I was sitting at the make-up table in the bedroom applying a last coat of lip-gloss when I caught a glimpse of movement beyond the glare of the lights surrounding the mirror. I swiveled the chair and rose to my feet in one movement, facing the door.

My wife was standing in the doorway.

I felt the blood drain from my face and the lipstick fell from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

I tried to speak but only managed a strangled gargle as I struggled for breath, and then I did what many other girls would have done under such circumstances. I fainted.

…………

Bloody airlines! Why do you give them your contact numbers if they don’t call and tell you the flight will be delayed? An hour’s trip to the airport, to find out there are “Mechanical Problems” and the plane will be seven hours late, leaving a choice between waiting there or an hour’s drive home. So here I am, back where I started, over two-and-a-half hours later and not in the best of moods, but it beats waiting at the airport.

I was on my way to spend a week or so with my mum and sister in Sydney. My husband and I had just finished our most recent job and I thought I’d earned a short break while he tidied up the loose ends. We renovate and redecorate apartments for a living, so we have a flexible schedule once we have completed an assignment. To be truthful, it’s as much a hobby as anything. Neither of us actually needs the money, although money is always nice.

I saw his car was still in the garage when I pulled in. Maybe I could surprise him and we could have an interlude back in bed to while away the hours until I went to the plane again. A salacious grin crossed my face. Our sex-life is pretty good.

I drove into the garage and parked, closing the car-door quietly and slipping in through the connecting door to the laundry. A quick look into the kitchen, lounge, dining-room and office established that he wasn’t downstairs.

I went into the office, closed the door and rang my mum to let her know I would be late. I didn’t want her worrying or ringing up when we were otherwise engaged. There is nothing more ardour-quenching than a phone-call when you are close to climax. Talking to my mum on the phone is always a marathon event. She can talk underwater.

With that out of the way I slipped off my shoes and quietly went upstairs. The first place I looked was our bedroom. It was fitted out with an ensuite bathroom, walk-in wardrobes and a dressing area as well as a king-size bed. I thought he might be taking a shower or getting dressed.

I stopped in the doorway and saw a strange woman sitting at my make-up table putting on her face. She became aware of me and spun around, rising to her feet at the same time. There was a look of absolute terror on her face. I suddenly realized she was my husband!

I stepped forward and he swooned into my arms. I caught him and half-dragged him over to the bed.

……………

I must have been out of it for several minutes. When I woke up she was leaning over me.

“You have some explaining to do,” she said.

Answer a question with a question when you don’t know what to say next.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on your way to Sydney.”

“Obviously I’m not and I can see you didn’t expect me home. Now, enough! Explain.”

When you’re caught red-handed, or in my case, red-lipped, you have little choice but to throw yourself on the mercy of the court. I sighed, heart fluttering, and prepared for my life to drastically change for the worse.

“What do you know about transsexuals?” I asked her. Another question.

“Quite a lot actually. No intelligent person can not have seen some of the shows on TV or have read about it in magazines or papers. I know they’re not gay. In fact, I’m pretty sure I know you’re not gay. Either that or you’re a bloody good actor in bed, and I can’t believe that. Anyway, keep going.”

“Well, that’s what I am. I’m a transsexual. I’m a girl in a man’s body.”

She just looked at me for several seconds, her face expressionless. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“How long have you known? How long have you been doing this?” waving her hand up and down my body, indicating the unmistakably female attire that I was wearing.

“I first remember feeling wrong when I was about ten and I started dressing in my mother’s clothes when I was eleven. After that the feelings just got stronger and stronger. Every opportunity I got I dressed as a girl and I knew that was the way I was meant to be.”

“Yes. I can tell it’s not your first time. You look very nice, and that means practice. Of course I could make you look much better. Those eyebrows for a start! So what were you going to do today?”

“Just go to the city and walk around and feel good.” I smiled weakly. “Normally, dressing like this relaxes me, although I don’t feel relaxed right now.”

“What about the rest of the time I was going to be away?”

“More of the same. I just planned to enjoy being who I really am.”

“I don’t get it. If you want to be a girl why did you marry me?”

“Because I love you.”

“Good answer, but it doesn’t tell me what I want to know. Why didn’t you go looking for a man?”

“It seems sexuality has little to do with gender. I’ve never been remotely attracted to men. You are everything I always wanted in a girl. You’re intelligent, talented, elegant, funny and beautiful. I adored you from the first moment I met you and you seemed to return my love, and I think we’re great in bed, too.”

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “You put that very nicely, but I don’t want to spoil your make-up. Get up and we’ll go down and have a cup of coffee and continue this conversation.”

We went down to the kitchen, with her walking behind me. I could feel her eyes checking me out. I couldn’t help but put a little extra sway in my walk and try to be at my most graceful and poised descending the stairs in my heels, feeling the nylons on my legs and my skirt swishing around my legs. As usual, I tried to imagine I was her, Catherine, because, besides loving her I admired everything about her.

Since this was probably my swan-song I wanted to go out as proudly as possible. They say confession is good for the soul and now I had confessed I felt relieved after a fashion, even though it was just the calm before the storm, and I was sick to my stomach at the thought of our marriage ending.

“You make the coffee. You do it better than me,” she ordered, and sat down on one of the stools in the breakfast nook, watching me.

……………

When I had laid him on the bed, I stood back and looked at him. When the initial shock had abated I examined (her?) properly. I could see my husband in there, but only with difficulty. I had great trouble thinking of the figure on the bed as (him?). She actually looked very pretty. She had chosen an obviously expensive honey-blonde chin-length wig, which framed her face nicely. Hoop earrings peeped out from beneath it. They must be clip-ons I thought. Her eyebrows needed a fair bit of work. Of course, if she had shaped them properly it would have been a dead give-away.

She had done a nice job on her eyes; well blended shades of shadow; nice long eyelashes with black mascara and eye-liner to match, tastefully done. She had used a bit too much foundation and powder, in reaction to her maleness I suppose; she had finished off with a coral-pink lipstick coated with a clear gloss, giving her a lovely shiny finish, perhaps a little bright for daytime, but nothing an attractive girl couldn’t get away with.

She was wearing a plain white top with some lace trimming, short-sleeved with a modest vee-neck. I could see the suggestion of her bra through the silky material, not too daring, but visible all the same. I squeezed one of her breasts and it felt real. Breast forms then, so definitely not her first time out.

Her skirt was black, flared from the waist to her knees, and with a frilly hem which I reckoned would swish nicely when she walked. I would have to borrow it at an appropriate time. Her nylons were black but sheer. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed her shaved legs before, or maybe she did them this morning; and all finished off with a pair of classic black pumps with three-inch heels.

All-in-all a conservative outfit which wouldn’t attract too much attention, but looked casually elegant. If I hadn’t known who she was I wouldn’t have given her a second glance in the street or in the Ladies, except for a quick once-over of admiration. It was a nicely chosen outfit, plain but feminine.

How was I going to handle it? I needed to know his motivations. I didn’t think he was gay. Our sex-life was too good for that.

I sat and thought about all this while he was still unconscious. He didn’t look like a drag-queen. There was nothing outrageous about him. The whole effect was understated; he was trying to pass, not stand out in a crowd, or make an impression.

So what did it all mean? What was this going to do to our marriage? We had been married for a little over a year, and it had been a very good year. We were a bit of an unusual match. I was twenty-nine and he was twenty-four. We both came from well-off families. I had met him at an exhibition on renovation and redecoration techniques. He had come across as smart and talented without that sometimes “gay” attitude you encounter in the trade. He had made me laugh with some of his observations and we had hit it off immediately.

His expertise was in remodeling things like kitchens and bathrooms, while I specialized in colours and fabrics and upholstery. We seemed to make a perfect team. It was only a few months before we got engaged and a few more before we wed. My mum was a bit anti because he was younger than me and his was anti because I was older, but we both put an effort into winning them over, and it seemed to work.

And here I was sitting on the bed and seeing my husband dressed very nicely as a woman. He started to come around and I determined to be as cool, calm and collected as I could possibly be.

……………

I moved around the kitchen self-consciously while I made the coffee. I really tried to be as feminine as possible. I don’t know why, but it seemed to be really important to me. I wanted her to see me as I felt, a girl, not a man in a dress, even if it turned out to be for the first and last time. When it had perked I poured a cup for each of us and carried it over and then brought sugar and milk on a separate tray with tongs and spoons, doing it properly.

I sat on another of the stools, demurely pulling my skirt beneath me when I sat. I smiled at her nervously.

“One lump or two?” picking up the tongs and using my girly voice.

“Two as usual, of course, Tom. You know that. It doesn’t feel right calling you Tom when you’re dressed like this. Do you have a girl’s name?”

I blushed madly. All my secrets were going to come out today.

“I call myself Catherine.”

“Well, I suppose I should feel flattered, but we can’t have two Catherines around here. I’m going to call you ……let me see…..Tammy?.....No, doesn’t feel right…..Tanya…..for now, at least until we sort this out.”

I put sugar and milk in my coffee, stirred it, but I couldn’t pick the cup up. My hands were shaking so much I would have spilled it. Funny. I had carried the cups over to the counter all right. I suppose I could feel crunch-time coming.

“OK, tell me again why you didn’t tell me all this before we got married.”

“Oh, Cathy, you can’t imagine the shame and guilt that goes with this. I’ve hidden it for years, all through school and afterwards. I moved into my own flat as soon as I could and dressed after work and at weekends, but I dared not let anybody know. I’m a real coward.

“Then, when I met you, I fell madly in love with you and the more I got to know you I knew I had to spend the rest of my life with you. I just couldn’t take the risk of you rejecting me, and I promised myself I would stop doing all this and be a proper man for you. I just knew you would hate me if you found out about this.”

“But you couldn’t resist?”

I shook my head miserably. “No, I couldn’t. I have to do it.”

“What if I asked you to promise never to dress as a woman again?”

“Darling, look at me now. How could I make a promise like that in all honesty? Would you believe me if I said I wouldn’t?” The tears ran down my face as I saw our marriage ending.

She began to laugh. She roared with laughter, while I gaped at her in amazement, sitting there stunned. It took a couple of minutes for her to stop and wipe her eyes.

…………

I couldn’t help myself. The incongruity and serendipity of the situation!

……………

“Now we both look like pandas,” she said. “Before we do anything else, let’s both fix our faces.”

She grabbed my arm and led us both into the downstairs bathroom, where she repaired my make-up before she did her own. She gave my hair a quick brush and inspected the lie of my top, settling the sleeves a little.

“There, now we look respectable, so let’s go and sit down. You may need to.”

My stomach lurched, expecting the worst.

We went into the lounge and took an armchair each. I was beginning to get used to being dressed as a woman in front of her.

“I think it’s time for a little honesty in this marriage. There are things I haven’t told you either. When I met you I was just coming out of a lesbian relationship. I guess I’m bi. I loved you from the moment I met you, but it wasn’t because you were big and macho. You weren’t. You said you loved me because I was talented, elegant, funny and beautiful. Well, I didn’t think of you as beautiful or elegant, but clever, talented, funny, caring, sweet, yes. And now I’m looking at someone who is elegant and beautiful too.”

I stared at her. I had trouble believing what I heard.

“I sometimes have wet dreams about finding a woman with a cock. Tell me, what do you think about when we make love?”

“I imagine that I’m a beautiful woman making love to a beautiful woman.”

“If you had told me about yourself before we got married I would have rushed you off your feet to the altar before you got away. Tell me, have you tried on my wedding dress? I know you really loved it.”

“No, but I really wanted to. I just wasn’t game.”

“Well, I’m going to get you your own, and we’ll get pictures taken with both of us in wedding gowns.”

I started crying again.

“Tanya, you’re hopeless. How many times am I going to have to repair your make-up?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. She got up from her chair and came over and hugged me.

“Mind you, there are going to be a few changes. Do you promise to obey me in all things?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Right. One. You are never to dress in male clothing again. Do you agree?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Two. You know how I hate housework. You’re going to have to be my maid, OK?”

We kissed deeply, bugger the make-up.

“Tell me. How many pairs of shoes do you have?”

“Just two. These and a pair of white sandals.”

She looked horrified.

“How can you say you’re a girl when you only have two pairs of shoes? God, you’re going to need a lot of work.”

I giggled helplessly.

……………

I said we were in the redecoration and renovation business. It looked like I’d just got my biggest project.

Do I continue or not??