El Dia De Los Muertos
AKA
All Souls Day

 © 2008 Nick B

Just slap me soundly for forgetting that the wonderful Gabi did the proofing and tweaking on this. Thanks Gabi

Writing an account of something that happened is hard enough, but where magic or a miracle is involved, it becomes something that is universally decried as being unbelievable.The expression ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ should have no bounds; no measured line that can be crossed, but in truth, it does.

The fact is; truth is stranger than fiction.

The mother who finds superhuman strength to lift the truck off her child or seemingly miraculous cures of terminal illnesses–they are all fact–believed and at the same time miraculous.

Yet why will no-one believe this?

Well, they haven’t so far and yet here I am; living proof of the fact that yes, it really happened.

---

My name is Julian Davies–or Jules to my friends and about a month ago, I was just an ordinary bloke, living my life in the way most ordinary blokes live their lives…
 
 
I met Karen about three years ago and she was the best thing that had ever happened to me. She had stunning looks, was kind, considerate, open minded and, best of all she was my soul mate.

Our sex life was the best I’d ever known. She was keen to try new things and whilst thankfully we didn’t go as far as inviting other people into our relationship–even just for a quick bit of slap and tickle, we did get into the realms of role play.

At first it was just pretend–you know, like I would pretend to be one character and she would pretend to be another. Sometimes I would be the dominant one but mostly, she would and it seemed to work well, but after a while, it kind of got stale. I would always see her and she me, so it lost a bit of the attraction and excitement.

That was until she turned up one evening with a nurse’s uniform. Not only was it a nurse’s uniform, but…

It was a nurse’s uniform made of latex.

The appearance of this ensemble on her was nothing short of amazing. It was a kind of mint green, fitted tight at the top and bleeding into a pencil skirt at the bottom. It also came with cream-coloured accessories in the form of the hat and apron with a bright red cross on it–very medical.

At this time, our roles involved each of us playing our given gender, but now with the added stimulus of the latex that fitted like a second skin on Karen, accentuating all her curves and bumpy bits.

I could see it excited her–two very prominent reasons were the giveaway–but she said the feeling was out of this world–quite unlike anything she had ever worn before.

The texture was something else for me too. My hands could glide over it and see the reaction from Karen instantly, so much so they made me want to laugh–it was a nervous reaction, but she had already got to that stage where she had thrown caution to the wind and despite the fact that she was supposed to be the domineering nurse, I had to steer things somewhat because she was away to the mixer–and who could blame her?

God, that outfit got some use and she never seemed to tire of it either, though having said that, neither did I–I mean tire of seeing her in it.

She looked fantastic in it for starters; her long red hair, the surgical green of the uniform with its bright red cross and later the addition of stilettos…

My goodness, I only had to think about it and I was almost there.

Of course, with use came familiarity and I could see that whilst it was still exciting, the sparkle was starting to wane, so I ordered a surprise. In due course, it arrived in the post in the obligatory ‘plain wrapping’. I was more interested in watching her reaction when she opened it than in seeing for real what the package contained, I mean, I knew what was there and had known from the beginning–seeing it in–sorry on the flesh was all I was interested in now.

She started to unwrap it and as the paper was shredded, thrown willy-nilly over her shoulders in this mad panic to get at the goodies within, the box appeared and I was readier than I had ever been; painfully so…

“My GOD!” she purred. “You are a dark horse aren’t you?”

Dark horse? I don’t think so. I didn’t actually go into a shop and buy it. Apart from the credit card number, delivery address–oh, and my name, I bought it anonymously.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

No answer was forthcoming, but I judged that from her flushed appearance and the fact that after a swift “thank you” and a peck on the cheek, she had fled to the bathroom with the item in hand, I think she liked it.

Back she came some minutes later and I nearly exploded on the spot.

The outfit this time was a black latex catsuit. It zipped up the front and was skin tight from top to bottom. A pair of black four-inch high-heels, and that flame hair tumbling across her shoulders finished the ensemble and she looked like a wet dream.

I had held something back and said that if she asked me nicely, she could have it.

“What?” she demanded, her hands on her hips, feet slightly apart and that catsuit gleaming, looking like the mistress of the night.

“This,” I said and handed her a matching mask with the little kitty ears.

“Purrrrrr…” was all she said, donning the mask before me.

Thus began a very exciting period in our lives. We didn’t need exercise as we were getting enough with all the horizontal jogging that was going on, not forgetting of course every other angle right up to vertical you could think of. Thankfully, we didn’t have a chandelier or a hammock.

Then things started to get really interesting, as now we had two outfits and the only thing we hadn’t tried was for both of us to be dressed ‘appropriately’ and as it happens, I wasn’t the one to make the suggestion. I mean, sure, I adored the feel of the latex–on her–but it had never crossed my mind that I should be wearing it too; but I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened. It just wasn’t as I thought.

I was bathed and ready for bed and as far as I knew, nothing was happening. I mean they say, ‘once a king, always a king, but once a night’s enough’, but I wondered how many people actually have sex every single night–other than on their own?

I was in the bedroom and in she walked. She was wearing black patent stilettos, the catsuit–polished and shining brightly, the mask and a frown. “Oh, that won’t do,” she said in a very business-like way. “Stand up.”

I stood, pondering on what delights she might have in store for me this time.

“That’s no good at all. Turn round.”

I turned round, totally naked and started to snigger. “This is no laughing matter,” she said authoritatively and slapped my backside–hard.

“Ow!” I grimaced. “There’s no need for that.”

“Shut up and stand still,” she commanded.

The next thing I knew, I was being blindfolded. The laughter had gone and now I was apprehensive. I had no idea what was coming and although I knew what Karen was like with regards real dominance–she wasn’t that good at keeping it up, this time there was an edge to things–an edge I found more than a bit disturbing.

With the blindfold in place, I was ordered to sit and shoved backwards to land heavily on the bed.

“What’s going on?” I asked; about to lift a corner of the blindfold, just to see whether there was something I should know about and a sharp and rather painful slap on the back of the hand, narrowly missing my nose, prevented further toying with that.

“Stand up.”

Stand up, sit down, slap here, slap there? What was she getting into? I am definitely not one for pain, spanking, being tied up or real Sub-Dom practices. It’s one thing to touch on the softer edges of it whilst in play, but this had run full-tilt across the line in my opinion.

“Lift your foot,” she barked, poking my left ankle with what felt like her foot. I lifted it and wobbled. I felt a sting as she slapped my bum.

“Hey!” I cried. “What was that for?”

“Quiet! Now lift your foot.”

I did as commanded.

“Now the other–and no clowning around.”

I did that too.

I felt something light and soft being pulled up to about mid thigh then a hand on my John Thomas, which immediately started to get curious.

“That’s enough of that,” she said coldly and slapped my arse hard. Down went JT like a sack of shit. “That’s better.”

She pulled, or pushed–I’m not altogether sure of which way round she was standing, but JT ended up between my legs and the panties–I knew that’s what they were as I didn’t own anything that felt like these–were pulled up the rest of the way.

She pulled them up tight–very tight and I could feel JT getting squeezed into my crotch–an odd sensation to say the least–followed by the feeling of being sprayed with something up my thighs, torso and up to my shoulders. The spraying could then be heard elsewhere and moments later, I was told to lift a foot.

I lifted my left foot, being careful this time not to wobble and believe me, when you don’t want another slap on the arse; it’s surprisingly easy to do.

This time something soft and very smooth, yet at the same time very cool was drawn up to my calf and I was told to lift the other foot, which I did, concentrating hard on not swaying, wobbling or anything else that could find another one of her hand prints on my fundament.

She seemed, much to my dismay, to be concentrating on one cheek, which meant that every slap stung worse than the one before. I wondered whether she had been taking lessons, but whatever it was, I didn’t much care for it.

Whatever I had stepped into was drawn up to my waist and as it got further up, I could feel it tightening; pulling around my legs from just above the knee, up my thighs, over my hips, finally to tighten around the waist.

Was this what I thought it was?

Next, my arms were steered into what felt like sleeves; first the left and then the right. The top half–I presumed–was then pulled into place and I felt a zip being pulled up to just below the nape of my neck.

I knew what this was. The light smell of the outfit, the texture–it was the nurse’s uniform and just one thing remained–the nurse’s hat, or whatever the technical term is. Is there one? I don’t know.

When the blindfold was removed, Karen stood before me and told me what to do–every move and everything she wanted me to do to her and not once did she return any of the favours.

Needless to say, my jaw afterwards felt like it had been welded open and my tongue felt like it had been ten rounds with Lennox Lewis, but she was happy enough–happy and sated by the looks.

She was asleep before I’d got back from the bathroom and I was left thinking about what had happened.

Silently, I slipped out of bed and got back into the outfit I had been wearing for her. It was the first time I had really had the opportunity to look at myself before it all came off–even though I didn’t.

I twirled and posed in front of the mirror, watching as the skirt shifted when my legs did, moulding itself to every curve and contour. I felt like a schoolgirl being flirtatious for the first time and realising what it was doing to the boys, while my heart pounded like the Kodo drummers in my chest.

I loved the way I looked–flat from the waist down; the fact that the latex, however soft, worked to cinch in my waist and give me some slight curvature. I found myself blushing at the thought of liking how I felt, what I saw–even without makeup.

I figured this was one of those things where, because I had had no release while, I think, Karen went through several, I was still hooked up with the role I had been playing, but strangely, although I was excited, it wasn’t quite the same–which had nothing to do with the fact I was firmly tucked between my legs.
 
 
That night’s role-playing wasn’t repeated and after the strange thoughts and feelings that went through my head afterwards, I thought it was probably for the best. Karen didn’t mention it either–which was no bad thing. She had treated me like dirt, using and abusing and whilst some may get off on that idea, I didn’t.

I like a bit of force during the act of ‘making love’, like, you don’t want it the same tempo all the way through and sometimes, it’s nice if there’s no guessing who’s in charge, but not to the degree that she took it.

It’s just not for me.

I do like it when Karen takes control, because I’m just not the assertive kind. If anything, I’m definitely submissive, but on the soft side of submissive. It’s not that I don’t trust Karen–far from it, but I don’t have any interest in Sub-Dom practices, which last time I felt went closer into S&M and even the blindfold dropped into that category in my opinion.

---

The next time my playing a feminine role came up in conversation, I felt it necessary to mention that I wasn’t all that keen on the idea of her being all bossy; slapping and spiky.

“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, almost incredulous at the very idea. I think she had had a really good time and assumed that I did too, but considering she paid me no attention whatsoever aside from barking orders, I can’t see how she arrived at that conclusion.

“Not really, no,” I replied, shrugging and downplaying the negative.

I had to say how I felt–even if it risked all this sexual liberation being halted. I don’t suppose a woman would be all that enamoured of some guy trying to stick his parts where the sun don’t shine if she wasn’t into the idea and would probably be quite vocal about wanting it to stop–damned sharpish. So I didn’t see anything wrong with expressing a dislike of her treating me the way she did.

“Was it the outfit? You really looked quite cute.”

“No it wasn’t the outfit. It was all the spanking and slapping and the ordering around.” I surprised myself there. I didn’t think I would be quite so blatant as to admit to not being uncomfortable in a nurse’s outfit–a rubber one at that.

“I wanted to make it more realistic,” she said.

As if realism had ever played a part in our sex. It was all make believe and for me, make believe was just fantasy and, in my books, fantasies don’t hurt. I felt that if she wanted to get all domineering to that extent, perhaps we should have laid down some ground rules first.

“I don’t mind the realism; it’s just…” I paused, wondering whether this was where the fantasies exited and we went back to a very boring ‘missionary position’ and all the lights off kind of sex. “Can we leave out the slapping and stuff?”

“Only if you’re a good girl,” she said, giggling.

I was completely caught off-guard by that last comment. I know I admitted to not being uncomfortable in the outfit–in fact I would go so far as to say that I really liked it, but now, all of a sudden, I had to be a good girl. Just what did she mean by that?

I wasn’t sure and needless to say, sex didn’t occur that night. I knew I’d blown it by telling her I wasn’t keen on the more ‘exotic’ parts of the proceedings–like most of it if I’m honest. Still, the sleep would do me good since we’d had so little of it over the recent months.
 
 
The ‘no sex’ thing didn’t last for long, but unfortunately, the outfits didn’t come out and when we did indulge in some hanky-panky, I have to say, it was a bit like she was just lying back and thinking of England. Missionary position and lights off flashed through my mind.

I began questioning whether the slap part of the ‘slap and tickle’ was too much to bear and the answer was ‘not really’. It didn’t really hurt. True, it stung quite a lot, but it was more hurt pride, you know, being suppressed to the degree, that she was by far the dominant one, rather than me.

Who was I kidding?

She had always been the more dominant of the two of us.

Now I had to get around to asking her about the catsuit and since I figured that the idea seemed to die a death thanks to my honesty, I didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. A few alternatives went through my mind, but I wasn’t sure how they’d be received.

I decided in the end to just come straight out and ask. It seemed the simplest way forward.

“What’s happened to the catsuit?” I asked, trying to be as offhand about it as possible. I don’t know whether I succeeded either.

She looked at me, nearly choking on a grilled sausage. Perhaps dinner time wasn’t the best time to ask.

“Nothing. Why?” she asked.

“Well, it’s just that you don’t seem to wear it anymore. I thought you liked it.”

“I do. I was just having a break that’s all. You know, ‘too much of a good thing’ and all that. Anyway, hush,” she said and turned her attention back to the TV.

“Right,” I said, nodding.

So she was still into the idea, but I still had that ‘if you’re a good girl’ thing bouncing around in my head and wasn’t sure what it meant–if anything or whether or not to actually do anything about it, I mean, like, take the initiative.

This could be something that could seriously backfire if it wasn’t received in the manner in which it was meant.
 
 
I decided that since she could up the stakes in our little game, then so could I. I took Friday afternoon off to get some ‘chores’ done.

I stood outside of Boots the chemist for what felt like hours, just plucking up the courage to go in and get some hair removal cream. I figured that being a good girl meant getting as much of that fuse wire off my body as it was possible to do and since it seems that it covered a vast proportion of my chest, arms, bum and legs, I needed to be a little smoother–like the good girls are.

I was so embarrassed at the prospect of going in, picking up a box of whatever product it is and showing it to a cashier for her to look at me and snigger whilst chewing on her bubble-gum, but it didn’t happen–leastways, not to my face anyway.

The next job on the agenda was to get some underwear and having had no reaction in Boots, I figured going into a clothes shop like Marks and Sparks and picking out some lingerie ‘for the wife’, would be just as easy.

Well it wasn’t.

I expected a forty-plus year-old woman to come and see if she could assist, but it all went Pete Tong when I described my wife as being approximately my size. The sideways glance and raised eyebrow told me all I needed to know about what she thought of my attempt to get a ‘present’ for the missus. Still, I continued with the charade and as time went on, she, kind of, mellowed slightly.

I think what I bought was sexy yet still quite tasteful–a matching bra and thong in black, which was almost transparent and a couple of packs of white seamed self-supporting, glossy stockings to go with the uniform. Not a lot, I’ll grant you, but be fair, I was doing this in person for goodness sake. My dad wouldn’t even buy mum’s tampons–even though it was an emergency. I thought I’d done quite well by comparison.

I suspect you’re all wondering why I didn’t buy on-line as I had with the catsuit, but the thing was I wanted to get this all going this weekend. I wanted to find out whether Karen was off the idea of the role-playing or whether it was just a minor setback as she realised she went too far last time.I decided I needed to be slightly assertive to get the ball rolling; this was my way of making the first move.

Back home and it was time to put the plan into action, starting with the removal of the body hair.

How come they show it on the ads as being so simple? It was far from it in my opinion. I tried to smooth it all on like the instructions said, but it wasn’t that easy. Perhaps I needed practice.

Anyhow, with the lotion or crá¨me applied, I stood there in the bathroom looking like a buttered version of the incredible Hulk as viewed through the wrong end of a telescope. It wasn’t as if I could do anything while I was ‘cooking’ either. I just stood there like a lemon while the application began to sting; burning almost and it was at that point that I figured that it was time it came off, so I fired up the shower.

As per the instructions, I rubbed in moisturiser and was pretty much blown away by the feeling of my skin without the hirsute covering I was used to. It was tingly in a really pleasant sort of way and nicer to look at.

I checked under my arms too and because, as I have already said, having a slight frame, none of this looked out of place. In fact if anything, it looked more fitting.

Hang on.

Did I just think what I thought I thunk?

I sat on the bed and even that felt different.

Was I taking this just a smidgeon too far?

Was I trying to save something in our sex life that had already died a death?

We had tried it and it was fun, but the impetus died out and perhaps I should have just left it there, but something told me that it wasn’t over yet.
 
 
By the time Karen arrived home, I was ready. I was dressed as I normally would, but I had made some prior arrangements before.

Maybe it was the thought of failure or rejection that had my heart rate going like the clappers, but I felt I was on a roller-coaster here that had just crested a hill. There was no stopping what was going to happen now.

---

After a simple dinner, I set things in motion.

“How about a nice hot bath to soothe away the week?” I asked, rubbing her shoulders. She moaned slightly, as I continued to massage her shoulders and neck.

“Are you going to run it for me?”

“No problem,” I said, mentally clapping my hands together thinking this was all going just as planned.

A few minutes later I called her up to the bathroom.

“You want to join me?” she asked, batting her ample eyelashes at me and smiling seductively.

“Er, no, thank you,” I said quickly, trying not to be distracted by the offer. I had something else entirely in mind. “I’ll just go clear up the dinner stuff. You have a nice soak.”

She pouted, then gave me a really chaste peck on the cheek and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed and I waited just for a moment…

“Oh wow!” I heard and scampered off to the kitchen. Obviously, the candles and bubble bath hit the right note.

Phase one complete.

I cleared away the dinner things in record time and snuck back up to the bedroom to get changed and put phase two into action.

Looking back, I almost wish I had tried this lot on before this time, but I wanted it to be a surprise for both of us. I think it was I who was getting the biggest surprise right now.

I took the thong and started to pull it up my legs.

JT got instantly curious and wouldn’t give up–or down… whatever.

I sat down, the thong almost where it should have been but with JT misbehaving, tucking him back was going to be next to impossible. They can’t make stuff for space rockets as hard as he was. Pulling on the stockings just made it worse. I was alright up to the knee on the first one, but as the glossy white stocking started to stretch as I pulled it further up, JT was getting to the point where he was almost painful.

I could have done with a slap.

It seemed to work last time.

The second one just seemed to make it worse.

The bra wasn’t a real problem as I had seen my mum and other women do their bras up in front then spin them round to the back as they should be, but this just added to the pain and discomfort I was feeling from the nether regions.

So there I was, bra on, thong–check; stockings–check and a pair of socks rolled and stuffed into the bra cups to add to the illusion, but with a major problem–JT.

I ran downstairs, dithered then back up again only to find him still poking like some personal flag-pole out of the top of a black thong with a particularly nice bow on the front. What was I going to do?

I sat on the bed, my heartbeat rising to an all-time high as I knew that it wouldn’t be long before Karen was out of the bath and somehow, I had to try to disguise JT in order to put on the dress.

This was not looking good.

My fears were unfounded as soon enough–probably due to the thought of failure– JT retreated with an almost detectable pout for being ignored and I was able to gently pull him back between my inner thighs and pull up the thong, which was pulled up and over my hips, almost crushing JT in the process.

I applied some of the spray to the dress then to my exposed skin and to the dress, stepping into in and sliding it gently into place, before slipping my bare arms through the sleeves, onto my shoulders.

Then I was like a dog, trying to chase its own tail in an attempt to get to the zip, which was easy to pull up part way, but not so the rest. Nevertheless, try, try, try again was the motto for the day–well, either that or have the whole plan fall apart after so much work. No thank you.

Eventually, I was ready–giddy after all that spinning round in circles trying to reach the zipper, but ready and I retrieved the catsuit, spraying the inside ready for Karen to don upon exiting the bath and ensuring it was nicely buffed, before donning my hat and retreating to the lounge for the call I knew I was going to get.

As an extra bit of excitement, I found a pair of strappy sandals in the bottom of Karen’s wardrobe that I tried on a whim and was dead surprised to find that I could actually get them on. I didn’t know that not only were we within an inch of each other height-wise, but that our feet weren’t that far apart in size either.

So it was downstairs and an agonising wait for that call, which wasn’t too long in coming. When I finally managed to negotiate the stairs in a skirt that was barely wide enough for my legs let alone upward motion and never mind the shoes, I stepped into the bedroom, trying to look as demure as I could.

There was an audible gasp from Karen as she sat there with the catsuit over her lap and her jaw round her knees.

“Have I been a good girl?” I asked, trying to remember to look down and still keep an eye on her reactions.

“I think so–maybe,” she replied. “Turn around and let me look at you.”

I stepped fully into the bedroom and slowly twirled around.

“My, my,” she said in a throaty, sultry sort of voice. “Haven’t we been busy?”

“Yes miss,” I replied, keeping my eyes downcast.

Another slight gasp escaped those luscious lips.

Somehow, the catsuit seemed to get forgotten and Karen went to work on me, rubbing my breasts and then sliding her hands down over the smooth latex dress to my thighs, kissing my face and neck, gently tracing the tips of her fingers over the smooth, glossy stockings from the calves up.

JT was straining; threatening to burst through the gossamer confines of the thong, but Karen was there, sliding the skirt up, inch by inch, getting closer and closer to the stocking tops, my smooth thighs and oh God…

When she saw the thong, she purred like a kitten, trying hard to get to the waistband to pull it free, but the skirt wouldn’t go any further. In the end, she slipped her finger under the thin material and pulled it to one side, allowing me to spring free and almost give her a right hook on the chin.

“Goodness. Am I really having that much of an effect?” she asked, but I didn’t have the brainpower to take control enough to answer.

She chuckled slightly and lowered her head.

Seconds later, we were sat up in bed and I was trying to look anywhere that didn’t have her anywhere near. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, it could happen to anyone,” she said in a most conciliatory manner.

I felt such a pillock. There I was, dressed right up to the nines, feeling like a million dollars–though Euros or pounds would have been better and what happens?

She didn’t even get anywhere near me and I was going off like a bloody Roman candle.
 
 
The next day, I was still feeling subhuman.

“I’d like to try that again–if you are agreeable,” she said while we snuggled that morning.

“I don’t know…” I said, worried of course about the same thing happening and feeling even more useless.

“If it’s any consolation, I think I have an idea–until you get more used to this. I expect it was a bit of a sensory overload last night. I can’t blame you. The effect was stunning. I like you much better with none of that fuzz all over your body.”

“Thank you,” I said and kissed her.

“And by the way,” she added. “I’m sorry about the other time. I kinda went overboard a bit. I just got wrapped up in the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured.

---

Her plan or idea was pretty simple and basic as I was to find out later, but first, she had some things apparently she needed to sort out.

So that was it, she went off to the shops and left me feeling like a bit of a twit, on my own, with nothing but the abortive memories of last night for company.

I know she’s said it didn’t matter, but it did to me. I must have been like an over-wound clock, just waiting for that one extra turn of the key, to spring all my cogs and gears–although, I don’t necessarily feel that’s the best way to describe what happened.

By the time she returned, I felt really depressed.

“I think you’ll like this,” she said, dumping a bag on the table and flopping down on a chair.

“Coffee?” I asked

“Oh please. I’ve been looking forward to one of your cafetieres since I got back in the car.”

I put the kettle on and prepared the coffee, plunging it and pouring the hot dark liquid into two mugs. I sat at the table and passed one to her.

“What’ya got then?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise. I think you deserve it since you gave me such a wonderful surprise last night.”

“Oh that,” I said sullenly, looking away from her.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” she said, sliding her chair closer to mine and taking my hand in hers. “You have no idea how much I appreciated that gesture. It must have taken a lot of courage.”

I shrugged.

“Well anyway, I liked it and I have a surprise for later.”
 
 
The ‘surprise’ came after I had bathed, although that was something of a surprise in itself since she’d put a load of bubble bath in and the smell was decidedly feminine.

I had no idea she liked the idea of transvestism in the relationship and now my worry was just how far was she going to take it or expect me to take it?

When I’d finished, she was there with a whole load of cosmetics.

“Well, you can’t sit around naked, get some clothes on.”

I knew what she meant and faced the same difficulties as yesterday. Just as soon as the thong had started to slide up my legs, something else started a rise in sympathy.

She giggled. “Was it that difficult yesterday?” she asked. “No wonder you went off like a cruise missile.”

I blushed.

“I think you’ll have to do something about that,” she said and pushed me out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“You’re not suggesting…” I squealed.

“I am and you will.”

I did.

It was a little odd what with her just in the next room, but needs must when the mistress she is driving as they say and within a couple of minutes, I was back before Karen’s vanity. It actually didn’t take that long, but I figured a pause for some effect might well allay any questions about a swift one off the wrist.

“Alright, let’s try the stockings. Wow, these look expensive,” she said holding one up.

“I don’t know really. They seemed appropriate for the outfit, so I got some,” I replied, pulling each of them on.

“Nice, but you’ll learn,” she said.

I blushed again.

She began applying foundation to my face. “You don’t have much, but this will cover whatever shadow is there from your beard.”

“Huh! Beard? I worked with a guy once whose beard grew so fast you could almost watch it. He’d arrive in the morning with quite a boyish complexion; by lunchtime needed to shave. By the time we went home, it was long enough to call a beard.”

“Maybe you’ll have one like that one day,” she said, starting with some blusher.

“God, I hope not. I was already nearly five years older than him.”

“Blimey.”

I had to stop talking while she added eye shadow, liner and mascara.

I liked the next part–a lot.

She did some things to my hair. I thought she might have bought a wig, but apparently there was no need, finishing me off with a spiky hairdo, that really brought out my pixie-like features and with the makeup, the whole thing looked very natural.

“It’s time for a prezzie, I think. Now take those stupid socks out of that bra.”

I did as I was told as she produced two pink ‘jellies’. She slid one into either cup and told me to put the dress on. Thanks to tucking JT out of the way in the beginning, we managed to get it all ready and done without interference.

The effect was astonishing. I looked in the mirror and was stunned into silence, even going so far as to feeling faint and having to sit down, flushed.

“You like?”

“I think that’s an understatement,” I muttered, the moulded nipples, just forming two peaks inside the dress and giving the overall look one of complete realism.

“And now for the piece de resistance,” she said and with a flourish, produced a pair of black stilettos.

“For me?” I said, or very nearly said anyway. I think the actual phrase would be impossible write.

“Put them on I want to see how they are on you.”

She was almost like a teenager, dressing up with her friends at this point, whilst I couldn’t stop shaking. I didn’t want to say anything– I think I already needed to change the thong, but I slipped my feet into the shoes and did my best to stand up.

“You’ll get used to ’em,” she said, offering her arm to steady myself.

I stood back from the mirror and gasped. Before me stood a woman. Granted, she wasn’t going to take any prizes in a beauty pageant or anything like, but there was no trace of masculinity there. According to my reflection, I was all woman.

I didn’t know quite how to take this.
 
 
The giddy schoolgirl I had seen the first time had gone, but that same feeling of elation was there again–more so. Butterflies were doing the Red Bull air-race in my stomach and as I stood there before the mirror, I knew this was not going to be the last time I’d be doing this.

---

That’s how it all started, or rather how it progressed from one thing to another.

Karen’s help–or rather insistence in that first transformation was kind of the catalyst that started me on a road from which–for me at least–there was no return.

For about nine months or so, she treated me more like a woman than a man and for me this was no problem. I liked being the other woman in her life and as time went on, I got more and more used to being referred to in our own company as ‘girlfriend’.

However, for her it was just a passing phase; merely another way to add spice.

She had apparently grown out of wanting a girly-boy, but what she hadn’t done, was ask me how I felt about not being part of that anymore. Consequently, I knew nothing about her change of feelings towards what I was doing or we had been doing.

I saw nothing wrong with dressing whenever the mood took me and she as a result, grew more resentful, but it finally came to a head around the end of October.

“You like dressing like a woman don’t you?” she asked.

“I do. I get to see the person I think is the real me.”

“It’s just pretend. You know that don’t you?”

Perhaps as far as she was concerned it was, but for me… “It’s not!” I denied, with more than a trace of defensive and defiance. I felt like a child denying that his fort was actually just a cardboard box.

“You can’t keep on like that you know,” she said, quite matter-of-factly.

I didn’t know why. No-one knew and if they did, would many of them have cared?

“Look, it was a lot of fun while it lasted, but don’t you think it’s time to move on?” she asked.

“What you mean like–us two?” I asked, incredulous at the thought that she would want to break up with me.

“No. What I mean is find something else to–well, you know…”

I did know, but I liked being the other woman. I had never found anything else that made me as sexually charged as being that other woman did, but more than that, I felt comfortable–right–complete. “But I like this,” I said. “It’s who I am.”

I could go on for hours justifying why I should be allowed to continue, but at the end of the day, it’s my decision and my life, so really, it’s not up to anyone else to decide for me.

“It may well be who you are, but it’s not what you are. If you like it so much, why don’t you make it permanent?” she asked.

“I do wish I could stay this way,” I admitted, which was true. For me, the changing from one persona to the other was getting tiring–passé. The more I changed into my female alter-ego, the more I wanted it to stay that way and the harder it became to change back. In my heart of hearts, I knew that being Julian was harder now than being…

I didn’t even have a name for her. Jules had always seemed to fit either way. Anyway, I had been finding it more and more difficult to be Julian and every time I looked at myself in the mirror at the pale soft skin that had once been marred by that thick coating of hair, the more I knew that this was the way I wanted it to stay.

“Why can’t you?” she asked.

“Because…” I said, but I couldn’t think of a reason why. It’s not as if it’s out of the ordinary these days.

“I think you and I need to talk,” she said finally and I could see by the look in her eyes that it was either the femininity or her.
 
 
My heart was torn. On the one hand there was Karen–light of my life, soul mate and the woman I would have been quite happy to spend the rest of my life with and then on the other sat femininity. I didn’t know which to choose.

I think she recognised my inability to make that choice there and then as perhaps I should have and I could see disappointment written all over that beautiful face. I could see the loss; the heartbreak and I wanted to tell her that I would never change again–but I couldn’t.

“Look, let’s go out to dinner tonight and we can have a chat. What do you say?” she asked and I could already feel the lump getting bigger and more intrusive in my throat as tears welled up in my eyes.

“Alright,” I replied.
 
 
It was a dark and sombre night and as we made our way through the countryside towards the restaurant, it didn’t feel right to have the radio or a CD on, so the majority of the journey from our house to the Wayfarers Inn was in silence, but I just had to go open my mouth, didn’t I?

We had just turned onto Sherborne Causeway and I couldn’t keep what I was thinking to myself. “This is it, isn’t it?” I asked, thinking I knew what was going to be the reply.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” she answered simply.

Not if I want to give up the only thing that has made any sense to me other than her. I wanted the best of both worlds. “But of course I don’t want it to be. I want things to stay as they are.”

“And I can’t do that,” she said, glancing at me from the driver’s seat.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Jules, I know we’ve had fun, but it’s not just the icing on the cake now or gravy. It’s breakfast, dinner and tea,” she said as the black countryside sped past outside.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that it’s fine sometimes, but you want to be like that all the time.”

I knew what she meant. She had opened a door for me and I sprinted on through, not even bothering to close it behind me.

“So?” I asked, although it was kind of dumb. “It’s not been an issue before.”

“I know, but I want a boyfriend, not a girlfriend. I want Julian and nowadays I can’t even see the man I fell in love with.”

“But I am Julian. That hasn’t changed.”

“Are you? Look at yourself–well, okay, it’s dark in here. When we get to the restaurant, look at yourself. Even though you’re dressed in men’s clothes–on the outside, you’re only a facsimile of the Julian I knew. You look more like a woman now–all the time. In fact most of the time, you act more feminine than I do.”

The silence hit again for the next couple of minutes. I was trying to find something to say to her that wouldn’t inflame or start arguments, but actually as selfish as it sounds, I knew she was right. I just didn’t want to admit it and have everything come crashing down around me.

I could see lights poking bright fingers over the other side of the hill we were rapidly approaching and it wasn’t until we had nearly crested it that it became apparent that the lights were on our side of the road.

“Look out!” I yelled at the same time as Karen screamed, but the lights continued to come straight for us and there was nowhere we could go. I heard the screeching of the tyres on the tarmac as Karen screamed again, turning the wheel wildly; trying to avoid the unavoidable.

I screwed my eyes tight shut and braced for impact…

---

I opened my eyes and much to my surprise, I wasn’t dead. I didn’t even feel bad, just–odd.

I checked myself, you know, patting myself down. It didn’t appear as though I’d broken anything–not even a nail.

“Jules?” the voice said. “There you are.”

I looked around me for the source of the voice–Karen’s voice.

I was stood in a vast open area that appeared to be knee-deep in mist, with no trees, hills or buildings of any sort, but weirdest of all there was no sun either; just this flat, ambient light that seemed to illuminate the nothing.

“I thought I’d lost you.” she said, coming towards me.

We embraced and I was once again reminded of her scent, her hair, the warmth of her body against mine and the fact that I didn’t want to let her go.

I knew that being feminine was something that felt so right to me, but then so did she. She meant more to me than anything else in the whole world–more than life itself and to give up the feminine thing was a small price to pay to have someone like her in my life.

“Karen. I love you and I can’t face the thought of you not being there for me, with me. I know we were supposed to be doing this at the restaurant, but I don’t want to–”

She stopped me with a finger laid gently on my lips.

“Hush,” she whispered. “Just hold me for a moment.”

The tears were falling from my eyes like some sort of minor monsoon as I held her in my arms. All that arguing in the car and for what?

At this point in time, the feeling of her so close, so warm and comforting was all I needed to reassure me that I was making the right decision.

“I’ve been unfair,” she whispered as we stood, the mist swirling about our legs. “I was the one who introduced you to that side of you and I should have realised that it’s who you are and I don’t want to change that. You took to it like a duck to water–absolutely naturally,” she said, sniffing back tears.

“But I don’t want to–” I began, only to be met with another “hush, just listen.”

“What I’m trying to say, Jules, is I love you. I’ve always loved you and will always love you.”

“You make it all sound so final,” I said, a catch in my voice.

She smiled. “I just want you to be what you’re supposed to be. It was what you wished for.”

Why was it I was sensing a “but” here?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just want you to be happy,” she said and let go of me, floating backwards, that look of despair and love etched on her beautiful face.

“Wait!” I cried, the tears falling even faster now and that lump in my throat starting to catch as I felt myself being pulled down.

I could see Karen’s form receding into the mists as I descended, the translucent vapours drawing me further and further into whatever it was I was being drawn into.

“I love you, Jules,” she cried.

“I love you too…”

---

I have no idea what or where that place was–even if it was real.

Perhaps it was a near death experience, but it didn’t seem to match any of the stories of that sort of thing that I had heard.

I could still see Karen’s face in my mind and the tears started again.

“Doctor, I think she’s coming round,” a voice said from very close by. I didn’t recognise it and I didn’t open my eyes for fear of losing sight of Karen.

“Can you hear me?” another voice asked.

I nodded.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to risk that final image of my beloved being taken away from me; to dilute it or to lose it altogether.

I felt a thumb on my eyelid and it was drawn up, exposing me to the real world once again.

“Noooooo!” I cried and the waterworks began again in earnest.

“Nurse, administer a mild sedative. We’ll come back later.”
 
 
The next time I regained consciousness, it was from a dream; a dream that seemed to be snippets of things Karen and I had done. It wasn’t just sex play either–hardly any of that, but holidays, weekly shopping; drinks in the pub with mates, getting ready, the smell of her perfume…

Again the tears came and I didn’t know whether I would ever see my beloved again.

I know we had had an accident and I knew that I was in a hospital, but I had no idea of the extent of my injuries–or Karen’s for that matter. I knew I was pretty well bandaged–especially about the head, but other than that…

As far as Karen was concerned, all I knew was that in the dream from which I had originally woken–if dream be the correct term–what she had said, suggested something final, something that had put a full-stop at the end of this chapter in both our lives and I mourned even the thought of it.

Despite not actually knowing whether she had survived, I was sure the dream had been real; that she had not in fact survived. I could still pull the image of Karen into my head, the many facets of her personality; those looks, how she moved–everything and now I felt it was time to face the truth–whatever that was.

The doctors and nurses smiled as the met me, congratulating me for waking up–coming to–coming out of the coma–whatever.

“What about–” I began; my throat croaky after having been comatose for however long it had been.

“I’m sorry,” said the nurse.

Despite ‘knowing’ I cried and cried.

The nurses left me for some time with the curtains drawn to come to terms with the fact that I was now alone; that I had lost the person who meant everything to me and now, I was in the process of coming to terms with it.

I just want you to be happy…

Now was that voice in my head, or did I actually hear it? Anyway, how was that supposed to happen when she wasn’t there to share it with me?
 
 
I was sullen and unresponsive for a while as I lay there, wondering how on earth I was going to find anyone like her, but for some reason, it didn’t feel like the end.

I just want you to be happy…

Again, those words kept coming back into my head and the more I heard them echoing around in my brain, the more confused I became.

Then one day, a nurse arrived to tell me I was ready to have the bandages taken off my head. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Pretty ropey,” I said, trying to give her a smile.

“Hardly surprising under the circumstances, but you’ll be alright,” she said in that jovial manner most hospital employees have, which they feel will put you at your ease.

She started to unravel the bandaging and as the crepe strip started to come away, I started to wonder what life would be like from now on, seeing that I was single once again.

The bandages seemed miles long and I had to keep brushing the hair out of my eyes.

“I’ll bet that feels better doesn’t it? It’s going to be a bit hard going brushing through all that hair of yours, but I’m sure you’ll manage. I love the colour,” she observed, smiling as she gathered up the rolls of bandage and left, her shoes squeaking on the polished floor.

All that hair?

As far as I knew, I had longer than short hair in a sort of mousy brown–nondescript really. How long had I been here?

I pulled a handful round to be able to look at it.

RED??!

---

And that pretty much brings me up to date.

According to the hospital, I came round on November the second–All Souls Day or in Mexico, El Dia de Los Muertos–the day of the dead and I don’t know whether that has any bearing whatsoever on what happened that night or subsequently, but all I can do is be thankful–I’m still here.

I’ve had the devil’s own job to keep from going completely crazy, knowing that I was the one who should have died in that accident, not Karen. In fact, I am the one who died. Yet here I am and the mere thought brings on some pretty wild and philosophical debates in my head.

I have only one course of action now and that is to make sure that I make the best of this start I have been given; to honour Karen’s memory and her wishes, for there is no way that considering what’s happened, I can deny that the ‘dream’ was not the truth or real–whether you out there believe me or not.

God bless you, Karen. You will remain forever in my thoughts.

I love you.

Jules.