{product_snapshot:id=85|96} "Tonight's fine... but what if I enjoyed the dressing up more than you did?" "I can't imagine that. It'd be like playing with a full size, walking talking Sindy... only better. You can reach some parts a doll never could... can't you, my love?" "Yes, I suppose I can. But what if I did enjoy it more than you?" "I'm sure I could live with it. Hell - it'd be a pleasure making you happy in that kind of way. Anyway, what was it that you wanted to talk about?" "I was going to make a confession, Laura, but now it'll seem more like a boast..." I reached out to squeeze her hand. Laura smiled encouragement. The dread, from which I'd suffered only a few minutes before, now seemed unreal. Things were going to work out very well indeed. The End

Nov 201520

Timewarp

---cdata-eal-admin--- short story

TIMEWARP

It's strange how even the most momentous days begin in such a normal way. That Friday morning - when Richard Fielding's life was about to be turned upside down - started with the usual cup of coffee in bed and a long stretch before he forced himself to join the jostling queue for the bathroom, behind little sister Anna and older sister Trish. He hated getting up for work at any time, but he had to get out of bed even earlier this morning because of his ridiculous insistence on volunteering for a special job, when his workmates had warned him to keep quiet and never volunteer for anything. It was the special bonus payment which had attracted him, together with the prospect of taking a day out of the Accounts Department where he had worked for two years. Twenty years old, and going nowhere fast! The thought was depressing, but at least by volunteering for the special project by the large scientific research company he worked for, he stood the chance of getting himself noticed. Who could tell, it might even give him the chance of promotion... Breakfast was the usual state of chaos when Richard sat down at the table. Anna spent more time reading her comic book than eating, while Trish was busy fussing with her hair and make-up and trying to drink a cup of black coffee at the same time. Trish was only one year older than Richard, and there had always been an uneasy truce between them, brought about by the usual brother/sister rivalries. Richard teased her endlessly about her preoccupation with clothes and her looks. Their father had died some years before, and their mother believed that it was the responsibility of the girls to perform the domestic chores, which caused a lot of resentment on Trish's part but allowed Richard to get one up on her. "Come on, you lot. It's time you were all leaving." Richard's mother performed the same ritual of trying to get them to work or school on time every morning, but always with the same lack of success. Richard looked at her, and could still see why she was considered a beauty in her day. She was definitely looking tired lately, he thought - not having Dad to take charge was beginning to take its toll.

Richard finished his toast and coffee and gave Mum a kiss on the cheek before leaving for work. She gave him a smile, telling him to make sure he paid attention during his special project. Trish just gave him a look of slight animosity while Anna carried on reading her comic, completely unaware of the surrounding activity. As he was leaving the house, a sudden premonition hit Richard. He had the distinct feeling that he would never see his family again, at least not as he had seen them that morning. He shrugged to himself, and made his way to Scientific Exploration Plc. It felt strange going to the imposing Experimental Research section rather than the usual maze of offices where he normally worked. He was welcomed at Security by a rather attractive receptionist and led through the clinical white corridors to a large, bare room. At least it was bare in terms of having no furniture, although in the middle of the room there was a metallic, windowless capsule. At the far end of the room, a group of "boffins" were grouped around an amazing array of computer terminals. They turned around as Richard entered the room, almost as if he was a new specimen of rabbit they had brought in for tests. One of the scientists approached Richard and shook his hand. "Good morning, Richard. I am Doctor Sandiford. You must excuse us if we seem a trifle preoccupied today but what we are planning to do is revolutionary. You have been chosen from a number of volunteers because you possess the mental and physical resilience to go on one of the greatest voyages of discovery Man has ever known. You will be travelling through time!" Richard took a deep breath and tried to take in the enormity of what he had just been told. "But wha... I mean... well just HOW are you going to do that?" was all he could stammer. Dr Sandford smiled patiently. "Let me explain. We are going to put you in that capsule and place gadgets that will convert all your memory and thoughts into a form of digital wave frequency. These can be directed faster than the speed of light until they actually travel back in time. Meanwhile, we have to fix the co-ordinates of a suitable receptacle - that is, a lifeless body which is still capable of brain reactivation - to store your thoughts and memory. So you will think like you do now but, for a short time it will be in somebody else's body. We have a suitable person in mind - a young man about your age. He's in a coma at the moment but is otherwise functioning perfectly normally. And you - or rather your mind - will be transported back to 1958." Richard gasped aloud and involuntarily took a step back. He wouldn't do it - it was dangerous and weird. Dr Sandiford seemed to read his thoughts. "We know how you must feel but we must do this experiment today. The company will pay you twenty thousand pounds in recognition of the risks you take and that's apart from the vast amounts of money you can make from the newspapers and television if you want to sell your story. And I promise...it's absolutely foolproof." That was all the persuasion Richard needed. "OK, when do we start?" Dr Sandford smiled. "Straight away, young man."

Richard remembered very little about what followed. He was led to the capsule and eased himself inside. Gadgets were placed on his head and he felt tiny pinpricks as the needles, electrodes, or whatever entered his brain. He had the strangest feeling that his thoughts and feelings were slipping through his body and into the air around him. Then... blackness. Perhaps it was just as well that Richard could not know what was happening back in the laboratory which his mental being had just left. Everything went smoothly to begin with and it would have been hard to detect, from the quiet air of calm and confidence, that a revolutionary experiment in time travel was taking place at all. It was only when the digitalised version of Richard's conscious "self" was due to be deposited into the body of the unfortunate coma victim that disaster struck. The first sign came when one of the scientists suddenly shouted out. "Dr Sandford! Over here...quickly...we have a problem." All faces turned to him. "What is it?" asked Dr Sandford, rushing over. "The boy, the one we're planning the subject in. His body has just died, three minutes before our calculations. If we don't find a suitable alternative soon we'll lose the trace!" "Computer scan. We have to find a body which is in a coma state, in the same location but still alive at exactly 3.31am on 8th October, 1958." The computer keyboard was rapidly tapped until a report came up. SUBJECT:SUSAN RADLEY BORN:10.02.1939 MEDICAL STATE:COMA FOLLOWING CAR CRASH.ALL PHYSICAL INJURIES HEALED AS AT 3.31AM 08.10.58 Sandford looked at his colleagues. "It's our only chance, otherwise we'll lose him. Input the co-ordinates. He won't be the first person to go to sleep a man and wake up a woman...but he'll be the first to have experienced the change so suddenly." The female assistant tapped the keyboard again. It was done! Consciousness came very slowly to Richard, in the early hours of that October morning, ten years before he had ever been born. For a long time he was vaguely aware that he was in a bed which was not his own but he lay still, eyes barely open, trying to remember how he got there. As he recovered his senses, he began to notice that he was in a hospital. He felt very stiff, as if he had been lying in one position for too long but he could not feel any reason why he should be in a hospital bed. Something caught his attention. A lock of blonde hair had fallen across his line of sight. But he had short, brown hair... didn't he?

He held up his arm. It felt light, and when he stared at it he could see why. It was a girl's arm, soft and completely lacking in hair or muscle, with a beautifully shaped and manicured hand. That same hand instinctively moved up to feel his face. It was soft to the touch, almost like velvet, and there was no trace of his usual stubble. Panic gripped him as the realisation of where he had come from and what had happened began to dawn on his scrambled brain cells. They had landed him in 1958 all right...but as a bloody girl!!! He struggled to a sitting position in bed, feeling the strange sensation of his long blonde hair tumbling into his face. Looking down, he immediately noticed the perfectly proportioned breasts only partially covered by the revealing nightgown. He looked at them in a daze. He had always been turned on by breasts on a girl but here he was staring at his own... Hesitantly, he touched them, first of all brushing the nipples with the tips of his fingers and eventually using both hands to rub and fondle them into different shapes. Even in his state of confusion he was aware that a warm, tingling sensation accompanied such actions. The nightgown was the next thing he noticed. It was made of pink satin and was low-cut, held up by two delicate straps. He felt embarrassed wearing it but realised that, short of complete nakedness, he had no alternative. It was cool and light and yet he felt trapped inside it, as if it was a second skin. He slowly held up the bedsheets and gazed at the rest of his new-found body. He could tell that, under the flimsy nightgown, he had a slim girlish figure. His waist was thin but his hips were curved, and his legs were firm yet completely feminine. He noticed all this with a curious mixture of despair and pride. He suddenly realised that under the nightie the most essential part of his masculinity would be gone. He raised the hem of the nightdress delicately and stared at the space between his legs... The loss of his male member produced the strangest effect on him. It seemed to unleash all the girlish emotions which were still locked in Susan Radley's coma-stricken mind and jumble them up with his thoughts and memories. He was still Richard Fielding... but his head was filled with feelings of vulnerability and sensitivity which only a girl could possess. He lay down and cried himself to sleep. It was not long before the grey light of dawn replaced the controlled darkness of night in the ward. Richard had stopped crying but was still emitting little muffled sobs every now and then. Footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor and he turned around to be confronted by a rather pretty nurse who was more shocked than he. "Thank God you've come out of it. Matron. MATRON!" She ran out of the room to fetch her superior. More footsteps approached The matron entered, a stern looking woman with a brisk, efficient manner. She smiled weakly when she saw her patient fully awake. "Ah, Miss Radley. You had us worried for a long time there. How do you feel?" Richard felt a sudden urge to shout out that he was not Miss bloody Radley but he knew it would sound ridiculous, coming from the body of the girl herself. He decided it would be best to play along with things, at least until those idiots at the Research Department could get him out of this mess. "I feel pretty good, thank you. I..." Richard hesitated. That voice! Surely it couldn't be him speaking? It sounded so soft and feminine and when he spoke it resonated around the roof of his mouth, rather than the usual throaty feeling. "That's all right dear," said Matron. "Try not to overdo it. You've had a very tough time. I'll send a doctor to see you later. Meantime, you try to rest." As she was speaking, she fussed around with the pillows and bedclothes, totally unaware that the young girl she was gently rearranging had the thoughts and memories of a man. As they left the room, the pretty nurse gave a sympathetic smile. Richard smiled back, aware that any longings he might have would have to be suppressed. He was a girl for the time being - and he had better act the part...

Alone again, Richard paid more attention to his surroundings. He was in a private cubicle which was sparsely decorated and rather small. He could hear the voices of people awakening in the general ward outside and he guessed he was in a women's ward. He stumbled out of bed and, despite the throbbing in his head, experienced a strange, tingling sensation as the cold folds of the nightgown settled around his bare legs. He placed his head round the entrance to the cubicle and looked at the rows of women in the ward. The lady nearest to him, middle-aged and sporting curlers, greeted him. "Hello, dear. Glad to see you're in the land of the living. My, you're a pretty little thing. Have you got a boyfriend then?" The sudden realisation that he might have to cope with a boyfriend caused a simultaneous feeling of faintness and panic. "Er...I... I can't remember." Again that soft gentle voice surprised him. He also realised he was blushing and standing in a very feminine, shy way. "Don't you worry about me embarrassing you. I just like to stick my nose in. I'm glad you've recovered, anyway. You're too lovely looking to go so young." Again Richard was conscious of a blush reddening his girlish cheeks as he smiled and returned to his bed. The rest of the morning went by quickly. The doctor came round to examine his newly-recovered patient and Richard felt a strong feeling of shyness when he was examined around the breasts and under his nightie. When he was pronounced fit, his mother was sent for. She was overjoyed to see the person she thought was her daughter and Richard had to feign amnesia to make sure she had no doubts about his real identity. She seemed a nice enough person and the last thing Richard wanted was to upset her or build her hopes too high. After several days under observation, the doctor eventually pronounced the body of Susan Radley (and the mind of Richard Fielding) fully fit and able to return to "normal" life. Mrs Radley came to the hospital with a suitcase full of clothes and Richard suddenly realised what this meant. He would have to live in the outside world as a girl - at least until his mind was transported back to his own time. Noticing the embarrassment of her supposed daughter, Mrs Radley left the clothes in the cubicle and went to talk to the staff nurse. Richard opened the case with trembling fingers and took out the clothes one by one. There was a full-skirted floral print dress, richly coloured in pinks and blues. There was a whole array of lacy, feminine underwear which felt soft and cool to the touch. The stockings felt particularly flimsy and caused Richard to shiver. He looked at the six-inch stilettos with some trepidation - how on earth would he be able to walk in them? He decided he had better start to get ready before his "mother" returned.

Richard picked up the full-laced panties and slowly put them on. They tickled his thighs but did not seem so bad once they were in position. He decided to try the bra next. He remembered how his girl-friends used to put them on, never thinking he would one day be mimicking their actions. He fastened the straps and then moved the cups to the front before placing his breasts in them. He gasped as he did this, realising how captive this made him feel in his new role. The bra was white cotton with pink rosebud motifs, heavily-boned in the fashion of the day. Although it felt strange and uncomfortable at first, Richard could not help but notice how well-accentuated was the shape of his breasts (he had started to think of them as HIS breasts). The stockings came next. Mrs Radley had chosen a pair of light tan silk stockings which Richard had to handle very delicately to avoid laddering. Again he tried to cast his mind back to visions of his ex- girlfriends dressing. Unfortunately, few of them had worn stockings so he had to improvise. He fastened the suspenders and placed the straps through the panties. He tried just putting the stockings on as he would a pair of socks, but soon realised that would never work. An inner sense seemed to tell him to roll them to the end, place them on his toes and then roll them up his hairless legs. While doing this he felt a real thrill as the soft, cool material caressed the skin. He was actually enjoying the experience of dressing, as though the spirit of the girl whose body he had taken over was taking over his mind! He handled the crisp, frothy petticoats with a mounting sense of excitement. He daintily stepped into the folds of taffeta and placed the prettily-laced material around his waist. The tickling sensation around his thighs, on the exposed flesh between the panties and the stockings, was truly delightful. He swayed his hips, as if to some unheard music and watched the swish of the petticoats around his shapely legs. Finally, the dress. The cotton material felt quite stiff, and Richard held it up in front of him with a certain amount of trepidation. This felt like the final act, complete acquiescence in his new role. There would be no going back once he was completely and utterly dressed as Susan Radley... and yet he knew there was little choice. He could not parade around in his underwear and, in 1958, a girl in boy's clothes was unheard of. He would have to live out the role until he could "escape" back to the future, when things would be back to normal - if anything could be back to normal after an experience like this... He unzipped the dress and then, gathering his petticoats around him, stepped into it's firm confines. He let the petticoats go, to flutter back to their original position and then placed his arms into the sleeves. Suddenly he realised - he could not reach behind to zip himself up. Fortunately, Mrs Radley walked into the cubicle at that moment and, seeing the dilemna her "daughter" was in, zipped the dress into place. A feeling of vulnerability and helplessness flooded over Richard at this point - being zipped into the confinements of the dress was a strange sensation... but not a particularly unpleasurable one. The high heels came next. They were white court shoes, with a particularly high stiletto heel, which Richard felt sure would be impossible to walk in. He squeezed his tiny feet into the shoes and walked round the bed. He expected to totter, but the natural sway of his girlish hips and the loose way he was walking helped his balance enormously - the shoes felt quite natural to wear, although he had to take much daintier steps in them. He minced across to where Mrs Radley was standing, as if to say "How do I look?" She smiled at the sight of her daughter, so prettily dressed and ready to face the world again. She produced a pink hair ribbon from her bag, tied Richard's hair into a cute pony-tail and then placed the merest hint of blusher on his cheeks and lipstick on his lips. She then gently led Richard towards the mirror in Matron's adjoining office. The effect of seeing the reflection of a very pretty, feminine young girl staring back from the mirror was too much for Richard. He felt more trapped than ever in this strange body and felt more than ever that the girlish emotions which would be so much a part of that body were beginning to take over. His breath began to quicken and his heart was fluttering. He felt his little hands involuntarily clasp over his rising breast and his knees begin to go weak. Before he really knew what was happening to him he had fainted.

When he came round Richard found himself lying on the sofa in a very homely, comfortable living room. He thought it looked a little old fashioned until he remembered that he was still in the year 1958 and he was still Susan Radley. He struggled to sit up and his long blonde hair tumbled down across his face. He brushed it back and noticed Mrs Radley across the room. "Did I faint?" he asked, in a tremulous voice. "Yes, dear. I think the thought of coming home proved a bit much for you. The hospital wanted you to stay on for observation but I was determined to bring you home. It's been a bit lonely for me since your father died." Richard felt a wave of relief - at least there was no other parent to try to deceive - but he immediately hated himself for thinking such uncharitable thoughts. "Oh, by the way darling, Pam and Linda are coming round to see you later." Noticing the puzzled look on her daughter's face, Mrs Radley reminded her that they were her two closest friends from the hairdresser's where they all worked. "Oh yes, Pam and Linda," said Richard, trying to sound enthusiastic but becoming more concerned at the growing number of people for whom he would have to pretend. The rest of the day went by in a daze. Richard felt able to walk around after a while and carried out his "daughterly" duties by helping with some light household chores. Although he never helped around the house as Richard Fielding, he got a certain sense of satisfaction from such domesticity, feeling quite natural washing and ironing. He had just finished making a pot of tea when the doorbell rang and he heard the chatter of female voices in the hallway. Suddenly, two teenaged girls came rushing into the kitchen and began excitedly to hug and kiss him, at the same time breathlessly asking how he felt and when he would be coming back to the salon. Richard tried to act the part and reciprocated their girlish excitement, promising to tell all when they were sitting down with a cup of tea in hand. The three girls sat and talked for hours. Fortunately, Pam and Linda assumed that "Susan" would be able to remember very little and managed to fill in her recent past for her. Without realising, Richard found himself sitting in a very girlish position, legs tucked under his slim body and petticoats tumbling over the side of the chair. He began to enjoy the girlish chatter and giggling remarks about different escapades they had been involved in. They discussed so many things - clothes, make-up, hairstyles, boys - which seemed so perfectly natural and yet Richard would have died if anybody had told him that he would be spending his time in such a way when he was back in "the present". Mrs Radley came in with a fresh pot of tea and smiled happily at the sight of her "daughter" so obviously back to her old self. The girls decided that "Susan" needed to be spruced up a bit, with nice clothes and make-up and they persuaded Mrs Radley that the three of them would go shopping on the coming Saturday. Richard felt a flutter of girlish anticipation at the thought of buying a feminine new outfit. Pam and Linda decided to push their luck with Mrs Radley a little further, and persuade her to let Susan go to the dance with them on Saturday night. At first she was adament that her daughter would not be nearly well enough but, noticing the look of eagerness on Susan's face, she relented on condition that she prove herself able to cope with a shopping expedition first. Richard could not believe what was happening - going to a dance in a brand new feminine outfit - and he was looking forward to it. The rest of the week went by in a whirl and, as each day went by, Richard grew more and more accustomed to his new role. The household chores gave him a real sense of satisfaction and he felt himself fulfilling his duties, such as washing and ironing, cooking and cleaning with a sense of enthusiasm. But it was the feelings of softness and vulnerability, the sensual trappings of being a girl which he enjoyed the most. He loved the feeling of dressing in silky, shimmering lingerie, allowing the satin, lacy material to caress his skin before daintily stepping into the crisp, rustling petticoats and stiff, flaring dresses which showed off his delicate legs to their best effect. Occasionally he would sit at the dressing table, lost in a labyrinth of female emotions as Mrs Radley would slowly brush his long, blonde hair, over and over, before tying it into a cute ponytail with a pink ribbon.

Finally, Saturday morning arrived and Richard awoke, excited at the thought of his first venture out of the house. He skipped to the wardrobe, determined to select the most flattering daywear he could find. He stepped into a pair of dainty French knickers, white satin with intricate lacing. He placed the matching white satin bra around his firm, rounded breasts and gasped with a feeling of pure submission as he clasped the strap at the back. He placed himself inside the seductive prison of the fluttering white petticoats and then surveyed the rack of dresses of the absolutely perfect outfit to wear. He picked out a white dress with a bold, pink rosebud pattern. The dress was short-sleeved and the bodice was uncomfortably restricted but the skirt flared out dramatically, settling over the profusion of petticoats underneath. As he wriggled into the tight bodice, the doorbell rang and Richard heaved a sigh of relief as Linda came into the room to zip him up at the back. As the zip reached the top, he felt pleasantly trapped in the confines of the dress, swirling round to show off his legs before the crisp petticoats rustled back into place. He placed a pair of cute, white bobby socks on his feet, followed by a pair of white stilettos, unbearably uncomfortable but worth the suffering for the beautiful shape they gave to his slight legs, before they disappeared into the mass of lace above. The shopping trip was delightful. Walking arm in arm, the three girls received many admiring stares and more than a few wolf whistles from passing groups of boys. Richard giggled with Pam and Linda, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze on his bare legs and the rustle of the petticoats when sudden gusts of wind lifted them slightly, followed by the tickling sensation as they settled back into place. They visited every clothes shop in town, trying on a selection of skirts and blouses, dresses and hats. Passing a rather expensive looking dress shop which Richard remembered as a video store in his own time - the girls suddenly stopped and gasped enviously at one of the dress shops on display. It was deep red satin, with bare shoulders and a sculpted bodice. The skirt flared out in several layers with a touch of lace at each level. It had a scalloped edging at the hem, to reveal the merest glimpse of the sewn-in matching red net petticoat. The price seemed too expensive to Pam and Linda at fourteen guineas but they persuaded "Susan" to try it on, on condition that if it looked as wonderful when she was wearing it they would help her pay for it as a "Get Well" present. Richard needed no further prompting and entered the shop. He was almost breathless as he placed himself inside the cool material and shivered, not just from the fact that his soft, feminine shoulders were completely exposed. The dress seemed to become a part of him and further emphasised his essential femininity. He could hardly contain his excitement as he walked regally out of the changing room, to be met by gasps of admiration from Pam, Linda and every other customer in the shop. Pam had tears in her eyes as she whispered: "Seeing you look so radiant, it's so hard to believe we might never have seen you again." Her words reminded Richard who he was and how tenuous was his hold on his new life but he tried to banish such thoughts from his mind, determined to enjoy the girlish emotions he was experiencing. Once bought, the dress dictated the rest of the morning's purchases. A pair of matching red stiletto shoes were added, the six inch heels proving extremely difficult to walk in but worth it for the more pronounced shape they gave his legs. Deep red lingerie proved hard to find but they finally managed to obtain a pair of delicately-laced cami-knickers with a matching bra. The final purchase, a pair of sheer, seamed black silk stockings made Richard clasp his little hands in delight at the thought of wearing them. The girls also bought some accessories for themselves.

Shopping completed, the three young girls went to the local coffee bar for a well-earned "cuppa" before going home. As they swapped oohs and aahs over their outfits for the evening, a group of boys passed the booth. They stopped to chat and Richard could not help but let his attention stray to one of them, a fresh-faced boy with dark, combed-back hair and a leather jacket. The boy smiled and said: "Hi, Suzie, it's great to see you back again. We were worried about you." Richard was completely unprepared for the hot flushes and fluttering sensation in his heart. He blushed and tried to look away but Pam immediately took on the role of match-maker. "Hi, Tony. We were just saying, it looks like Susan's mum is going to let her come to the dance tonight. It's such a pity she won't have anybody to look after her properly when she gets there." Richard wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Pam and Linda just giggled, even more so when Tony took hold of Richard's hand and said: "I'd love to take you Susan. Will you let me pick you up this evening?" Richard was so confused. On the one hand, he was dimly aware that really he was also a boy and should say "no". On the other, he wanted to be swept off his feet by this attractive boy, to feel as only a girl can on being taken out on her first date. In the end, his decision was made for him. "Of course it will be all right. I'm sure it would ease her mum's worries if she knew that Susan was being well looked after. She'll be ready by eight, we'll see to that!" said Linda decisively. Richard felt that he ought to protest but instead he lowered his long eyelashes in girlish modesty. Before Richard knew it, evening arrived and it was time to start getting ready. This time, Pam and Linda were present to make sure their charge was punctual for Tony's visit. They laid all the lingerie on the bed while Richard soaked in a hot, scented bath. As he placed himself in the cool, seductive underwear, they fussed with his hair and fastened him into the bra. Still in his underwear, they seated him at the dressing table and told him to close his eyes. As he relaxed, they made him up - foundation, rouge, eye make-up and lipstick - and completely re-arranged his long blonde hair, raising it to show off his slender neck and delicate facial features. When Richard opened his eyes, he almost fainted! Surely he could not be inside such a beautiful, feminine body! They had made him look absolutely divine. The dress was next and Richard knew, even before he stepped into it, that it would complete the look perfectly. He was right. Mrs Radley walked into the bedroom and gasped at the sight of her gorgeous daughter looking so radiant and happy. All four of them hugged and fussed around each other, until their feminine chatter was stopped by the sound of the doorbell. Richard could hear Mrs Radley letting Tony in and his heart began to pound.

Like all young girls on their first date with a boy, all the usual "what if...?" questions began to raise themselves. He placed his dainty feet inside the red shoes and minced down the stairs. Tony stood as "she" entered the room and Richard was pleased that all the primping and preening had been to good effect. Tony was virtually speechless at the sight of the beautiful young girl he was taking out. Pam placed a red velvet jacket over "Susan's" slim shoulders and, placing her arm in Tony's, they all left for the dance. At first, Richard was a little nervous when they arrived at the local Palais. The rock 'n' roll music was quite loud and he was used to being one of the boys in this sort of environment. Instead, here he was, standing with a group of chattering girls, fussing over hair and make-up, while the boys were getting the drinks and fooling around. Before long, however, he was into the swing of things and even allowed himself a couple of dances, twisting and twirling to the Jive and trying to remember the female parts. Soon, the band were playing a slow, seductive version of "Blue Moon" and Susan found herself in Tony's arms, swaying softly to the music and enjoying every feminine, sensual moment of her life as a girl. The figure-hugging dress, the undulating breasts, the soft, tickling sensation of the frilly petticoats, the smooth tautness of the silk stockings. This moment could never end! But the dreamy feeling became all too real. Suddenly Richard was aware of the lights blurring, the sound of the music fading and the floor moving from under him. He was being transported back to the present! Oh no, not now! He couldn't lose this feeling! But it was too late and he knew it. He could hear the anguised cry of Tony, begging his beautiful "Susan" to wake up, before his mind became a complete blank. Consciousness came slowly and not particularly easily. As his eyes fluttered open, he realised that Susan Radley had gone and Richard Fielding's mind was back in Richard Fielding's body. It was the present all right - there was the machines surrounding him and there were the scientists gazing at their subject. He felt a deep regret for his lost femininity. He moved his head suddenly, to try and look around the lab. The sudden movement caused a lock of long, blonde hair to come tumbling down across his eyes. Surely...it couldn't be...! He looked down his body, and saw the firm round breasts encased in the deep, red taffeta, the slim, curvy hips and the shapely legs. It was true! Somehow, they had transported him back - but still encased in Susan's body!

The Luckiest Man

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Wedding Bliss

Cross Dressing For King And Country

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Diane's First Dress

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Amanda's World - The Wedding Dress

The Realisation Of Michaela - A Transvestite

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Story - The Realisation Of Michaela - Part 2

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