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Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. Any resemblence between characters and places and real people and places is entirely unintended and coincidental.This story is copyright (c) 2012 Penny Lane. All rights reserved.

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Charlie Maxwell awoke with a start, his hands going to his head immediately. His headache was still there, pounding away behind his eyes. Sun or wine? At the moment he didn't particularly care. He was slightly chilled from lying on top of the bed. It was only spring, after all, and the air could still cool significantly during the nights. He remembered how he had got there the previous evening and groaned.

Right now he had a pressing problem of a different nature and one that was entirely down to the wine. His bladder was full and if he didn't get to the bathroom he was going to make quite a mess. He sat up cautiously, the weights flopped forward onto his chest, and he remembered exactly how he had gone to sleep the previous evening.

Oh. I have to get out of this damn garment before I can pee.

He swung off the bed and began walking to the door, his hands reaching for the straps of the corselette.

Huh? What?

He couldn't shift the straps. He scrabbled around, trying to get hold of the fabric and just couldn't. The surface was too smooth and flat. It was as though it had been glued to his body. He couldn't even get his fingernails under the edges of the cloth. He started to panic. Any second now, what was inside was going to come out whether he was ready or not. He staggered into the bathroom.

The shower. If I can stand in there it will still be a mess, but at least one I can clean up.

He made it, but only just. As his second foot came down into the shower tray his bladder released and he felt his crotch becoming warm. Almost immediately the urine began trickling down both legs.

Oh, crap. If I had only managed to take the damn thing off before I fell asleep.

When was the last time I did this? Must have been in Infant School. Yuck.

He looked down at the mess.

Might as well take a shower, now, clean off the mess and flush this lot away. Hmm. I wonder if that's allowed? I don't even know if the cottage has mains sewerage, a cess pit or a septic tank. Or whatever. Doesn't matter, today it's going down the shower drain.

First, I have to figure out how to get this thing off so I can wash myself.

The throbbing in his head didn't make it easy to think. But he was faced with an immediate problem so he struggled on, one arm leaning against the side of the shower cubicle.

I got it off the first time, didn't I? So there's nothing wrong there.

Oh. Then I put that lubricant on, didn't I? Ran it right round every seam, made sure that it sealed all openings. Put the noose around your neck, why don't you?

Oh, great! So how do I get it off then? Cut it off with a knife or scissors?

Going to be real fun when I turn up at Accident and Emergency saying I inadvertently glued myself into a woman's foundation garment, isn't it? The local papers will be the least of my problems! I'll just die now, thank you.

He slumped against the cubicle side, despair creeping over him, thoughts running through his head of what might possibly happen to him in the future.

That so-called lubricant. Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. That stuff was deliberately formulated to go on those seals, wasn't it? But it couldn't be a glue, because the first person to use it would find out and immediately sue. So, what's happened, then?

Maybe it is something to do with the age of the product? We all know how things could go bad if they're left too long. Perhaps that's it. Maybe -

His eyes narrowed as he finally remembered.

What did it say on that tube?

Use sparingly. Release with water.

Ah! Aaah! Of course!

The urine on his legs had now gone cold, and he started getting goose-bumps. The cottage was not warm enough yet inside to go wandering around with almost nothing on.

The pee could never have got out the way it did if it hadn't released the seal, he reasoned. So, if I'm right, all I need to do is just take a shower as I am and it should all release. Okay, let's do it!

The shower was electric and he spent a few seconds getting the flow and temperature to his liking. Even during that time he could feel a difference in the garment as the spray reached it, and when he eventually soaked himself he found he could easily get his fingers under the straps. With a gasp of relief, he pulled the garment down, stepped out of it and let it fall to the shower tray.

SHOCK -

There was no padding inside the garment. It lay crumpled like a discarded snakeskin at his feet.

Unfortunately, his view was partly obstructed by the very real breasts growing out of his chest.

A hand immediately went down to his crotch, to be pulled away just as rapidly.

OH, NO!

His heart was pounding as he took in the incredible, awful truth. His body was now her body. Somehow, incredibly, during the night he had been transformed into a woman. He slumped against the cubicle wall, stunned. The warm water beat down upon him, and he started to become aware of the effects it was having on his new shape and form.

Oh, wow!

Oh, God. What do I do now?

Numbed, he let routine take over. There was a bar of soap on the wash-basin and he briefly stepped out to claim it. Cautiously he began to soap and wash this body he had now been stuck with, noting that it was much more sensitive than he was used to. Certain parts seemed to be very sensitive, and he swiftly decided to leave that exploration for a later time. It certainly all demanded much gentler treatment.

Assuming I still am a woman at a later time, that is. Oh, God. I know I wanted to find out what it was like to be a woman, but I didn't intend this. Wonder if it's permanent?

Wonder if I'm awake? Be really useful if this was just a dream, wouldn't it?

Nope, still not dreaming. Didn't think so.

He stepped out from the shower, grabbed the bath towel and began carefully drying himself. He had already discovered that this body couldn't take the treatment he usually gave his old one. He roughly towelled the worst of the water off his hair and stared forlornly into the bathroom mirror.

So, today I get to find out if I can really make myself look like a woman. Don't look like I have a choice, do I?

Now dry, he hesitated.

What do I do now? There's hardly much point putting my old clothes on, is there? I might just as well put something on that goes with the body. If it walks like a duck, then...

Naked, he padded into the main bedroom, and was faced with another problem. He sighed.

I can't put it off any longer, can I? I have to investigate those underwear drawers properly. Needs must, and all that.

He remembered his original cursory search and opened the bottom drawer. Inside were items that had been bought as reserves but were still mostly packaged. What caught his eye was a pack of five knickers from Marks and Spencer's.

Ah, good, I did remember. Okay, lets get one of those out.

He opened the pack, removed the top item and pulled it up his legs.

That fits tolerably well, seeing as I have no idea what size my body is, or what sizes the clothes are, or even what any of the sizes mean. Actually, it's more comfortable on me now than my underpants ever were before.

Now for the unpleasant part.

He went for the second of four drawers, the one with all the lingerie. The one with the brassieres. Some looked newer than others and he pulled one out at random. It was relatively plain but with a satin finish and lace trim round the edges.

How do I put this on? Oh, yeah. Do it with the hooks in the front and then swivel it round... Thank God for films!

He struggled with the hooks and eyes, he struggled twisting it round to face the right way, he struggled getting the straps up to his shoulders. Getting the breasts he had only owned for an hour into the cups of a garment he had never worn before wasn't easy either.

Huh! Slightly larger than mine are, then. I'd need to buy a... God, what exactly am I saying?

He moved over to the mirror and looked at his reflection. His reflection gazed miserably back at him, but it was the reflection of a woman. A completely normal-looking woman, apart from the wild hair.

God! I'd better do something about that before it dries looking like a hedge.

He sat down on the stool in front of the dressing table, noting that his bottom seemed much wider than before. He used the same comb as yesterday to try and take out the inevitable tangles, then carefully brushed it the way he had done before. Today, since the hair had been properly wetted and was now clean as well, it sat much better. Some of the individual hair lengths were wrong for what he tried to do but at least it began to look presentable.

He inspected the face in the mirror, looking closely at each feature.

Lips... are they a little less wide than before? A little fuller, maybe redder? I can't decide. My nose... shorter? Hmm. The eyes look slightly larger and my ears... could be slightly smaller.

But it still looks like my face, I think. Almost. It could pass for a woman's face, though, especially with my hair done this way.

Frowning at the inability to accurately recognise his own face, he rose and turned to the wardrobe.

I have to wear something out of here, I guess.

A kind of hysterical laughter began bubbling up from inside him, and he fought to keep himself from breaking down. He pulled out the dress with the floaty sleeves.

I'll just wear this, I think. I can't face going through all that, and it really doesn't matter what I put on right now, except that I have to put something on. It's not warm enough to go wandering about in bra and knickers.

As he pulled the dress up he became aware of the texture of the material against his newly sensitive skin.

Oh, wow. This body is full of surprises.

Where are those sandals? Oh, yeah, they'll be in the other bedroom.

He discovered that his toes no longer hung over the front of the sandals. Picking up the dress he had dropped on the floor the previous evening, he returned it to the wardrobe in the main bedroom. It had occurred to him that the clothes in that bedroom represented his entire available stock until he figured out what to do and therefore he'd better start taking more care of them. Shaking his head in disbelief he went down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Toast and coffee, I think.

He'd brought a sliced loaf, a pack of ground coffee and a one-man cafetiere with him, so breakfast was relatively easy to do. He sat at the table, very conscious of the different proportions and balances of his new body, chewing and drinking without really tasting any of it. His mind was far away, struggling at the enormity of what had happened to him.

There is no shadow of a doubt that I am now, somehow, a female. Now, while this body might well have some attractive attributes, they don't really go with Charlie Maxwell's lifestyle. If I stay like this, it's going to get serious. Imagine what the guys in the office are going to say when I turn up looking like this!

Oh, crap. I'm not going to get as far as the office, am I? I wouldn't get past the front desk. There's no way any security guard is going to believe that I'm the same person that's on my pass card.

Wham. Not only have I just lost my meat and two veg, I've lost a job as well.

The full horror of his situation dawned on him and the dam finally broke. With elbows on the table, his head went into his hands and he burst into tears. The whole injustice of the situation bore down on him and he crumpled, sobbed, howled. The only thing that made him stop eventually was the fact that the front of the dress was becoming wet.

Oh, God, look at me. This is ridiculous. Let's clean up.

A tablecloth to wipe his face and dab at the dress, a dishcloth to wipe the table, the plate and cup went into the sink. He considered the pile thoughtfully and then began washing them, leaving everything on the side to dry. It looked like his two-day visit was about to turn into an extended stay.

What can I do? I can phone in Monday...

"Hello? This is Charlie Maxwell's girlfriend here. I'm sorry, he's come down with something and won't be in this week."

Yeah, that'll work. But it only puts off the evil moment, doesn't it? I can't go on like this, can I?

Well, can I? Time to review some options, I think.

He put the kettle on and made a fresh batch of coffee. Taking his cup into the living room, he chose a chair and made himself comfortable.

God, that's really the nastiest trick someone could play on a chap, isn't it? Here, put this on and by tomorrow you'll be a woman. Sorry, no, I don't know how to get you back to a man. Perhaps we have to use magic Y-fronts or something.

No point getting mad, is there? So, what can I do as things stand?

I can still drive the wagon. I'll be all right doing that, just so long as I don't get stopped. Producing my driving licence could get awkward...

That means I can at least get around for a while. Essential, because I don't have enough food to last a week let alone longer.

Locally, I mean. I'm not so sure I want to face going to a larger town or city till I get the hang of my body, and these clothes, and everything that everyone assumes a woman already knows... crap. This is going to be difficult.

Can't shop on-line and get the food delivered because there's no Internet here.

No, but there might be an Internet cafe in one of the smaller towns. Order there for delivery.

Why bother? If I can get that far I might just as well go and buy stuff in person.

Cash. I can still use my cash card to get money out of a hole-in-the-wall. Telephone banking is out, because they'll think I'm some woman trying to steal Charlie's money.

...which, when you get right down to it, is exactly what's happening. Crap. Now do I know anyone who can cook me up some fake ID?

Nope. Charlie is a clean-living, respectable citizen. Doesn't mix with those crowds. Dammit.

Okay. So basically, I'm pinned here until I can figure out what to do. I could go back to the apartment and get some essentials, a flying visit, just hope no-one sees me. I couldn't stay there, though, because all my neighbours know me and would ask questions of a woman coming and going without Charlie being there. I think I have to resign myself to living here until I solve this problem one way or another.

He stirred, restless. The irony of his situation hadn't escaped him. Yesterday he had been so happy to dress up and enjoy life as a pretend woman, but today it was all completely flat. Even the fact that he now had a real body to go with the clothes didn't hold any excitement for him. His eyes began to fill again, and he hunted round for a tissue to wipe his face.

What do I do? Do I have to spend the rest of my life like this?

Why not? Plenty of women do.

That thought comforted him. At least there might be a possible future, for her, if not for him. It was just going to be damn difficult making it happen. He got up, headed for the door.

Let's go and walk round the garden. If I'm to live here, then I ought to find out everything I can about the property.

Outside it was still cool. He crossed the paved area and chose a path that went down the centre of the orchard.

What are these anyway? I thought they were apples. I've no idea, really. I'll only find out if someone tells me or I wait till the fruit comes. Could even be pears, couldn't it? Dunno, there's no old fruit on the ground that I can see.

There was a little open land at the lower end of the orchard and he stopped to examine the scenery. Shading his eyes, he looked around, seeing only fields, hedges, a few other orchards, groups of trees in the distance, all alive with fresh spring growth. There was only one building in sight from here, a rusty Dutch barn miles away.

I'm assuming this fence is the end of my land. I'll have to get Barker to show me the deeds.

Come to think of it, the deeds will be mine anyway, won't they? Or... I have the same problem as with the bank. It's Charlie Maxwell who inherits this property, not some unknown female who just appeared from nowhere and who seems to be squatting in the cottage.

With a sinking feeling he made his way back to the paved area and sat heavily on the lounger.

This is impossible!

The morning had begun to warm up and he could hear birds singing and insects humming. The breeze which caused his skirt to flutter against his bare legs was still cool but he didn't mind that. It wasn't cold enough to make it worth the bother of putting more clothing on.

Yesterday I thought this was Paradise. It was! And then this had to happen. I've been thoroughly corralled, I have no freedom of movement at all now.

Like many women. Is this the reality? Is there no upside to this mess at all?

He stood again and headed for the far corner of the cottage, where a wide strip of semi-cultivated lawn and floral border ran through to the front. Randomly-shaped flagstones formed a path through the grass, which had started growing strongly again after the winter rest. He was glad of the path because otherwise the remains of the dew would have made his sandalled feet rather cold and wet.

He looked down to make sure his feet found the stones properly and abruptly halted, shocked.

This grass has been cut this year. Oh, no! How could I have missed a detail like that?

There's too much garden here for a single person to look after it all, especially with all those trees out back. She must have got a jobbing gardener to help keep it tidy.

Suppose he turns up to do some work while I'm here? Yesterday that would have been all right... well, up until I decided to go mad in the bedroom! Now, though, he'll find me here. He won't know me, and I'd be able to blag my way round him - I guess - but he's almost certain to recognise the clothes... What will he think?

Do men even take note of details like that? I certainly wouldn't have. I think, anyway. Better invent some kind of tale to keep him from asking too many questions.

He started walking again and came to the front of the cottage.

Hmm. Second question. Did Aunt Alice have any kind of home help? A cleaning lady, perhaps, or someone who went and got her shopping for her? Damn, I know nothing about the woman!

The massive oak tree dominated the front garden, but there was enough light around the edges to allow a fair border of rustic flowers to be maintained. The tree seemed to be in reasonable condition and not, to his immense relief, close enough to cause subsidence. Probably.

Make a note, get the whole place surveyed sometime.

Parked on the other side of the house and now visible was his Range Rover.

Hmm. I think I'm going to have to unload all those boxes. Can't go to a supermarket with all that in the back.

A shrug of the shoulders. If I'm to be stuck here I might as well go through the papers here. I might even find some clues as to what happened to me last night.

He walked round the base of the tree, looking up into the crown.

When I was a kid I used to love climbing trees. If I'd still been Charlie, then I think I might have had a go even now, had this not happened to me. Can't do it now, young women don't do that sort of thing.

A new thought came then, a final acceptance of his changed circumstances.

I'm not Charlie any more, am I? Who exactly am I, then?

He walked across the front of the property and past the car to the wild border on the far side of the plot. An unkempt hedge separated him from what he knew to be a paddock, part of his holding and currently rented to a local farmer but empty today, what he could see of it. Sighing again, he turned back to the cottage.

Time to make some plans. Start shifting those boxes, before the sun gets too hot. Can't do it dressed like this, wonder what I can wear?

Inside he climbed to the main bedroom and contemplated the contents of the wardrobes.

Didn't she even have one pair of denims? For someone who lived in the depths of the country, I would have thought those were essential wear.

There was a short denim skirt which looked as if it might do, and he selected a t-shirt to go with it, pale blue with an alarmingly deep scoop to the neckline. Fortunately, nothing showed that he didn't wish to see the light of day. A pair of sturdy lace-up shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe and he was set.

The boxes he stacked tidily in the study room without unpacking. He had roughly labelled them when he packed them and it would make the whole job easier to handle. By the time he had the last one inside and the car locked it was easily lunch time.

He took a plate of sandwiches and a glass of water outside and sat on the lounger with them. The shoes came off and he leaned back on the lounger, chewing slowly and thinking hard.

If I'm not Charlie, then perhaps I'm... Charlotte? No, too close, somebody will ask awkward questions. Ah! The benefits of a classical education to the rescue! I shall be Carol Maxwell, Charlie's cousin. I know they say that fraudsters give themselves away by using the same initials but it can't be helped. I'm not a fraudster, exactly, and I'm not even really in hiding, am I? I'm just not Charlie Maxwell, that's all. Not any longer.

Now, how am I going to fund this new life? I have investments, currently just rolling themselves up like a good snowball should... so, I need to change my strategy to give me enough income to keep this place going. Also, I can release some other money by selling the Docklands apartment... though I don't think I'll make much since the recession hammered everyone. Perhaps I could let it? They still need drones to work in all those offices, don't they?

He continued making plans for living at the cottage, wishing he had brought his iPad out with him to take notes. After a while, he closed his eyes because the sun was becoming too bright. After another while, he woke suddenly to the realisation that he had spent half the afternoon asleep in the sun.

Oh, no! I'm probably burnt all over! And most of what's exposed won't be used to it, either.

He gathered his glass and plate and retreated indoors. Upstairs in the bedroom he found some cream which he carefully smeared all over the affected areas, upper and lower arms, upper and lower legs, face, neck and upper chest. To do the latter he had necessarily taken the t-shirt off. He rummaged around in the wardrobes and drawers looking for a substitute, eventually settling on a white camisole.

What was left of the afternoon was occupied with looking at the papers, at least some of them. The documents he had found in the shoebox interested him most, and after a while a realisation dawned.

Alan Wrayburn and Alice Wrayburn are the same person, aren't they? I bet that's what happened, Alan came here and got trapped the same way I did.

He sat back, understanding the full reality of what had happened.

I wonder if Barker knows anything about it? He might do. If he is the solicitor who handled the previous sale, he might know how to resolve my own problem.

I wonder, dare I turn up at his office looking like this? What proof do I have for him? We've only spoken about three or four times. Would he remember any of those conversations in detail? Did we speak of anything specific? I can't remember.

Still, at least Alice seems to have got away with it. That proves that it can be done. Now all I have to do is find out how she managed it.

The shadows lengthened and he decided that it was time to make dinner. This would be another ready meal from the fridge, and this time it would be coffee that accompanied it, not wine. He had learned his lesson after the previous night. Besides, his skin was beginning to prickle and the night might be a disturbed one. Best to avoid complications!

My life couldn't get any more complicated than this, could it?

There were shelves of books in the sitting room but he couldn't interest himself in any of the titles. After poking and prodding at his iPad for a while he decided to retire.

My first night as an actual woman. At least, when I know that I'm a woman.

There was heat coming from various areas of his skin and he decided to have a shower before climbing into bed. That was when he discovered the corselette still lying in a crumpled heap in the shower tray. He rolled his eyes.

Well, I was somewhat otherwise distracted this morning, wasn't I? Still, best rinse it through and hang it up. I might have need of it again, you never know.

He rinsed the garment thoroughly and found a hanger to suspend it over the bath. That chore done he had a shower, this time using shower gel from his wash bag. Once clean and patted dry he got out his toothbrush.

Wonder if there's a tooth mug? If not, I'll have to go down and fetch a glass from the kitchen.

He opened the doors of the bathroom cabinet, seeing only the usual items one might find in such a place. Deodorants, lady razors, shampoo and conditioner, toothpaste and mouthwash, sticking plasters, antiseptic cream. At the back he spotted a familiar looking tube and pulled it out, cautiously excited.

Miracle

BodyForm

Seal Lubricant

Use sparingly. Release with water.

He screamed with anger and disappointment, almost hurling the tube into the washbasin in frustration. It was exactly the same as the other one, probably kept in here for convenience. Fighting back the tears by sheer will-power he replaced it in the cupboard.

The tooth glass was in the other side of the bathroom cabinet.

He chose a plain cotton nightdress, just a tube of fabric with some kind of decorative gathering around the neck. He was still sleeping in the guest room, and he climbed into bed fully aware just how different things had been to the previous night. Now, he was a woman going to sleep and tomorrow he knew a woman would wake up in this bed.

Getting to sleep was another matter. As he relaxed, all the pent-up fears and emotions which he had desperately held back during the day surged up and threatened to overwhelm him. By any standard this was a major change to his life and the future was a huge black unknown hole. The abruptness of the change and the unfairness of the whole episode contributed to his distress, making him sob softly into the pillow. It was a long time before oblivion came.