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Nov 201520

Uniforms

short story

UNIFORMS

  Maids in little black dresses with a froth of white petticoats, schoolgirls' white socks and gymslips, nurses in starched aprons - don't you just love them? I know I do,and not only do most of us love them but we love the idea of them, and we love being them. Or at least as near to being them as we can manage by slipping into their uniforms! In a broad sense, it is possible to argue that transvestism is all about uniform: the uniforms of the two sexes. It is only a step beyond dressing as the opposite sex to adopt dress which defines our place in the world more precisely. Genuine uniforms can be very precise indeed. A real school uniform not only identifies the wearer as a schoolgirl, but as the pupil of a specific school. More - as uniforms change, it identifies her as belonging to a particular time. Many uniforms indicate rank - most obviously those of the military and the police. Our first feeling is probably that uniforms make those who wear them look the same as each other, and in some ways they do. Paradoxically, however, some uniforms can be more individual than any other form of clothing. A good example is a Girl Guide blouse which is one of my more treasured posessions (it fits me too!). This blouse carries many badges including those of rank (patrol leader). Another badge identifies the forget-me-not patrol and the shoulder flash is of the 7th New Malden Guides. The interest badges include entertainer, sportswoman, collector, hostess... and so on. It is doubtful whether another Guide in the entire history of the movement accumulated exactly the same collection of badges. Indeed, if the original owner were to read this, she might be able to identify her old blouse from the details I've given! Gaining such insight into the original owner is one of the great joys of genuine uniforms. Considering how nearly genuine they may be, there are - as I see it - five kinds of uniform. That's not to count them by role (schoolgirl, nurse, maid and so on) - by that count there are a lot more than five sorts. The five uniform kinds I have in mind are: fantasy, improvised, authentic, genuine, and composite. Each has its own attractions and enjoyments.
    Fantasy uniforms are fun, are not difficult to find, but can hardly be mistaken for the real thing. How astonished would we be, for example, to go into hospital to find ourselves treated by women in sex shop nurses' uniforms. There is enough of the nurse to them for us to grasp the general idea, but there's no danger of us confusing the wearers with real nurses. The impression they give is of tarts indulging their clients' nurse-related fantasies. Fantasy nurses' uniforms are probably not the examples most commonly found. All, or almost all, of the available maids' uniforms seem to come into this category. Not all of these are equally removed from the things that real maids might wear. I have a lot of doubt as to whether anyone who hired a girl to do the housework ever dressed that girl in satin. But satin seems more likely than PVC, in spite of the latter being easier to clean. The reasons for PVC seeming so improbable for real maids, of course, must include the fact that shiny plastic clothing only made its first appearance in the 1960s, well after the heyday of real maids. Perhaps more significant is the way in which PVC had only a short life as a material for ordinary female wear. The fate of my youngest sister's mid 1960s PVC coat may throw some light on the material losing favour. Passing on front of a - then common - paraffin heater, a large hole appeared in the easily-melted material. Since then, PVC has been pretty well exclusively seen as fetish wear. And of course, the fabrics of fantasy uniforms are chosen not with an eye to the stuff of real uniforms, but because they are - in themselves - popular materials. Nothing wrong with popular materials of course, there is always a reason for their popularity. I referred to the 1960s as being well after the heyday of real maids. This may give a clue as to why every maid's uniform I've seen has been a fantasy one, whereas most of the schoolgirl uniforms available are better characterised as authentic (of which more later). Unless you count the likes of hotel chambermaids, I've never seen a real maid. Hotel chambermaids are likely to wear tabards rather than the typical maid's uniform Fantasy uniforms can be very satisfying, there is no reason why they shouldn't be. Essentially, when transvestites dress in uniform, they do so as part of a fantasy. If a uniform is specially designed for that fantasy, it ought to be able to support it precisely. Being a real nurse is hard work, and the uniforms reflect that fact. Being a fantasy nurse is a piece of frolicking: the fantasy uniforms reflect this in the same way.
    Fantasy uniforms are fun, are not difficult to find, but can hardly be mistaken for the real thing. How astonished would we be, for example, to go into hospital to find ourselves treated by women in sex shop nurses' uniforms. There is enough of the nurse to them for us to grasp the general idea, but there's no danger of us confusing the wearers with real nurses. The impression they give is of tarts indulging their clients' nurse-related fantasies. Fantasy nurses' uniforms are probably not the examples most commonly found. All, or almost all, of the available maids' uniforms seem to come into this category. Not all of these are equally removed from the things that real maids might wear. I have a lot of doubt as to whether anyone who hired a girl to do the housework ever dressed that girl in satin. But satin seems more likely than PVC, in spite of the latter being easier to clean. The reasons for PVC seeming so improbable for real maids, of course, must include the fact that shiny plastic clothing only made its first appearance in the 1960s, well after the heyday of real maids. Perhaps more significant is the way in which PVC had only a short life as a material for ordinary female wear. The fate of my youngest sister's mid 1960s PVC coat may throw some light on the material losing favour. Passing on front of a - then common - paraffin heater, a large hole appeared in the easily-melted material. Since then, PVC has been pretty well exclusively seen as fetish wear. And of course, the fabrics of fantasy uniforms are chosen not with an eye to the stuff of real uniforms, but because they are - in themselves - popular materials. Nothing wrong with popular materials of course, there is always a reason for their popularity. I referred to the 1960s as being well after the heyday of real maids. This may give a clue as to why every maid's uniform I've seen has been a fantasy one, whereas most of the schoolgirl uniforms available are better characterised as authentic (of which more later). Unless you count the likes of hotel chambermaids, I've never seen a real maid. Hotel chambermaids are likely to wear tabards rather than the typical maid's uniform Fantasy uniforms can be very satisfying, there is no reason why they shouldn't be. Essentially, when transvestites dress in uniform, they do so as part of a fantasy. If a uniform is specially designed for that fantasy, it ought to be able to support it precisely. Being a real nurse is hard work, and the uniforms reflect that fact. Being a fantasy nurse is a piece of frolicking: the fantasy uniforms reflect this in the same way.
    Punishment This old-fashioned air may serve as an aid to the spanking fantasies. The gymslip relates to education in the era when there was corporal punishment in our schools. The fantasy is aided by the fact that such a look is authentic for that period. Female uniforms - the genuine article - are still being manufactured, of course, but sadly they are not easy to buy. Most women's uniforms, whether for the police and armed services or for private companies, are issued only to authorised personnel and are not for sale. However, there are workwear suppliers sall over the world for catering and health care staff etc. Trannies that want to dress like a waitress, a cakeshop assistant or a veterinary nurse can be reasonably easily kitted out. There are also masses of brand new school uniforms for sale, although there can be few trannies that would care to seek these out. Most of these uniforms are obviously in very small sizes, and going to a supplier and buying the items would take a lot of nerve. It is even quite possible that the shop would refuse to sell to you. Paradoxically, it is probably easier to buy old genuine uniforms than brand new ones. Perhaps the easiest and cheapest source of all may not be very helpful, but items of old school uniform surface from time to time in charity shops. Unless you are very slightly built, you will be extremely lucky if you can find anything that fits you. Another source of genuine uniforms is the body of people entitled to wear them. One of my trannie friends has a genuine nurses uniform: a gift from a lover who was a nurse. It is of obsolete design and no longer suitable for wearing in a hospital, but has proved eminently suitable for wear as part of a transvestite fantasy!
  Punishment This old-fashioned air may serve as an aid to the spanking fantasies. The gymslip relates to education in the era when there was corporal punishment in our schools. The fantasy is aided by the fact that such a look is authentic for that period. Female uniforms - the genuine article - are still being manufactured, of course, but sadly they are not easy to buy. Most women's uniforms, whether for the police and armed services or for private companies, are issued only to authorised personnel and are not for sale. However, there are workwear suppliers sall over the world for catering and health care staff etc. Trannies that want to dress like a waitress, a cakeshop assistant or a veterinary nurse can be reasonably easily kitted out. There are also masses of brand new school uniforms for sale, although there can be few trannies that would care to seek these out. Most of these uniforms are obviously in very small sizes, and going to a supplier and buying the items would take a lot of nerve. It is even quite possible that the shop would refuse to sell to you. Paradoxically, it is probably easier to buy old genuine uniforms than brand new ones. Perhaps the easiest and cheapest source of all may not be very helpful, but items of old school uniform surface from time to time in charity shops. Unless you are very slightly built, you will be extremely lucky if you can find anything that fits you. Another source of genuine uniforms is the body of people entitled to wear them. One of my trannie friends has a genuine nurses uniform: a gift from a lover who was a nurse. It is of obsolete design and no longer suitable for wearing in a hospital, but has proved eminently suitable for wear as part of a transvestite fantasy!

Nov 201520

Life of A Victorian Maid

short story

LIFE OF A VICTORIAN MAID

Female domestic staff usually had to provide their own clothing. In the Victorian and Edwardian periods, this would typically have been a lilac, blue or pink working dress with a white cap and apron for the morning. In the afternoon, which was the time for visitors, servants would change into a formal black dress and frilled apron and cap. In grander houses, a female servant might have worn a white blouse, white petticoat and underskirt and then a black pinafore over the top. She would have had a white frilly cap with a coloured ribbon. The alternative, perhaps for less dirty work would have been a white blouse, black bodice and then a white pinafore dress on top. The cap would have been black with white trim. In our house, Florence wears a dark apron for dirty jobs such as laying the fires, over her blue working dress. Florence wears Julia's old clothes during her free time; for her afternoon off once a week. On Sundays, she wears a plain, sombre, black coat and skirt, with black shoes, stockings and gloves. She has a toque style of hat. In most houses, there would be too much work to allow the maid of all work to rest during the day. Jobs would include making fires, carrying the coal in, dealing with tradesmen and women, cleaning - housework including spring cleaning, washing, washing up, cooking and making tea, preparing beds, carrying hot water, running errands. And in the larger houses, managing junior staff. They would also mend their own clothes, and check the doors and windows were locked at night. By 1890, many houses sent their washing out as this was cheaper. If there was a separate cook, with other work done by a housemaid, the maid of all work would be a 'plain cook', preparing simple dishes such as meat, vegetables and puddings. Morning Florence has an early start each morning; in the summer she is at work by 6am and in the darkness of the winter by 7am. After washing and dressing, she goes round the house, opening the shutters and curtains, and opening a few windows. In each room, she takes up the hearth rug, places the fender on a cloth, and cleans and re-lays the fire. She polishes the brass and steel work. Florence then sweeps each downstairs room, collecting the dust near the fireplace. She carries her tools, including brushes, blacklead, emery paper and polishing cloths, from room to room in a wooden box. The cinders from each fireplace go in the bottom. She then dusts the furniture. One of her friends who works at a nearby house has a Bissell carpet sweeper, but Florence has to make do with a variety of brushes. She takes a supply of coal and kindling to each fireplace and lights the downstairs fires; today's March morning is chilly. A large range could burn 1 hundredweight (nearly 51kg) of coal per day, costing about one shilling in 1890. The Bush family have a medium-sized range, but together with the fireplaces, they consume about this much coal in the coldest part of the winter. Sidney pops his head round the kitchen door; "Can I have my breakfast, Florence?". "Oh, sorry sir." Sidney just has some bread so it takes just a moment to prepare things. She takes them into the dining room. Her next task is to prepare the breakfast for the children, Mary, who has just arrived, and for herself. They have bacon and cold meat for breakfast in the week, and sausages or bloaters on Sunday. As the has her first moment of rest in the day, Sidney leaves the house for his train journey to London.

  Florence quickly finishes her breakfast, and then goes upstairs with hot water for her mistress and the children. Mary is giving the children their breakfast and will help them get washed and dressed. "Good morning, Florence." says Julia. "Good morning, missus." replies Florence. She sets the jug of hot water down on the wash stand and prepares Julia's clothes. "I am going calling this afternoon, so I will need my best skirt and blouse. And Mr and Mrs Browne are coming for dinner tonight at 7." Florence silently groaned. She had hoped to have her afternoon off today, but now she would need to prepare fancy food for dinner; Mr and Mrs Browne always needed to be impressed. Florence brushed madam's hair, and helped her dress. By 8:30, Julia was ready for the day, and Florence went back downstairs and brought breakfast through to the dining room. At 9, the whole family assembled in the dining room for morning prayers. After clearing away all the breakfast things and washing them up, Florence sweeps and dusts upstairs. Her mistress's eldest daughter Constance helps Florence to make the beds and do some of the chores. She is quite a willing girl so her work makes quite a difference. Florence goes round the house collecting the oil lamps, and takes them to the kitchen. She cleans and trims them, refills them, and then takes them back. Her next task is to clean up the candle sticks; the family don't use too many as they are expensive. She then discusses the day's menu with Julia and is sent out to buy a few items, such as yeast, that are not delivered. In their road, a baker brings fresh bread each day in a basket, and the milkman brings the milk on a cart. Florence has to visit the greengrocer's, butcher, and fish shop.  

  Afternoon Returning home, Florence makes the midday meal for Mary and the children, and herself. They eat this together in the kitchen at about 12:30. Their usual lunch is cold meat; most weeks there is ham and chicken. Then Florence prepares luncheon for her mistress, who sits down to eat at 1:30. Florence then helps her mistress undress for her rest, and goes downstairs to clear away from lunch. Her next tasks are to begin preparing the meal for tonight. She has barely started when Julia calls for her help with dressing for the afternoon. The kitchen and nursery tea at 5pm is mackerel, with bread and butter and a small cake. Barely finished, Julia returns from her visiting. Florence helps her to change for evening.  

  Evening At 6:15 Sidney returns home, and Florence takes him hot water. At 6:30, the guests arrive; Florence welcomes them, and shows them into the drawing room. The dinner seems to go well; the Brownes leave at about 9:30. Once the ladies have moved to the drawing room, Florence clears the last items from the dining room, leaving the men in peace. At 9:00, after clearing up and washing up, Florence has a quick kitchen supper of bread and cheese. Florence cleans Sidney and Julia's shoes, checks that the drawing and dining room fires are safe, turns out the downstairs oil lamps, and locks the doors and closes windows. She then attends to Julia, helping her to undress and wash. She removes the slops.    



Nov 201520

The Story of Stephanie Anne Lloyd - Chapter 1

short story
  Meeting Stephanie today, a glamorous and self-assured wife and business woman, it's hard to imagine the confused little boy from St Albans she had once been all those years ago. It may sound like an old cliché - but when it comes to transvestites and transsexuals, it really does take one to know one. Unless you yourself have experienced the mental confusion of being a boy who wants to be a girl - full-time or part-time - you really haven't a clue what it's all about. Doctors and psychiatrists might discuss it, daytime television presenters may discuss it, your wife or girlfriend might go along with it. But in truth, they can never really know how it feels. Stephanie Anne Lloyd does know, simply because she was a boy who grew to be a woman. She doesn't know why she was like that any more than you or I do - it's just the hand we were dealt. For Stephanie, it was a particularly tricky hand. Her previous male self - Keith Hull - came from a strictly religious background, was married with children he adored, and had a keith.jpghighly paid successful career in front of him. If he could just have lived his life "normally" as a man, he would have had it made. But, for some reason he couldn't understand, Keith had always just known he wasn't like other boys - he grew to look like a man and act like a man, but acting the part was the closest he could get. Inside, under the protective shell he had created for the sake of normality, was the soul of a woman. Many of you reading this might recognise his dilemma. Should Keith have carried on through life trying to play the role his parents and family expected, or should he have been true to his inner self - at whatever cost that could bring? Keith ultimately chose truth and took the path to becoming Stephanie - although the cost proved higher than even he could ever have imagined. The affluent, highly respected family man found himself overnight tainted as an outcast. She suffered savage publicity, was shunned by her parents, her wife, her children and her friends. She lost her home, her job, and all the money she had. Some things, however, did remain. Her indomitable spirit and defiance of defeat. Stephanie was determined to put her experience, however painful it might have been for her, to some good use. The result was Transformation, and a whole new beginning not only for Stephanie, but for TVs and TSs throughout the UK. Transformation was the very first business in the country to openly promote a specialist service for transvestites. Stephanie opened the closet door for us all.   Like so many transsexuals, Stephanie can't put her finger on when she first realised she was different to her boyhood pals, but she will never forget the recurring dream that filled her nights from the age of five. A dream in which the young Keith was kidnapped and turned into a girl by a couple who had lost their daughter, and who wanted him to take her place.   By the age of seven Keith had discovered the dream could cross into reality, if only occasionally, in dressing-up sessions with his friends. They put on their own private plays, with Keith taking the girls' roles whenever he could. "I had always found my strange dreams frightening and confusing," she explained. "Yet there was something about dressing as a girl that gave me a strange sense of contentment. Somehow, it seemed to feel right.   f508_1388.jpg"The moment I put a dress on I felt less clumsy, more natural and more peaceful than I have ever remembered feeling before." With the benefit of hindsight, and the more enlightened times in which we live, it may seem surprising that it took Keith another 30 years to fully understand that sense of contentment. BUt back in 1953, boys were boys and girls were girls. No seven year old could think anything else, let alone the son of staunch Jehovah's Witness parents.   And so started the long mental struggle against the inevitable, through puberty and teens, and into an early married life. Keith had always been popular with the girls, mainly because he found he could relate to them in a way that other boys just couldn't. He and his future wife Marilyn seemed made for each other from the start, and by the time he was 21 they were married and settled in a modern semi-detached house in suburban Hertfordshire. The birth of twin boys seemed to seal their future. f508_1389.jpgIn many ways, Keith appeared the perfect husband. His career was really taking off and in the office he was a shining star, but he still found time to take his share of the domestic role. Some fathers may have done it grudgingly, but Keith relished every minute. "To bath my sons and watch them gurgle with joy as they splashed around in the water was a constant delight," she said. "I was really in my element and couldn't have felt happier"

Nov 201520

The Other Side of the Coin

short story

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COIN

  Many of our Transgender Life features here tell of understanding wives. Unfortunately, such reactions are not always the ones encountered. Here, an anonymous wife of a transvestite gives a point of view that may be all too familiar... The marriage guidance people suggested I wrote down my feelings about everything that's happened. I don't think it'll do any good, but I'm not going to be accused of not trying.   My God, I've tried to understand. I've tried to forgive, but every time he comes anywhere near me he gives me the creeps. To think I married him and I loved him and trusted him and he's done this to me. You think you know someone and suddenly one day it all pops out. I daren't tell even my best friend about it. It all makes me feel so dirty and used. When I got married I wasn't entirely inexperienced, if you see what I mean, but even so, my mother thought she could pass on a bit of advice. You know the sort of things mothers go on about. Share the job. Don't become a drudge or a mat for him but try to have some common interests. It puzzled me when she went on about men's foibles, I presumed she was going on about sex but Bill and I had always enjoyed it. He wasn't fantastic but he was understanding and frankly I'd assumed if one of us was going to stray, it would have been me. Different For weeks I'd half noticed something different about him. I wasn't sure what it was but now I've decided it was he didn't walk about the house naked any more. We're not nudists or anything but when we come out of the shower and are getting dressed, we're not shy about our bodies. Suddenly, he became shy about this. It was odd rather than disturbing. I began to peek at him when he didn't think I was looking. I found it a bit of a turn-on but he was strangely reluctant until the lights were out.   The fateful Saturday he was getting dressed when I saw those marks on his body. They looked vaguely familiar, but I innocently asked him what they were, conversation as much as anything. His reaction was startling. He blushed in embarrassment and muttered. Oddly, I recalled a comment of my mother's, "Beware when a man mumbles". I'd laughed at the time but now I just knew there was something wrong. What the marks were still didn't occur to me and since I thought we had always been open with each other I pressed him. I was interested and cared! That's what hurts. I cared and then he threw this back at me. I still can't bring myself to use the words he stuttered out. Harmless, he claimed, but how would you feel if you were sure your husband had been trying on your personal things? The marks? They were from bra shoulder straps that were too tight! Not to mention some sort of waist clincher. To give him shape, he said. He's always been so normal and suddenly I find he's a pervert and has been visiting some place where he's been dressing up. It gives me the shivers just thinking about it. The marriage guidance counsellor said I mustn't get emotional? How would you feel if there was that niggling uncertainty your husband wanted to be a woman. And act like a woman?   I sent him off to sleep in the spare room. I couldn't bear to have him near me. Then I began to wonder. I'm a normal girl. I like my bit of fun and fantasise with the best of them, but the thought I've been engaged, unwittingly, in a lesbian thing during our married life gives me the creeps...  
  It's not knowing him that upsets me. He's had a secret life all these years and heaven knows who he's been with. He's lied about everything. The thought he's been trying on my knickers and bras made me throw them all away. I keep them locked now. What really gets to me is I can't forget him. Is it his feminine side that's made him understanding and what I thought as a best friend and companion as well as being my lover? Have I been in love all these years with a half-woman and that's what attracted me to him? There lies the problem. Not only do I have to face his perversions, but just perhaps I have to face my own sexuality and motivations.   What if it's his female half that attracted me? I have to admit I'm the forceful one of the two of us. They say we women should take control of our lives and bodies and decide for ourselves. Perhaps Bill wants the mirror image of that and wants to be more dependent and passive and the natural extension is to want to be softer and to take on my traditional role. It's disturbing turning all I've taken for granted topsy turvy. He's sworn he's not gay and that he's not been unfaithful to me, but can I believe him? If I do believe him, what do I do? If I make him promise to give it all up, can he? When he broke down and confessed he was clearly very upset and said he didn't think he could give it up. Do I force him back into the clandestine world he's been living in or do I invite 'her' into our home?   'She' definitely can't use anything of mine, but how do I feel about 'her'? Will it be 'Bill' in drag or will she be a real person? I don't know whether I could cope with either, even though I suspect it might be best for Bill. Despite everything, I simply can't bring myself to forget Bill. He's been part of my life for the past ten years and I keep on thinking about that stupid phrase of my mother's, "What's good for the goose is good for the gander".  
  Concessions Bill stood by and supported me when I wanted to go for promotion and took time off work to attend the wives interview, despite being the only male there. I expected him to cope with role reversal for me. It's strange he hasn't argued back like I expected him to. He never mentioned that interview even though they made no concessions to him being the only male and insisted he trailed around with the half dozen wives. Did he enjoy himself more than he admitted? I was told afterwards that my promotion was due to a great extent to the way he handled himself. He's never thrown back at me my comment at the time about the blurring of roles in a modern marriage. Nor has he ever protested about the cooking, shopping and household tasks he takes the greater share of. Yet I expect him to be macho, when it suits me.   I wish I had chosen to ignore those remarks. My questions started something I can't stop now. I must be mad. I've decided to meet Bill's other half and I'm not going to show what I've written to the guidance counsellor. I must try not to laugh if Bill looks silly, but if he wants to dress at home he's going to have to do it properly. If he thinks being a woman is easy, he's going to learn it isn't. In fact, if he wants to do it all, he's going to find out how we suffer to keep our figures and looks. Yes, I want him to suffer for what I'm going through now, but that way we might both get something out of the next six months...

Nov 201520

Risky Story

short story

Risky Story

Only the least likely parts of this account have been fictionalised... I live in Great Britain. I am 28, my wife is 25. She is a stewardess. I am also a very convincing cross-dresser. My wife does not mind and occasionally encourages it. I travel regularly to NY by air. This is what I got away with on one occasion... It's mid-flight. Taking my travelling case with me, I walk to the toilet. Once in, I work fast(I have brought my wig and make-up and one of my wife's uniforms with me). The wig goes on first, then the make-up (you have to work in context!). Then my tights (Dark navy, very firm and very snug), and they feel sooo good!! Even as I type I can still feel my toes against the seam and the central stitching between... My panty girdle is restraining my male bulge. In a practiced manner I slip into my heels, put on my wife's blouse, step into her skirt and slide into a jacket. It finishes with a really pretty hat. When I leave the toilet, I leave the travelling case on my seat. I actually manage to walk from one end of the 747 to the other - and back! - and nobody even gives me a second glance! Just enjoying being a "lady" in a highly public environment, loving the feel of tights on my legs, the swish of my skirt, and the clicking of my heels. I came back, collecting my case, changed back in the toilet and returned to my seat. If anyone was any wiser, they did not show it! There are some very efficient make-up removers these days! Much fun and worth trying if you are able! "Natasha"

Nov 201520

My Corselette

short story

My Corselette

I think that the problem with just bra and panties is that all Cross-Dressers / Transvestites need a little extra feminine shaping - that bit in the middle requires something else. The answer, for me is a corselette, which shapes me in such a way that no other piece of feminine underwear can. I have always worn bras and panties, until the day there was a stock sale at the town's local department store. I was about thirty at the time and had been cross-dressing since my teens. In the sale was a black body; I didn't need to look at this piece of feminine underwear for very long before I decided I had to buy it.glamour.corselette Looking around lingerie departments is utopia for me - so much to touch and feel that my imagination runs riot. Unfortunately for me the body was a 'B' cup and as I only fit into an 'AA' cup without padding, I was unsure if it would look out of proportion. But this did not bother me too much, as I had bought my first Body - a 'Corselette'!   I wanted to wear my new body so much that I went back to where I work, as it was a lot closer than home. Locking myself in the toilet, I stripped off and pulled on my new underwear and quickly adjusted the straps. It felt fabulous. Even though the cup size was wrong, It still held me so tightly, holding and shaping. I felt beautiful and it was so feminine that I couldn't bring myself to take it back off again... so I didn't! I just put my male clothes on top and stuffed my male underwear into my jacket pocket. I had to go back to the office to collect my overcoat and briefcase. My only worry was that the black cups would show through my white shirt but thankfully no one noticed. Even driving home in my car felt so wonderfully different, I just couldn't wait to get home Once at home, I went straight to the bedroom and stripped off by clothes so I could look at my self in bedroom mirror. Not only did it feel wonderful, it also looked good. I quickly pushed in my bra pads (falsies) into the cups to fill them out. I stood back to get a full mirror view, saying out loud 'I cross-dress'. I turned to see the back and there was a slight bulge - I had been in so much of a hurry putting it on, I had left the label attached. I undressed to cut off the label and read what it said on it - 'Corselette firm hold'.   That night I must have tried on all my dresses and skirts with of course my corselette and different tights and hold-ups. The result was amazing, how different I felt and looked. Don't just take my word for it, try it for yourself!!! It is said that a woman can't have enough underwear, I now know this is the same for cross-dressers / transvestites. Ever since, I have worn corselettes or control panties, whenever Kera goes out... I have read articles where people like myself get embarrassed when buying lingerie. My advice is 'don't be embarrassed'. You will get over this and one day, you will not think twice about going into a store, picking up the prettiest piece of underwear and saying to the sales assistant, 'I will buy this please'.   Go out and buy what you can, see how different types of lingerie feel next to your skin and see how good you can feel inside. Best wishes, Kera

Nov 201520

My Wedding dress

short story

My Wedding Dress

  I went on a few night trips without my wife, and while driving, passed a store called "David's Bridal." The store was some thirty miles from my home and I vowed to myself that I would stop there on my drive back. I did. My drive back was on a Sunday and I stopped at the store. It was a mad house! Brides-to-be everywhere. I walked through the busy aisles and looked at the thousands of dresses on the racks. The store was so busy with so many people that I must have been assumed to be a potential groom or brother of one of the brides, just wandering about. I lost my nerve to ask for a fitting and took a business card from the counter. From the safety of my own vehicle outside, I called the store and asked about getting an appointment. The woman inside asked if the bride needed to make the appointment for today or would it be possible to make one for a day later in the week. Without as much trepidation as I would have thought I would have required, I told the lady on the phone that the appointment was for me.  
  Then I added, "you have fit for men before, haven't you?" I don't really know why I said that, but she said, "That's not a problem... I just think that particularly in these circumstances, a weekday appointment would be best." We set a time for Wednesday afternoon. I arrived ten minutes early on Wednesday and took some deep relaxing breaths in my car. I walked in and noticed the difference between mid- week and week-end - there were only a small handful of people in the store. At the counter a woman asked, "May I help you." "Yes," I replied, "I'm Ryan and I have an appointment." Well, the woman then couldn't look at me while she talked and said, "Please fill out these papers and your consultant will be right with you."  
  wed3.jpgMoments later, she introduced me (still not looking at me) to Christine. Christine took me to the racks and asked me if I knew what I was looking for. I took Christine's hand and asked her if she had ever fit a man. She had once. I then told her how absolutely proud I was of myself for being in the store and going through with this. She told me not to worry, we'd be fine. She asked me if I knew what my dress size was and if it was similar to men's sizes. I told her I wear a size 14 dress. She told me she would have put me in an 8. I thanked her for the compliment, but I was pretty sure of my size. I told her that I wanted a dress with some sleeves (didn't want to shave my arm pits) and something simple, yet elegant. We picked out a few and went to the corner dressing room. This dressing room was away from all the others and had its own private mirror so that the bride would not have to go out to the main room. Christine handed me a full under- skirt and a bustier with padding. She told me that the way she usually works with her brides is that they put those things on and then she comes in and helps with the dress. I took off my boy-clothing and put on the undergarments. Christine entered and explained to me how one dives into the dress and then helped me with the first.  
  I emerged on the other end and was beaming with joy. A look in the mirror was a bit disturbing, but looking down at my body and seeing the beautiful white dress made me the happiest girl I have ever been.f501_1732genresgallerybridepage4 Christine graciously took a picture of me with my camera and helped me change into the dress of my dreams. It was in horizontal stripes of cream with little shoulders that fell off of the arm. I wish I were a poet to describe the beauty and the wonderful feeling. The only thing I wish I had done was ask for a veil, but there is always next time. Live your dreams... that is the only way they can happen. Nancee. (Ryan)

Nov 201520

Janices Summer

short story

JANICES SUMMER

With summer passing I thought I'd recount what had happened to me this summer. It was a summer of revelation, which was both scary and exhilarating. Firstly let me tell you that I'm 22 and I started with my present employer when I left University last year. I've been dressing when I got the chance for some time, and as I'm only 5'4" and 8 stone I don't think I look too extreme. Now I have a decent job I can afford my own place and am able to spend more time dressed around the house. Anyway I've always tried to be discreet and hoped that nobody would take too much notice. In July we completed a major part of a big contract, despite the timescales being tight (unrealistically so) we worked all hours necessary and got the job done. The project manager was pleased and after the wash up meeting for the stage he said that although there'd be a bonus - we should have a long weekend to make up for some of the extra time. So the team had the Monday & Friday off.   On the Thursday evening I got out the dep cream and soon my body, legs and arms were hairless. Lounging in a satin nightie and then bed followed a long soak in a scented bath. In the morning I lounged about a bit again, painted my nails (fingers and toes) - no hurry and then dressed. I'd chosen a pretty light blue lace bra and pants set with a full and floaty petticoat, lemon coloured (layers of chiffon edged in lace). Over this went a white circular poly-cotton skirt and a white georgette blouse. The outfit was completed with a necklace and a couple of bracelets, a pair of black high heel sandelised shoes and a cardigan. Checking the coast was clear I walked out to the car and drove off for a run. I drove off to a near(ish) beauty spot and was lucky that there was nobody else there. I was glad to stop as the temperature gauge on my old car started to zoom up so it gave the old girl time to cool. Fortunately the area was deserted so I took the chance to get out and have a walk around in the fresh air. It was terrific simply walking, feeling the skirt & petticoats move. I' brought some sandwiches and a flask so I sat on a nearby bench and had a little picnic. However, soon it was time to head back. I got into the car and turned on the engine, almost straight away the temperature went up and there was steam everywhere. I opened the bonnet and water was spraying out of one of the hoses. I was now ready to panic. I wasn't in the RAC/AA and besides well I was in a skirt. Eventually I phoned Lorna. Lorna was friend and also a member of the team so would be off for the day and she had gone on about how she had done a car maintenance course. I briefly explained the problem with the car and asked if she could help.   Fortunately she thought replacing the hose wouldn't be a problem and she'd be straight out. I did suggest that she try not to be too shocked when she saw me, which probably raised her curiosity...
Transgender Life   About twenty minutes later her car arrived. She had brought Sarah. While Lorna was someone I'd call a friend; Sarah was more an acquaintance and had a reputation as the team gossip. Well, both of them, their jaws dropped, they looked at me and then at each other, then they grinned and giggled. Once they'd settled down there were questions, you know - how long had I been doing this, was I gay etc. Then Lorna decided it was time to get the replacement hose and did I want to go with her, not really. The idea of standing in Halfords in my skirt didn't appeal. So off she went leaving me with Sarah. Too pass the time a bit we walked a little way down towards a nearby stream. Sarah stopped for a moment and when I turned Sarah she had taken out of her bag a small camera and took a couple of photos. I wasn't amused and went off in a bit of a huff back to the car. She came after me and we ended up sitting on the bench near the car chatting.   I let her take another picture and then went to stand up. Unfortunately I missed my footing in the heels and promptly fell back over the corner of the bench. As I fell I ended up with the front of my skirt and petticoats up around my waist and my blouse unbuttoned and open. So there I lay, one leg on the bench, one on the ground exposed up to the waist and blouse wide open, displaying my bra and pants set to the world. Sarah laughed and there were a couple of clicks. I struggled to my feet and managed to fasten myself up again. I saw the funny side and soon we were both laughing. Soon Lorna returned with the new hose and a couple of old squash bottles of water. We fitted the hose and filled up the radiator. Lorna said I did realise that there was a price to pay, and that was I had to have a day out with her and Sarah the next day and also on Sunday? Not only was I to join them, I was to be dressed in a skirt or dress. I wasn't too keen but they both laughed and said it would be fun and I'd have some company. Well we drove back to my place and the girls managed to park a couple of houses away, making me walk back to my own house. I was going to run so as not to be exposed to the neighbours for too long, but its not easy in high heels! When we got in I made tea for us and we went to sit in the garden. When I went back in for some biscuits Lorna followed me in and pointed out the state of my skirt and blouse which had now acquired some grubby marks as a consequence of falling over. Somehow she seemed to take charge and had me strip down to my bra and pants and then sent me off to change. So I returned to the garden in a pretty cotton floral summer dress. When they left they reminded me that I was expected around at Lorna's the next day suitably attired.   I felt drained. The day had been full of panic and stress and the next day was going to be the same. I spent not too great a night worrying what lay ahead. In the morning I was up and dressed fairly early. I'd chosen a nice cotton skirt and white blouse. I sat by the back door with a cup of tea trying to relax. Lorna called to check that I hadn't forgot and she said I should try and get around to her place for oneish and have some lunch. So at around half twelve I checked that there wasn't anyone around and made my way out to the car. It didn't take long to get to Lornas' place. Sarah was already there and soon we sat down to some salad and a chat. Somehow it wasn't quite so stressful as I'd imagined. After lunch we had a trip out to the shops, a new experience for me, followed by tea in a cafe. Later it was back to Lornas for a rest. After some sandwiches we went out again this time to the cinema then a curry. It was nearly midnight by the time I eventually got home. On the Sunday the girls called for me just before twelve and we went off to a nice fairly secluded pub for a pub lunch. Despite it being fairly busy nobody seemed to take any notice of me. Presumably we looked just like three girls out for lunch. Anyway that was the main events of the weekend. On the Tuesday it was back to work. There was the usual banter about the weekend, good weekend? Do anything? Did you watch etc. It wasn't until Sarah produced the photos she'd taken over the weekend that my heart sank. There in technicolour me in skirts, me in dresses even a couple showing me in bra and pants (when I fell over and when I got changed at home).   Well what do you say, all I could do was brazen it out, take the jokes etc. Sarah at some stage scanned several of the photos and at lunch time we loaded MS Scenes on my machine, and created a gallery of my pictures to use as a screen saver and as a desktop image. On the Wednesday evening I went out with Lorna, Sarah and Jenny (one of the others) for a meal. Somehow the previous day's revelations were like a weight lifted and it didn't worry me going along in a skirt and top. It was an enjoyable evening. At the end Lorna told me she had a treat for me for Friday and after work she'd pick me up, I should wear something nice but not too constraining - intriguing...
Transgender Life   When Friday came I was ready at five in a cotton print dress with a fluffy chiffon & lace petticoat. We drove down to the local shopping area, not the town centre. It was hardly worth the drive as it was only about half a mile away. Lorna led me into the hairdressers (sorry salon). She introduced me to the hairdresser Sylvia (or should that be stylist), hardly necessary as she lived at the end of my street. She sat me down and tried to put the cover around me and decided that the neckline of my dress was in the way so could I nip behind the screen and remove my dress. I was given a nylon robe, which came down to mid thigh. So there I say in the chair with petticoats on display while Sylvia started messing with my hair. She wetted it, cut it and covered it with various lotions and potions while her trainee gave me a manicure and pedicure. It wa,s I must admit, great to be so pampered. I asked what she was doing with my hair and she said that Lorna had asked her to style it a little, lighten the colour a little and put in a few highlights. While I was resting, recovering from this she told me to look to the left and when I did so - ouch, my ear!. Then she pierced the left one. By the time I was ready to leave I'd had a manicure, pedicure ears pierced and eyebrows shaped and dyed. I put on my dress again and was at long last allowed to see what she'd done. My brown hair was now a lot lighter with blonde streaks and shaped in a sort of bob style coming in in a big curl at the bottom with a prominent fringe. The bobbed hair hung away from my ears, which allowed the black studs to be easily visible. My eyebrows were a lot darker and thinner, arched like a girl and my fingers and toes now had vibrant red polish. Lorna was pleased with the results and, if I have to admit it, I wasn't too upset either. She had me make another appointment for a couple of weeks. We went out for a meal and I felt really confident.   The hair was a bit embarrassing on Monday but they'd already seen the photos and my screensaver (and Sarah's) so this wasn't as awful as it could have been. At the start of the following week Lorna told me that Sylvia had had to cancel the Friday booking and moved it to Thursday evening. So on the Thursday I made my way to the salon to have my hair done again. By the time I left qmy hair was almost blonde and had curls around the bottom helping it have extra body. I had another manicure and pedicure plus my legs waxed (ouch!). Lorna called for me first thing on Friday. Being an early riser I was sitting in a skirt and blouse wondering what to do with my hair for work. I enjoyed getting up early, particularly in the summer, when I could sit in a dress or skirt for a while before getting changed and going to work. It was Lorna who organised me. Previously I'd bought a three-piece suit from a catalogue, jacket skirt and trousers; she brought out the jacket and trousers. So I ended up sitting in my ladies trousers (back zip) with a white teashirt on over a white lace bra and pants set (no falsies though), stockings and suspenders. She brushed my hair for me, attacked it with spray and finished off with a black hair band. I put on my jacket, a pair of flattish shoes and a pair of earrings and we were off. When we got to the office she gave me a quick spray of perfume and escorted me in.   Well that's it. I haven't actually gone to work in a skirt or dress but it's not far off it. As some of the others say I might as well be wearing a dress. It was a bit touchy at times, but things seem to be settling down. Relationships may have changed, but we still seem to be working as a team. Janice

Nov 201520

The Shopping Spree

short story

THE SHOPPING SPREE

Let's face it there are sometimes days which ought not to exist. They should be excised from the calendar. Days when everything seems an unnessary chore. From the moment of waking, whatever one sets out to do remains for one reason or another unaccomplished. Such days are usually accompanied by a headache of gargantuan proportions and a feeling of utter listlessness. They occur with a horrid regularity, about once a month. And they occur at times when one most has need of mental agility to face the current problems of work or everyday life. I had such a day recently. But it turned out far better than I could have hoped. At least I had the sense to do something about it - I went on a shopping spree. I threw on a blouse and skirt and a pair of old shoes and set off for town. I have found that looking around the shops often helps to lift the gloom. And on this occasion I was even better placed than usual to enjoy the experience, for I had just received a fairly substantial cheque for monies which had been owing to me for a long time, so I could happily contemplate spending some of it on whatever might catch my fancy. I visited a number of clothes shops, not with anything specific in mind, but just looking and trying on what appealed to me. And eventually I saw it. It was a lovely dress, peacock blue with a pleated skirt, calf length and a V-neck. The colour seemed to shimmer and reveal hidden depths, like looking down into the clear waters of a tropical sea. Chiffon The price tag revealed a figure well out of the normal range. I tried it on in the cubicle and then came out into the shop to see myself reflected in more than one mirror. I twirled to watch the skirt float after me and posed like any young thing on the catwalk. It suited me perfectly. The sales girl proffered a matching chiffon scarf which I knotted carelessly about my neck. That too was irresistible. Already the day which had begun so unpromisingly seemed rosier, not even the drizzle which was just beginning outside could dampen my upswing of mood. I tendered my card in payment and while waiting for the assistant to make out the receipt and lovingly fold my new dress into its plastic carrier bag, I began to comtemplate the sort of shoes which might go with the dress. Needless to say in the next half hour I had acquired a new pair of shoes and a matching leather bag, Italian style, and my black mood had entirely evaporated. It is amazing what a new outfit can do for a girl, isn't it? It was now lunchtime and I returned to my favourite small cafe for a light lunch and a glass of wine. It is an establishment much patronised by women shoppers, indeed it has an almost exclusively feminine clientele. It was very full. Expensive The proprietress, knowing me to be a regular, showed me to a small table at which one seat was already occupied by another customer surrounded by bags of shopping bearing the names and logos of some of the more expensive dress shops in town. She smiled and agreed to let me share her table, and soon we were talking like old friends. It is truly amazing how quickly women can make friends and chat away happily about their most intimate affairs. I soon learnt about her family, her husband and two sons, now away at University. We compared notes about our shopping, part opening our bags to peek inside at each others treasures. Time passed too quickly and we parted with the promise to look out for each other again when in town. As I left the cafe, the drizzle had ceased and the sun was coming out. My day was made.

Nov 201520

Alice In Wonderland

short story

ALICE IN WONDERLAND

  Thomas was just coming up to seventeen. Recently he'd been having the weirdest idea: what would it be like to be a girl? Thomas knew it was ludicrous, but he honestly began to feel that he could have been born the wrong sex, an idea completely without merit for the captain of the school football team. Nevertheless, it would not let Thomas alone. It niggled and nagged, struggling to obtain a place in his identity until he despaired. He did not have any sisters, and it was not as though there was much female influence in his life, or props to try it out - the whole thing was crazy. Then, during a summer visit to his Aunt Jessica, he at last confided in someone. He trusted his aunt and knew she would not tell on him. They had just finished breakfast when Thomas took a deep breath. "Sometimes," he sighed, "I wish I could be a girl, even if only on a trial basis. If I didn't like it, I could always be a boy again." Jessica smiled. "Nothing like covering all your options and having a get-out clause," she said. It was no surprise to Thomas that his aunt was not shocked or taken aback - nothing seemed to knock her out of her stride. Yet he was somewhat disappointed that she had nothing more to offer than sympathy and a fresh cup of tea. Soon after, Thomas returned to his own home. It was dusk, the evening was heavy with humidity, the sky blood red and he knew a storm was pending. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror - he had just started shaving and how he hated it. He slung the razor down. How he wished he could tell his parents or his brothers, but he was sensible enough to realise that they would never understand. He looked out of the window. The sky had turned black as the night closed in. The odd flash of lightning was followed by the rumble of thunder, rain began to beat a tattoo against the window. Water ran from a broken gutter and splashed onto the concrete patio below like a mini waterfall, and the sound of the wind made Thomas glad he was in the warm confines of his house.
    Thomas undressed and climbed into bed complete with his fantasies and dreams. He looked towards the bottom of the bed at 'Mr Jeeves', an old teddy bear much ravaged by time and two older brothers. Gone was the right ear and left eye, and bits of stuffing hung raggedly from a pulled seam in the arm. Once, his mother had suggested that Mr Jeeves had served his purpose and should be laid to rest in the dustbin. With such loyalty for battles fought and won, and tearful cuddles, Mr Jeeves had earned his place at the end of the bed. Thomas fell into the deepest of sleeps. He was woken by the gentlest of touches... "Alice, it's time to get up." Thomas turned dreamily. "Come on Alice, there's a cup of tea on the table by your bed." Thomas shook himself awake and listened to the departing footsteps. He yawned, rubbing sleepdust from tired eyes. His eyes drank in the room: this was not the room he had gone to sleep in... Mr Jeeves winked at him from two gleaming eyes. There were left and right ears, and only the tiniest piece of stuffing missing from the arm. Thomas allowed his gaze to wander around the room. There were also lace chintz curtains at the windows, a beautiful china doll looked at him from the chair by the bed, dressed in the prettiest of dresses. There was a small dressing table with silver brush and comb set, laid out on delicately patterned lace cloths. The room exuded an aroma of scent and flowers - the paper on the walls was green and covered in woodland scenes of fairies and pixies. His gaze turned to the wardrobe door from which hung a dress and petticoats. Thomas shook his head and reached for his cup of tea with his small, delicate and finely manicured hand, the ruffled wristband of the nightdress he wore seemed to awake him to the reality of the situation. He became aware of his long brown tresses and the softness of his body and face. Suddenly he tumbled out of bed, pulling off the nightdress to stand naked in front of the mirror. What had happened to him? He felt frightened, unnerved, disbelieving, and a girlish gasp escaped his lips. The reflection was not his, but that of a pretty girl, who looked back at him with large saucer-like brown eyes, framed with long curling lashes. There were the cutest pouting lips and a pert nose. The body had a slender waist and flared hips, long shapely legs and a fully female venus mound. The small delicate hands went up to the pert little breasts. Thomas shivered. It really was true - he was a girl. He had to pull himself together, his fantasy had come true but now he was terrified and confused. He turned to the corner of the room and filled the wash basin. "Alice," came a voice from a different room. "Hurry, you mustn't be late."
    Alice washed herself, feeling the soft sensitivity of her own body. It was hard to explain how she felt as she slipped into the silky knickers and fastened her bra. She stepped almost daintily into the layers of petticoats. The mid-blue flared skirt came almost to her knees, she fastened it and drew up the zip. She pulled on the white polo-necked sweater and fastened the wide black belt around her waist. How feminine she felt as she sat among a froth of petticoats! Her legs were so silky and smooth, so unlike Thomas's. She put on the short white socks and black patent shoes with their two inch heels. Alice brushed out her long hair and moisturised her face. Walking gingerly in her shoes, and very nervous of other people's reactions, she walked into the kitchen. How gorgeous was the feel of petticoats against one's legs! "Morning Alice, did you sleep well?" asked her mother. "Exceptionally so," smiled Alice coyly. Alice's sister sat opposite her. "You look like the cat who got the cream," Shirley whispered. Alice could not tell the truth as she squirmed with delight at the feel of her clothes, and her very sex. Nothing else was said until she and her sister were walking to school. How conspicuous Alice felt. But why should she? After all, she really was a girl... "you look pretty today," said Shirley. "Thank you." "I hope you have got that stupid notion out of your head about being a boy." She looked closely at Alice. "I began to think you were cracking up." "I don't remember anything about it. Why would I ever want to be a boy?" Shirley looked puzzled. They passed several other children who said hello. Alice felt strange tinglings as she passed one boy. How handsome and strong he looked. She checked herself - she had never thought of boys in that light before. But then again, she had never been female before. The school day passed quickly and it seemed that Alice had the edge on Thomas for schoolwork. People seemed so much kinder to her. She felt totally different, more placid and prone to the giggles over things that Thomas would not have found at all amusing. As the day wore on, Alice became sure that here was the happiness she had always craved. After school some of the girls stayed to watch the boys play football - not so much for their ability as for their legs and looks. Alice nearly said that she could play better than most of them but caught her tongue in time. Perhaps she would not be so good at football anymore...  
    Shirley and Alice arrived home for tea together. She felt so confident in herself that she asked to be allowed out. "I'm sorry Alice, but it's your turn to wash up, and you also have needlework to do on your dress for your party next week," said her mother. "Anyway, you know I don't agree with you going out after dusk." Alice felt annoyed. She had never been refused when she wanted to go out in the evenings as Thomas. She helped wash the dishes, then retired to her room. Why was she suddenly so tearful? Did she miss her family? Of course she did. If only she could be Alice with them... She liked Alice's family well enough but they were not hers. Alice decided on a hot scented bath before preparing for the night. She looked once more at her naked body, before donning her panties and nightie. She curled up inside the comfortable covers of the bed, knowing that tomorrow it would be back to boring Thomas. Saturday dawned, the fanlight window let in the crisp morning air. Thomas snuggled comfortably in the warmth of the covers. He looked at Mr Jeeves and the old bear winked at him, one eye and one ear missing. "Cup of tea, sweetheart," smiled Thomas's mother putting it beside the bed. The fragrance of his mother's scent reminded him of his strange but wonderful dream. It was the same scent Alice had used. Thomas picked up the cup and a slender hand flicked back a long tress of hair. His mother's voice sounded from the kitchen. "Alice, please remember you've got ballet at nine-thirty." Thomas choked on his tea, he put the cup down and ran to the mirror - Alice looked back at him. Thomas opened the wardrobe door. Gone were all the clothes he usually wore and in their place were those a fashionable young girl should have. Ballet shoes and high heels replaced football boots and training shoes. It was as though Thomas had never been. How could it be possible, he wondered, that Alice was an accepted part of his family. What magic was afoot?
    Alice washed herself, feeling the soft sensitivity of her own body. It was hard to explain how she felt as she slipped into the silky knickers and fastened her bra. She stepped almost daintily into the layers of petticoats. The mid-blue flared skirt came almost to her knees, she fastened it and drew up the zip. She pulled on the white polo-necked sweater and fastened the wide black belt around her waist. How feminine she felt as she sat among a froth of petticoats! Her legs were so silky and smooth, so unlike Thomas's. She put on the short white socks and black patent shoes with their two inch heels. Alice brushed out her long hair and moisturised her face. Walking gingerly in her shoes, and very nervous of other people's reactions, she walked into the kitchen. How gorgeous was the feel of petticoats against one's legs! "Morning Alice, did you sleep well?" asked her mother. "Exceptionally so," smiled Alice coyly. Alice's sister sat opposite her. "You look like the cat who got the cream," Shirley whispered. Alice could not tell the truth as she squirmed with delight at the feel of her clothes, and her very sex. Nothing else was said until she and her sister were walking to school. How conspicuous Alice felt. But why should she? After all, she really was a girl... "you look pretty today," said Shirley. "Thank you." "I hope you have got that stupid notion out of your head about being a boy." She looked closely at Alice. "I began to think you were cracking up." "I don't remember anything about it. Why would I ever want to be a boy?" Shirley looked puzzled. They passed several other children who said hello. Alice felt strange tinglings as she passed one boy. How handsome and strong he looked. She checked herself - she had never thought of boys in that light before. But then again, she had never been female before. The school day passed quickly and it seemed that Alice had the edge on Thomas for schoolwork. People seemed so much kinder to her. She felt totally different, more placid and prone to the giggles over things that Thomas would not have found at all amusing. As the day wore on, Alice became sure that here was the happiness she had always craved. After school some of the girls stayed to watch the boys play football - not so much for their ability as for their legs and looks. Alice nearly said that she could play better than most of them but caught her tongue in time. Perhaps she would not be so good at football anymore...  
    Alice opened her wardrobe and a thrill ran through her as she touched the feminine finery. She dressed prettily in a leotard with a short white skirt. She put her hair in a less-than-expert ponytail and slipped on a pink woollen wrapover. Alice bubbled with excitement as she stepped into white ankle boots and picked up her ballet shoes. "Tut, Alice, let me do your ponytail," said her mother. Alice's brothers smiled and jested. It was as though Alice had always been part of the family. Even the photos dotted around had changed to show Alice instead of Thomas. "Don't forget, Graham is meeting you here after ballet," said her mother. Alice found it all a little overpowering. "She" did not even like Graham. Ballet class proved to be hard work and the mistress was not impressed by Alice's lack of attention. The trouble was, she was desperately trying to work out how all this had come about, and the only possibility she could think of was Aunt Jessica. Alice returned from ballet and changed into her prettiest pink dress. It flared from the waist, and how her petticoats swished! Her high-heeled white patent court shoes made her feel so elegant. She added blusher to her cheeks and flicked mascara onto her long lashes. She picked out her lips in pretty pink - she felt daring and crazy, yet she was a girl. The doorbell rang and Graham entered the lounge. She looked at him - how different he was, masculine and strong! She felt her nipples go react and her breasts go taut. Surely she could not fancy him, but he was sending her hormones wild. They went walking and talking. At first she resisted the arm around her waist, but eventually she gave in. It felt so reassuring and Graham was so different from how she remembered him from Thomas's point of view. When he took her into his arms and kissed her she felt unable to resist. Her mind said she shouldn't, but her weak female body failed her...
    A week later she went to Aunt Jessica's for the weekend. "Can I take your vanity case, dear," smiled Jessica. "Thank you Auntie. How pretty your garden is," remarked Alice as they sat drinking tea. "I do so like your ornaments." Alice was able to express her feelings far more easily than poor Thomas. Alice helped her Aunt in the kitchen before settling herself on the sofa. How wonderful to sit in a froth of petticoats with silk-clad legs. Thomas was becoming little more than a hazily remembered dream. As each day passed Alice felt more and more sure she had always been "Alice". Aunt Jessica looked at her and a cheeky smile crossed her face. "Well, Thomas, how do you like your new life?" she asked. Alice squirmed in her knickers, then compsed herself. "So you were behind all this?" she said. "You have your wish," smiled Jessica. "And, so far as everyone else is concerned, you've always been Alice." "But what if I wanted to become Thomas again?" asked Alice, tempting fate. Aunt Jessica looked carefully at Alice. "But you don't, do you?" "But if I did?" "It's too late, my pretty little rose, far too late." She shook her head. "This isn't Clapham Junction, you know, and you can't change as you want. Anyway, you are such a pretty girl, Alice." Alice blushed, embarrassed by her aunt's words. "Aunt, how did you know what I would choose?" "I knew for years, even before you asked for my help..." "But how did you manage it?" "That, Alice, is my secret and from what I hear you already have the young boys chasing you. It will soon seem as though you've always been Alice." "What happened to the real Alice?" Jessica laughed. "Dear girl, Shirley's sister is now Thomas in the same way that you are Alice. If I had not found someone who wanted to change places with you I could not have altered the cosmic balance. Alice always wanted to be like Thomas and you like Alice. You have your wish and Thomas his. Now concentrate on being the pretty girl of your dreams." The End

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