I was sitting at the make-up table in the bedroom applying a last coat of lip-gloss when I caught a glimpse of movement beyond the glare of the lights surrounding the mirror. I swiveled the chair and rose to my feet in one movement, facing the door.

My wife was standing in the doorway.

I felt the blood drain from my face and the lipstick fell from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

I tried to speak but only managed a strangled gargle as I struggled for breath, and then I did what many other girls would have done under such circumstances. I fainted.

…………

Bloody airlines! Why do you give them your contact numbers if they don’t call and tell you the flight will be delayed? An hour’s trip to the airport, to find out there are “Mechanical Problems” and the plane will be seven hours late, leaving a choice between waiting there or an hour’s drive home. So here I am, back where I started, over two-and-a-half hours later and not in the best of moods, but it beats waiting at the airport.

I was on my way to spend a week or so with my mum and sister in Sydney. My husband and I had just finished our most recent job and I thought I’d earned a short break while he tidied up the loose ends. We renovate and redecorate apartments for a living, so we have a flexible schedule once we have completed an assignment. To be truthful, it’s as much a hobby as anything. Neither of us actually needs the money, although money is always nice.

I saw his car was still in the garage when I pulled in. Maybe I could surprise him and we could have an interlude back in bed to while away the hours until I went to the plane again. A salacious grin crossed my face. Our sex-life is pretty good.

I drove into the garage and parked, closing the car-door quietly and slipping in through the connecting door to the laundry. A quick look into the kitchen, lounge, dining-room and office established that he wasn’t downstairs.

I went into the office, closed the door and rang my mum to let her know I would be late. I didn’t want her worrying or ringing up when we were otherwise engaged. There is nothing more ardour-quenching than a phone-call when you are close to climax. Talking to my mum on the phone is always a marathon event. She can talk underwater.

With that out of the way I slipped off my shoes and quietly went upstairs. The first place I looked was our bedroom. It was fitted out with an ensuite bathroom, walk-in wardrobes and a dressing area as well as a king-size bed. I thought he might be taking a shower or getting dressed.

I stopped in the doorway and saw a strange woman sitting at my make-up table putting on her face. She became aware of me and spun around, rising to her feet at the same time. There was a look of absolute terror on her face. I suddenly realized she was my husband!

I stepped forward and he swooned into my arms. I caught him and half-dragged him over to the bed.

……………

I must have been out of it for several minutes. When I woke up she was leaning over me.

“You have some explaining to do,” she said.

Answer a question with a question when you don’t know what to say next.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on your way to Sydney.”

“Obviously I’m not and I can see you didn’t expect me home. Now, enough! Explain.”

When you’re caught red-handed, or in my case, red-lipped, you have little choice but to throw yourself on the mercy of the court. I sighed, heart fluttering, and prepared for my life to drastically change for the worse.

“What do you know about transsexuals?” I asked her. Another question.

“Quite a lot actually. No intelligent person can not have seen some of the shows on TV or have read about it in magazines or papers. I know they’re not gay. In fact, I’m pretty sure I know you’re not gay. Either that or you’re a bloody good actor in bed, and I can’t believe that. Anyway, keep going.”

“Well, that’s what I am. I’m a transsexual. I’m a girl in a man’s body.”

She just looked at me for several seconds, her face expressionless. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“How long have you known? How long have you been doing this?” waving her hand up and down my body, indicating the unmistakably female attire that I was wearing.

“I first remember feeling wrong when I was about ten and I started dressing in my mother’s clothes when I was eleven. After that the feelings just got stronger and stronger. Every opportunity I got I dressed as a girl and I knew that was the way I was meant to be.”

“Yes. I can tell it’s not your first time. You look very nice, and that means practice. Of course I could make you look much better. Those eyebrows for a start! So what were you going to do today?”

“Just go to the city and walk around and feel good.” I smiled weakly. “Normally, dressing like this relaxes me, although I don’t feel relaxed right now.”

“What about the rest of the time I was going to be away?”

“More of the same. I just planned to enjoy being who I really am.”

“I don’t get it. If you want to be a girl why did you marry me?”

“Because I love you.”

“Good answer, but it doesn’t tell me what I want to know. Why didn’t you go looking for a man?”

“It seems sexuality has little to do with gender. I’ve never been remotely attracted to men. You are everything I always wanted in a girl. You’re intelligent, talented, elegant, funny and beautiful. I adored you from the first moment I met you and you seemed to return my love, and I think we’re great in bed, too.”

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “You put that very nicely, but I don’t want to spoil your make-up. Get up and we’ll go down and have a cup of coffee and continue this conversation.”

We went down to the kitchen, with her walking behind me. I could feel her eyes checking me out. I couldn’t help but put a little extra sway in my walk and try to be at my most graceful and poised descending the stairs in my heels, feeling the nylons on my legs and my skirt swishing around my legs. As usual, I tried to imagine I was her, Catherine, because, besides loving her I admired everything about her.

Since this was probably my swan-song I wanted to go out as proudly as possible. They say confession is good for the soul and now I had confessed I felt relieved after a fashion, even though it was just the calm before the storm, and I was sick to my stomach at the thought of our marriage ending.

“You make the coffee. You do it better than me,” she ordered, and sat down on one of the stools in the breakfast nook, watching me.

……………

When I had laid him on the bed, I stood back and looked at him. When the initial shock had abated I examined (her?) properly. I could see my husband in there, but only with difficulty. I had great trouble thinking of the figure on the bed as (him?). She actually looked very pretty. She had chosen an obviously expensive honey-blonde chin-length wig, which framed her face nicely. Hoop earrings peeped out from beneath it. They must be clip-ons I thought. Her eyebrows needed a fair bit of work. Of course, if she had shaped them properly it would have been a dead give-away.

She had done a nice job on her eyes; well blended shades of shadow; nice long eyelashes with black mascara and eye-liner to match, tastefully done. She had used a bit too much foundation and powder, in reaction to her maleness I suppose; she had finished off with a coral-pink lipstick coated with a clear gloss, giving her a lovely shiny finish, perhaps a little bright for daytime, but nothing an attractive girl couldn’t get away with.

She was wearing a plain white top with some lace trimming, short-sleeved with a modest vee-neck. I could see the suggestion of her bra through the silky material, not too daring, but visible all the same. I squeezed one of her breasts and it felt real. Breast forms then, so definitely not her first time out.

Her skirt was black, flared from the waist to her knees, and with a frilly hem which I reckoned would swish nicely when she walked. I would have to borrow it at an appropriate time. Her nylons were black but sheer. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed her shaved legs before, or maybe she did them this morning; and all finished off with a pair of classic black pumps with three-inch heels.

All-in-all a conservative outfit which wouldn’t attract too much attention, but looked casually elegant. If I hadn’t known who she was I wouldn’t have given her a second glance in the street or in the Ladies, except for a quick once-over of admiration. It was a nicely chosen outfit, plain but feminine.

How was I going to handle it? I needed to know his motivations. I didn’t think he was gay. Our sex-life was too good for that.

I sat and thought about all this while he was still unconscious. He didn’t look like a drag-queen. There was nothing outrageous about him. The whole effect was understated; he was trying to pass, not stand out in a crowd, or make an impression.

So what did it all mean? What was this going to do to our marriage? We had been married for a little over a year, and it had been a very good year. We were a bit of an unusual match. I was twenty-nine and he was twenty-four. We both came from well-off families. I had met him at an exhibition on renovation and redecoration techniques. He had come across as smart and talented without that sometimes “gay” attitude you encounter in the trade. He had made me laugh with some of his observations and we had hit it off immediately.

His expertise was in remodeling things like kitchens and bathrooms, while I specialized in colours and fabrics and upholstery. We seemed to make a perfect team. It was only a few months before we got engaged and a few more before we wed. My mum was a bit anti because he was younger than me and his was anti because I was older, but we both put an effort into winning them over, and it seemed to work.

And here I was sitting on the bed and seeing my husband dressed very nicely as a woman. He started to come around and I determined to be as cool, calm and collected as I could possibly be.

……………

I moved around the kitchen self-consciously while I made the coffee. I really tried to be as feminine as possible. I don’t know why, but it seemed to be really important to me. I wanted her to see me as I felt, a girl, not a man in a dress, even if it turned out to be for the first and last time. When it had perked I poured a cup for each of us and carried it over and then brought sugar and milk on a separate tray with tongs and spoons, doing it properly.

I sat on another of the stools, demurely pulling my skirt beneath me when I sat. I smiled at her nervously.

“One lump or two?” picking up the tongs and using my girly voice.

“Two as usual, of course, Tom. You know that. It doesn’t feel right calling you Tom when you’re dressed like this. Do you have a girl’s name?”

I blushed madly. All my secrets were going to come out today.

“I call myself Catherine.”

“Well, I suppose I should feel flattered, but we can’t have two Catherines around here. I’m going to call you ……let me see…..Tammy?.....No, doesn’t feel right…..Tanya…..for now, at least until we sort this out.”

I put sugar and milk in my coffee, stirred it, but I couldn’t pick the cup up. My hands were shaking so much I would have spilled it. Funny. I had carried the cups over to the counter all right. I suppose I could feel crunch-time coming.

“OK, tell me again why you didn’t tell me all this before we got married.”

“Oh, Cathy, you can’t imagine the shame and guilt that goes with this. I’ve hidden it for years, all through school and afterwards. I moved into my own flat as soon as I could and dressed after work and at weekends, but I dared not let anybody know. I’m a real coward.

“Then, when I met you, I fell madly in love with you and the more I got to know you I knew I had to spend the rest of my life with you. I just couldn’t take the risk of you rejecting me, and I promised myself I would stop doing all this and be a proper man for you. I just knew you would hate me if you found out about this.”

“But you couldn’t resist?”

I shook my head miserably. “No, I couldn’t. I have to do it.”

“What if I asked you to promise never to dress as a woman again?”

“Darling, look at me now. How could I make a promise like that in all honesty? Would you believe me if I said I wouldn’t?” The tears ran down my face as I saw our marriage ending.

She began to laugh. She roared with laughter, while I gaped at her in amazement, sitting there stunned. It took a couple of minutes for her to stop and wipe her eyes.

…………

I couldn’t help myself. The incongruity and serendipity of the situation!

……………

“Now we both look like pandas,” she said. “Before we do anything else, let’s both fix our faces.”

She grabbed my arm and led us both into the downstairs bathroom, where she repaired my make-up before she did her own. She gave my hair a quick brush and inspected the lie of my top, settling the sleeves a little.

“There, now we look respectable, so let’s go and sit down. You may need to.”

My stomach lurched, expecting the worst.

We went into the lounge and took an armchair each. I was beginning to get used to being dressed as a woman in front of her.

“I think it’s time for a little honesty in this marriage. There are things I haven’t told you either. When I met you I was just coming out of a lesbian relationship. I guess I’m bi. I loved you from the moment I met you, but it wasn’t because you were big and macho. You weren’t. You said you loved me because I was talented, elegant, funny and beautiful. Well, I didn’t think of you as beautiful or elegant, but clever, talented, funny, caring, sweet, yes. And now I’m looking at someone who is elegant and beautiful too.”

I stared at her. I had trouble believing what I heard.

“I sometimes have wet dreams about finding a woman with a cock. Tell me, what do you think about when we make love?”

“I imagine that I’m a beautiful woman making love to a beautiful woman.”

“If you had told me about yourself before we got married I would have rushed you off your feet to the altar before you got away. Tell me, have you tried on my wedding dress? I know you really loved it.”

“No, but I really wanted to. I just wasn’t game.”

“Well, I’m going to get you your own, and we’ll get pictures taken with both of us in wedding gowns.”

I started crying again.

“Tanya, you’re hopeless. How many times am I going to have to repair your make-up?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. She got up from her chair and came over and hugged me.

“Mind you, there are going to be a few changes. Do you promise to obey me in all things?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Right. One. You are never to dress in male clothing again. Do you agree?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Two. You know how I hate housework. You’re going to have to be my maid, OK?”

We kissed deeply, bugger the make-up.

“Tell me. How many pairs of shoes do you have?”

“Just two. These and a pair of white sandals.”

She looked horrified.

“How can you say you’re a girl when you only have two pairs of shoes? God, you’re going to need a lot of work.”

I giggled helplessly.

……………

I said we were in the redecoration and renovation business. It looked like I’d just got my biggest project.

Do I continue or not??

FIRST AFTERNOON

What a morning! First my plane was delayed and then when I came home expecting to surprise my husband I don’t know who got the bigger surprise.

It’s amazing but already I have trouble thinking of him as (him). She makes such a lovely girl and given my sexual predilections I just about wet myself thinking of taking her to bed. When I see her in that neat white lacy top, swishy black skirt, dark nylons and high heels, with her face done so nicely and framed by that blonde wig I just want to throw her on her back and climb on top of her.

“You know I came home for the express reason of ravishing you when I found out the plane was going to be late, don’t you?”

“Do you still want to? Now that you found me like this?”

“Even more so. I’m planning to have wild uninhibited sex with you and I can hardly wait. Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready while I make a couple of phone calls to make sure we don’t get disturbed.”

Tanya did as she was told. She should have, of course, because I had made her promise to obey me in all things. However, I have always found that the best way to get somebody to obey you is to give them instructions that they WANT to obey. If I told you to kill someone you would probably be reluctant, whatever you had promised. If I told you to hug them you would find it much easier. I wanted Tanya to find it easy to do what I told her.

I’m not actually into this dom/sub stuff. Who needs a robot? I want a living, breathing, responsive, loving person on the other end of my affection.

I watched her go upstairs and marveled at how she moved with such feminine grace already, hips swiveling, feet placed one in front of another. I would have sworn she was born a woman. It wasn’t just the clothes and appearance either. Even her voice was different. Her whole attitude had changed. You know that hoary old chestnut about a weight being lifted from someone’s shoulders. Well, you really could see it happen to her. She stood straighter, shoulders back, head held high, proud to be herself.

Even though my husband Tom had always seemed a happy man there was something extra about Tanya. I could feel the sheer exuberance radiating out all over, a joy in having been released from a bad dream. A wave of love surged through me. Everything felt so RIGHT.

I went to phone my mum again, but first I rang the airline and postponed my trip for a month. They had the cheek to tell me there was a $50 booking penalty, but that hardly mattered to me now. When I had dealt with them I got on to my mum and told her that the biggest renovation and redecoration job I had ever come across had just popped up in front of me when I got home this morning and I couldn’t refuse the assignment, so, sorry, I was going to have to put off my trip. She asked me how Tom felt about it and I said he would be deeply involved in the project, and was all for it, but was terribly sorry that my trip had been cut short. After about fifteen minutes talking my mum wound down and we kissy-kissed goodbye.

I rushed upstairs to where I had told my darling to wait for me. So much to do and so little time!

She was lying on the bed stark naked, breast-forms still in place and face and wig intact, earrings dangling. God, she looked gorgeous. I took her hands and pulled her up.

“Now I’m going to get real kinky.” I couldn’t help giggling, as I went to my drawers.

I pulled out two black maximiser bras, two black suspender belts, and sheer black stockings to match and told her to put a set on. While she did that I stripped off and redressed until I was standing in my own stockings, suspender belt, bra and heels. I told her to put her shoes back on and we stood facing each other. Now her cock was sticking straight out. I reckon I could have hung a couple of hangers with clothes on them without bending it, it was so hard, and I was as horny as hell too.

“You told me earlier that when you made love to me you imagined you were a beautiful woman making love to a beautiful woman. Now, beautiful woman, make love to me.”

I pushed her back onto the bed and looked at her cock standing vertical, but not for too long, as I lowered myself on to it. It was my turn to imagine that I was a beautiful woman being made love to by a beautiful woman. It didn’t take too much imagination. She was beneath me with her bra pushing her breasts up and that lovely face looking up at me with parted lips and eyes half-closed. I didn’t have to try. My vaginal muscles went into overdrive and she tried to ram her dick through my spine. We had had great sex before but this beat everything. She released with a huge shudder and I received everything, my plumbing seeming to inhale what she gave me, while my body spasmed through every fibre of my being from my hair to my toes, electric shocks and tingles in the nerve ends, my skin alive.

I collapsed on top of her and then rolled to one side, putting both arms around her and pulling her close as I kissed her.

“Now do you believe I still love you?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “And I love you too. I’m so grateful you don’t hate me. I don’t know why you don’t, but I’m not going to argue.”

“Now you have to promise to stay with me for the rest of your life, or I really will make you into my maid, and I’ll make you wear one of those frilly little uniforms all the time.”

She giggled.

“I really would like that, wearing the uniform I mean. I’ve always rather fancied being a French maid. I just love fishnets and those heels are to die for. But you know what French maids are supposed to do. They’re anybody’s. Do you want me to be waving my pussy at everyone in sight? We actually swore a vow that we would forsake all others until death do us part. I don’t want to break that vow. Do you?”

“Of course not. You’re mine and I don’t actually care if you’re a disobedient little minx. Now shut up and let me suck your cock. This is so good. I get a permanent wet on just thinking we’re going to be doing this for the rest of our lives. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm.”

A bit later we lay holding each other and nuzzling and kissing.

“We have to start thinking about the practical kind of things,” I said. “The one thing I’m going to insist on is that you never wear male clothes again. You’re a girl now. You always were a girl and we’re not going to compromise on that, are we?”

“I don’t want to, but what are we going to do about your mum and mine, and our friends? How will I cope with that?”

“What I’m thinking is that we can keep you under wraps for a while. You’re pretty good in some departments but you need a bit of coaching before you can be let out on your own. How about you being my friend Tanya, who has just come back from overseas and is staying with me? We can keep our mothers at bay for a while, but we’ll have to come clean eventually. I just want us to be ready when we do. By the way, are you OK with Tanya? I rather think it suits you.”

“I really like it, but can I be Tanya Catherine. I always wanted to be like you and now I can be. What are we going to say about Tom?”

She’s so sweet. I’m so going to enjoy helping her to fulfill herself and she’s already lost Tom. He’s history. I felt a twinge for the boy I loved but I’ve got something better now.

”We’ll say he’s gone on a course in Melbourne since we’re between assignments, and of course you can be Tanya Catherine. I’m flattered. God, all the things we have to do. We really are going to be busy. We have to change your documents, get your hair done properly, get your ears pierced, get you a new wardrobe, voice training, deportment, nails, oh, lots and lots of things, and we have to talk about how far you want to go. But first I’m going to fix your eyebrows.”

“What do you mean? How far do I want to go.”

I threw her one of my dressing gowns, a nice satin pink one, and slipped into an ivory housecoat before pulling her over to the make-up table. I rummaged around until I found the tweezers and the wax and tilted her head back. I started to pluck while I talked to her.

“You have choices now. One thing you have no choice about is that you are a girl, like it or not. I like it and there’s absolutely no doubt that you like it. Physically you can stay as you are with a few tweaks, which I hope you will do anyway, like having electrolysis to get rid of your beard and plumping up your lips. That will make you look really nice. The downside is that as you get older you will inevitably become more male. Or you could go sort of halfway, take hormones, have breast implants but keep your cock. Or you can go the whole hog and become as much of a woman as you can be and turn in your tool for a vagina. It’s up to you. I know which I would prefer you to do but I’m not going to say until you tell me your druthers.“

“Ow! That hurt,” as I plucked out a long hair. “I think I’d like to go all the way. It’s time my body was in tune with me. After all, I can start with hormones and stop If I change my mind, can’t I?”

I stopped plucking for a minute and gave her a real kiss.

“That’s fine with me, my love, as long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve read about the procedures, dreaming that one day I could become a girl right through. One thing though; if I don’t have a cock will you still love me?”

I laughed. “Then we’ll be real lesbians, won’t we? Of course I’ll still love you, silly. We’re both in on this journey.”

I finished plucking and applied the wax strips. She yelped when I pulled them off. I looked at my handiwork and it was good. I swiveled the chair round so she could see in the mirror, her eyes widened, making her brows arch even more. It was a delightful effect.

“Wow! It really makes a difference, doesn’t it.” She gave me a delighted child-like smile, which melted my heart.

“How about seconds, then?” I nodded towards the bed.

It was her turn to laugh. “Let me make us a sandwich first. I need fuel.”

We went down to the kitchen, arms around each other, soulmates.

She began to get out the makings, when the entry-door from the laundry opened.

“Tom! Tommy! Are you home, dear?” It was his mother.

When my mother entered the kitchen it was just as well I was facing away from the door. I had already had one severe shock today and this was heart-attack material. Somebody should tell the gods or goddesses that they are only allowed to do this to mere mortals once a day. There ought to be a law.

I knew I was going to have to turn around and I took a couple of really deep breaths to steel myself for what I was sure would be an unnerving and possibly disastrous experience.

In the meantime Cathy said, “Hello, Marie, what brings you here?”

“Well, hello, Cathy dear. I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were off to Sydney for a while and I just wanted to make sure Tommy was OK while you were away.”

There was a little bit of bitchiness in the remark. My mum still hadn’t quite got warm and cuddly with Cathy. A mother with an only son could be possessive on occasions. She had brought me up on her own too. I never knew my father, except as a good-looking young man in my mother’s wedding photos and a couple of others of them together. He had gone to Papua-New Guinea to take up a new job when I was about six months old, but had been killed in an accident on a construction site before we could follow him. She didn’t remarry, although I could remember “uncles” calling on her when I was young.

Cathy explained about the airline cock-up and how she had come home rather than wait for hours at the airport.

“I thought Tom would be here too, when I saw his car in the garage, but he’s probably gone off with some potential client.”

“Yes, well I’m sorry about barging in but the garage door was open and so was the laundry entry.”

“It’s OK, Marie. You know you’re always welcome. Would you like a cup of tea now you’re here?”

What was she thinking?

“Oh, you haven’t met Tanya. Sheer coincidence, she’s an old, old friend of mine, and we bumped into each other at the airport. We’ve known each other for ever but I haven’t seen her since she went overseas, so it seemed like a good idea to fill in the wait by coming back here to freshen up and I did so want her to meet Tom. I‘m sure they’d have a lot in common.”

I thought I was going to die as I turned to face my mum. I wasn’t ready for this yet. Then I saw she wasn’t wearing her glasses. My mum is a very attractive woman, even at close to fifty, but she’s also quite vain and hates to wear her specs unless absolutely necessary, like for driving or reading at home. She’s as blind as the proverbial bat without them. We might just get away with this.

“Hello,M.. Marie. It was such a pleasure to meet Cathy again. I’m just sorry I haven’t met Tom yet, but we’ve been catching up on old times.” I almost called her “Mum”!

She peered at me. “So nice to meet you dear. Have we met before? You look familiar.”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember if we had, and I only got back from England a couple of months ago. Can I interest you in a sandwich while you’re waiting for Tom?”

Talk about daring.

“Oh, no. I don’t want to be any trouble. Anyway, now that I know Cathy’s here, he’ll be in good hands when he gets back. I’ll be on my way. Tell him I dropped by, Cathy.” She was looking kind of embarrassed and I couldn’t figure out why.

“I will Marie, but are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea before you go?”

“No, no, it’s all right. I’ll give him a ring later. I’ll be on my way and leave you girls to have a nice chat.”

So saying she exited the same way she came in.

Cathy was only barely holding herself in check and she nearly exploded once she had made sure my mum was really gone. She was chuckling away to herself.

“Did I miss something? I just thought I was dead lucky to get away without a confrontation there.”

By now, Cathy was holding her sides and spluttering.

“Oh, Tanya, darling, we were, but it wasn’t only her eyesight. We’re both wearing sexy black stockings and high heels with, in your case, a pink satin dressing gown, and in my case a housecoat. No woman goes around the house like that. You know what she thought, don’t you?”

“No. I wondered why she seemed to want to get out of here.”

“She thinks she caught us in some kind of high jinks, in flagrante delicto, a lesbian affair!” and she howled with laughter.

After a bit I started howling too. “She doesn’t know how close to the truth she is,” I got out with a struggle, and we collapsed in each other’s arms, chortling. I thought how nice it was, woman-to-woman contact, the delicate aroma of a feminine perfume, the feel of satin and silk together and the conjunction of breasts, the sensation of my bra under the dressing gown and the rub of our nylons one against the other, while my heels tipped me forward into the embrace.

When we stopped laughing we carried on holding each other and the only male part I had left started to assert itself. She pulled the front of my dressing gown apart and undid her housecoat, letting it drop to the floor. I pushed her back against the kitchen table and she guided my pulsing member into its docking bay. There’s something deliciously wicked about having sex in odd places, particularly when you’re wearing high heels, sheer black stockings, a suspender belt and a push-up bra, long hair brushing against your cheeks and hoop ear-rings dangling. It adds that je-ne-sais-quoi to making love and I resolved to do it more often as she leaned back and wrapped her legs around me.

Eventually we got our sandwich.

She made a phone call to a beautician she knew who did house-calls and arranged for her to come to our house at ten the next day, fully equipped to give me hair extensions and new nails. She took me upstairs to go and get dressed (again).
At first I didn’t know why. Then she told me we were going to get collagen in my lips, have my ears pierced, and buy me some shoes. There was no way I could last any longer without shoes. I begged her not to make me go out but she insisted, reminding me I had promised to obey her.

“But I can’t,” I pleaded. “I’ve never spoken to anyone outside. They’ll pick me in an instant.”

“You really are a scaredy-cat, aren’t you? Look, we just fooled your mother. You spoke so like a girl. She may be blind but she’s not deaf. I was amazed how girly you sounded. You just have to do more of the same. Anyway, I promise you I won’t put you in any situations where you have to say very much.”

So I acquiesced weakly, allowing her to take charge of me. She let me wear the same skirt that I had on this morning, making me blush when she told me how nice it was and making me promise to let her borrow it sometime. She gave me one of her tops, a sexy coral-pink job to match my lipstick, with a scoop neck and three-quarter length sleeves with a flare at the ends and “GRRRL” in sequins across the front. I put it on and fell in love with it. It was really fun having somebody to share with. I had never had a fashion consultant before.

She lent me a big black bag, filling it with make-up and tissues and a purse with money (in case of emergencies) and tampons for authenticity. She insisted I had to be a girl from the skin outwards. Even though I knew I was a girl I had to admit that I lacked some of the training that females absorb from infancy.

She lied to me. Yes, the first things we fixed were my ears, and I admired the diamond studs we bought and inserted. Then we went to a salon and I had my lips filled with collagen. It was strange at first, but after the therapist had spent a few minutes massaging the injections into my lips I was admiring these pillows that made me look like Angelina Jolie or a super-model and when I applied my lipstick to them I was in ecstasy. What with the transformation of my eyebrows and now these magnificent lips I knew there was no going back, not that I had any wish to do so.

It made me as vain as hell. Talk about my mother. I stopped at every mirror we passed and admired myself. Cathy said she was wetting herself looking at me, I was so gorgeous. She couldn’t wait to kiss me.

Then we went shopping for shoes. I had to talk in the stores, because the assistants would comment on my choices and I had to say whether I liked this pair or that. After a while I realized that no-one was commenting on my voice and I relaxed a little. I ended up with fifteen pairs from three stores. They were absolutely divine, nearly all heels, pumps with pointy toes, sandals, strappy, you name it, and a couple of pairs of flatties. Cathy paid with her credit cards and said I could pay her back when mine were changed to “Tanya”.

I thought we would go home then, but she dragged me into store after store and we bought underwear and skirts and tops and dresses. I was mortified at first when I had to use the changing rooms to try on outfits, but again, after the first three or four times I realized that nobody was running screaming for the police because a man was in the ladies’ dressing room and actually began to enjoy myself. Primping and preening in front of the mirrors in the stores gave me a real thrill and parading around for my wife while she all but clapped and whistled and cheered (a slight exaggeration) was a blast.

Finally we went into a smart little café and had a nice meal with a couple of glasses of wine. The waitress treated me as just another female customer. Yes, there is a difference between the way they treat men and women. Obviously they don’t flirt with us, but they do discuss the order in more detail and pay attention to our choices.

Eventually we headed home weighed down with all this stuff that we had bought for me. It was amazing, though. She had proved to me in one afternoon that I could pass as a woman in ordinary circumstances. Even though I had done that before, but without speaking to a soul, she had liberated me.

“I’m going to make you give me a fashion show,” she said, “but not tonight. Tonight I want to make love to you again. You make me so horny.”

She helped me take off my make-up and moisturized my face. She turned me to the glass.

“Look,” she said.

I looked. Even without the cosmetics I looked like a girl. The job she had done on my eyebrows had transformed my face and the collagen in my lips seemed to have doubled their size. Only a girl could have lips like that.

We showered together. She insisted that I kept my wig on and used a shower-cap to protect the adhesive. It was all I could do not to take her there and then, but I knew there were special things coming. We dried each other and she went and got two baby-doll nighties from her drawers. She gave me a lemon one and kept a black one for herself. I had worn a nightie before of course, but it’s special when you have someone to show it off to and with my breast-forms still in place my shape was so female.

I paraded around the bedroom in the floaty little chiffon garment, mentally picturing the day when my breasts would be all me and my bum and hips would be all curvy. And a vagina as a centre-piece, neat and smooth, waiting to be penetrated and filled, waking every morning to be my true self for the rest of my life, no more hiding in the shadows.

I just had to go to Cathy and give her the biggest hug and kiss ever. How lucky I was to have such a wonderful wife and lover. What I expected to be a calamity had become the best day of my life. My heart brimmed over and tears ran down my face, tears of pure joy, as I used my new lips on her, and then I pulled her into bed and we made love again. But, you know, the best part was lying in each other’s arms afterwards and cuddling and holding her precious face in my hands until we fell asleep.

I woke up before she did the next morning and did my business, luxuriating in a shower with lavender bath gel, making myself smell the way I always wanted to. I slipped into a silky dressing gown borrowed from her side of the wardrobe, a vibrant royal blue. I didn’t think she would mind.

I selected a brand new pair of mules bought yesterday, wriggling my toes into them. I brushed my hair and just couldn’t resist coating my wonderful new lips with that coral pink colour. I smiled at my reflection and saw that she liked me too. It’s so good to finally be comfortable in your skin after so many years of distaste.

Tripping oh so lightly down the stairs I made us coffee and poured juice, taking a tray back up to my still-sleeping darling. It’s so hard for me to describe just how wonderful I felt that morning, in love with her and in love with myself. I didn’t know there could be so much love in the world.

I put down the tray and stroked her cheek gently to wake her. As soon as she opened her eyes she came into my arms and embraced me.

“I can take this every morning,” she said. “You look so pretty and you smell so nice. Sit here and let me enjoy looking at you.”

So we sat there, me on the bed and her in it, and drank our juice and coffee, all the while gazing at each other like Juliet and Juliet.

Then she got going, a human dynamo. She showered and dressed and then she gave me a plain white bra and panty set, no stockings this morning, just a fairly demure summer dress with a wide boat neck and short sleeves, knee-length, full-skirted and patterned in black-and-white swirly spiral thingies. It was one of hers that I recognized and really liked. She finished my clothes with a pair of white sandals with a low heel.

“God, it’s going to be fun,” she said. “I’ve got all these clothes we can share. We’re just about the same size, you know, except for the shoes.”

Then she sort of shocked me by pulling off my wig, leaving my fairly short male hair-cut exposed. This was something I never wanted to see again, but she managed to comb and brush it into a style that looked vaguely unisex, if you had eyes like my mum’s that is. Either that or I looked like a dyke.

“It’s only for a little while, darling. When the extensions are done you’ll know it was worth it. All right, do your eyes and brows and that’s enough make-up for now. I think we might ask her to do a glam job on you when she’s finished and maybe we’ll go out tonight.”

“Cathy, please don’t make me go out tonight. I need time to get used to all this.”

“Tanya, dear. I won’t force you, but wait till you see yourself when it’s done, and I have a perfectly super little dress and some great shoes in mind for you. I don’t think you’ll be able to resist showing yourself off to the world.”

Soon after, the doorbell rang and two girls came in with loads of gear, trays and packets and boxes and hairdryers and things. Cathy greeted them and introduced me as the victim of what they were here to do. They looked me up and down.

“Whatever persuaded you to do THAT to your hair?” asked the one called Sandra.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I sort of mumbled, shamefaced.

“OK, well, what do you want us to do with it?” This was Liz.

Cathy jumped in and said we had talked about it and what did they think about something a little shorter than shoulder-length, framing my face on both sides, with a fringe across the forehead, but short enough to leave my eyebrows exposed, and with maybe a bit of a curl under, oh, and we thought honey-blonde.

They walked around me and ran their fingers through my hair and allowed as how that would probably work quite well.

“What about the nails?” asked Liz, sort of turning up her nose at what I had. “How did you ever get them in this state?”

I improvised. “I was having all this trouble with them chipping and cracking while I was overseas and one day I just got frustrated and cut them right back.”

Cathy jumped in again.

“She used to keep them about half-an —inch long and they were very nice. Could you restore them to that in a nice shade of burgundy? Oh, and don’t miss the toes.”

I’d never given a thought to my toes.

“Do you think you could give her a nice evening face when you’ve finished with her hair? We might want to go out tonight.”

“No problem,” Sandra and Liz sort of leered at each other. They had us sussed as lezzies. Maybe they were of the same persuasion.

Then they started in on me. The next five hours were a mixture of heaven and hell.

To be continued.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

No false modesty there.

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

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

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

“Sorry, what do you mean?” I said.

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

Oh, shit, does everybody know?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” We said.

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The End...For Now

Tanya and Cathy promise to return.