WONDERFUL WIFE

I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “Oh! Almost forgot!”
I skipped into the kitchen and returned with a tupperware container from the fridge. “Some lunch. It’s just the leftovers from the supper I made last night, but you said it was delicious so…”
“Thanks.” He grinned “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife one day.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, or even the fiftieth, but he always seemed to think it was the funniest joke ever. I rolled my eyes and, smiling, kissed him again. His tongue parted my lips and he pulled me into him with his free hand, and he moaned softly as my thigh brushed the hardness in his groin.
I pushed him away reluctantly. “You’re going to be late! We can carry on when you get home tonight!”
He turned to leave, and then turned back, stealing another kiss, grinning again as he opened the door. “See you tonight!”
“Love you!” I called back after him. I watched him down the garden path, smiling as he held the plastic container against his groin in an attempt to hide the now subsiding evidence of our goodbyes.

Charlie was a numbers person. He’d studied maths at university and got a job in a bank afterwards. Even when I drew his face, it was a collection of straight lines and acute angles, like an exercise in trigonometry, all pointed cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Like lots of numbers people, he also had a gift for music, and through university he’d played lead guitar in a band with some friends. He loved being out on the stage, strutting his stuff. Me, I was the opposite; happy to be an observer rather than a do-er. I’d studied English, but really would have preferred Fine Art. I met him at a gig where his band were playing. I’d been invited by a mutual friend and I took along my sketchbook and drew as he played. He came over after they finished and my friend showed him my drawing and we started talking and it all developed from there. In my spare time at uni I combined my English and Art by writing and illustrating children’s books. In our final year Charlie had sent one off, unbeknownst to me, to a publisher and it had hit the jackpot, sitting on bestseller lists for several weeks. So when we moved to London for work, we miraculously had enough money to put down a deposit on a house. A very small one, but a house nonetheless. Charlie went out to work at the bank every day in his suit and tie, and I waved him off at the door in my dressing gown, before retiring to the spare room where I’d spend the rest of the day writing and painting.

I closed the door as he disappeared around the corner of the road and made my way back upstairs to the bathroom. I paused for a moment before entering the shower to look at my reflection in the mirror.
“Wonderful wife indeed!” I thought to myself. I loosened the cord from my dressing gown and let it fall to my feet and raised my hand thoughtfully to my chin. Despite it being almost a week since I’d last shaved, it was still smooth and round. I sighed. Only a few days ago, in a bar, meeting my thirty something year old female publisher, I’d been asked if I was her son.
Wonderful wife. The thought popped into my head that it probably wouldn’t take very much effort for me to look like Charlie’s wife. I shrugged and stepped into the shower.

-

“Happy Birthday Handsome!”. I held the envelope out for him to take. He grinned and tore it open. The card featured the classic Gil Elvgren 1960s pin-up image of the French maid, sweeping dust under the carpet whilst revealing her stocking tops. He opened it and read the message.
“Oo-ooh! My present is coming tonight?”
“Mm-hmmm.” I kissed him again.
“Do I get any clues?”
“You’ve already had one.”
He lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. But I wouldn’t say anything else and bundled him out of the door. “You’ll be late!” I grinned.
He protested, half-heartedly, before setting off; the card still in his hand. “See you tonight then!”
I watched him until he cleared the end of the road and then ran back upstairs. I had a lot to do if I was going to be ready for him when he returned home.

He’d teased me about being a ‘wonderful wife’ so many times that for his birthday I thought I’d take him up on his suggestion. And what ‘wonderful wife’ wouldn’t want to give their husband a birthday treat by dressing up as a naughty French maid? I’d been planning it all for several weeks. I’d started by copying make up tutorials on YouTube. It helped that I was an artist, and a good one at that, but even allowing for the fact that I didn’t have the most masculine of features to start with I was surprised at how easy it was to make myself look presentable – even quite attractive - as a woman. I’d bought a wig in the same style as the pin-up image, and a uniform, and some lingerie to wear underneath. And I’d bought some heels as close as I could find in match to those in the image. The meticulousness and creativity that I applied to my work I applied to this project too. I’d done a full dress rehearsal a few weeks previously and realised that, even though I was slim, I’d need a corset to pull me into the shape of the girl in the image. And even though in a still image I looked ok, walking in the heels, and adopting the movements and speech of a young woman were something else entirely. I took to wearing heels all day after Charlie had left for work, and talking to myself and making recordings to fine tune my voice to the soft sultry tones I was mimicking in the tutorials I watched online. I’d study women walking out in the street, or sitting in cafes, and emulate their movements. The same drive and intensity that went into making my books made me determined to be the sexiest, cutest and most wonderful wife I could be.

After Charlie had left for work on his birthday I applied the finishing touches. I hadn’t dare shave my legs in case he noticed, and that morning I lingered in a hot, fragranced bath having denuded my body of any trace of hair from the neck down. My eyebrows similarly hadn’t been touched for fear of discovery. I plucked them now into a fine arch. I dressed in my lingerie, pulling my corset into a tiny waist and drawing my stockings up silky smooth legs. Wrapping myself in a long satin robe I sat at my work table, a newly purchased mirror, pulled from the drawer in which it had been hiding, in front of me. I’d practised so much that putting on make-up had become something of a ritual and I luxuriated in the sweep of brushes over my skin, and the fragrances of powder and paint. Hair and make-up completed, I swiped to the clock on my phone. 6.30pm. Charlie would be home soon. The food I’d prepared was in the oven; the wine was chilling in the fridge. Everything was ready now apart from me. I stepped into the uniform, smoothing the satin of the skirt down over my stocking tops; tying the white ribbons of the apron behind my back and stepping into my heels. I heard the click of the gate and Charlie’s footsteps along the garden path. I stood and took a final look in the mirror, a deep breath, and went downstairs.

He told me later that the first thing he’d noticed was my heels coming downstairs. Ankles, calves, thighs and then the tops of my stockings, peeking out from under the hem of my dress; a band of smooth milky white skin separating the two. By the time I stood in front of him, his eyes were like saucers.
“Happy Birthday, husband. I thought, seeing as how you’re always saying what a wonderful wife I’d make that I’d be one for you tonight. And she’s feeling naughty and would like to give her husband a special birthday present.” I peeked up at him from beneath my mascara-clad lashes, which I batted for extra effect, and then, my hands clasped behind my back, reached up and kissed him innocently on the cheek, leaving a perfect imprint of red lipstick behind. As I pressed against him I couldn’t help noticing that he was hard. Very hard. I smiled to myself as I settled back on my heels.
He stared back at me, speechless for a moment. “You…I mean…fucking hell Cammie you look absolutely amazing!”
I tucked a stray hair behind my ear and smiled. “Thank you. But tonight it’s Camille, not Cameron. Come in. I’ve made some food; and there’s wine in the fridge.” I took his hand, and led him through into the living room, conscious of his gaze locked intently on my rear as I rolled my hips, my suspender straps flexing alternately with each step, my heels clicking over the hallway floor. I poured a couple of gin and tonics in silence, my back to him, allowing him to continue his visual interrogation of my transformation.
“Happy Birthday handsome!” we clinked glasses.
“I can’t believe you make such an incredible looking girl!”
I pirouetted coquettishly, making sure the hem of my skirt rode up high enough to again flash my stocking tops. “You like?”
“I do.” He put his drink down and stepped towards me. The visual evidence of just how much he did like was very clear.
I smiled triumphantly, and taking his hand led him to the sofa. “Sit down. The food isn’t quite ready yet, but I know just the thing that will make a delicious hors d’oeuvre.”
I knelt on the floor between his legs and slowly unzipped his trousers.

-

He wrapped his arms around my waist and gave me a long, lingering kiss. “Happy Birthday, Cammie.”
It was almost six months since Charlie’s birthday. I’d got up, as I always did, to see him off to work, although with the mornings now darker and colder as we entered winter, it was becoming more of an effort not to stay in bed. I yawned as he handed me a parcel. “Open it. Before I go.”
I tore open the packaging and held the garment up in front of me. “Really?” I looked up at him.
He grinned and nodded.
“But you’ve never…I mean, since I dressed up for you on your birthday, you’ve never mentioned it again. I wasn’t sure if you’d even…”
“I think it was pretty obvious how much I enjoyed it, wasn’t it? And I also think it was pretty obvious how much you enjoyed being a girl too.” He left a space for me to contradict, but I kept quiet, and he grinned again. “I thought so!”
I held the dress up to my shoulders. It was a cocktail dress, thigh length. Black sequins. Long sleeves, a slash neck and a designer label. “It’s lovely. Thank you!”
“Wear it tonight?” he asked “Be ready for me when I get home. Oh, and don’t worry about food or anything – it’s your birthday not mine – I’ll sort that out.” He kissed me again, and as he opened the door to leave a short blast of cold air shot inside and rippled through the sequins, sending tiny reflections glittering across the hallway walls.

I wasn’t ready when he came home. I figured that was my prerogative anyway, and I wanted to tease him a little too. He came upstairs and I was sat at my table, finishing my make up. I’d arranged the folds of my robe so it fell open across one thigh, revealing the top of a stocking as I slowly and lingeringly applied a final coat of lipstick. He watched, transfixed. I stood up, and let the robe fall from my shoulders into a pool of satin by my feet. I stepped into my dress, pulling it up over my shoulders and slipping my arms into the sleeves.
‘Zip me up, will you?”
I watched our reflections in the mirror as he stepped towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders, gently sliding my hair away from my neck and kissing me along the nape. I arched back into him, pressing his hardness into me, tilting my head so that he was kissing me along the edge of my throat now, where I’d sprayed scent just a few moments earlier.
“Mmmm. You smell good.” he moaned.
I turned around so that we were nose to nose and, reaching down, unzipped him and slid my hand in to give him a squeeze. He moaned again.
I leant forward, whispering into his ear. “I like that I have this effect on you. I think little Charlie likes Camille more than Cammie you know…”
He moaned a third time.
I whispered again. “But I don’t want you getting all carried away when the evening is so young” I tucked him back into his trousers, and zipped him up again. He looked at me like he was a little boy whose football had been stolen, and I grinned. “So. What are we eating?”
He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Humph! You think you’re such a tease don’t you? Well. Here’s the thing. It seemed such a shame that last time Camille came out to play she was all dressed up with nowhere to go so tonight I’ve booked us a table at Givenche. It’s time for Camille to go out and see the world.”
It was my turn to find myself on the back foot. I swallowed. “You want me to go out, dressed like this?”
He nodded.
“Fuck, Charlie…”
He grinned. “You look fantastic. You’re not just passable, you’re fucking gorgeous”
“But I don’t have a handbag! Or a coat!”
He laughed, and I started giggling too. “Gosh, I’m a total girl, aren’t I?”

The restaurant was new and fashionably busy. The maitre’d had shown us to our table and taken our coats. Of course Charlie – the most lovable, handsome and thoughtful man in the whole wide world - had bought Camille a coat – a sexy little faux fur jacket – and a handbag in the same sequins as my dress. Sometimes I thought that I didn’t deserve him, but then when I looked in the mirror as I left the house - ah, only kidding…
By the time pudding arrived we were so loved up I was barely resisting the urge to rip the tablecloth away and have Charlie make mad passionate love to me in the Eton Mess when his face changed suddenly.
“Oh, bollocks!”
“What? What is it?”
“My boss. Dead ahead. He’s seen me…”
He’d barely finished speaking when a deep baritone rang out, causing almost every diner in the place to turn around. “Jenkins! Fancy seeing you here! How the hell are you?”
A big bear of a man strode across to our table and playfully shook Charlie’s shoulder so hard I worried his neck might be dislocated. He turned to look at me, and then across again to Charlie. “Well! You’re quite the dark horse, eh? Who’s the lovely lady then?”
“She’s, er…”
I proffered my hand. “Camille. Pleased to meet you. Charlie’s fiancée.”
He took my hand in his huge paw. “Absolutely delighted! You can call me George.” He beamed, and then looked back to Charlie. Charlie was still looking at me with a ‘what the heck did you say that for’ expression on his face.
“You’ve been keeping that quiet Jenkins! Congratulations! To both of you! I do hope you’ll be bringing Camille along to our Christmas ball next week so I can get to know her better. In fact, I insist upon it! Now, let me get back to my clients – I’ve a couple of Yankee oil tycoons back there who want us to help them open up in Europe…”

As soon as he was out of earshot Charlie hissed “What did you tell him we were engaged for?”
“I don’t know – it felt like a good story. At least a better one than ‘I’m Charlie’s boyfriend and he likes it when I wear a dress.’”
“Humph”
“He’s a bit full on though, isn’t he? I’m glad I don’t have to put up with that every day! You poor thing!” I took his hand in mine.
“Hmm. Well. He can be. He’s a decent sort underneath though, I suppose.” He paused. “It’s ok. I’ll find an excuse so we don’t need to go to the ball.”
“Where is it?”
“Can’t remember exactly. Some swanky hotel in Knightsbridge I think. Dinner and then dancing. Black tie.” He paused again. “Why? You’re not thinking…”
I grinned. “I think it would be good for your career prospects. I could flirt with him a little bit. Put in a good word for you; that kind of thing…”
“Cammie, you’re forgetting one crucial thing.”
“What?”
“You’re a boy.”

-

I knew exactly the dress I was going to wear. It was the sexiest, slinkiest thing I’d ever seen with a skirt that was tight down to my knees so the satin slid deliciously over my skin with each tiny step, and a short train that I had to hitch up in the cutest way each time I had to go up or down a step. I’d booked a visit to a salon on the morning of the ball for an all over waxing – I didn’t want the teensiest hair to come between me and that satin – and then, justifying it to myself on the grounds that the risk of discovery from a slipped wig or a detached finger nail was too high, I’d also arranged to have hair extensions fitted, my hair styled into a gorgeously elegant up-do, and a full manicure with acrylic nails.

I played the part of the loving and devoted fiancée to perfection, extolling Charlie’s virtues to anyone who would listen. George insisted on having me sit next to him for dinner, and his wife shot daggers at me from the opposite side of the table through every course. At last, the meal was finished, and I grabbed Charlie’s hand and dragged him out on to the dancefloor.
“Mmmm. You look handsome tonight. I like you in a dinner suit!” I reached my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
“And I like you in that dress. You look incredible.”
“Shall I tell you a little secret?” I reached up to whisper in his ear. “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
“You’re not?”
“Mmm-mmm. The satin feels too nice against my skin. Just swaying against you like this, it’s driving me wild…”
“But, I mean…” Now it was his turn to whisper. “Where’s little Cammie?”
“Everything’s tucked up and held back with medical tape.”
“Ouch! That must be really uncomfortable.” Then he grinned, and dropped his hands to run his fingertips all over my backside. “Mmmm. You’re right too!”
“And if you carry on like that little Cammie is going to be bursting out of the tape…”
He grinned. “You’re funny! You’ve no idea how much it turns me on to see you like this, knowing that underneath it all…”
“Shhh!”
He grinned again, and his fingertips continued to stroke.
“Right! You’ve asked for it!”
“What?”
“Come here right now!”
I grabbed his hand, and led him off the dancefloor, along a corridor and, checking that no-one had seen us, into a small office whose door had been left ajar. He grabbed me as we entered, slamming the door behind us, and pushed me against the adjoining wall, kissing me frantically. I came up for air, our eyes locked and then turned, simultaneously, to the desk in the middle of the room. He swept the papers that had, a moment earlier, been arranged in in neat piles over its surface, onto the floor and I spread myself over it, my belly against it’s cool surface. I felt the satin of my dress caress up my legs and over my backside and I gasped as he slid inside.

-

It was the very next Monday that I found the receipt. Charlie had gone into work as usual and he’d asked me to take one of his suits to the dry cleaners. I found it when I checked that the pockets were empty. Dinner for two. The date was last Wednesday. Charlie had gone to work that morning saying he would be working late, and it was after I’d gone to bed that he came home.

My stomach lurched straight away. I think we have a sixth sense when we know something is awry, and it was screaming at me just then. I remembered him coming in late. I remembered him smelling different. It didn’t seem significant at the time, but now I could recall what the smell was. Over the last few months I’d become more familiar than most guys with the fragrance of beauty products – powders, paint, perfumes. The smell of a woman.

I don’t know why I didn’t do something about it immediately – confront him with the evidence; ask him to explain. Perhaps I didn’t want to believe what my gut was telling me. I left it. Wednesday morning came, and he said he was going to be working late again. Again I was in bed, feigning to be asleep. Again he smelt of a woman.

The following week, after telling me he was going to be working late for the third time, I decided to do something about it and booked a table at the restaurant named on the receipt. I bought a new wig, blonde this time, and wore my make up differently so I was confident he wouldn’t recognise me. I arrived early and took a small table in the corner where I could see most of the other diners. For a moment as I’d entered I’d seen a group of around a dozen office workers at a table and my heart had leapt as I’d imagined it was Charlie with his colleagues, and there was a simple explanation for all this. But it wasn’t. Besides the office party, there were a couple of family groups, several couples, and a few all female tables, ranging from 2 diners up to five or six. But no sign of Charlie. I stayed until just after the last orders for food were taken around nine, and then hurried home. Charlie was back home around midnight again, with the same scent surrounding him as he climbed into bed. The next week, the same pattern and still no sign of him at the restaurant. I decided to try one last time.

The third time I went it was slightly busier than it had been previously, and my corner table was already occupied. I had a table in the centre of the room, next to one occupied by two women who I remembered from my previous visits. As I sat, I looked across and caught eye contact with the younger, taller of the two and smiled a greeting. She reciprocated fleetingly, and then her face stiffened and her mouth fell open in recognition. It was Charlie.
“Charlie! What the fuck!”
He stared at me silently, like a rabbit in headlights.
“What’s going on? Why are you dressed like…” I gestured at his clothes. “Who’s she?” I pointed at his companion.
“Cammie, I…Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!...it’s not what it looks like, I…”
“What the fuck does it look like, Charlie?”
“It’s…it’s..” he took a breath. “Jean…” he gestured at the woman sat opposite “runs a dressing service. For trans people.”
I shook my head, bewildered.
“It’s just that…you looked so amazing. I mean, when you dressed up, and you looked like you were enjoying yourself so much I wanted to try…and I thought…and I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. Like this, I mean. Because you like it so much, I mean you seem to like it when I play the boy, and you the girl, and…” his voice petered out and he sat there staring down at the table, snatching an occasional glance up at me to see my reaction. Perhaps it was the way he was dressed, but I’d never seen him appear so vulnerable before.
“Oh, Charlie, you stupid sod. Why didn’t you say?”
He shrugged softly. I reached my hand over and placed it on his. His companion excused herself and went to the bar.
“Stand up. Let’s take a proper look at you.”
He stood, gingerly. He was wearing a long, camel coloured roll neck pullover dress and knee length brown leather boots. His wig had been styled into an up-do, his cheekbones defined in all their angular glory to give him a distinctly elegant appearance.
“Fuck, You’re nearly as pretty as I am.”
His worried countenance broke into a smile. “No-one’s as pretty as you.”
“Hmmph! Now you’re just crawling to try to get back into my good books.” He grinned again.
“Oh, come here then! He stepped shyly towards me and I placed my arms around him. “I love you, you know, you silly bugger.”
“I know. I love you too.”
“And if you want to be the woman of the house from time to time, that’s fine with me.”

-

She wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a long, lingering kiss.
“Mmm. Cammie! You look hot! I hardly ever get to see you in a suit, you look so handsome!”
I’d just returned from a business meeting with my publisher. Charlotte had been waiting for me when I’d come home, her long legs taking what felt like several minutes to arrive in full view as she descended to the foot of the stairs.
“Mmmm.” I kissed her back. “And those legs of yours look absolutely sensational in that uniform.”
She smiled, and took my hand, her backside wiggling invitingly as she led me through to the living room.
“Dinner’s not quite ready, but I know just the thing to keep you occupied until then.” She pushed me gently back into the sofa and knelt between my legs.
I groaned with pleasure. “Charlotte?”
“Mmmm?”
“You know what?”
“What’s that?”
I grinned. “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife one of these days.”

THE END