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Do you believe in magic? I do. But if you don’t maybe you should not read on.
 
 
Sandra and Liz finally finished their combination torture and pleasure session with a few airy brushes to my face and allowed me to see what they had done to me. They turned me to the mirror and I looked at this woman, who I didn’t recognize. I had had my brows shaped earlier and my lips filled out with collagen and I thought that that had transformed me.

I didn’t know the meaning of the word “transformed”. First, of course, I had my very own hair. A blonde with her locks hanging past her chin and the ends curled in to meet just above her shoulders, and a really neat fringe half-way between her forehead and her eyebrows, peered out of the mirror. No more wigs needed. She swung her head from side to side testing the attachment of her hair until she was satisfied that it wasn’t going anywhere. Her eyebrows had been thinned and darkened and the eyes beneath them framed in colours shading from silver to a dark blue, eyes and lashes emphasized by a black liner and mascara; cheeks glowing with a delicate blush and lips painted deep claret, so dramatic.

This woman raised her fingernails in wonder and her long nails matched exactly the colour on her lips. Her hands looked smaller somehow and far more elegant; a pianist’s fingers. She stood up and swung her hair from side to side, watching as it fell back into place when she stopped. She drew in a breath and pouted, pursing those lips, those Angelina Jolie lips.

She twirled, the black-and-white spiral patterns on her dress complementing her face and hair. The low heels she was wearing before had been replaced by white high-heeled strappy sandals so that she could see her newly-painted toes.

“Ohh, my God! What have you done to me?” Her lips stretched into a broad sensuous smile, almost splitting her face in two, radiant hardly covered it.

“I take it you like it then?” said Sandra. “See what a pair of real artists can do. The best in Brisbane. That’s us.”

No false modesty there.

Cathy was standing at my shoulder, beaming like she owned me. I basked in the admiration, hers, mine, Liz’s and Sandra’s. 100% woman, that was me, and I loved it.

Liz and Sandra looked at each other and said something under their breath. Then Liz sort of cleared her throat.

“We’re really pleased you’re pleased. We don’t normally give advice, because we’re beauticians, not physicians, and we see some funny things doing house calls, but we take it you intend this to be permanent.”

“Sorry, what do you mean?” I said.

“Please don’t take this wrong, because you are a beautiful girl, but you really don’t intend to go back to being male, do you?”

Oh, shit, does everybody know?

“All we’re saying is you should start on electrolysis as soon as possible. You really don’t need a beard, and get rid of your Adam’s apple as soon as you can. It’s not big, but if you do those two things you will be our masterpiece….er….mistress piece....our work of art. We’ll be more than happy to work on you anytime you like.”

I went to kiss them, but they wouldn’t let me, didn’t want to spoil anything. I kept on looking at myself in the mirror. I wanted to kiss everybody in the world. I felt so damn PRETTY. I wanted to dance around the room singing that nauseating song. Nobody looking like me could possibly be anything but a girl; a Girl; A GIRL!! All the suppressed angst from over the years disappeared. Euphoria was an understatement.

Cathy was radiating love at me and my heart was overflowing. I waved my claret nails at everything, gesticulating, just to see them in front of me, show them off so everybody could see, and I looked down in wonder at my toes peeping out of my shoes, coloured the same. I pirouetted. I danced. Oh, I was so graceful. Ginger Rogers, eat your heart out!

I finally wound down enough for Cathy to stop me prancing and we paid Sandra and Liz a pittance for their wizardry or witchery and they left the two of us on our own.

I wanted to kiss Cathy too, but she wouldn’t let me either. She had gone and got our digital camera, that we found so useful in our business, and had already taken a dozen photos of me, which we had viewed on the back and, god, was I photogenic or was I not? I was BEAUTIFUL.

“I wanted to take you out tonight and show you to the world. I reckon the world deserves to see you, too, but since I saw you when they finished I got all possessive and selfish, and I just want you for myself tonight. I want my own private fashion show. I want to ravish you with my eyes first and later maybe I’ll ravish you properly."

She leered lasciviously. "Is that OK with you?”

“I’d love to try on a lot of the stuff we bought, and I can’t think of anything better than showing it to you. Should I make us something to eat first?”

“Tanya, the only thing I want to eat tonight is you. Come on, I told you I had a lovely dress for you. Let’s go and get it.”

We went upstairs and she got out a gorgeous fire-engine red cocktail frock, spaghetti straps, flared skirt to mid-thigh, a sort of flamenco-style ruffled hemline and it’s going to be mine, all mine. Just seeing it made me greedy, my presshhious! I stripped off in a hurry and put it on, with her zipping me up at the back. It looked great. She gave me a pair of matching four-inch sling-backs and I primped and preened and cat-walked around the bedroom, arms akimbo, and posed while she wielded the camera. Then I went to her and wrapped my arms around her and hugged her.

I made her go downstairs again and I clip-clopped down the stair-case, loving those heels clicking, stopping on the stairs, doing all those classic movie struts, with an arm on the banisters and a hand behind my head, one leg bent in front of the other, etc, etc, before I went back up and changed into a little black dress with a halter neck, and a pair of patent heels and then I sashayed down the stairs again, posing as I went, to give her lots of photo opportunities. You would not believe how feminine and gorgeous I felt...and confident. I really was all woman. Poor Tom was gone. I had hidden Tanya for fourteen or fifteen years and now she was out of the closet with a vengeance and no way was she going back in.

We spent the evening with me changing into outfit after outfit and Cathy taking pictures of me and whistling and clapping and cheering as I did dramatic, sexy pose after dramatic, sexy pose. I tell you, Marilyn had nothing on me that night. I out-pouted her a hundred times and looked a hundred times better (IMHO). We reviewed my performance on the back of the camera and printed the best of the bunch on the computer as we went. There was one that I called the Scarlett O’Hara dress, emerald green and low-cut in the bosom. It was so gorgeous. I knew I had to wear it again as soon as I could. Some clothes don’t just call out to you. They grab you and don’t let go.

After about four hours we were…..not exhausted….. but hungry for close contact, so I stripped off once more and helped her undress too. We put on shower-caps and she took off my face. I nearly cried but when I saw myself with it off I could see that I still really looked like a girl. We showered slowly and sensuously. She soaped my cock with care and attention and I really felt sexy but somehow nothing happened. I think I was still mentally too female.

We went to bed naked and kissed and cuddled and embraced each other and I was overpowered with my love for her. She could not stop stroking my new long hair and I was reveling in it. We kissed and explored the insides of each others’ mouths. I fondled her nipples and breasts. Everything was so lovely.

There are no words to describe what happened next to me and to her. I asked at the beginning if you believed in magic. Well, now is the time to believe or disbelieve as you will. Maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe we were transported to an alternate reality or a universe where things were just a little bit different. Maybe it was all just a dream. I prefer to think of it as magic.

We lay in each others’ arms infused with love and all I can say is, something TWISTED. That’s not the right word, but it’s as close as I can get. I was looking into the face of my beloved and she bent her head down to my nipples and began to suck one of them. Electric shocks went through me. Every nerve-ending reacted to her touch. She kneaded my breast as she sucked. My breast! Not my breast-form! My breast! How can I describe the feeling of having your breast massaged for the very first time? Your nipples engorging and growing longer and thicker and becoming as hard as stone?

I wasn’t in shock, I was in ecstasy. She swapped to my other nipple and the euphoria doubled. Then I felt her penis probing at my vagina. I rolled her over and moved down her body until I took her tool in my mouth. I began to lick and suck and move to make it harder and harder. I didn’t think. It wasn't strange. I knew this was what I existed for. This was what I was born and bred to do. I wanted it to be as hard as I could make it before it went inside me. I knew that was where it was going, where I wanted it to go.

Her fingers probed my pussy and slipped inside, parting my lips and spreading them. The sensations were….well…..sensational. I got wetter and wetter. The feeling intensified. I couldn’t stop the spasms of my body as I came and came, shuddering and shaking as those fingers roused me, juices spurting. My mind began to shut down. Instinct took over as the primal feelings became the dominant emotion.

Then she rolled on top of me, her penis like a rock, and, with my last remaining sentience, I steered it into my vagina, where it belonged. I was going to consume it. It belonged to me. She pierced me to the very quintessence of my being. There was no more thought. I just wanted that wonderful implement inside me, deeper and deeper, thrusting and thrusting, forever and forever. My internal muscles reached out and pulled it into the centre of my body, into my soul, my core. It seemed to expand and fill me, stretching me, and I wrapped myself around it. My legs too wrapped around her body, pulling her inwards. I thought I would split but I contained it and although it swelled and swelled, somehow I was in control, and then it sort of surged and released its contents and my body sucked it up like a vacuum cleaner, the sperm travelling up my canal to my womb. I could feel it.

I knew I would bear her a child and my being, my soul, shouted in joy. I relaxed and I went to sleep with her inside me still, so happy.

I woke up the next morning and she wasn’t inside me. I didn’t have breasts or a vagina any more, and she didn’t have a cock, but I knew I hadn’t been dreaming. At first I could have cried, but then I reflected on my memories. Maybe I had seen the future. Years later, when I really was a woman, I knew that what I experienced that night was the genuine thing.

I got up and surveyed myself in the mirror. Yes, my body was male, inasmuch as I had a penis, but something was different. It wasn’t masculine. It had become somehow feminine, female. My face and hair, of course, was a girl’s, but I knew that my transition had already begun. When I moved I was a woman. All my mannerisms, female. My fate was sealed, not in any bad way, but how I had always longed for it to be.

While I watched I could see my limbs, my arms and legs, change, not physically, but they became a girl’s limbs, somehow smoother and less muscled, elegant. My neck seemed to lengthen and become more slender, all in the way I perceived myself, of course.

Catherine came up behind me and saw that she too was again a woman. Her hand went to her groin, as if to check what was there, whether last night persisted. She circled my waist with her arms. I swiveled and returned her embrace. We looked at each other and my mind entwined with hers.

“I love you,” We said.

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The End...For Now

Tanya and Cathy promise to return.