Mixing metaphysics, sex, magic and attitude, the narrator recommends her own, uniquely satisfying TG approach to achieving an amicable separation.

This story contains what is known as "transgender material". It does *NOT* contain any elements of m/m, s/m, b/d, humiliation, pain, or anatomically detailed descriptions of sexual acts. If this lack offends you, do yourself a favour and read no further.

All characters and situations described herein are fictional and any resemblance to any real or fictional persons or events is purely coincidental.

The story may be freely copied, archived and distributed, on the condition of this header remaining its integral part.

Greg has been fun, no question about that, but it's time to move on.

Before we do... Old-fashioned as I am, let me indulge in an authorial digression, and address you, my reader, the way it used to be done in the bad-old-good-old days by *real* writers - it's good for the soul. So, with regard to my opening sentence, I expect you may have an inkling as to what I have in mind, given that you are probably reading this piece on a TG board. (No dahrling, if you need to ask what TG might be, then you don't need to know what TG might be - be a dear, go and find yourself another play-pan). So I won't bother to pretend otherwise. There may indeed be "fifty ways to leave your lover" as the song has it, but I doubt mine got included in the count. I do it *my* way, and bother Sinatra for pinching my tag line!

And by the way, I was going to call this piece "My Way", but then I recalled a line from some song, which seemed highly appropriate: "...how you lost your jigsaw corner, playing indoor games". Which is where it's at. Oh, yeah...

Now, on with the tale!

"Greg, have you ever wondered what's it like to be a girl?"

The answer is always yes, by the way. If any male tells you otherwise, he is lying through his teeth.

"No, not really. Why?" - Liar!

"I was just musing whether it was at all possible to communicate such things without experiencing them." OK, that makes us both liars - honours even! "Oh look, don't you think that gull is positively *enjoying* the wind?"

"Heh... How, not being a gull, can you possibly..."

"OK, OK... if you must be so rational about it!..."

A few steps along the beach further...

"Did *you* ever wonder what it's like to be a man?"

"Oh, Greg, frequently! It must be *wonderful*. All that power! That incisive intellect! The masterly... Ouch! That hurt!"

"You are well enough padded there to take a small slap for your shameless fibbing."

"No, seriously."

"No, seriously my girl, thou knowest not what thy speakest of."

"Ah, the manly man's burden! Spare us!..."

"Oh, oh, oh... It's sooooo terrible being female in this rotten culture!..."

"Watch it! That'll rate a slap right back... Aw!! well there! That proves it! Let me go, you brute!"

A long kiss later...

"So you don't think gulls enjoy themselves? Look at that one - I swear it is doing its utmost to balance on the wind without flapping its wings, just for the fun of it."

"Speaking of gulls and Chinese sages and butterflies..."

"Fish, actually, if you are referring to Lao Tzu's famous sophistry."

"Whatever! What *is* it like being a woman?"

"How in blazes should I know?"

"Mmm... I rather thought what with you being one... Or have I been misinformed? I know my parents neglected my sex education, but..."

"No, silly. Look, what is it like being a man?"

Pause.

"Hm... Tricky one!"

"Exactly. It's that word 'like' that's the problem. I know what it is being 'me'. And you know what it is being 'you'. But not having ever been anybody else, how could one possibly know what it is *like* being 'me', 'you' or anybody or anything else?"

Long thoughtful pause... The gulls still enjoying themselves in the gusty wind. Oh yes, I *do* know, by the way. You bet I do! I've been a gull. It's quite fun for a while. In a limited sort of way. Not as much fun as being a sexy girl, though. And not *nearly* as much fun as being turned from a horny boy into a sexy girl. Doesn't work like that the other way, for some reason. Beats me why, but that's how it is, take my word for it if you have to.

Anyhow, where were we... Oh yes, me explaining a few things about perceptions of identity...

"Like, take that gull for example. What is it like being a gull? The gull has no way of knowing the answer, and neither do you. You'd have to become a gull having first been human..."

"... and I still wouldn't know anything, because gulls don't know."

"How, not being a gull, can you..."

"Oh, shush!"

"But you are right, I suppose. You need comparable intelligence at both ends. Turning you into a gull wouldn't do a thing..."

"Except making a seriously useless gull."

"How's that?"

"My dear, I have no idea how to fly, and I have no taste for raw fish."

"Bah! Being turned into a gull would make you a gull. Did you think such things were somehow separate from the gull's gullness?"

"They aren't?"

"Nope. And ditto being turned into a girl would make you a girl. Fully."

Another pause...

"You seem to know an awful lot about it."

"Heh! I have fertile imagination!" - plus a degree in psychology from the University of Life. Which is how I know to leave it there. Let it stew. Maybe arrange for a dream or two in a few days. Lovely, seductive TG dreams. But perhaps not too obvious in their intent...

"You know, I had the weirdest dream last night!"

Feigned lack of interest... "Really?"

"Yeah... We were going out for a drink, and you turned me into a frock."

"Really!"

"Yup, really. And you put me on and..."

"Hang on, it being your dream, I have to care about my modesty... was I wearing anything under... erm... under you?"

Wolfish grin. "No, actually. That was an amazingly sexy sensation embracing you so completely; hugging and caressing your naked skin all around. But anyway, you put me on and went out..."

"While you were suffering agonies of ecstasy, of course."

"Look who's telling it? Me or you?"

"OK, OK, go on..."

"So you got to this bar, and some guy started pawing you."

"Through you."

"Yeah, that was weird. And then without any transition, you and that guy were in some pad - his I guess. And you took me off..."

"I am scandalised! Whom do you take me for? A cheap..."

"Hang on... then you made him wear me!"

"Oh? I didn't know you've been sitting in a closet!"

"No, listen, you made him wear me, and I didn't like that any if you must know, but as you zipped him into me..."

"You had a zip? Well, fancy that!"

"Shush! As you zipped him into me, he turned into a woman!"

"And then all three of us had an orgy."

"No, then I woke up."

"Zipped or unzipped?"

"You are not taking it seriously, are you?"

"I am sorry - was I supposed to? I thought you were just telling me a weird dream."

"Yeah. Weird all right... But you know what was the weirdest bit? When he changed, I could suddenly feel his long hair lying heavily on me... on his back and shoulders, if you see what I mean. Almost as if they were lying on mine. A very... odd sensation."

Ooh, aah! Greg's subconscious ad-libbing on its own! This is going to be just tooo easy.

A week later, at my place...

"So, have I been wearing you any more of late?"

"Eh?? Oh, you mean... Well, no, actually. By the way, that kind-of reminds me, you remember our conversation about what's it like being a gull?"

"Sure."

"Well I've been thinking..." Aha! A dangerous activity!... "And while I take your point about knowing what it is like being a gull, it occurs to me that it cannot be quite so bad where boys and girls are concerned."

"Um... Really? So, surprise me!"

"Well, to start with, the 'gullness' of a gull, as you'd put it, is largely inborn, which is not the case with humans."

"Oh, so you reckon you just 'learned' to have that package between your legs?"

"No, but I reckon that we learn to be what we are to a much greater extent than gulls do, AND - my second point - we have language, which we use to communicate our learned experiences to some extent. So it shouldn't be *quite* as hopeless as with learning the gullness of a gull."

"Hm... Not convinced..." Pay attention class! This is called a pawn sacrifice. "What and how would you communicate? I really cannot see how to describe my sexual experience to a man." Come on, Greg, hit me with the obvious!

"Tut... You are not suggesting that sex is the one thing that defines a woman?! What about all the cultural elements? Some may have some anatomical basis and some don't!"

"Oh, you mean things like clothes, hair styles, cosmetics etc?"

"Got it in one!" The smug so-and-so!

"But Greg, there is no need to *describe* any of those. Sure I could try telling you... um... say the way a satin slip feels against my skin, but what's the point when any man curious enough can experience that for himself?"

"No, no... Dressing a man in drag tells him nothing about being a woman!" Ah, so true! And so much for any consistency of one's argument! "That's not at all the sort of thing I am talking about. What I... Um... what are you rummaging in that wardrobe of yours for?..."

Guess!

"If you seriously expect me to... Well, bugger me rigid!!"

"How vulgar! Hey, what's the matter?" As if I didn't know. "And it's rude to point like that!"

"But that's... That's the frock!"

"You've lost me. What do you mean 'the frock'?"

"The... the one... you know... what I dreamed about!"

"??? You dreamed?... Oh, you mean the *you* frock?"

"The very same!"

"But, Greg, if you were a frock, how would you know what you looked like??"

"Beats me, but it was *my* dream and in my dream I jolly well knew, so there! And that's the one."

As indeed it is. Not anything very flashy. Just a surprisingly subtle mass-produced silk velvet one from Dotty P, though admittedly with some recent metaphysical enhancements by yours truly, but those don't show. And yes, it does indeed have a long zip along the back. There's a point to that - just you wait and see.

"Well, I am *not* putting that on, if that's what you have in mind!"

"Relax. I was just making a point."

"Mmm... Come to think of it, how the heck did I dream about a frock I didn't even know you had??"

Ah, well spotted. I was a bit sloppy there. Still, easily mended with a small lie: "Oh yes you did! I wore it to Ursula's wedding last year, remember?" What, expect your man to remember what you wore to a friend's wedding last year? It's a joke, yes? Yes.

"Oh... OK... That must be it then. Nice subtle effect in that fabric, by the way." Finally noticed, eh? My arm was getting tired from twirling the hanger to show it off from different angles. We can now drop the frock over the back of a chair - ever so casually...

So far, so good...

An hour later, I am relaxing in a hot bath, while Greg busies himself with my hi-fi kit. The dress, by the way, got left (ever so casually, remember?) over the back of a chair in the living room. Too blatant? To misquote Hari Seldon: it can pay to be blatantly obvious sometimes. More subtlety can be applied if a blatant approach does not pan out.

Aha! There is some commotion and a strangled high pitched yell. A minute or so later Greg staggers in - stark naked, white as chalk and babbling gibberish.

"Why, Greg, what's the matter!? And what happened to your cloths?"

Greg still babbling.

"Greg, calm down! Take a deep breath and calm down. GREG! I SAID CALM DOWN! That's better. Hand me that bath towel, so I don't drip all over the place. Thanks... Now then what's it all about? You seen an army of ghosts?"

"It's... it's... that..." Greg pauses and finally gets a grip on himself. "No, come and see for yourself, or you'll think I've gone nuts."

Hardly. Anyway, an attentive reader can easily deduce the events of the next few moments: Greg picks up The Frock off the floor and rather awkwardly climbs into it, with yours truly goggling her eyes and keeping her mouth shut; then Greg wriggles reaching his arms behind him and manages to zip himself up and becomes female. So, those are the bare facts. And how does one react to this? Well to start with, I am endlessly surprised by the Anima self-image manifested on such occasions. In Greg's case it's a raven-haired Spanish beauty, probably with a dash of Inca or something of the sort. But this is not the time for a detailed appraisal, tempting though it is. I have to react, and I am seriously tempted to chuck Plan A, and Plan B and simply faint on the spot, just for the fun of it. But then rationality reasserts itself...

"Greg!" I exclaim in delight, "You are a were! Why didn't you tell me?..."

Which of course throws him, that is her, utterly: "Of course I am aware, you dumb..."

"No, no, a WERE! As in were-WOLF - or a werewoman in your case. How delightful!"

"No, you idiot! It's the frock! Look!..." She unzips herself, quite gracefully, and (what a surprise!) there's Greg looking rather silly in an unzipped dress.

"Yeah. Sure. I think I can see what's going on. Take it off, put your cloths on and we'll talk it through. And let me make some strong black coffee in the meantime, you look quite white."

Look, I'll spare you the somewhat cringeful bits. Particularly the ones involving me faking some previously undisclosed academic credentials in the matter of weres. Of course, there is a little snag, which Greg is quick enough to spot.

"Yeah, OK, OK... So you know about all them werewolves and weretigers and such like, but this is different! It's that damn dress! I zip it up and... pffft!, I unzip it and... zing! A purely mechanical action! Nothing to do with me. I take it off, and I am back to normal. It's wearing the thing that does it."

"I very much doubt it. It's a bit of a puzzler, I grant you, but there must be an explanation. Like maybe that dream of yours the other day caused your unconscious mind to associate the zipping action with the were transformation. Hm... You know what? I think we can test this too... Well, maybe. Look, can you wriggle out of that frock without unzipping it? Here, let me help you to put it on without contortions... Right, now can you just take it off? No, no, no, you idiot! Cross you arms and grab the hem..." I guess some things one *does* have to learn!

After a bit of wriggling with his, sorry her arms crossed, the dress comes off.

"Well there... I thought it had nothing to do with wearing anything. But my dear, you are a hell of a hot package! Come here and have a look at yourself in the mirror!"

And yes, that's *the* magic, spine tingling moment all this has been leading up to. As she gazes in an ecstatic amazement at Greg's Anima-image made flesh, I come quietly from behind, and reaching around, caress her left breast with my right hand, while sliding the left one along her smooth flat belly into the soft patch of pubic hair. That simple act packs such a potent mix of sensual delight, deep symbolism, artful seduction, transgressive wickedness and white-hot desire, that yet again it shakes me to the very core. As ever. As ever and ever and ever. Addicted I am, addicted...

"Oh, my pretty one..." I whisper into her ear, as she trembles under my hands in response, her own undreamt of fires kindling as they must. "Oh, my pretty one... Let me teach you what it is *really* like to be a woman..."

Reader, there's nothing sweeter in the whole wide world than giving a man his first lesson in pleasures and ecstasies of female sexuality. And false modesty aside, I am damn good at it. Practice makes perfect.

I think I already said that he'd made a lovely girl. Of course - boys always do. It's the best kept secret of the whole gender business: 'tis boys who make the loveliest, sexiest girls. You'd be amazed to know... But no, I am getting distracted. What you really want to know is What Happened Next. Yes?

Well, for starters, I gave the dress to Greg as a present. And guess what? He decided that being a full-time, mostly hetero woman was what he really wanted in life.

Now, you may be asking yourself (assuming you stop playing with yourself for a few moments and engage a few higher-order brain cells instead), how do I expect to get away with it? A story on a TG web-site is all very well, but wouldn't it cause serious trouble in *real* life if Greg just disappears and gets replaced by a woman nobody has ever seen before? All true, up to a point, but there are always ways and means. Greg, for example, is reasonably well off and you'd be amazed what a bit of money can achieve if used properly and discreetly. Or maybe you wouldn't be.

Actually, buying a new identity is the only legally dodgy step. And amusingly enough in this PC-obsessed society, buying a female identity is ever so much simpler and cheaper than buying a male one. I'll refrain from commenting on the bone-headed idiocy of this state of affairs - you can supply your own expletives. And if you are after a Latino one, and aren't choosy about the name... well, say no more, but let's hope Senior will be back to do *real* business sometime soon.

So, reader, meet one Agueda Francisca Maria Isabel Santos de la Fuente, or Bel for short. This lively young lady gets employed by Greg as his private assistant and pretty quickly proves herself so useful that he delegates to her the running of all his public affairs, while secluding himself somewhere inaccessible (a Buddhist retreat in Himalayas sounds about right!). Bel has his power of attorney, and if any busybody so much as murmurs that she might be overstepping herself in spending Greg's money, why, Greg himself is not above breaking his mantric meditations to fly in and set the doubters right. And Bel uses such rare occasions to go and visit her ailing mother somewhere in Andes. All in all, a very convenient arrangement all around, I am sure you will agree. Bel's only regret is that Greg somehow never managed to break that zipper fixation of his were-talent. Not that it causes them any serious trouble.

But enough about Greg and Bel. If you brain cells are still operational, you may also wonder why am I telling you all of this. After all, I've dropped enough hints about TG websites, to make it clear where I intend to post my tale.

You see, it's like this... Now and then I like to kick off a "romantic involvement" with both parties knowing up front that *he* will be a sensuously sexy *she* by the end of it. It can add some extra spice, not to mention fun and games.

So, get in touch - it could be your lucky day. Just remember, whatever we do, we'll do it *my* way. And I promise, you won't regret it in the end.