"Mrs. Bamford. I needed to move the wardrobe to get to the window to finish painting it."

"No problem Terry. Can you manage it? It's heavy."

I liked Mrs. Bamford. She was mid 50's, and always dressed well. She exuded femininity. I admired that so much. I had done several small jobs for her. My handyman business was really starting to take off. I hoped that it could grow and I could give up my job at the fast food restaurant.

"Yes, I only need to slide it across the floor a few feet. Even I can manage that."

"OK. If you're sure. I'm popping next door for half an hour. I pay you when I get back."

I put my arm around the back of the old wardrobe and gave it a series of short tugs. I am only 5ft 7, but it didn't stop me from doing most things. Slowly the wardrobe inched away from the window. One last tug.

As I put my body weight behind that last tug the right-hand door fell open. I moved to close it, then stopped. The smell of lavender was intoxicating. What really caught my attention was the mass of frills pushing out from the rest of the dresses and skirts. It looked like an old-fashioned ballroom gown.

I remember seeing women spinning around on the dance floor on the tv. The skirts would rise as they span. I would be so envious of them. I wished I could wear something that pretty.

I knew I shouldn't do it, but the sight of that pink lace net and chiffon was just too much. I carefully drew it out of the wardrobe. The rustling sound made my head spin. What must it be like to wear it! I would never do that though. It wasn't mine. What I was doing was wrong. I would just hold it up against myself and then put it back.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My head above the sparkling collar. I wondered what I would look like made up with my wig on. For a few moments, I was lost in my imagination.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice felt like a hammer blow on my soul. I couldn't breathe. It felt like my heart was stuck in my throat.

"Well? You disgusting pervert. I have heard about sick little men like you. What were you going to do next? Masturbate in my knickers?"

I froze. I tried to talk, but no sound would come out of my mouth. I just gapped at her. I dropped the dress on the bed.

"S...s....sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't.."

"Wasn't going to what. Betray my trust. You make me sick. Get out of my house. I'm going to warn everyone what you do, you sick horrible pervert."

I saw my life collapsing before me. I thought back to when my mother threw me out when I was 18. I told her I thought I was trans. It was like I had confessed to being a serial killer. My old life ended there. I spent weeks living on the street and sleeping rough. I finally thought my life was getting on track, but now this happens.

I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. I passed out.

I awoke to find Mrs. Bamford leaning over me.

"Here, drink this Terry."

She offered me a glass of water. I sipped it and coughed.

"Mrs. Bamford. I'm so very sorry."

"No Terry. I'm sorry. I overreacted. I'm not happy, but I should have let you explain. Well now is your chance."

I saw a faint light at the end of the tunnel. I would tell her everything and throw myself at her mercy.

"I was just holding the dress up to myself. I wouldn't have worn it, I promise."

"Why though? Why that dress?"

"Mrs. Bamford. I have wanted to be a girl for as long as I can remember. When I was little I wrapped my mother's scarf around my head and told her I was a girl."

"What did she say?"

"She gave me a spanking that I will never forget then put a lock on her bedroom door. I tried to tell her again when I was 18. She reacted just like you did. Then she threw me out. I lived rough for months until I managed to get a job in a fast-food restaurant."

"I'm sorry. I was angry. You read about nasty men doing things with women's underwear. I thought that was what you were doing. You don't do that then?"

"It was like deja vu. You screaming at me like that. The woman I trusted most in the world threw me out because I told her I wanted to be a woman. I felt so betrayed. I'm only just getting over it."

"Listen Terry. I don't really understand, but I can see you didn't mean any harm. Do you want to talk about it?"

"What! You will listen to me? Every time I talk about it something bad happens. You'll actually listen to me?"

"Terry. You are a nice young man. You were recommended to me by my friends. They all told me how polite and trustworthy you are. I want to understand. "

"Well, as I said. I have always wanted to be a girl. Seeing that wonderful dress, I just wanted to see what I would look like in it. You are such a beautiful woman. You dress so well. If I were ever to be a woman, you would be my role model."

She stared at me in disbelief.

"What me Terry? You like the way I dress."

"Yes, Mrs. Bamford. You always wear such nice clothes. I never see you without makeup, and your hair is always perfect."

"Call me Grace, Terry. When my husband was alive, he really appreciated the effort I made with my appearance. Now I am just so used to dressing this way, I can't stop. Do you dress? I hope you don't mind me asking."

"I have only just got a bedsit. I have very little money, but I do have a dress and some underwear. I dress when I get the chance in the privacy of my own place."

She looked me in the eyes.

"How do you feel when you dress Terry? Be honest with me. Does it turn you on?"

I fixed my eyes on hers.

"I feel right. I feel relaxed. The tension seems to drain away from me. I just wish I could stay like it. Why Grace? Why is it so wrong that I want to be a woman? Who am I hurting?"

"No one Terry, no one."

She paused. I saw the beginnings in her eyes.

"Terry, I'm sorry for what I said. I have been reading too many tabloids. Wanting to be a woman is not a crime. You have been badly treated by the world. I'd like to help you."

"You would do that? For me?"

"Yes, Terry. When do you want to start?"