This is an expanded version of a story I posted a few weeks ago. It incorporates suggestions from two of the finest writers on BCTS, Angela Rasch and Emma Anne Tate who have helped me to improve it.

After I parked the car I rushed up the stairs as fast as I could and entered the salon. Ali was a little calmer now, having realised that she would come to no harm. Arpi was still buzzing with delight. I had never seen her like this.
But then I’d never seen her with a sixteen-year-old to practice on. Most of her clients were middle-aged or older, like me.

While she didn’t tattle I knew that she had customers who were miners from Central Queensland and at least one client from Darwin and more than a couple from New South Wales. There were lots more locals, Gold Coasters and Brisbanites of course. They came from all over to have her practice her skills on the crossdressers, the transvestites and the transgendered.

Quite a few of them posted their “after” pics on Facebook or other outlets as testimonials to her skills in transformations. I’d even done it myself. Nobody was going to recognize me en femme and my identity was well concealed by an alias.

When she had got her effervescent Hungarian soul under control she installed Ali and me on the sofa.

“Now this is how I think we should work today. I think it’s fair to assume that Ali has little or no skill in make-up so what I propose is that I work on you first, Joanne, and I explain everything I’m doing to her to you, Ali. You watch and learn. How does that sound?”

“You’re the wizard, Arpi, sounds fine to me.” That was me.

Ali gulped.

“Then I work on you, Ali. I will show you how to make yourself beautiful.” She laughed. “So easy! You are already lovely. We will list everything I use, so you can buy all the cosmetics and brushes, etcetera, and know you have the right things. Also I think we’ll stick with a wig today. Next time I’ll organize an appointment with a friend of mine and get your hair done, maybe even extensions. We’ll see.”

I looked at my girl. “You OK with all that, Ali?” I wanted her to be relaxed, this was meant to be something good for her, not a nightmare. I squeezed her hand to give her some comfort.

She just smiled and nodded, dumbstruck or awestruck; I couldn’t guess which. It was probably more than a little overwhelming.

“Now,” said Arpi, “let’s get you out of that awful drab, Joanne, so I can get to work on you.” I obediently went into her changing cum wardrobe room, stripped and put on a dressing gown. I knew what to do. This wasn’t my first rodeo.

Now clad in just a dressing gown and underwear I sat down on the high stool she used for transformations and make-up application and submitted to her wizardry. The only difference today was that she gave a running commentary as to what she was doing for the benefit of Ali. She detailed every powder and pad that she applied to my face, every brushstroke, every colour, every tint. She was a teacher with a student and I knew that her student was hanging on her every word.

Ali watched every move. I paid close attention to her, hoping that she was enjoying my transformation; I certainly was.

I could tell that she was mesmerized by the whole process. The only time I couldn’t pay too much attention was when Arpi was doing my eyes and my brows. I always think that that is the most transforming thing between a male face and a female face, other than the lips. A lot of care goes into the colouring and outline of that area around the eyes and the final touches are the application of feminine eyelashes and the wig, but maybe I’m lucky because I don’t have those aggressively male features.

I had brought my favourite wig with me, one that’s not too long, greyish-blonde and easily brushed into a style suitable for a woman of my age.

I know I always feel as though I’m a woman when that’s complete and the lipstick has been applied. It works its magic on me and maleness slips away. When she has finished with me I feel female through and through. It’s my greatest delight and my greatest downer is when I have to revert to my male persona.

She turned to Ali , “Just sit there for a couple of minutes, my dear, while I make sure that Joanne likes what I’ve chosen for her to wear and then it’s your turn. Just take off that top. I’ll get you a peignoir to wear while I transform you.”

She took me back into her wardrobe room and produced a light skirt in a lilac shade that fell to about knee level, with just a slight flare, and a paisley top with three-quarter sleeves and a high neckline. It was a lovely combo. The black shoes that I had worn coming went well with it. Arpi also presented me with a new set of earrings, a little dangly but not too much so. I do love earrings. There’s something almost erotic feeling them brush my neck when they’re just that bit below my earlobes.

“I think you might have to do some shopping when we’re finished, so I chose something smart but not TOO eye-catching. What do you think?”

“As usual, Arpi, your taste is fantastic.”

“Of course! I am Arpi! Now you get dressed while I look after the lovely creature outside. Come out when you’re ready.” And with a swish of her gown she was gone. I changed into what she had chosen for me and admired myself in the many mirrors lining the walls of the room.

The outfit she had picked for me bordered on dressy, and smart. It would attract a few looks from other female shoppers but was not over-the -top. It was something that a well-dressed granny would wear while out with her granddaughter. I would be classed as mutton dressed as lamb, by those with a snarky disposition, which would be acceptable for a woman of my apparent age.

I heard her soothing Ali in the next room and whatever she said had a positive result. By the time I rejoined them she was already hard at work with my protégé. Ali was eating it up as every step was explained to her and every brushstroke was applied. Arpi certainly gave her a tutorial in the art of make-up.

She was right in that a sixteen-year-old with nice smooth skin was so much easier to educate than a raddled old queen like me. There was no way that I could do a good job on myself after years of lack of practice. That’s why I came to her. She could make me look like a reasonable facsimile of a middle-aged woman, at least enough so that I could walk around in public without having other women stare at me, nudge each other and burst out laughing or sniggering behind their hands.

Ali was a dream come true for her. She really didn’t need any heavy application of cosmetics, a little highlighting here and there, on her cheeks, eyebrows trimmed and shaped, some colour around the eyes, and some liner for emphasis, eyelashes mascaraed, a coating of lipstick and a shoulder-length blonde wig and there was no more Alistair to be seen, if ever there had been.

She turned Ali towards the mirror. “Well, my dear, I promised you that you would be beautiful. Have I not succeeded?”

I thought Ali would cry, but Arpi slapped her lightly on the back of her hand.

“Don’t you dare cry. It is not allowed to ruin my artistry. You are easy to work on, but I’m not going to do it twice today.”

Ali’s almost grimace turned into a wide smile and she started to preen, as would any duckling who has just been turned into a swan. “Oh, thank you, Arpi. I just hope I can remember everything you have shown me.”

“You have my phone number, dahlink. You may call me any time and I will answer your questions. The next time I see you I want you to arrive looking lovely. For today, I will just give you some new clothes, because I expect you are going shopping, and you already look just right for that.”

I had to suppress a giggle at her lapse into a Hungarian accent. She only did that very occasionally when she was excited or happy, or both.

“So now I have two lovely ladies ready to leave me. I think you should go and get the essentials for my beautiful young girl. I promised a list of all the things I used and here it is.” She produced a sheet of paper with a flourish, printed from her computer. “If you are going to Pacific Fair I recommend Priceline on the ground floor. They’re much cheaper than a lot of the fancy shops and they have a very wide range of products. I’m sure you’ll be able to get everything you need there. Tell them Arpi sent you!”

With a build-up like that how could we refuse? We gave air-kisses all round and then went downstairs to my car. I had my drab clothes in a bag and Ali had another bag that contained what Arpi reckoned she should wear next time. I had taken the precaution when we left home to stow a couple of handbags in the car, assuming that we would need them when we were finished.

As we left I made us another appointment for January 4th, assuming that Ali would still be with me. I was nearly certain that she would be.

Pacific Fair is an enormous shopping mall at Broadbeach, about a ten to fifteen minute drive south down the coast from Arpi’s salon. Having Ali with me gave me more confidence than I might normally have had. I should have been her anchor but she was just as much mine. I loved my appointments with Arpi but I enjoyed this one so much more with my young companion.

When I looked at her I could feel tears start to well. She was a lovely young girl and I was so glad that I had had the brainwave to introduce her to Arpi. Sitting there next to me she really made me feel maternal. I was starting to realise that she was the daughter we never had. My wife had a very hard time carrying my son, almost having a miscarriage at one stage. Fortunately, that didn’t eventuate. He was born a month prematurely and everything turned out all right. But something went haywire in my wife’s reproductive system and she was unable to conceive again.

I broke my introspection by aiming a slightly facetious question at Ali.

“Well, dahlink, are you happy?”

We both giggled like mad. Funny, I only giggle when I’m in girl mode.

“It’s awesome, Joanne. I can’t remember ever feeling this good. I can look at myself and know it’s really me. I’m how I was meant to be.”

If we hadn’t been sitting in the car with seatbelts on she would have been floating a metre off the ground.

“You look Gucci too, sooo good! I told you you were beautiful and it’s true.”

I'm going to have to learn teenspeak

There is a lot of parking space at Pacific Fair, and on a Thursday afternoon we had no trouble finding a slot close to where I knew Priceline was. They are a nation-wide discount pharmacy chain and do have just about everything in the way of cosmetics, toiletries and appurtenances that a woman could need. They also have very helpful salesladies who will assist you to navigate your way around the shelves and aisles.

Before we entered the lion’s den I took a detour to an ATM and extracted $1000. I wanted no hiccups with questions about the name on my credit card. I would really have to fix that one day soon and get the male name changed to neutral initials.

One of those helpful salesladies pounced on us when we were only a few metres inside the store. “How can I help you ladies, today?”

Normally I would have waved her away, but this time I practised my best female voice (maybe passable, maybe not) and gave her the list. If I passed she didn’t blink, and if I didn’t she didn’t blink either.

The dollar signs illuminated her eyes. Sale! Sale! Sale! She scanned the extensive list, looked at Ali, and smiled. “Most of this is for you, isn’t it, dear?”

Ali smiled shyly and nodded.

“You’ll need a basket.” The saleslady grabbed one of the supermarket style plastic baskets. “Come with me and we’ll get started.”

So we trooped up and down the aisles, picking up an item here and an item there. Inevitably I saw bits and pieces that I needed that weren’t on the list, some nail polish in an attractive fuchsia shade and some acetone to remove it; items totally unrelated, like vitamins that were running low at home, a particular brand of hairspray, shampoo and conditioner that weren’t carried by every store.

We filled every item that Arpi had listed for Ali. Finally, after more than half an hour we arrived at the check-out to pay.

Before our ecstatic saleslady could start totaling up our spoils I played the Arpi card. “Arpi told us to mention her name when we came here. I guess she’s a good customer.”

Our helpful saleslady did a double-take and gave us both a once-over, eyes wide. “You’re clients of hers? I never would have guessed. Yes, she sends a lot of business our way and you get a 10% discount on your purchases.” She shook her head. “She really is good, isn’t she?”

I assumed she was talking about our transformations and gave her a smile in return. That made me feel so good. Ali was easy. She was a natural girl but working on me was like turning a Picasso into the Mona Lisa (well almost, you know what I mean).

“You made it a pleasure, my dear, and I’m sure we’ll come here again next time we’re on the coast.”

So she rang up our purchases and I ended up handing over nearly $600, even with the discount! Not bad for a quick foray into beauty products. It’s not cheap being a girl.

“Do you want to do any more?” I asked Ali.

“No, I think that’s enough. Let’s go home.”

That was the right answer as far as I was concerned. We should beat the rush-hour traffic, which peaked at about 4.30 t0 5.00. With a bit of luck we should be home at about 4.15, traffic permitting. I was always careful driving home en femme. Getting stopped by the cops dressed as a woman was not something I wanted to experience.

As it happened our journey was uneventful. Of course, we both spoke about our day. How could we not?

Ali was still bubbling away and I couldn’t blame her. Every minute she was admiring herself in the small mirror on the sun shade just on top of the windscreen

“Arpi is awesome, isn’t she?’

I laughed. “Yes she is. I’m glad she didn’t scare you too much. She can come on a bit strong, but she is a genius. She’s done a truly wonderful job on you. No more boy for Ali, eh? Now, if we’re going to keep calling you Ali it’s definitely not short for Alistair. You could be Alison or you can be someone completely different. You can be Alice or Alicia, Alana or something totally different, but we’ve got to be able to introduce you as a girl. Maybe you want to be Abigail?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I’m used to Ali. I actually like Alicia. Then you can still call me Ali. Yes, I want to be Alicia. I like the sound.”

“No more Alistair, right? I’ve never seen an Alistair in you. As far as I’m concerned you were always a girl and looking at you right now you always will be.” Then I changed the subject before my eyes blurred up. It’s not good when you’re driving at 100 kilometres an hour.

“Yesterday you said you liked cooking, how is that?”

“I did three years Home Ec at school. It was mostly cookery, although I did learn to sew, too.” She giggled. “I never told mum and dad about that! Anyway, I really liked the cooking part and I think I’m quite good at it. I wouldn’t mind carrying on with it, maybe even becoming a chef. That would be dope.”

“What made you go for Home Economics?”

“Well, I wasn’t any good at sports and the school let you do it as an alternative to gym, and there was one girl I fancied who was doing it too. Actually all the other girls were nice to me as well. I was the only ‘boy’ in the class. Then, when I got into the swing I found that I liked cooking.”

“OK. I nominate you as chief cook in our place. That way you can contribute to your upkeep.”

“I’d like that, yessir.”

When we came to Yatala I couldn’t resist turning into the Pie Shop. Their pies are famous and justifiably so. I hadn’t had any for ages and they would provide us with a couple of meals over the holidays. We had no trouble at the Drive-Through, the young lass serving us calling us ‘darl’s’.

When I thought about it there were lots of things I hadn’t done for ages. Until the last few days there was only existence, very little actual life.

After that we lapsed into a comfortable silence for a while as we approached the outskirts of Brisbane and took the turnoff to Southbank and home, broken only by her constant bouts with the mirror and smug pouts and puckers. I didn’t have to offload her while I parked the car this time. We both got out and went to the lift lobby with all our bags to ascend to our floor. Now, you can say that at least nine times out of ten we never see anyone else in the lift, but, of course, there we were, two women, or one woman and a girl, and when the elevator stopped who should be in it but one of my next-door neighbours?

He wasn’t someone I was exactly friends with as Mac, more a nodding acquaintance, but we were on civil terms. We probably encountered each other no more than once a month, always in the elevator or the lobby, with a “Hello, how’s it going?”

This could be embarrassing, I thought, but I smiled at him as I pressed for our mutual floor. There was no undue reaction, like a jaw hitting the floor, just a friendly smile in return.

“Good evening,” said Craig. “Are you visiting John?”

Inquisitive bastard. It could have been my neighbour on the other side.

“Yes.” I said, smiling but being as economical with my words as I could without seeming rude.

“Nice guy, good neighbour.” That meant that we didn’t get on each other’s nerves.

Thankfully, we arrived at our floor, which curtailed the conversation. He stood back and let us ladies exit first, holding the “Open” button. I smiled at him again and we took the couple of steps to our front door while he went the opposite way to his. It was just a turn of the doorhandle to open ours. I don’t lock my front door unless I’m going away for an extended time. Our building security is good enough for me. You need a special key to get inside the front door of the building or enter from the carpark and another key to operate the elevator, so I see no need to add a further barrier at my apartment door.

I can’t even go to the rubbish chute without taking an extra key to get back in.

Safely inside, I relaxed. I had survived a trip to The Gold Coast, including a shopping expedition without setting off any alarms. My neighbour Craig was either totally unaware of who I was or was a bloody marvellous actor. The saleslady at Priceline had clearly been taken aback when we revealed that we were Arpi’s clients. I couldn’t have asked for a more confidence-building excursion.

I kicked off my shoes, went to the fridge and got myself a celebratory glass of Chardonnay. I reckoned I had earned it.

Ali, with the exuberance of youth, had begun whipping in and out of her bedroom to show me the outfits that Arpi had selected for her. Naturally, they were all very nice, but teenagers can be exhausting sometimes. I was happy to lie back on the sofa, sip my drink, and make approving noises at each freshly demonstrated combination.

The thought about the daughter we never had surfaced again.

My wife and I had both wanted more children, but after the problems she experienced with her first pregnancy she was unable to bear any more children. We tried to adopt but that got tangled up with religious societies, questions about church attendance and hostile home inspections. All of the Adoption Agencies seemed to be affiliated with some kind of religion. After a couple of years we gave it away.

It seemed that they were not that interested in finding homes for children without parents unless the prospective parents fitted into their religious communities. All we could promise was a good home with love in it.

However, I could never forget the look of sheer joy on my wife’s face when she heard she had a granddaughter. She loved both Max and Dixie but there was a special bond between her and Dixie. I shared that bond, even though nobody ever realised it because they never knew that I was a woman too.

Our evening passed happily and contentedly with both of us still en femme. I had intended to cook but we jointly decided to go to a nearby restaurant which did everything from a nice steak to an Asian salad so satisfied most tastes. We didn’t encounter any more neighbours while exiting and re-entering the building.

I suspected that Ali was still trying out her new persona but I didn’t mind because I guess I was kind of reveling in my make-over, too. We got served and ate without drama, the food was better than I could have done without being memorable. The best part was having somebody to share it with, like a sprinkling of fairy dust adding a soupcon of flavour. The waitress politely addressed us as Ms. and Miss and we returned home to clean off our faces and reluctantly undress and go to bed. I got a goodnight kiss and a cuddle, the end to a perfect day.

Tomorrow I would let Ali loose in our kitchen to demonstrate her expertise.

The next morning I was preparing breakfast, still pottering around in a dressing-gown when the intercom at the entrance downstairs buzzed. I turned on the video to ask who it was and saw a uniformed figure.

“Yes, who is it?”

“It’s the police. May we come in?”