Trick of the Mind — 49 & 50 by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Written From The Heart Thanks to Wren Erendae Phoenix for editing/proofing. She reached down and kissed me before settling back onto my chest. “I love you,” she said stroking the soft lace of my nightdress. Could things get better than this?

-oOo-

Monday morning. I can't begin to tell you how much I hated Monday mornings.

Most of the students I knew had an easy start to the week, but the physics department had to show how serious they were by setting a nine o'clock lecture on Monday morning. Nothing else for the rest of the morning mind, so why on earth did they have to put the lecture first thing?

Jen didn't need to be in 'til about eleven on Monday, which I thought was reasonable. It gave you a chance to get over the hangover, to admit to yourself that the weekend was over for another five days, to let the decrepit central heating in your accommodation cough and wheeze itself into life. Not my Mondays though.

Jen usually roused with the sound of my radio alarm, even though I kept the volume down as low as I dared. I've mentioned she's a morning person, right? Still that particular Monday she did little more than squirm in her sleep, leaving me to wriggle myself and my nightdress free from under her. Somehow I managed it without waking her, then almost spoiled it all as the cold bit and I cursed under my breath. Stuffing my feet up the backsides of a couple of fluffy pink bunnies, and wrapping a thick dressing gown around me, I looked out the windows. Grey and drizzling; my legs would be icicles by the time I made it to the lecture hall, assuming they didn't shatter on the way.

I made my way across the hall to the bathroom and hoisted my nightie, sitting to go. Almost no chance of anyone leaving the toilet seat up in our houses given that I was the only guy and I preferred to sit anyway. The cold gnawed into my legs, but some things can't be rushed. I flushed the toilet and set the shower running. The first run of the day usually took a minute or two to get going, and this early, even with just the hot tap on, the ancient contraption grumbling away downstairs could only just manage bearably tepid.

I stripped off and climbed into the bath, behind the shower curtain. Was it my imagination, or was there a hint of ice in the jets of water? I gritted my teeth and did what was needed as quickly as possible. Shower over, I grabbed a towel and rubbed myself vigorously before the wintry air could I succumbed to hypothermia. Feet back into the bunny slippers, dressing gown on, I grabbed the rest of my things and dashed back across to the bedroom.

No warmer in here. I clamped my teeth together to stop them from chattering and took a fresh pairs of knickers and tights out of my drawer. It was so natural, now, to put these on, when less than a year ago I would have been too terrified to even try. Socks over the tights in case anyone was bright enough to notice the gap between my shoes and my trousers. Shit it was cold!

I opened my wardrobe and memory jumped through the cold barrier. I didn't have any of my Richard clothes; the girls had taken them all the previous day. I suppressed another expletive and looked around me on the floor. The jeans and tee shirt Jen had worn yesterday were lying in the jumble of clothes we'd been too impatient to hang up. I shook them out. Not too creased; they'd do.

I pulled them on, and went back to rummaging for a sweatshirt or something to give me that essential extra layer. It was several seconds before I realise that something was different. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror inside the wardrobe door and Yoda stared back, telling me in reversed letters what I should do with my weapon.

“I'm back.” Then again, louder, because it merited it. “Jen, I'm back.”

“Mmn, 's nice. Where you bin?” She rolled onto her back, half lidded eyes unfocused.

“No, I mean my clothes. Jen, I'm not wearing a dress.”

“I know,” she murmured through her drowsy haze. “'S Monday. You gotta wear trousers.”

“But that's what I'm saying. I'm wearing jeans, and they're still jeans.”

It still took time, but the meaning of my jumbled words penetrated and was suddenly sat bolt upright.

“Oh, my.”

“Isn't it great?”

“Yeah, except I was thinking about... I'm going to be walking like a cowboy today.” she looked down at her nether regions, stroking her hips and trying to push them back together.

“Are you alright?”

“A bit sore, but in a good way, don't worry. You're... You actually see yourself in your clothes?”

“Yeah, I mean how on earth?”

“Well, you did kind of get into yesterday didn't you?” She pushed a mountain of hair out of her face. She didn't look like she was fully functional yet, but her brain was already working better than mine.”

“You have no idea how yesterday affected me. Seeing you lot dressed in my clothes was... was...”

“Breathtaking?”

“Shit. You're right.”

“Aren't you cold?” she asked, looking at me. There were definite signs of goose pimples growing on my hairless arms.

“A bit. I was looking for a sweatshirt or something when I realised. Jen I'm actually wearing jeans!” I couldn't help the excitement I felt and pulled her into a bear hug. “Can you even begin to imagine how good this feels after, what, nine, ten months?”

She hugged me back, but it was sleep deprived and half-hearted. I left her to her lie-in, eventually finding an old sweater in one of the dresser drawers.

I pulled it on and felt the familiar shimmer as reality shifted. The sweater was pink now, with cute little bobbles attached, and the jeans were gone, replaced by a short denim skirt and pink, woollen tights.

“Shit.” I slumped down onto the bed.

“You're saying that a lot this morning.” There was a petulant edge to Jen's voice, then again I wasn't letting her go back to sleep.

“It all just changed. I put this sodding sweater on and now I'm wearing pink.”

“No more jeans?”

“Well, A denim miniskirt.”

“Ooh, you are going to freeze.” Was that an edge of satisfaction in her voice?

“No, I have pink woollen tights on.”

My despondent tone penetrated her haze. She sat up in the bed and put an arm around me.

“It's a start, Rich. It may not be a giant leap, but it's still a small step in the right direction. You can't expect an instant cure you know?

“Look, you've got to go. We'll talk about this more later, OK?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” I gave her a kiss and grabbed my books. I had just enough time to toast and butter some bread before heading out.

I moped through the day. In part it was missing that first coffee of the morning, but most of it, I knew, was having my hopes raised like that then crushed just as quickly. The woollen tights weren't a bad protection against the cold, but they still didn't seem to keep me as warm as my jeans should have.

At the end of the day, Jen came and found me in the library as usual. I'd spent a couple of hours staring at the same page in a textbook. It wasn't that my mind was wandering so much as it was stuck. One question sat at the front of my brain, and no answer presented itself. Not even the beginning of an answer.

Jen closed my book and put it into my bag. “Come on beautiful, let's go do some experiments.”

How does Jen know how to push my buttons so well? Calling me beautiful drew Rachael to the surface, which helped me feel OK in the clothes, even if they weren't real. It kicked me out of my fug enough that I noticed she was walking a little differently.

“Are you sure you're OK? I mean I didn't break anything last night did I?”

She leaned into my side, snaking an arm around my waist. “I'm fine, just a little sore is all.” She patted her bag. “I bought some more thingies in case you fancy trying again later.”

“When you're ready,” I said worried about what I'd already done to her. She tightened her arm around me into an appreciative squeeze.

Back home the curtains were closed, so we went straight in and up to our room. Well technically her room, but you know what I mean? I undressed down to knickers and tights, strapped myself into a bra, suitably filled with silicon rubber, then slipped on a shortish jersey dress. Let's face it, most of my wardrobe is shortish. I needed to go shopping with Helen sometime.

Jen undressed too, ignoring my curious look until she was down to her underwear, at which point she turned to me.

“So what do you plan to wear tomorrow?”

I shrugged, non-committal, more depressed than I had felt in a long time.

“Well the jeans should do you another day or two,” she said picking them off the floor where I'd dumped them and laying them on the bed. “How about your Rush tee shirt?”

I shrugged again, then managed a nod when she glowered at me in exasperation.

She pulled the Jeans and tee shirt on. “I think we'll put this thing away.” She picked up the sweater that had precipitated the morning's delayed change and stuffed it back in the drawer. “Carla was wearing one of your sweatshirts wasn't she? That do you for tomorrow?”

I shrug/nodded again and Jen marched across to Carla's room. She knocked and entered when there was no immediate answer.

Carla was something of a slob, so the mayhem wasn't unexpected. We found my jeans and sweatshirt on top of one of her heaps of clothing. Jen threw the jeans at me and pulled the sweatshirt on. Yet again there was something seriously alluring about her wearing my clothing. She was a bit slimmer than me and no more than an inch shorter, and she looked amazing in my bulky blokewear. It didn't take long for an unsightly bulge to push its way out the front of my dress.

“You're going to have to wear something with a fuller skirt,” Jen said. “I think this has a better chance of working if we keep you wanting.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I followed her obediently back to out room. Nothing I had quite hid the bulge, so in the end I borrowed a flared skirt and blouse from her.

The rest of the girls were back in their own clothes, promising me my stuff back once they'd run it through the wash. They gave Jen 's choice of dress a few odd looks, but she wasn't about to jinx things by explaining her plan before seeing if it worked. She kind of played up to me throughout the evening, and took me off to bed early, where she pushed me back onto the bed and climbed on top of me. Evidently she wasn't that sore as she proceeded to take us both to new heights of delight.

She had never seemed more beautiful.

-oOo-

The next morning was a slow start for both of us. Jen had a lecture at ten, and I had practical starting at ten thirty. Usually we'd get ready and walk in together, and today was to be no different. We'd both slept the night through in our underwear, skin to skin and revelling in the closeness, at least until nine o'clock when Jen kicked me out of bed to get washed and dressed first.

As before, I put on a fresh pair of knickers and tights. As before I pulled on my clothes over the top. A hint of Jen's scent in the sweatshirt left me feeling soft and squishy inside, and as before, nothing changed. Even when I pulled the sweatshirt on.

Jen came back from the bathroom and raised her eyebrows at me expectantly.

“You're a genius Jen.”

She ran over and hugged me, smiling up into my face, and sharing my delight. Questions filled my brain.

“So, do you mean to say that all along, all we needed was to dress you up in my stuff?”

“No, I don't think so.” She separated from me and set about climbing into her own clothes. “I think you had to be ready before this would work.”

“Ready? How?”

“Well... Think back to the when this all started. Imagine if I'd put on your jeans and tee shirt then, would you have found me as enticing?”

“No, I guess not.” This was confusing.

“You had to change Richard. Ironically, I think your time in the loony bin might have been what provided the push. I mean, you said yourself that afterwards your subconscious was a lot more subdued.”

“Yeah, I mean still pretty dresses, but nothing so sexy or revealing.”

“Your mind needed to feel safe so it chose long dresses over short, but it did more than that. Sexy, short dresses are more a man's fantasy than a woman's. I mean don't get me wrong, they still make us feel deliciously desirable, but the first time any of us put on a dress like Riana's pink number yesterday, we all felt a little uncomfortable. The short skirts and plunging necklines are mainly for the benefit of our male audience. I mean think about the first time you wore something short and slinky, remember how exposed it made you feel.

“After what Dr Finster did to you, you started seeing things more like a girl. His mistreatment made you feel powerless and vulnerable, so your mind started dressing you as a beautiful woman rather than a randy man's sex object. And because we're more influenced by the things that we wear than we'd like to admit, that started you feeling more like a woman too.”

“Yeah, I'm not convinced.”

“Well, think about the way you've been with us girls since we got back. Think about that thing down at the pub. You know we only accepted you as one of us girls because that's what we saw. Not just because you make one hot chick, but because it showed in your mannerisms, the way you spoke, and more than anything, the way you acted. You've been more empathic, more emotional, more girly. I mean even that thing you said about going for Pete if you actually turned into a girl.”

“Shit, you're right, aren't you?”

“So now you're thinking and feeling more like a girl — even if it is the girl inside the guy — you're ready, just about, to see and appreciate what girls see in guys, and way more than ready to see what the girl in you sees in us girls dressing and acting as guys. The whole thing turns around and suddenly, to the girl inside you, the hottest thing another girl can be is like a man. That's why you had that massive, er, reaction to us yesterday. That's why you're all hot for me now that I'm wearing your clothes. Hot enough to twist that hypnotic suggestion right round.”

She laughed at some new realisation.

“What?”

“Nothing. No, a couple of things. First, in order to get you back in men's clothing, you're going to have to keep that girly part of you near the surface. Become more of a woman in order to live like a man, I mean you gotta love the irony. It's a good job I like Rachael as much as I love you.”

“And the other thing?”

“I was just thinking how far I've come through all this. You know I was shocked and a little upset when I first figured out that you were a cross dresser, and now you've gone and turned me into one too.”

-oOo-

For the first time in nearly a year, I walked around the university enjoying the feeling of trousers. I was Richard again, completely Richard. No brainfritz changing the way I looked, no dresses, no skirts. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I was back.

Jen warned me not to get my hopes too high, that we had found a dent in the armour of my rebel brain, but it might well find a way to fight back. She was right of course. Through the day, I managed to keep myself focused on my work, or upon Jen wearing her own sweatshirt and jeans, and that may have helped. As we walked home though, we passed a charity shop with a mannequin dressed in a short, fur-lined Miss Santa costume, complete with hat and short cape. Reality blurred and suddenly my legs were cold again.

Jen noticed the change. Not in the clothes of course, but in the way I stiffened, then stood very slightly differently. She gave me a sympathy hug then dragged me into the shop.

“How much for the Miss Santa costume?”

It was affordable, so Jen bought it. The tights it came with were quite thin, so I was preoccupied with my cold legs during the rest of the walk home, but once we were finally back in the warm, I asked her why she'd bought it.

“Well for one, I figured it would be one less thing to trigger your hypnotism if it wasn't in the window any longer. For another, I just have to see what you look like in it.”

And with that, she dragged me upstairs to change.

-oOo-

It wasn't a miracle cure, but as time passed, it worked better. Sunday through Thursday, as soon as we got home, Jen would dress in the clothes I planned to wear the following day. Most days it worked for most or at least some of the day, right up until I caught sight of some girl looking particularly good. Other days nothing would turn me on as much as the memory of Jen in my clothes and I'd last the day out. Friday and Saturday evenings Jen refused to wear my clothes though, and if anything went to some lengths to look as feminine as she could.

It was largely about keeping me as Rachael when I was home. During the week , I quite often stayed out and met Jen in the student union, or some pub somewhere, all to extend the feeling of being me again, but she still seemed to want Rachael around, as did the girls. If nothing else, it avoided awkward questions from the landlord.

The Christmas break came a couple of weeks after the breakthrough and Jen and I headed our separate ways. We both wanted to spend Christmas together, but her parents were expecting her, plus her brother was going to be home, and I could hardly leave Alice on her own. Parting was painful, but at least I climbed onto the train wearing chinos and a shirt as much in my mind as in reality.

My bag held a mixture of his and hers clothes, including the Miss Santa costume, so that I could be Rachael or Richard to suit my whim — or my sister's. I also had digital photos and several digital videos of Jen posing in all of my male clothing. We weren't sure if they would work, but I had few alternatives with Jen at the opposite end of the country.

It was odd, not having Dad meet me at the station, but with both car and Dad locked away, I had no choice but to finish the journey home on the bus.

Alice met me at the front door.

“Hey, bro. You look different. Sort of less girly.”

I wrapped my arms around her. Trust her to pick up on things so quickly, or had Jen been texting her?

“That's what not wearing a dress will do for you.” I replied dutifully, searching for any sign of a false reaction. Yeah Jen had told her, and yeah I was getting this woman's intuition thing down pat. I gave her the official version of our discovery anyway and her eyes widened with reasonably convincing delight. She threw her arms around me crushed me in a renewed embrace.

“Does that mean I'm stuck with you for Christmas?”

“That's up to you, and maybe a few other factors. If you want Rachael around, I don't mind.”

“Well I'm not buying Christmas presents for both of you, so you'd better make your mind up who wants to be on the receiving end.”

“Surprise me.”

“I will then. Just as well, since I've already bought your presents.”

She helped me unpack, approving of the mix of clothes and pausing to hold the Miss Santa costume up against me.

“I think I know who I want to visit on Christmas day,” she said. “We're not going to be able to get to Mum or Dad on the twenty fifth anyway — transport problems. Uncle Stan has offered to come over after Boxing Day to drive us around, but he can't make it before due to commitments with the panto.”

“He's not...”

“No. He's playing Captain Hook, but you never know what might happen in the future.”

That evening, I spent an hour looking at pictures and videos of Jen wearing my chinos with a blue shirt. Trying to focus on how gorgeous she looked. I mean she looked stunning in anything, even that sack of a dress her Gran had given her, but that wasn't the purpose of the exercise.

The next morning, I stood contentedly in front of the mirror, admiring myself in the exact same clothes I'd put on. This really was going to work.

It lasted until I made it downstairs. Alice was wearing a very mature and elegant wool dress in bright blue. She looked... well breathtaking. Enough so that my mind decided to see what I would look in the same thing.

“What?” Alice asked as she saw my expression droop.

I told her and she laughed.

“Go and get changed then. Be Rachael for the day; I want to spend time with her in any case. I promise I'll wear jeans tomorrow.”

And so that's what we did. Alice had control over how I saw myself, but she didn't abuse it. I got to spend Christmas Eve with her in full Richard mode, then much to the delight and enjoyment of both of us, Rachael turned up for Christmas Day wearing the Miss Santa outfit. Just as well too, since the presents were for her and not Richard. Gold earrings and a matching chain, perfume and a wool dress to match the one she'd worn the day after I'd arrived. That of course decided what we both wore on Boxing Day.

My presents for her weren't quite so lavish, but then she was getting a generous allowance from Dad, while I was struggling not to extend my student loan too much. The gift she loved most was a double frame I'd found in a charity shop. In it I'd put photographs of me as Richard and as Rachael. She kept staring at it throughout the day, shaking her head.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I asked her.

“Can't you see it?”

My turn to shake my head.

“You can see they're the same person, but one is definitely a man, while the other is definitely a woman. I don't know how that can be.”

I looked more closely. Yeah, I guess I could see what she was saying.

“Neither do I.” I handed the frame back to her and picked up my glass of wine. “I suppose it's that I'm both, but not at the same time. One has to submerge for the other to come to the surface.”

“And the clothes help?”

“Yeah, they sort of provide a handhold to help one or the other of me climb up into the daylight.”

“So the hypnotism thing is just getting in the way of Richard coming out.”

“It makes it harder. I have to keep telling myself I'm not really wearing a dress, that I'm really a guy. In a way it's been good, because I really squashed the girl side of me before all this happened, and being forced into this mode has pushed the Richard in me to the back and given her space to grow and take her place in who I am. I just wish it would stop now though, because now it's the Richard side of me that's being crushed.”

“Hopefully not for much longer though, if this idea of Jen's works.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” I didn't want to think about it. Time to change the subject. “So how's Mum getting on?”

-oOo-

It was late when we went to bed that night, which meant I didn't get as long looking at pictures of Jen. Actually I fell asleep with one of the videos playing, and ended up in a dream where Jen and I were walking in the woods near her home, only she was dressed in my chinos and a smart shirt, and I was wearing the white dress I'd bought her at Easter. In the dream she sat me down on a bench in dappled sunlight, and went down on one knee. She pulled a small box from her trouser pocket and stared deep into my eyes.

“Rachael,” she said in an oddly gruff voice, “will you marry me?”

The ring was a simple band of gold, twisting apart slightly and wrapped around a sapphire the colour of her eyes. The sunlight sparkled on it so brightly that it woke me up. I looked over her pictures one more time, then shut the computer down and climbed into bed properly.

Next day my chinos and white shirt remained the same after I put them on and lasted through the day. I looked and felt like Richard when Uncle Stan took us to see Mum. She pursed her lips at the sight of me, but when my uncle put his arm on my shoulder and smiled, she relented somewhat. It takes time and effort to lose habits that you've built up over years, so I hadn't expected major changes.

“At least you're not wearing a dress this time,” she said to me, and actually let me kiss her cheek without flinching. Maybe last time she'd seen something in the way I had been standing. Maybe she really could see when I thought I was wearing women's clothes.

The visit wasn't the most enjoyable, Mum still managing to make me feel uncomfortable, but the change in her was noticeable and encouraging.

The afternoon visit to Dad was equally odd, but easier than my time with Mum. There was a look of genuine relief in his eyes when he greeted us in the visitors' room.

“I was worried you might actually come in a dress after what you said last time.” He said as he shook my hand.

“You know I still do that, don't you Dad?” It wasn't, perhaps, the wisest opening gambit, but I wasn't going to hide this anymore. If he still had trouble with it, then we as a family had to face up to the consequences, whatever they might be.

His eyes clouded a little, and he dropped his gaze. “I thought that might be the case. I suppose I'm just going to have to get used to it then aren't I?” The smile was more than a little forced, but it was gesture. “I am still worried about your mother though.”

“Mum doesn't need to know. Not unless or until she recovers. I don't mean to ram this in your face, Dad; it's not some ultimatum, 'accept me like this or else'. It's just that this is a part of me that I can't deny, and I can't live with you denying as well. Not for ever anyway.”

He nodded his head. “Then I suppose I shall have to meet this female side of you sometime. It worries me though, I mean if anyone here saw you and suspected you were a man...”

“You don't need worry Dad,” Alice said leaning on my shoulder. “Rachael is all girl. No-one will see anything of Richard.”

“Maybe next time then, if you're sure.” He still didn't seem that comfortable with the idea.

“I'll check with you before we come next time,” I said. “If you change your mind...”

“You have to understand how difficult this is for me, Richard. I've been reading through all the notes and books that Alice has sent me — well you know that anyway from my emails — and whilst I can see her point, I still feel that the Bible is more than just a guidebook. Jesus said the law wouldn't pass away until it was fulfilled, which leads me to believe that what the Bible says gives us something to which we should aspire.

“I suppose I'm not comfortable enough with the idea of putting aside all the teaching and relying entirely on this relationship with God thing. The two going hand in hand I can accept, and even the idea that the law isn't perfect, except in that it shows us where we all fall short of God's standards.”

“You still think what I'm doing is wrong, don't you?” I tried to keep my tone calm. My dad had been reasonable through all of this, but then I suppose I had my own habits and expectations. Dad had always been so bloody minded and mulish in the past and I still expected the same from him.

“There is that passage in Deuteronomy...”

“What, the one next to the bit about putting a parapet around the roof of your house and not wearing mixed fibres in clothing?” I'd done a bit of reading since my chat with Pastor Mike.

He sighed. “You're right, we choose and ignore laws to suit our fancy, and it's true that a lot of the old laws probably no longer apply. I should understand what it is I'm objecting to before I do so, but I can't help feeling uncomfortable with it. I mean your mother doesn't wear trousers, you can understand why we would rather you didn't wear dresses.”

“And yet you allow Alice to wear jeans and trousers without passing judgement.”

“And again you're right. Another double standard.” He shook his head sadly. He sagged a little each time. This wasn't like my Dad to give in so easily. I hoped it was that he was better at seeing my point of view than that he'd lost his spirit to stand up for his beliefs. Then he straightened and managed a genuine, if weak, smile.

“If there is one thing I have learnt and wholeheartedly embraced since Alice started providing me with reading material, it's that nothing is so important that we should ostracise you in the way we have been. I feel so wretched about the way we have treated you, Richard. Me especially. I think we owe you — certainly I owe you — the freedom to make your own decisions. You are an adult after all and, if present circumstance is any indicator, one who's making a better show of things than his old man.

“Whatever happens, son, however you decided to live your life, you'll always have a welcome at home.”

-oOo-

I was to head up to Jen's just before New Year, which gave me a few days to hit the sales with Alice. She used up some of her allowance extending Rachael's wardrobe, something I accepted with the best grace I could manage. I hated being given things with no way of giving back, especially by my younger sister. She proposed a Talbot's inspired fashion show when we got home, which I agreed to even though it felt like it didn't so much as scratch the surface of her gift. Still the trips into town did get me started on a new quest. I didn't find what I was looking for, but I did find where it wasn't.

New Year was a blast, even if I had to sleep on a camp bed in the spare room; even if I had to stay as Richard all the time. Jen's brother, Justin, was a real neat guy, and welcomed me unreservedly, telling me that if Jen thought I was OK, then I must be. I managed to stay in full Richard mode for several days, right up until the New Year’s party when Jen turned up in something long and strapless made from midnight and sequins. Not having the same natural assets Jen had, I spent most of the two hours running up to the countdown with my arms clamped firmly to my sides.

Jen noticed and twigged what was going on. She pulled me out on the dance floor and held my arms up and away from the body. The dress stayed up; apparently my subconscious was in denial about the whole gravity thing. Somehow Jen had figured it all out, right down to my virtual dress staying up without support, and I spent the last ten minutes leading up to the New Year staring at her smug little grin. This kiss at midnight made up for it though.

She took pity on me and stayed in jeans for the rest of the holiday. I got a few odd looks from her friends when she introduced me to them. Most of them just accepted there was an uncanny resemblance between me and that girl who had visited over the summer, but we'd probably have to let them — at least some of them — in on the secret sometime, but not just yet.

We managed a bit more shopping before heading back to our studies. I even escaped from Jen for long enough to continue my search for what I wanted. Still no luck though.

Back at university, we settled into the routine of Jen wearing my clothes the evening before I needed them. The girls mixed things up by joining in from time to time, and I expanded my wardrobe of men's clothes, choosing stuff, not only by what I thought would look good on me, but by what would look good on the girls, and Jen in particular.

I was still happy to be Rachael in the evenings and weekends, and it was as Rachael — temporarily separated from the rest of the girls during one of our weekend shopping sprees — that I finally found the shop I was looking for. I had to arrange to go back on my own for an unhurried look through his stock, then I was told what I wanted would take a month to put together. I also had to take out a significant extension on my student loan, but it was going to be worth it, I hoped.

-oOo-

It was Sunday morning. Jen was up and sorting out breakfast while I showered. I took me a bit longer than usual since, instead of putting on my usual Sunday frock, I went through all the rigmarole of removing and cleaning my boobs, then dressing in smart trousers and a jacket — no tie though, never a tie if I could help it.

“Oh!” Jen managed, somewhat surprised to see me down the stairs en homme. “What happened?”

“I was hoping we could go for a walk this morning.” It was crisp outside, frost so thick it looked like snow. “I thought it was a little cold for skirts.”

“OK, where were you thinking?”

“Down by the river?” It was kind of secluded. One part we avoided since the druggies used it and it was unpleasant, not to say dangerous, picking your way through the long grass, looking out for used syringes. The other part was lined with boats, some of which were inhabited all year round, making the place less attractive for nefarious goings on. There was a decent pub that way too. “I thought we might have lunch out.”

“Sounds good. I'll tell the others, shall I?”

“Actually, I was hoping that we could do this with just the two of us.”

“Yeah, sure.” She was picking up the vibe, which was hardly surprising as I was quivering so much inside, something must have been humming.

We finished breakfast and headed out hand in hand. The river wasn't too great a distance, and we turned down the boat-lined towpath.

“This makes a nice change;” Jen said grasping me by the elbow, “just the two of us. What made you think of it?”

There was a spot ahead with a bench sheltered by trees. We weren't quite there yet.

“Oh, I don't know. I enjoy being with the others and doing girl stuff together, but sometimes the Richard in me feels a little bit neglected.”

“Well, we don't want that do we? I guess I feel the same sometimes. You know we pretty much only see each other on campus and in bed. This is nice. We should do it more often.”

Not this. I only ever want to do this the once. Bench in sight.

“Sit down a minute, please Jen. There's something I want to say.”

“OK.” She gave me a nervous look as she settled onto the seat.

Heart hammering in my chest, mouth dry, knees turning to jelly so much so that I collapsed more than descended onto one of them. I pulled a small box out of my jacket pocket and looked down at a single oval sapphire embraced by a split band of gold.

“Jen,” I could hardly breathe. Still, too late now; have to see it through. “Will you marry me?”

-oOo-

Now that would have been a great cliff-hanger, had I been writing a book, but then I doubt the outcome would have been much of a surprise. Except it was to me in that Jen nearly launched us both into the river. Fortunately I managed to keep my balance and my hold on the ring.

It fit, of course, perfectly. One of the advantage of having a half dozen girl friends is that they are quite delighted to be inveigled into a secret plot such as this and, while the ring was still being made, they had dragged Jen and me into jewellery shop on one of our shopping expeditions, where we'd all taken advantage of the the free finger measuring service. Just for a laugh you understand?.

Jen and I did have lunch out, but not before she had taken a photo of the ring on her finger and sent it to the girls back home. This resulted in a group phone call consisting of squeals designed to send the local dogs and bats scurrying for cover.

“It's the exact colour of your eyes,” Becky remarked of the sapphire later, once we made it home. “Richard, you are such a soppy romantic.”

I managed to stay as Richard that evening, but a celebration was called for and, since the girls wanted to do it right, I had no choice but to go as Rachael. I mean I could have put on a suit, but with seven assorted posh frocks to choose, it wouldn't have lasted the the front door.

Jen and I discussed matters, and both agreed that the wedding should be put off until after graduation. Mr and Mrs T were delighted, and even my Mum and Dad managed to show some pleasure. I don't need to tell you how Alice reacted do I?

We set the date for early August after we finished at university, which gave the Talbots over a year and half to plan things. I wasn't sure it would be fair on Jen to have one big day so soon after another, but she insisted it would be alright. Our finals would be finished by the end of May so she'd have two months to muck up her mum's plans.

The year and a half went slowly. I remained Rachael on evenings and weekends, even in my third year when the girls — Jen included — insisted that we stay together through the final year. Oddly enough no-one suspected a thing through all that time. Richard's was a face everyone knew around campus, but people just assumed I had become a recluse after Dave and I fell out. Rachael's face was equally well known around town by shopkeepers, restaurateurs and pub landlords alike for the serious partying that our gang of eight indulged in. Somehow, God or fate or someone smiled on us and nobody connected the two.

At one stage, there was a rumour that Jen and I were lesbians, but that was more jealous spite from guys who wanted us to date them and couldn't convince us. I maintained that I was happily involved with someone back home and unlikely to change my mind, while Jen just flashed her ring. Eventually the rumour subsided.

We both graduated with two-ones's, but then firsts are for people who don't have a social life. Actually, that's unfair, firsts are for those who are prepared to put in that extra work and sacrifice their social lives. While Jen and I were serious about our studies, having fun featured high on the agenda too. On the plus side, the class action was successful and my payout easily cleared both Jen's and my student loans. I offered to pay something towards the wedding, but Mr T would have none of it, suggesting it would be better used buying a house.

-oOo-

Which bring us up to date. And here I am standing at the front of a church wearing a penguin suit with starched collar and tie. Not my choice. Not Jen's even, but rather an agreement between her parents and mine. I glance behind me at Mum and Dad who are both smiling proudly. The last couple of years have done both of them good. Dad's new business is working out better than he expected, and Mum has even found a way to let go of her bitterness and resentment, largely thanks to Uncle Stan's influence. He still hasn't gone so far as to put on a dress himself, but this year they're talking about doing Mother Goose, so who knows?

“Hold it together Rabbit,” Dave murmurs in my ear. “Only a couple more hours and you'll be shackled for life.” His sense of humour hasn't improved much, but he's still a good friend and the only one I would consider for best man. He managed a two-two in his degree, which he attributes way too much to the help I gave him with his maths.

The organ hits a long chord, then starts into 'here comes the bride, all fat and wide.' Not the least bit appropriate in Jen's case, but yet again, one of those compromises to please the more traditional family members.

I can't help myself. I turn to see Mr Talbot, so swelled with pride he looks ready to explode, and on his arm...

We've become so good at the Jen wearing my clothes the evening before thing that it's been over a year since I last felt reality shift. I still dress as Rachael, regularly and with Jen's blessing — no, make that encouragement. “She's a part of you,” she says, “so that makes her a part of us too.” I had hoped that the whole hypnotism ride was over, but the familiar blurring of awareness tells me otherwise. Not that I'm going to complain this time, though. My tie and collar fade to be replaced by a low and very open neckline. By the time Mr T hands Jen to my care, I'm wearing the twin of her dress. Embroidered silk feels so good, and I can even feel the pinch of garters against my stocking clad thighs.

Alice is a maiden of honour — no surprise there — along with two of Jen's old friends from church as bridesmaids. We did consider inviting our six house mates into that role, but agreed it would be a poor show if there were more bridesmaids than congregation. Exaggeration, but point made I think. They're all in the crowd somewhere, some with plus ones, others not currently entangled.

Jen gives me a knowing look, eyebrow raised Mr Spock style. I shrug and lean towards her.

“Everything but the bouquet,” I whisper to her, luxuriating in the feel of my virtual dress.

“Wait 'til tonight. I have something very special for us both to wear.”

Pastor Mike coughs politely and we turn towards him to seal the deal.

-Fin-