Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story. I've just joined at the invitation of Kristinals. Strangely, this story has the same name as one of hers but both were written before we 'met'. Mine is about the journey of a young man trying to fulfill his dream. Anne

Story:

THE JOURNEY
By
Anne Gray

Chapter 0ne.

I must have been sitting there for over twenty minutes. My car was parked near the entrance to the town’s largest covered shopping mall and I was still trying to screw up the courage to get out.

Nearly three years of planning had led up to this moment and I just had to do it. I reached for my shoulder strap handbag on the passenger seat and dropped in the car keys. Taking a deep breath I opened the door and, swinging my legs out, put my three-inch heels on the ground leaving my cocoon of safety.

Having made myself come this far, after a three year journey, I closed the car door and turned to start my walk to the mall entrance. The reason for all this hesitation was quite simple; I was a twenty-two year old male dressed from the skin out as a female.

While I say it had been a three year journey that was how long it was since I had started aiming for this moment but I had known since my early teens that it would happen one day.

My first memories were vague ones from my early childhood. I remember being jealous of my older sister and the clothes she got to wear. By the time I was in my teens and started dating I enjoyed being out with the girls and having fun but also imagined what it would be like to wear whatever they were wearing.

And I did like the girls so I knew I wasn’t gay; that made me the only person in the world who knew I was a transvestite. After finishing school and immediately landing a great job as a computer programmer, I moved into my own apartment and the journey began.

Even my selection of the apartment took in to account what I was planning and, in fact, I got a much better deal on it because it was right next to the elevators. Being on the fourth floor it was high enough that no one could see in the windows but not so high that extended time was needed to get down to the underground garage.

Like many one bedroom apartments mine had a long, narrow storage room just inside the front door and I turned the back four feet of it into a hidden closet. With boxes and the usual stuff you collect, but have no place to put, in the rest of the area it was unnoticeable.

In fact I had a system that took only a couple of minutes to get to it and slide the door open. As I gradually gathered what I needed for my other persona storing it on racks and shelves in this little hidden space, I could not help but grin to myself that one day, I would really be “coming out of the closet”.

My parents had retired and moved south and my sister was long married and lived on the other side of the country. I had few close friends and my colleagues at work stayed pretty much to themselves so my privacy and “space” was reasonably secure.

Both in my profession and daily life I was a detail man, planning each action very carefully. Those habits now stood me in good stead as I moved towards my heart’s desire.

The first time grocery shopping to stock up the apartment kitchen I slowed passing the rack of packaged Wonder bras and pantyhose grabbed one of each and tossed it in the cart. They got lost in the four or five bags at the checkout so not an eyebrow was raised. The sizes didn’t matter, what I had wanted was the charts I had seen on the packages.

Studying them at home and using a tape measure on my own body I found that I had really been lucky with the bra, it did fit me but looked a bit stupid with the cups empty. With them padded I would apparently be a 36c; as for the pantyhose they were miles too small. The chart said I would need a code C.

The next week the rack at the grocery store dispensed two packs the right size in a neutral shade.

At 5’ 8” and 140 lbs my research eventually indicated that I was somewhere between a size 12 and 14. To confirm this took a few more weeks along with the help of the Salvation Army!

They had several of their second hand clothing stores in the city and I visited two of them. I approached one of the volunteer staffers and asked for help. I explained that my family had “adopted” a single mother and her child “up north” and they really needed some clothes. My contribution was to get something for the woman but all I had was a photograph and her measurements — could she help?

Being one of the marvelous people they are, she certainly could help. The photograph was, of course, of my sister who just happened to be 5’ 8” and 140lbs. Thirty minutes and just $20 later I left with two skirts, a couple of blouses, a turtleneck sweater and a pair of slacks. None of their shoes were 9 wide.

The second store produced a similar reaction plus one pair of flats and one pair of 3” heels in the right size. Less than $50 and I was loaded with things to try but the best part was that each item had a tag clearly marking the size.

I was in heaven as I tried on my treasures my feelings proving that my dreams had not been wrong, I just loved to wear feminine clothing and it felt right.

Strangely, later that day, I had another great date with one of the girls from the office and we ended up at her place for the night doing what comes naturally and that felt right too.

With some experimentation I found that two pairs of the neutral coloured control top pantyhose worked best one on top of the other. The bits and pieces tucked between my legs were held there and a smooth front achieved. I had finally found the best thing to fill the bra cups; believe it or not, it was birdseed in a thin plastic bag.

It shaped to the cups and the weight seemed comfortable. After trying all my items I selected those that fit best namely, the sweater and a knee length tweed skirt that was just tight enough to control the length of my steps in the 3” heels. Now those took some getting used to but I practiced every evening. In fact, it took me less than thirty minutes after getting home to raid the closet and spend the rest of the day and evening pretending, at least from the neck down, to be a woman.

Now I visited a regular department store and confided to one of the sales clerks that I had brought along one of my girlfriends’ favourite skirts that she had had for a few years and did they have anything similar that I could get for her birthday?

They did and for the sweater. Another couple of months and I had a complete new wardrobe.

The advertisements in the back of a women’s magazine yielded several mail order wig suppliers. I picked one and mailed off an order for a shoulder length pageboy style. My cheques were identified with just the initial of my first name and therefore generic; three weeks later I had my wig.

I was blessed with very fine, fair hair that made my eyebrows almost invisible so I could go two or three days without shaving before it became obvious; those things were in my favour. Added to that I had a hobby, or should that be another hobby, of building small model aircraft and found that if I kept my fingernails a bit longer than the usual male they were better than tweezers for handling the tiny parts.

Now — makeup! I solved that one by again using the colour photograph of my sister. A visit to a major department store just before Christmas and a chat with the cosmetician on staff produced a complete makeup gift kit that she was sure would compliment the features of the girl in the photograph.

Now my evenings were spent practicing to get the effect I wanted, feminine but understated. What really amazed me was the effect of nail polish, my hands immediately transformed to those of a lady.

For months I put everything together two or three evenings a week in the security of my apartment until it was clear that I either had to take the next step on my journey or forget the whole thing.

So here I was getting out of the car.

Dark blonde pageboy wig, careful makeup, small clip on earrings, tan high-necked sweater that covered my Adam’s apple, knee length dark brown tweed skirt with a 2” belt around my waist and very light brown pantyhose that disappeared into the square toed pumps with 3” heels. The shoulder strap purse gave me something to do with my hands; I had my left thumb hooked around the strap at waist level and my right hand rested lightly on top of it. This solved the problem of what to do with them.

Almost one hour later I was getting back in my car. I had done two complete circuits inside the Mall. Walking slowly and window shopping every store I had made myself relax and move as I had practiced oh so many times.

Not a sideways glance, not a giggle and, Thank God, not a pointed finger. I wondered that I was not sweating bricks — I had passed!

Well — almost!

I went back once a week and it was an incredible turn-on. Because of my voice I never spoke to anyone, I never brought anything; I just so enjoyed the clothes I was wearing and the feeling of being feminine in public.

Then after five or six visits I got a coffee from the self -serve in the food court and sat at one of the small tables to drink it.

A really gorgeous girl in her mid twenties slid into the seat facing me and leaned close as she said — “You really are very good but your walk needs some work!”

I think my heart stopped for a moment, I know my eyes went wide and my jaw dropped as I stared at her.

“Oh don’t look so scared,” she whispered “you really do pass quite well it’s just that I’m trained to study people because I’m with the Mall’s undercover security and our main job is looking for anything out of place.”

“I’ve seen you here before and couldn’t put a finger on what was bothering me. You’ve never brought anything until that coffee and you haven’t caused any trouble but I then I noticed that you tend to lean forward just slightly walking in those heels and I had you figured out.”

“Are you gay?”

“No,” I whispered back, “far from it, I just love the feeling of dressing in female clothing. I’m not doing any harm to anyone so please don’t make a fuss.”

She looked me straight in the eye and said that there was a nice inexpensive restaurant at the end of the Mall and she would like to meet me there for dinner at 7 p.m. when she was off duty. We could talk. I should come as myself, just like I would on a date.

I had little choice in the matter and, anyway, my male side was reminding me how beautiful she was, so I agreed and then she worried me again by asking to see my driver’s license. One look and she grinned at me and said I should take the bus home because the license was in my real name and carried my male picture. Anything happens and you are screwed, so go home, change and we’ll collect your car tonight.

It made sense; I had completely missed that detail in my plans. So, with her walking beside me to the entrance and a final quiet word of encouragement to straighten my back a bit more, I left for home.

I didn’t even know her name!

My journey had taken an unexpected turn but, for some reason, I was not worried as to what the evening would bring; maybe I should have been!

Chapter Two

Her name was Francine and she was even more gorgeous than I had thought that afternoon. She was waiting for me at the entrance to the restaurant and I was right on time. I had stopped to check that my car was OK before coming in the Mall. Now, in a short sleeved shirt, tie and freshly pressed slacks I can’t explain why I was feeling so relaxed; she just didn’t give off any bad vibes and there was no fear in me.

She already knew, from seeing my drivers license earlier, that my “male” name was Paul and she had told me hers as we were being led to a table in a quiet corner.

After we ordered a cocktail, she asked if I would explain why she had found me dressed, as I was that afternoon. Completely at ease, I didn’t even hesitate, just poured out the happenings of the last few years that had led up to this part of my “Journey”.

When I got to the ways and tricks I had used to gather my wardrobe and the other things necessary she smiled saying that as a computer expert I should have known I could have just gone online to a place like the Glamour Boutique and the whole thing could have happened in weeks or less — not the months and years I had spent.

What with that obvious thought and the driver’s license bit I guess I wasn’t so much of a detail man after all.

After we had ordered it was my turn to question her motives and she talked for nearly an hour as we ate.

She had had a younger brother who she loved dearly. When he was about 14 years old she began to notice that her clothing was occasionally disturbed, not quite how she had left it or just slightly out of place. Their parents were dead so only the two of them lived in the house. She was over 18, had custody and was quite capable of looking after him.

She thought.

She went out on the net doing some extensive research in case her suspicions were confirmed. Then one day, she admitted, she set him up. She asked him if he would be all right if she went to stay overnight at a girlfriend’s house. He said no problem he would just watch TV.

Francine told me she made him a meal to heat up and left for about two hours. Around seven in the evening she quietly returned to the house to find him in her room wearing some of her clothes.

She knew from her research that he would be not only devastated but scared so the first thing she did was move over to him, take him in her arms and tell him it was OK, she knew what was going on and they could work things out together.

And, she said, work things out they did. He, like me, was not gay it was just that ever since he could remember he had been fascinated with female clothes and finally the urge got too much and he had started sneaking into my room when I was out and trying things on.

With her help, by the time he was sixteen, once or twice a month he would come home from school and an hour or so later she had a sister for the weekend. It was all he wanted. He (she) had a wardrobe full of outfits and delighted in changing sometimes two or three times in an evening. She taught him how to do his makeup and hair, sit, walk (he had a couple of pairs of heels) and he spent hours in front of the mirror.

Then one weekend they decided to “go public”. What harm could that do? Dinner at a nice place in the next town went without a hitch and the look in her brother’s eyes as they returned to the house convinced Francine she had handled everything properly.

A few months later, they were again on one of their occasional outings. She could remember exactly what he/she was wearing. A cotton blouse tucked in her/his, (damn she said I never knew how to refer to my brother when he was “dressed”, we never picked a female name for him) denim knee length skirt a matching jacket, sensible 2” heeled pumps. Hair up in a ponytail, small dangly earrings, a matching necklace and looking so lovely, he/she was just plain happy.

Then a boy from his school came in the restaurant with his family. They recognized Francine and came over to say hello. The boy could not stop staring at her brother and then like a light going on in his eyes it came out — “but you’re not a girl”.

Within a day or so it was all over the school and they made his life a complete misery. It was a small town, changing schools was not an option. “Moving away is what we should have done but I was studying pre-law and the house was free and clear so we stayed.”

At this point we had finished our meal and by the look on her face she was close to tears so I called for the bill. She insisted on “going Dutch” since it had been her idea to have dinner and my arguments got me nowhere so we settled up, left and ended up sitting in my car.

We were no sooner alone than the tears came and I held her as she sobbed on my shoulder.

Gradually it came out. They had hounded her brother unmercifully. Faggot, queer, sissy; he got it all. Then just before the graduation dance, she found out later, they sent him a catalogue from a dress shop and a note telling him to pick out something to wear.

She came home that evening and he had committed suicide. “He was so young, he hurt no one; he just had this uncontrollable urge to wear feminine clothes. What did he do that was so wrong?”

“They all came to the funeral and I stood up at the front, looked out at them sitting there and asked if they were now satisfied.” Not one of them could look me in the eye.

She apologized for getting my shirt all wet with her tears and said since it was getting late would I take her home?

On the drive to her place we exchanged telephone numbers. I walked her to the door and she turned, thanked me for being so honest with her and listening to her story. Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek and said she wanted to ask a favour. Could we meet again tomorrow at my place, would I show her my hidden closet and would I “dress” for her?

Why - was my question? Francine looked me straight in the eye and said she wanted to help me with my dream and make sure that I never would hear those dreaded words — “but you’re not a girl!”

Well, what would you have done?

Chapter Three

I met her at the door to my apartment in sports shirt and slacks and with a little trepidation I must admit, but the bright smile on her lovely face as she came in set me at ease. I had a light supper simmering on the stove and a salad to go with it. Based on what she had ordered last night, I had cocktails ready and handed her one.

“Well, at least you aren’t wearing a tie but why didn’t you get dressed for me?” That was an easy question to answer. “I thought you would want to see how I go about things from scratch and then you could tell me what I’m doing wrong. But, Francine, we have to also discuss something else.”

“Let me guess. You’re wondering what happens when your, shall we say, intimate parts get involved — right?”

Oh boy was she right!

“Paul, you might not think so but you are a very attractive man, I’m only a couple of years older than you and, in a few months, I’ll graduate from law school. You are independent with a full time job so we are both adults with minds of our own. I know we only met yesterday but the rapport between us seemed to click immediately didn’t it?”

God, she was right again?

“So, why don’t we get any possible embarrassment out of the way by doing this?” She leaned over, took my face in her hands and kissed me like I had never been kissed before.

The supper was still edible an hour later when we came out of the bedroom! We ate with her wearing one of my tee shirts and me in boxer shorts; I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“Now, let’s have a look at your “other self” and, by the way, what do you call yourself when you are dressed as a girl?”

There’s that detail man again letting me down! “I don’t know, I supposed Paula would be the obvious answer wouldn’t it?”

“That’s one possibility but I don’t like it. I’ve seen you dressed and you need something softer. How about Pauline?”

She’d done it again, it sounded just right; I grinned at her “Well here we are one Francine and one, occasionally, Pauline.”

As it turned out, it wasn’t so occasionally but that’s getting ahead of the story.

I showed her where my hidden cupboard was and I don’t think it took more than five minutes before she had all that had taken me so long to acquire spread out on the dining room table and floor of the living room.

I’d never heard so many Um’s and Ah’s so I did what any red-blooded transvestite would do and went to make a pot of coffee. As I handed Francine hers she said, “Take yours to the bathroom and get wet while you shave everything except your head and eyebrows.”

Seeing the look on my face she smiled, “I know you don’t think you have much hair but wait till you see how things feel when you have shaved. We have to get you down to just one set of pantyhose!”

I wondered what the heck she was talking about but went quietly anyway. I really didn’t have that much body hair and even at my age only needed to shave my face two or three times a week. As I plied the razor in the bath I wondered if the lack of hair had something to do with the genes I had inherited and why I felt as I did.

When I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist Francine said we should start from scratch, literally — she meant my finger and toe nails!

She told me that I should file my fingernails so they were square straight across. I could get away with them being longer as a male if they were that way instead of oval. Besides, when Pauline put on some decent nail polish (an obvious crack at my taste) the larger surface would make them very feminine because there was more colour.

That made sense and I was more than happy to sit and gaze at her as she worked an emery board across them and then, frowning, lined up the few lipsticks and bottles of nail polish I had. “Take a look, you don’t have two that match.”

“OK for tonight just let me see you in your bra, I want to check some measurements.” I stood in the middle of the room in just bra and panties while she plied the tape and made some notes. By the time she was finished the panties were somewhat distorted. She grinned and said it was flattering but would have to wait then she asked me to fire up my computer.

After a few minutes she told me she had just ordered two pairs of breast forms (feed the birds with that other stuff in a week or so was a side comment) and a wig form. She said that storing the wig in a bag on the self was just asking for trouble. She had given her own house as the address for delivery from the Boutique and put them on her credit card.

She hoped that was all right and I could pay her when they arrived — it was marvelous.

She decided it was necessary to go shopping in the morning and, reluctantly, I asked if I should drive her home. She said she had come over in her own car but was I trying to get rid of her or should we do something about the tent in my panties — we did!

Shopping the next day was an education and a laugh at the same time. Francine dragged me from store to store and I got lots of looks of sympathy from staff thinking here’s the boyfriend being towed around looking embarrassed while she shops. If they had only known she was buying all those things for me.

Except for a couple of inches in height it had turned out our measurements were very close. The difference, of course, was that her bulges were very real. It meant that whatever she picked could have been for her self. When no one was close enough to overhear she gave me a running commentary of what she was getting and why.

For example not only control top panty hose but also a pair of what she called “power panties”. They were part spandex and part nylon and Francine grinned at me when she said they would keep everything under control.

She also got some matching shades of lipstick and nail polish in more muted colours. The explanation being that bright reds were fine if you wanted to draw attention to them but that was not our goal.

She said I had a great pair of legs and needed to get used to wearing and walking in higher heels to show them off and that got me wondering how I was supposed to go about buying them. I needn’t have worried. Francine told the clerk that her sister had a birthday coming and if she bought her a pair of shoes as a present, she knew the size, but for some reason they didn’t fit, could she bring them back and exchange them?

No problem, and ten minutes later Pauline had a new pair of pumps with 4” heels.

We had lunch, my treat, then stopped by Francine’s house so she could change and then, with a kiss, she said let’s go find the new improved version of Pauline at your place!

Chapter Four

“No, no, no Pauline; you’re still working at it and you shouldn’t. When you are dressed like that you should be able to feel like Pauline. Put her on; put her inside you as you dress. Don’t work at her, feel her!”

Francine was sitting opposite me in my living room. I was wearing a pale yellow linen suit with a knee length skirt and three-button jacket. My white blouse had a frill around the high neck and my hose covered feet were in a pair of white pumps with 3” heels.

It was a few weeks after we had met and, although with her coaching, I had become quite expert in doing it myself, Francine had done my makeup for me. We were celebrating the arrival of my breast forms and they felt wonderfully natural inside my white bra.

After she settled my shoulder length wig in place and combed it to frame my face, she added a pair of matching yellow button earrings. My fingernails matched my lipstick thanks to the shopping she had done with me. Even my toenails were done though they could not be seen in the pumps.

She was right; it was work. I should have felt like Pauline but I didn’t. I was so happy and it was marvellous to be dressed like this but I was still Paul inside the clothes acting as I thought Pauline would. It showed and Francine was getting exasperated with me.

“I think I know what the problem is,” she said. “The longest time you’ve been Pauline is a matter of a few hours. Even my brother, when he dressed, spent full weekends as his alter ego. With you Paul never has a chance to fade into the background and let Pauline take over.”

“You’ve got some holiday time owing to you and I have ten days free in a week or so. I think we should use that time to give Pauline a real chance.”

So that’s how it happened. A couple of evenings before our holiday we packed all of Pauline’s things in suitcases and moved them to Francine’s house and then, the night before it started, Paul slipped into her home. The following morning, for the benefit of the neighbours, Francine’s sister had come to visit.

The next few days were heaven and gradually as Pauline, I began to relax. Without the pressure of having to switch back and forth between personalities my gestures and mannerisms became more and more feminine. Any awkwardness softened and, with constant gentle prompting from Francine, naturalness developed.

We ventured out once or twice doing everyday things like grocery shopping and for that I “dressed down” in a pair of jeans, low-heeled ankle boots and a turtleneck sweater. The “power panties” did their job acting as a very effective gaff to keep things under control.

A light, belted, leather jacket accentuated my obviously feminine form and my makeup was understated. There was one thing for sure and that was anyone looking at us saw females and had no reason to question the gender of either one.

Francine was more and more pleased with my progress and, unfortunately, caused a small set back. When we got back from shopping she was so overjoyed with the way things had gone she hugged me hard and then kissed me. Well, one thing led to another and my Paul half took over.

It was quite the sight and when we were satiated we collapsed on the bed, laughing so hard we were both in tears. It ended up with us facing each other sitting in the bathtub with her gently wiping away the makeup on my face so that we could start re-building Pauline.

After that brief hic-cup the transition started again and continued smoothly for the next few days. My Pauline again emerged and very gradually took control of the body she was in.

From the moment I, as Pauline, awoke in the morning until late each evening everything was feminine. Francine had presented me with a special perfume that was the first thing I put on after my shower each morning. It was a soft flowery scent that made me think of lilacs and was a constant reminder to me that Pauline had replaced Paul; at least for the time being.

One afternoon, as a confident Pauline, I decided to thank Francine and disappeared for an hour into the room they had put all of her things. Very carefully I selected what I was going to wear and did my hair and makeup in a special way.

After putting on the denim knee length skirt, tucking in a cotton blouse and then donning a denim jacket, I pulled on a pair of low heeled pumps. The dangling earrings and matching necklace were next and I checked that the ponytail fell neatly down her neck.

Walking into the living room I just said, “Thanks to you I know I’m never going to hear those words.” The look on Francine’s face was first startled, then puzzled and, as she came over to stand in front of me, the tears began to flow and she just said “Thank you so much.”

I had dressed exactly the way Francine’s brother was when he heard “But you’re not a girl….” and Francine could again picture how he had been so happy before that moment. I had thought about doing this for a long time and worried that the memories might be hurtful to Francine but they were not and she hugged me for a long time and then promised again that I would indeed never hear those terrible words.

The following day we decided to take a trip to another town about 40 miles away and just walk, enjoy each other’s company and window shop.

Since we were supposed to be sisters we decided to dress alike for the day and, as it was early Fall but not too chilly yet, settled on long sleeved wool dresses with knee length flared skirts and high collars. Francine’s was maroon and mine a dark blue.

Francine did her hair to match my favourite wig and we each selected earrings and necklaces that matched the dresses. Francine treated me to a manicure and while the nails dried did my makeup. Our feet were in comfortable ankle boots with 3” heels and shoulder bag purses completed the outfits.

The drive in Francine’s car took just over an hour and we found a place to park at one end of the town’s main street then started slowly walking down it window shopping as we went. It was an amazing feeling, I felt so comfortable, so feminine and so relaxed I was in a completely different world from Paul’s. I was whispering replies to Francine’s comments as we walked along arm in arm.

We had been strolling for some time when the sky started to cloud over and soon it began to rain lightly but with the promise of getting harder before we would make it back to the car. Francine spotted a discount department store and dragged me across the street and inside.

Checking though the racks we found two cheap, clear plastic raincoats with belts and hoods and bought them along with an umbrella. Standing inside the doorway we put on the coats and, after doing up the belts, Francine showed me the trick of reaching back with a hand on each side of my head to pull the hood up without disturbing my hair.

With the umbrella up we started back up the street towards the car; an arm around each other’s waist and soon were giggling like schoolgirls. As the rain got harder Francine stopped outside a restaurant and said, “that last rumble wasn’t thunder it was my stomach let’s have lunch and hope the rain ends.”

Inside the upscale restaurant, after checking the coats and umbrella, we were led to a table by the window. After giving us time to study the menu the waitress came over and Francine told her what she wanted and then said, “ And my sister will have……”

Where it came from I never knew; it was a light, slightly husky but obviously feminine voice that said, “her sister will order for herself and would like…………….!”

As I finished ordering and handed the menu back to the waitress I turned and saw a huge smile on Francine’s face. Reaching across the table Francine took my hands in hers and said “Hi Sis, welcome to my world!”

Chapter 5 - Epilogue

You would think after the revelation of Pauline finding her voice we would have been chattering like a couple of schoolgirls. But that was not the case. Oh, we talked for the rest of the lunch and while we were pulling on the raincoats and walking back to the car but once in it there was an almost oppressive silence.

Francine concentrated on driving in the bad weather and I became lost in deep thought.

I think we both realized that we were at a vicious cross roads that had not been foreseen; a point in the relationship where decisions would have to be made that would effect us for the rest of our lives.

We both knew that with Pauline becoming a complete and viable person who could pass anywhere I, Paul, had to decide what I was going to do. Later, Francine told me she knew she would have to make sure that the decision was mine but her problem was that she loved me in both my persona!

Safely back home we went to our rooms to change. Francine was obviously a bit surprised and didn’t quite understand that, while she had gone for comfort in jeans and a sweater, I came in the living room in a white dress. The skirt flared to below the knee while the fitted bodice had a high collar that was accented with a narrow red ribbon around my neck. The sleeves were puffed to the elbow and then tightly fitted to the wrist; around my waist was a wide red leather belt matching the neck ribbon and high heels. I had taken special care with my makeup and there was not a hair on my head out of place.

I carried a tray loaded with two glasses, a bottle of wine, a notepad and a pencil that I put down on the coffee table as I sat down beside Francine.

“We have to talk, don’t we?”

“Yes” said Francine, “because now we have three complete people but only two bodies and if we don’t do things correctly they could all be badly hurt.”

She continued “We know now for a fact that Pauline cannot exist on a part time basis, she is only complete when she is here twenty four hours a day, so where does that leave Paul?”

I slowly poured us each a glass of wine and then spoke with an intensity and such heartfelt emotion that I had never felt before, Francine had never seen such a serious side to me, despite all we had gone through together.

“I brought in the notepad thinking that it might help us to make a list of what each of the three of us needs or wants, but I know what I want and all the lists in the world will not help. I do so love being dressed and living like this. It feels so right and natural. Thanks to you Pauline is now a complete person and for that I can never thank you enough. But, and it is a big but, the problem we have is that both Paul and Pauline are in love with you!”

I dropped my eyes from her beautiful face to study the still full wine glass in my hands and could not help but see that the surface was trembling.

Looking back up I saw Francine just staring at me with tears slowly coursing down her cheeks. “I love you both and I refuse to choose, is there no answer to us having the best of both worlds? Please, we must come up with an answer”

Hours later we did have a plan that we agreed to follow through with. If it worked, as we hoped it would, all would be well and we would have found our answer.

The next morning we packed Pauline away and Paul returned.

The next few weeks were very busy ones for both of us. I gave the required notice to end the lease on my apartment and also resigned from the computer company job effective in sixty days.

Francine fast tracked her studies and graduated on schedule from law school then she put the house on the market and it was sold within a week. We selected a large city about five hundred miles away and Francine made applications to several law firms that resulted in two job offers. When she visited to finalize the offer she had accepted she also contacted a real estate agent and outlined what type of house we were looking for.

All of our actions culminated with a wedding in a quiet civil ceremony and then we packed and shipped everything to the new home. But it was two sisters who returned from the honeymoon and moved in. Francine became a very successful lawyer and, as Pauline, my computer programming business grew from the home.

Like every married couple we argued; boy did we have some good ones.

“Did you use my new lipstick?”
“What happened to my new pair of panties?”
“Why do you always have to leave your wet stockings over the shower bar!”

But there were never any serious problems with the arrangement and we would always make up. Depending on her mood, Francine would sometimes invite Paul to join her in the bed we always shared and, since he was only there for an hour or so, it was never long enough to compromise the hold Pauline now had on me. There was no chance of any complications since I had looked after that with a visit to the doctor before the wedding.

The needs of all three of us were satisfied in this way and it goes without saying that sometimes, just sometimes, pure and simple love can conquer life’s problems!

Notes:

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