Want to become a woman? Magic Depot can supply a package tailored to your requirements. A would-be writer interviews an English transformee.

‘Magic Depot Changed My Life’
by kandijayne

Today I’m wearing Sally Cooper – DNA from the nearest Magic Depot superstore of course. I’m hoping that appearing as the popular newsreader will put my interviewee at ease, more than my normal male self would have done.

I have arranged to meet her in Anna Miller’s, where she works as a waitress. It’s an appropriate venue. Anna Miller’s is a restaurant that is a version of a chain of restaurants in Japan, that itself imitates western restaurants. So a fantasy at two removes. It’s light and airy, and very female and family friendly. Its pies and desserts are a speciality – totally delicious.

Miller’s management is happy for me to conduct the interview on their premises, no doubt considering that any mention of their restaurant in an article will be free publicity. I introduce myself to the manager, Mr Nakamura. All Miller’s managers are Japanese, although the waitresses are all Westerners, at least originally. I’ve already spotted one who’s wearing the DNA of a well-known (in Japan) Japanese actress.

Mr Nakamura seats me at a table for two with my back towards the window.

“I will send her to you.”

I watch her as she sashays over to my table. In her waitress uniform she can’t help but put a wiggle in her walk. But I notice how light on her feet she is, almost as if walking on air. And she really is spectacular.

Her long blonde hair, naturally wavy, is pulled back and tied off with a pink bow. The white blouse is high-necked, with a little stand-up collar and short puff sleeves. The pink skirt-apron has a bodice that comes up to immediately under the breasts, and there are two straps which go to the side of her breasts and over each shoulder to cross over at the back.

Her breasts are twin pyramids that thrust out her blouse most satisfactorily, and what makes them even more prominent is the narrowness of her waist. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so small. I looked up her measurements on the website: 41D-17-36. Can that really be right? Apparently it is.

The skirt is actually quite short, coming to no more than halfway down her thigh. All Miller’s girls have good legs, and they are covered in light tan stockings – and I know from the dress code that they are stockings and not tights, and with dead straight seams at the back. The shoes have low heels, at about two inches.

I notice her face last. It’s delicate, fine featured in a 1950s-ish, Audrey Hepburn sort of way. Oh, how clichéd is that, looking at her body first and her face afterwards? A typically male reaction, in spite of the fact that I am in a female body at the moment.

The heart-shaped name badge attached to the left shoulder strap announces her as ‘Sabrina’.

I stand up and extend my right hand across the table.

“Sabrina St Clair?”

She takes my hand in a gentle feminine gesture, and then sits in the chair across the table from me.

“It’s totally natural,” she says somewhat ruefully as she does so. “It’s not enhanced at all, this body. It’s the exact duplicate of my donor. From when she was about 20 with no medical problems, of course. We’re magical clones, that’s the way it was described to me.”

“What made you choose it?”

She laughs. “It was cheap!” Her voice is middle class southern English, more appropriate to the newsreader I’m imitating rather than the waitress/dancer I’m interviewing. But allied with her body it’s irresistibly sexy.

“I was looking for a total package from Magic Depot, but I didn’t have a lot of money. This DNA was in a sale, reduced to clear, which meant that I’d have more to devote to the rest of the package. It’s since been discontinued entirely. There won’t be any more like this.”

There must be more to it than that, but I’ll come back to it. I’m lucky that she seems ready to open up without much prompting.

“What do you know about your donor?”

“She was a starlet and glamour celebrity in the 1950s, very big in Britain and the Commonwealth, not well known in America. Very popular with men of a certain age, you know, but younger generations don’t seem to know about her. Sabrina was her stage name, but in honour of her I’ve changed my name legally. I’m now officially as well as professionally Sabrina St Clair. Oh, I think she’s still alive living in America somewhere.”

“What about the way people look at you, look at your body. Don’t you find that disconcerting?”

“Actually I quite enjoy it on the whole. Surprisingly. The way that many people, mostly men, do a sort of double take when they first meet me. The way that other men will look at my boobs first, and my waist, before they look at my face. I knew it was going to happen, of course, when I chose this body, but to experience it as reality is – well, different. But that sort of reaction gives me time, puts me at an advantage. Which I enjoy.”

“No downsides?”

“Some women will automatically hate me, which is sad, since I’m not trying to compete with them, not trying to outdo them. But what I really hate is when people think that because I look like this, I’m stupid, I’m a bimbo. That’s not true at all! That’s not me!”

“If you don’t mind I’d like to ask you about the package deal with Magic Depot. What did you go for, and why? I mean a lot of people buy DNA magic for a temporary change for various reasons, but you opted for permanent feminisation. Were you always transgender?”

She smiles, a genuine open smile. I notice her pink lipstick matches the colour of her apron.

“No, not at all. I always knew that I was male. I just didn’t like it very much. Since my early teens I’d had this yearning to be a girl, and wondered what it would be like and imagined being one. I used to pray every night when I went to bed that I’d wake up the next morning as a girl. Of course it never happened!”

She laughs, and with her the laugh is an attractive, feminine gesture. I’m guessing that she is the sort of woman who will laugh readily at a man’s jokes.

“I always worshipped women – that’s why I wanted to be one. The psychologists have got a name for it. Auto-gyno-something-or-other. I don’t feel guilty about it.”

“And the package?” I prompt gently.

“Yes, well, I wanted to be a real woman, not just a man in a woman’s body. At the same time I still wanted to be me. All my memories intact, you know? Not a total replacement of my personality. So when Magic Depot introduced their line of ‘Mix ‘n Match Spells’ that seemed to be just what I was looking for. There’s a payment plan of course. They include counselling by a trained magician-therapist, you know. If you need it.

They wanted me to take a temporary DNA body first, just to try it out to see if it was right for me. I’d never even done that before. But I wouldn’t do it. I insisted on going straight into my permanent form, with no possibility that I could revert. It seemed more ‘authentic’ somehow.”

“And was it?”

“Yes.”

“What did the package consist of, exactly?”

“As well as my body, all sorts of different psychological features I thought a woman should have. I like children a lot better now, for example, and I can communicate with them, where I couldn’t before. And I used to be a real slob as a man. My mother always had to tidy up after me when I was little. Well I asked for, and got, a real tidiness fetish. I have to keep everywhere clean now! If I see a mess I just have to tidy it up. I’m a real little housekeeper!”

“In other words not a complete personality transplant, but plenty of personality add-ons?”

“Yes, exactly! But the most important turned out to be something – a spell – called ‘poise’. I always used to be a little bit clumsy. A klutz, the Americans would say. Well now for example I can carry a full tray of food on one hand, and not spill a drop. Even if a customer pinches my bum as I go past, which hardly ever happens in Miller’s restaurants, fortunately. My body has a new sense of balance. And not just my body. Mentally as well. It was a tremendous boost to my female self-confidence.”

“And dancing – was that another spell?”

“No that came completely naturally. But I think ‘poise’ was the key that unlocked it. I now seemed to be able to find, and respond to rhythms. Or rather I was able to find the rhythm that was already inside me, and I just had to let it out. And so that’s what I did.”

“You’ve appeared in the chorus lines in several West End musicals?”

“Yes, after I got my full Equity card. I enjoyed all that work being a traditional ‘hoofer’, but Cats was my favourite. I really loved it, wearing those all-over err catsuits.”

She stifles a little laugh at her unintended pun.

“There again Magic Depot’s been a great help. With traditional materials I’d have to be careful. Things go out of shape so easily. But now they’ve introduced this new range made of magic-impregnated Lycra. Leotards, zentai suits, whatever you do the material retains its stretchiness permanently. Can you imagine that?”

“And then you went on to Burlesque Dancing?”

“I’d always been attracted to the concept, to the glamour. Appearing on stage I’d made useful contacts, and with this body clubs were keen to employ me. And I liked the artistic freedom. When you’re in a chorus you have to do what the director tells you, but in Burlesque you can work out your own routine. I felt liberated. No, really! People looking at your body, men and women, is liberating when you control how and what they’re looking at!”

“You’re now gaining quite a reputation, even though you only appear in small private clubs. ‘Second only to Dita von Teese in her artistry and sensuality’ is what a lot of connoisseurs of Burlesque have said and written about you.”

“Hey, I’ve met Dita when she was performing over here. She’s a lady, let me tell you. She has real class! Dita is someone I’ll always look up to. She gave me some good advice about always following my own ideas and not letting anyone else impose theirs on me. But I think I gave her something as well. Before she met me she was very leery about leasing a DNA sample to the magic labs. Since meeting me I know she’s reconsidered, and done it. “

Sabrina giggles like a schoolgirl. “So now all those boys who wank over her image can actually become her for a while.”

“But with all this you’re still working as a waitress?”

“I’m only part-time now. Miller’s is a good employer, and they pay good wages. They like me, and it’s a regular source of income. Burlesque, the Theatre, it’s irregular, and they don’t pay as well as people think. I need the money, quite frankly. I’m still paying off Magic Depot’s pay plan for the services they provided.”

“There’s Glamour Photography as well?”

“That’s good work if you can get it, yes.”

Sabrina’s giving nothing away here, and I should probe further, but for some reason I don’t want to. I don’t want to turn this into an expose. She’s modelled for Glamour photographs, I know. And not only Glamour; she’s done Fetish as well. I’ve seen some of them. I’ve seen some of her Bondage photos.

My two favourites are taken in the same position. She’s lying on her right side, her wrists and elbows tied behind her back with white rope, likewise her ankles and below her knees. A white scarf is dragged into her mouth and knotted behind her head as a gag. In one photo she’s wearing a white ribbed sleeveless polo-necked jumper and chequered miniskirt, and black boots. In the other photo she’s in exactly the same position and with the same bonds, but naked.

Yes, I should ask her about this, but for some reason I’m not going to. Maybe it’s because I have a female body at the moment, and have a fellow feeling with her. Sister, I don’t want to ruin this. Hah, a writer with scruples? That’s why I’ve always been a failure! Maybe it’s because I don’t want her to know that I know about those photos? Maybe it’s just because I’m soft?

“Let me ask you this,” I say. “Are you happy?”

She cocks her head on one side, considering the question.

“If you mean am I deliriously happy all of the time, then no. Like other people I have good days and bad days. We all have our ups and downs. But am I happier on the whole than I was before, then yes. I’ve never thought of happiness as something you go out and grab. I believe in doing what you have to do, and doing the best at it that you can. Then happiness comes to find you, if you’re lucky.

But if you ask did I do the right thing, then yes, absolutely! Do I have any regrets? No, not at all! Given the choice would I do the same thing over again? Again, yes!”

“I don’t want to pry,” I say, “but what about your private life?”

“I don’t have a regular boyfriend. I’ve had one-nighters, of course, but the trouble is most men are either scared of me, what I was, what I’ve become, or else they’re stupid macho jerks. I never knew before how many jerks there are out there. I never realised what women have to put up with until I became one myself.

There is Karl, of course. I see him every now and then. That’s someone I knew from before I changed. Caroline was short, dumpy and unattractive, but a genuinely sweet person inside. She’s gone the opposite route from me. Mm, Karl is deliciously strong and well set, but he’s a real sweetie, not at all macho. Whenever we see each other we hit it off. Trouble is that’s not all that often.”

The intelligent part of me is thinking that I’ve got almost enough material now, while the macho jerk part of me is thinking about those bondage photos. I try to suppress that part of me, at least until later. Later, when I can masturbate before I revert back to my male body.

“Ms St Clair, thank you for sharing these thoughts with me. Now I’d better let you get back to waitressing.”

I go to stand up. “Oh, one last thing. Have you found anything that surprised you, anything that you didn’t expect before your change?”

A faraway look comes into her eyes. “Not until recently. But recently I’ve had the feeling, been thinking, maybe it would be nice to settle down. With someone. Maybe start a family. I could, you know. We magic clones have all the internal parts in working order. I don’t see Karl often enough. More frequently would be nice, you know? It’s odd; this wasn’t part of the Magic Depot package. I don’t know where it’s come from.”

She shakes her head as if to shake herself out of this reverie.

“I’m performing at the Wig and Gown Club – you know, for lawyers? – all next week. Even if you’re not a member I can get you an invite. You could see my act live, see what all the fuss is about. It’d be nice to see you there.”

“Thanks,“ I say, “I’d like to come. I might be wearing a different body, though.”

We both laugh at that. Then we both stand up and shake hands. Sabrina St Clair walks away from me, and her back view, particularly her bottom moving inside her skirt, is almost as attractive as her front view.

I sit down again. I’ve decided I need a coffee before I leave. Another waitress, a pretty girl with an oriental body, takes my order. And as I sit sipping my coffee, I observe Sabrina serving other customers. At one point she carries a tray with a meal on it balanced on the fingers of her left hand. And she doesn’t spill a drop.

Copyright 2014