Weddings
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Wedding Number One

“Come on, it will be fun,” Maggie McMullen said. “It will be them against us. The McMullen ladies against the Cavendish gentlemen.”

“You have to see how crazy this is,” said Rory. “Why the hell does Charlie want us to turn up to your wedding in wigs and frocks?”

“Its Charles,” his mother corrected him, “And you won’t be wearing wigs. He is paying for the works, for the whole bridal party. In fact, he is paying for the whole wedding. And what he has told me are very expensive gifts for you. He just wants his sons on his side of the ceremony and girls on my side – not five men and a bride. He is most particular about it. And I want what he wants.”

Maggie could be firm, and she was now. But with them, she did not need to be. They would do whatever she asked. Life had been tough since their father Paddy McMullen died, and nobody could have been a better mother to both of them than Maggie. They worshipped her, and with good reason.

She deserved to be happy, but both Rory and Declan worried that Charles Cavendish was not the right man. He was strange, and so were his two sons. But he was rich too, and he had declared his love of their mother many times. If it was genuine, she would be happy. If it was not, then both of the brothers had determined that they would be there to put things right.

If that meant living in his household and working for his company, then that is what they would do. At least for the time being.

Living in the same house was not a problem. The Cavendish Estate was huge, and Rory and Declan could share a self-contained apartment on the north wing of the main house. And working in his business was not a problem either, as the office jobs they both had were well paid and interesting without being onerous. No, the only problem was that both of the boys found themselves too compromised to refuse this outrageous plan for their mother’s wedding.

But it was hard not to get caught up in her excitement. As the day drew closer it became clearer to them both, that they were expected to do more that dress up for the day. They had specific roles to play and would need to be able to behave as they appeared – two pretty young bridesmaids attending their mother. That meant instruction by the wedding planner well in advance.

“How am I expected to make you into bridesmaids!” The wedding planner was clearly exasperated, but she knew which buttons to push. “If you can’t get this right, the wedding will be a disaster and you will be to blame!”

“We can’t let that happen,” said Declan. “This is not us, but we will just have to put in the effort.”

Charles gave them a whole day off work to attend a spa for a full treatment, and told them that they could turn up to work the following day “in appropriate daywear that I can provide.”

As it turned out, the spa was well prepared to receive the boys, but had no intention of seeing any boys leave. While they were totally unaware of it, the first part of the treatment was an effective sedative which left them conscious but oblivious to pain. They could then be subjected to radical depilation and skin treatments, plus a couple of injections designed to curb their masculinity.

The sedative was beginning to wear off as they sat side by side in the spa’s hair salon, having their new tresses curled and styled.

“Look at you, Rory,” said Declan, admiring his brother’s new hair. His own hair was longer and blonde, with wispy bangs in front.

“I am to supply you with something suitable for work for the next few days,” said the stylist. “But remember, you have a hen’s night on Thursday, so you will need an evening look for that. Come back after work Thursday and I will fix you up. Daddy is paying for everything.”

They were still a little unsteady on their feet when they asked for their original clothes. They had been in spa robes all day.

“On instruction we have destroyed those old things,” said the spa hostess. “I have some nice dresses which you can wear tomorrow, and different outfits for other days. And then on Friday we will have the final fitting for your bridesmaid dresses at the wedding planner’s salon. You must be so excited.”

The boys just looked at one another. Perhaps it was the residue of the drugs. Perhaps they were still thinking of their mother’s special day. Or perhaps they were just resigned to their fate. They both shrugged their shoulders and zipped one another into their dresses.

For the morning, their clothes included figure forming underwear, giving them bust and butt, and some narrowing in the waist. Both of their dresses were figure hugging but in very different styles. The boys laughed as they dressed, even doing catwalk steps across the room, and flicking their new hair about.

“I suppose we need to put on mascara and lipstick, and stuff like that,” said Rory. After a few attempts alone, they tried to do one another’s before deciding to seek their mother’s assistance.

When she saw them, their mother burst into tears: “You both look so beautiful,” she said. “And you did this for me. For me and Charles. Of course, I will help you, but I had better show you how to do it yourselves. You will need to be able to freshen up during the course of the day.”

Their shoes had what is called “a sensible heel”, but their mother warned them that for the wedding on Saturday, they would be wearing something higher. To pull it off they would need to put in some practice, and then go up a size tomorrow.

Clearly, at the office, all the staff had been warned that Declan and Rory would be turning up in drag. But they all seemed a bit confused. It hardly seemed possible that these two young women were the wastrels adopted by their boss Charles Cavendish. There was a lot of staring and gaping, so Rory and Declan played to the crowd, crossing their smooth legs suggestively, and checking their hair and makeup, just for show.

Instead of surfing through the luxury yacht sites that he enjoyed so much, Rory found himself looking at women’s clothes on line. Declan looked at some hairstyle sites and then googled “The Best Hens’ Party”. He had just learned that they were not invited to Charlie’s stag party on the same night, so he was keen to make sure that the girls (including himself) had a good time.

“Why don’t you girls go to the spa hair salon on Thursday morning,” Charles said to them. “My treat. We all want to ensure you look your best when you go out in the evening. I wouldn’t want anybody thinking that you were trannies on the loose. You could get hurt.”

Both Declan and Rory suddenly felt rather vulnerable. At the office they were safe, but out on the town? Two boys dressed as girls? Charles was right. There best protection was that nobody should know that they were really boys. With the other girls around them they would blend in.

So, they took up the offer, and had their hair put up for the day. It was a good look for the office and made them look so totally female in the evening, as it was clearly their hair on display.

Their mother’s best friend was the official bridesmaid in charge of the evening’s entertainment, but Declan and Rory were expected to play a major role.

“Before we start,” began their mother, “we need to give you names to fit. Your father was passionately Irish, so we will stick with that theme - Rhianna and Dervla!”

Everybody applauded. They both approved. For the time being, until after the wedding, Declan would be Dervla, and Rory would be Rhianna.

The boys surprised themselves by having a really good time. Of course they went to the male strip show with the whole group, and cheered the guys on to “the full monty”. They did the karaoke, doing as best as they could with flalsetto versions of “Stand by Your Man” and “Man, I feel like a Woman”. They lined up with all the other girls for the tequila shots. And that, as they say, was all she wrote.

It must have been a roofie in the drinks. There was no other explanation for a sleep so deep that the boys were able to go under the surgeon’s knife and wake up the next morning with breasts.

“Don’t worry, its reversible,” their mother chided. “It is just that with these bridesmaid’s outfits falsies simply will not work. See what I mean.”

The dresses were red figure-hugging halter necks with plunging fronts and no backs. The breasts would need to be able to fill the front and could only be supported by stuck on cups. She was right, but that did not make it any easier for them. Still, all the protests would have to wait. With only days to the wedding they had been fitted to the dresses rather than the other way around. The scars underneath the breasts would not be visible.

There was waxing to be done, and facials, and hair treatments, all well in advance of the day itself. Then there was the rehearsal. And throughout all of this they had the responsibility of being there for their mother while her excitement Grew. It was hard not to get caught up in it all.

Before very long, the day was upon them. And it was to be a morning of beautification for the entire bridal party. There was a manicure, a pedicure, makeup on the face and the exposed upper body, and hair styling. Again, they were caught up in their mother’s excitement and enthusiasm. Many times their mother said how lucky she was to have two sons who were happy to be her daughters for the occasion.

In that whirlwind the ceremony itself seemed to be over in moments, and the official photographer not only did all the official shots but spent time on photographing just the McMullen sisters. He told them that they were bold fashion model material. Despite their odd situation, who would not be flatered to be told that.

By the time that they glided into the reception, Rhianna and Dervla appeared to everyone to be the very epitome of young womanhood. They moved easily among the guests, most of whom had no idea that they were not real girls. Certainly, none of Charles’ many friends and business associates had any idea that Charles’ new wife had sons rather than daughters.

Charles took an opportunity to pull them to one side, initially to thank them: “And as an expression of my gratitude I am going to give you both the opportunity to become very rich and successful,” he said. “You see those two men over there. They are two of my richest clients. We play poker every month so, and they play for serious money. They work the market the same way. I am giving you two their portfolios to manage. You will take a management fee including a percentage for funds under management and for return over standard rates. You could make a million dollars each per year.”

“We’re in, Charlie,” they whispered, almost simultaneously.

“Before I introduce you,” said Charles. “Here are new IDs for each of you, with ability to access new bank accounts in the name of Dervla and Rhianna McMullen. Until now I have never had daughters, but that is what I have always wanted. I know how women as pretty as you can help me to separate old men from their money. I intend to look after you as only a Daddy can. And I expect you to call me Daddy from now on.”

Wedding Number Two

Charles Cavendish called for a family meeting. He was not a happy man.

As he entered the room, he could see his son Roland on the sofa snuggled up to the tall blonde Dervla. Behind them stood his older son Charles Junior, known to everyone as Chaz, his huge arms enveloping the relatively petite Rhianna.

Maggie, his wife, rose from her seat to take her husband’s arm. It was clear to her that Charles would not be sitting down. He was very disturbed, and the two couples confronting him we not helping his mood.

“This has to stop,” boomed Charles in a tone of command. “I am not having it.”

“But we’re in love, Daddy,” said Rhianna, her voice soft and sweet.

“Don’t call me Daddy,” snapped Charles.

Rhianna sniffed. Charles could see that she looked sad even tearful. In Chaz’s arms she looked so small and fragile, he could not help but feel her pain.

“But Daddy, you said that you would look after us as a daddy could,” said Rhianna. “On your wedding day, remember? The Day you married Mom? You told us that you had in always wanted daughters. You said that you would look after us. You told us to call you Daddy.”

“And there will soon be double the reason to call you Daddy,” said Dervla with a smile.

“There is no way on God’s earth that my sons are going to marry you two …”. He struggled to find a noun.

“We are what you made us,” said Dervla. “But, as it turns out, we are who we want to be.

“They are perfect,” said Chaz. “Rhianna is everything I want.”

To indicate his agreement Roland drew Dervla closer to him and kissed her. She returned it.

“Just remember that all four of you work for my company,” said Charles. ‘Anytime at all I could have you jobless and with a reputation that would see each of you unemployable.”

“Well, you have a problem there, Dad,” said Chaz. “It’s a public company now. That’s what you wanted to ensure that Roly and I had a stake, as well as raising the capital you needed. Sure, you own the largest chunk, but when you put together my stake and Roly’s, and add to it the share parcels of your old poker pals Jeb and Kevin, we can outvote you – even remove you from the Board.”

“Jeb and Kevin? What are you talking about?” exclaimed Charles. “They would always back me.”

“Once maybe,” said Rhianna. “But we have looked after them as you wanted us to. And, as it turns out, they have always thought that you cheated at poker.”

“That’s a lie,” retorted Charles, but it wasn’t.

Roly spoke up: “We don’t want to remove you from the Company, Dad. But we are doing better using our style of management, and with honest marketing as Dervla and Rhianna have been pushing. Your aggressive style may have worked in previous markets, but not these days. Now we have regulation and litigation risk to consider. You will have to step back.”

“But more importantly, you will need to respect our choices of our life partner,” said Chaz. “I have asked Rhianna to be my wife, and she has agreed.”

“And Dervla has agreed to be my wife,” said Roly. “And to make me the happiest man in the world.”

“You cannot marry these people,” shrieked Charles. “They are not women!”

“They are now, Father,” said Roly. “Whatever you intended for them, they are fully women now. We have spared no expense in having the very finest surgical work performed.”

“Do something, Maggie,” said Charles, turning to his wife. “Talk to these sons of yours. Enough of this craziness.”

“They are not my sons anymore,” said Maggie, with a firmness she rarely displayed in talking to her second husband. She loved him, but he could be a bastard. “They are daughters now. Our daughters. Dervla is right. This is what you wanted when you started all of this. You said that you did not want stepsons to get in the way of the boys, but daughters to put to good use as you liked. Well, my children are stronger than you thought. They have found lives for themselves as women, and men to share those lives. Good men. None better.”

“Thanks Mom,” said Roly, making it clear that this woman was seen as such.

“Listen to Mom, Dad,” said Chaz. “She knows that we have already committed ourselves to Rhianna and Dervla. We do not care about who they were. We are only concerned about our future together.”

“But what about children?” said Charles. “My grandchildren? My blood?”

“We collected sperm prior to the corrective surgeries, so we have the genetic material to fertilize donor eggs,” explained Chaz.

There was a silence. The point was not lost on Charles. “Those children would not be my blood,” he said.

“That’s right,” said Roly. “We owe it to our wives to give them children of their own as they cannot bear them naturally. We have both decided that this is the right way to be parents. We want our wives to be biological mothers.”

“This gets worse and worse,” moaned Charles.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019