A cabby's story.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Bob had been a London taxi driver for more than 20 years and thought he had seen everything. But even he was surprised by something that happened recently.

One evening before the rush when the theatres finished, he was cruising down a street looking for a fare when a girl ran out of a terraced house and stumbled into the road right in front of his cab. Bob just managed to stop in time. The girl picked herself up, realised that it was a taxi and got in.

“You nearly got yourself killed then. You want to take more care. Where do you want to go to, love?”

“Anywhere away from that terrible man!”

Bob could see in his mirror that the girl was distraught, but by then there were vehicles behind, so he drove on a couple of blocks until he could safely stop at the side of the street. Then he turned to look more closely at his passenger.

She seemed to be early twenties, tanned complexion, black hair. Her heavy makeup was smeared and her clothes were dishevelled with her blouse open revealing a pair of young firm breasts.

“Are you OK? Do you need to go to a hospital, or police station?”

“No! No!”

“I'd better take you home, then. Where do you live?”

“Liverpool.”

“No. I mean where are you staying in London?”

No answer.

“Do you have any money?”

“He took my purse.”

Bob didn't know where he could take her. A woman's hostel? Or the YWCA? Then he had an idea. A neighbour of his was a kindly woman who ran a small B&B. He called her on his cab phone.

“Hello, Betty. Bob here. Got a problem.” He explained briefly what had happened.

“OK. You'd better bring her here. I'll see what I can do to help.”

A few minutes later, Bob and Betty almost had to carry the girl into the house. She was incoherent and still plainly terrified. She did not seem to be injured and Betty was soon giving her a cup of tea and trying to reassure her that she was safe from whoever she was fleeing from and that she was not going to be taken to the police or hospital.

“I'd better get back on my shift,” said Bob, “I'll pop round in the morning. Give me a call if you need me.”

After a late night, Bob did not get round to Betty's until about 10 o'clock next morning.

“Hello, Betty. How is she?”

“Still asleep. But I managed to have a good long chat with her last night and learned quite a bit about her. But first of all, you'll be surprised to know that “She” is a “He”. He was born in the Vietnam but lost both parents and his only sister in a ferry disaster when he was 10. He was looked after by an unscrupulous uncle who went to live in Thailand and took him with him. He was soon involved in a vice ring. As a pre-pubescent boy, they castrated him so that he later became one of Bangkok's ladyboys and lived as a female called Lika. Although her handlers tried to take away all her earnings, she managed to hide some away and eventually saved enough to buy an air ticket to England where she contacted a friend in Liverpool. She lived there illegally after her visitors' visa expired. Needing money, she came to London as a prostitute but was soon taken over and managed by a man who abused her. That was the guy she was fleeing from last night.”

Bob had to go home and clean and check his cab for his next shift and Betty nipped out to the local super market to do some urgent shopping. When she returned, there was no sign of Lika but she had even tidied up the room she had slept in.

There was little they could do to check that Lika was al-right. Bob drove down the street where he had first seen her but it was a terrace of a dozen or more almost identical houses and it had been dark so he didn't know which. In any case he might have had a hostile reception if he started asking for her.

However, about three weeks later, Betty found an envelope stuffed through her letterbox. Inside was a brief letter and two  £20 notes. “I'm OK and safe. Here is some money for the taxi and your hospitality. Thank you both for being such good samaritans. Lika.” There was no address.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

February 2013

[email protected]

A cottage by the sea.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

Is cross dressing hereditary? Is it in the genes? Brian still doesn't know, but a legacy from his aunt changed his life.

1.

Brian Parry had been an only child, born to rather elderly parents. He had done well at school but when he was 17, David, his dad, died suddenly of a heart attack. After he died, his mother became aware that there had been large debts which had virtually eliminated any inheritance and meant that the family home would have to sold. Her grief and worry about this led to her own death only a few months later. All Brian's hopes of going to university to study law had therefore vanished and he not only had to cope with trying to sort out his father's affairs, but needed to start to earn his own living.

In one respect, he was lucky. His involvement in the sale of the house brought him into contact with Mr Wright, an estate agent. Mr Wright was about 60 and was the owner of the small agency. He recognised Brain's abilities and agreed to take him on as a trainee on a modest salary which was just sufficient to pay the rent on a one-room flat and cover basic subsistence. Brian learnt fast and was soon an indispensable assistant so that when Mr Wright wished to retire 7 years later, he was happy for Brian to take over the business which prospered under his management.

Brian's only living relative was his aunt, Mary - his father's sister. Mary had never married and therefore carried the same surname of Parry. Brian was 32 when he had a letter from a solicitor telling him that Mary had died suddenly and that he was the sole beneficiary of her small estate. She had been more than 10 years younger than her brother and was then in her early sixties. She owned a cottage just outside the seaside village of Tanmouth on the South Coast where she had lived on a small pension as a retired school teacher having taken early retirement some years earlier, before she went to live in Tanmouth. Brian had made a point of keeping in touch with her over the years and had managed to visit her a few times. He remembered her as a very nice well dressed middle aged lady who was always glad to see him. He cancelled a business commitment so that he could go to the funeral which was attended by the solicitor and just few local people. He had to return home afterwards but arranged to come down again to deal with the disposal of her cottage and effects.

A few days later, Brian found himself putting the key in the door of the cottage as he had so often needed to do in a professional capacity with various properties in the course of his work as an estate agent. The cottage was up a narrow lane behind the village which went on only as far as a farm. It had a superb view over the bay and the nearest other house was a couple of hundred yards nearer the village.

His feelings on this occasion, however, were much more personal as he found the cottage meticulously clean and tidy, as if Mary had just gone out for a walk. It was all exactly as he remembered from his few visits. The furnishings and knickknacks bore ample evidence of their female former owner and he wandered around rather lost in his own thoughts. Only a wilted vase of flowers and a small quantity of stale food in the kitchen betrayed Mary's absence.

Upstairs, he went into the larger of the two bedrooms which had been Mary's room. There was a faint small of her perfume and he idly opened several drawers and wardrobe doors. He was surprised how many clothes she had possessed, as he knew that she had lived a very secluded life. More surprising was finding a couple of wigs in one of the drawers. He remembered Mary as always wearing her hair quite short and slightly greying, but these had long shoulder length brown hair.

On an impulse, he put one on his head and looked in the mirror. He did not recognise the person looking back at him. She was a rather butch looking girl with a five o'clock shadow. He found powder and a lipstick on the dressing table and a few minutes later, the girl in the mirror certainly looked more feminine. He took a floral print dress out of the wardrobe and held it against him, feeling both guilty and thrilled. Although he knew he was looking at his own image, the girl he saw was a living person. She moved when he moved and smiled when he smiled. It was a moment he would never forget as he knew instinctively that he must explore a new part of himself which he did not previously known existed. He had never before wanted to dress up, but now he knew that he would not be able to resist trying on all Mary's clothes.

He stripped right off and put on a pair of panties and a girdle which controlled his growing erection. A bra needed stuffing with tissues to give some semblance of having breasts. He put the dress back on and a pair of open-toed shoes with two inch heels which forced him to step very carefully as he went downstairs into the kitchen to make some tea.

He was sitting in the living room when he heard a car stop outside. It was too late to retreat before there was a knock on the door. Feeling very self-conscious, he opened it.

"Hello. I'm Barbara from the farm up the road. I saw your car so just stopped by to meet you. You must be .." she paused "... Mary's niece. She was always a bit vague about relations. I thought she once told me she had a nephew."

Brian had to think up a suitable reply very quickly. "No. I'm Briony Parry. You're right, I am Mary's niece. As you have probably guessed, Mary has left this cottage to me and I will have to decide whether to keep it as a weekend retreat."

"Well, it's nice to see you. I do hope you decide to keep it. If there is anything you want, we're only up the road at the farm. Don't hesitate to ask. I won't keep you now. 'Bye."

Brian waited a few seconds for the car to drive on before sitting down to gather his wits. It had been a difficult moment. "Briony", he thought. "That's a pretty name". It was the first which had come into his mind, maybe because it was close to "Brian". He also realised that if he ever met Barbara again it would have to be as Briony. As far as Tanmouth was concerned, he was committed.

He went back upstairs and an hour later had tried on about a dozen different outfits. Several more dresses, skirts and blouses and trousers and sweaters. He was delighted to find they all fitted him well - a bit tight round the waist perhaps but he could cope with that. Finally, he put just a few of them and some accessories and makeup in a suitcase which he found in the second bedroom, put all the others carefully away and put his own clothes back on. He locked up the cottage and set out on the three hour drive home.

2.

Well before he reached his flat in the city, he had made a decision. He would keep the cottage and its contents. Next morning, he phoned the solicitor.

"Hello, it's Brian Parry here. Yes. I went to the cottage with my sister. We want to keep it. Can you transfer ownership to her? Her name is Briony. Yes, Briony Parry. Yes, of course I'll sign the necessary documents. Perhaps you could mail them to me so that I can get them signed. Good. Thank you."

Brian also went on the internet and did a lot of research. He found out a lot about cross dressing and specialist shops from which he ordered some breast forms and a gaff which arrived in a couple of days so that he was able to try them on with the clothes he had brought from the cottage. The forms fitted beautifully under one of Mary's bras and gave him a nice female profile and the gaff did a reasonable job in hiding his "bits". With a bit of practice with make up, he thought he made quite a passable girl

The days passed slowly as he dealt with business commitments before he could pay another visit to the cottage. He planned to take a long weekend off and was lucky now to have a reliable assistant to look after the business while he was away. He decided to go "en femme" and not take any male clothes with him so that he would have to "dress" all the time at the cottage.

3.

Now, as Briony, she did not want her neighbours in the city to see her leave so got up early and was away before 6 o'clock with just the suitcase and some groceries in the car. She wore black slacks and a tee shirt. There was little traffic that early and she arrived in time to make herself a late breakfast.

On the door mat was a small pile of mail addressed to Mary, mostly adverts. But one hand-written envelope caught her eye. It was just addressed "Briony". Inside, the note read "Lovely to have met you. Sorry if I arrived at an inopportune moment. Do please walk up to the farm for a coffee next time you come. Mary was a very close friend and we need to have a long chat. I can give you a lot of help. Barbara." Intriguing! So later that morning, Briony set off up the road. It was about a quarter of a mile to the farm which initially appeared deserted. But there were sounds of a tractor working in a field and an old collie dog came to greet her, barking loudly.

Soon, Barbara came to the door. "Hello again! So you got my note. Please come in. I'll put the kettle on." She showed Briony into the traditional old front parlour with rather dated furniture. It was obviously only used occasionally. Coffee and biscuits soon appeared.

They exchanged small talk for a few minutes. Nice weather. Not much traffic? etc. Eventually, Barbara said "Mary was a lovely person and I shall miss her. She lived in the cottage here for about 10 years but was a bit of a recluse. I was the one who discovered her lying in the kitchen. She had had a massive heart attack. Did you know she was transgendered? She used to be a man but I always knew her as a woman."

Briony was completely taken aback but several things now fell into place. Mary had never married. The short hair and the wigs. The collection of clothes and how well they fitted Brian. Barbara's initial surprise when Briony and not Brian opened the door.

"I can see that you didn't know, but that's why we need to talk and why I think I can help you. Your efforts at makeup last week were not very convincing, and it was almost like seeing Mary when she first moved in."

"Oh dear! Was it as bad as that? I had never dressed in girl's clothes before, nor even had the urge to. But when I went into Mary's room, I just felt I had to put on one of the wigs and then the dress and some makeup and soon after, you came knocking on the door and I had to invent a story. But now it's as if there is another part of me I've never known about before and which is bursting to come out into the open.. That's why I here as Briony."

"It's certainly odd that you did that without knowing about Mary's true gender."

"Could it be hereditary? It's 15 years since my father died - he was a lot older than Mary - and I have no idea if he cross dressed secretly. I have an old photograph of my grandparents with two young boys who I must now assume to have been Mary and my father. There is a strong family resemblance between them and me. Anyway, all I want now is to be able to be Briony whenever I'm here at the cottage. I shall have to be Brian when I'm at home in my flat where I own an estate agency and must earn a living. Fortunately, I have a very able assistant who can cope in my absence so hopefully I can be here as Briony fairly often."

"Well. I can assure you that you will be very welcome in the village."

"Did many people know about Mary?"

"I think it must have been quite well known but we take things at face value and I never once heard anyone refer to it. Dr Clark must have known as she was his patient. He is a wise old bird, a very experienced GP. On a couple of occasions, I collected prescriptions for her and know that she took hormone pills."

"Do you know if she ever had surgery?"

"No, I don't know. But I don't think so. She certainly had female breasts but those were probably due to the hormones."

The conversation drifted on to more mundane things, before Barbara said "I suggest that I take you down to the village tomorrow morning and introduce you to Delia and Sam who run the village shop. Delightful couple who know everything about everyone around here. There will be much less speculation if I introduce you. You probably need to buy provisions anyway. About 10 o'clock? I'll check over your make up before we go!"

"Thank you. That's very kind of you. See you then."

Briony went back to the cottage confident she had made a good friend.

It was a lovely day and the tiny garden needed a bit of tidying up, so she put on some pull-on cord slacks and green wellies. The cottage gave onto the lane at the front with just a couple of window boxes, while at the back it was a typical cottage garden with a tiny patio. There was no grass but a profusion of perennial flowers which left little room for weeds so there was not much work to be done.

She spent the evening rummaging around and found a file of old papers in the bottom of a desk. There was another copy of the old photograph with the names David and Martin on the back and some letters which confirmed that the other boy was in fact Martin, who became Mary, and that her father, David, had known all about it. But attitudes were much stricter then and it was all hushed up.

Briony also found a small cupboard in the bathroom which contained medicines. Most were standard remedies for common problems but in a paper bag were boxes containing about three months supply of hormone tablets. She read the leaflet in the one of the boxes very carefully. It was clear that they had been prescribed by the doctor to maintain Mary's hormone balance as a female. The instructions were to take one a day. Briony could not resist the temptation to take a pill from the packet and swallow it, wondering what the result might be.

4.

Next morning, she heard the car stop outside the cottage and met Barbara at the door. Barbara looked Briony up and down and said "I can see I'll have to take your makeup in hand. You really do need help with it." But 10 minutes later, Briony looked in the mirror and immediately felt confident about going to the village. Barbara had painted her finger and toe nails which were visible in the open toed sandals. With her long brown hair and another floral dress, she had a lovely cool summery look.

They went into the village shop, one of those establishments which seem to sell everything from newspapers to groceries with a post office counter. "Delia, I've brought Briony down to introduce her. She is Mary's niece. You can probably guess that from the family resemblance. She's going to keep the cottage as a weekend retreat, but I have a suspicion that before long it will have cast a spell over her so that she will want to make it her permanent home - just as Mary did."

"Very pleased to meet you, My Dear." Delia had a loud voice which could be heard all over the shop, so that several customers turned to look. "Sam - this is Briony, Mary's niece!"
Sam's head appeared from round the door of the storeroom. "Hello," he rumbled in a deep voice. "We miss Mary. She was such a nice person." Briony noted he said person not lady.
"I'm sure you will be very welcome in the village and soon get to know people. I expect the vicar will call - he likes to know everyone, especially if he thinks they might swell his congregation!"

Briony made a few purchases and was introduced to more customers before Barbara took her back up the hill to the cottage. After making herself a snack lunch, she decided to enjoy the warm sunshine. She found a lounger in the garden shed which she set up on the small patio and then went upstairs to find something suitable to sunbathe in. There was a bikini and a colourful sundress.

She tried the bikini. The top was OK with her breast forms but the bottom just didn't look right over her gaf so she settled for the sundress which was perhaps fortunate because as she lay reading she heard a car stop outside. The Rev Watkins had not wasted much time in coming to meet the new arrival!

She made him a cup of tea while they exchanged pleasantries.

"So you're Mary's niece. Mary was such a lovely - er - lady but she seemed to keep herself very much to herself. I think the only time I saw her in church was one Christmas."

"I'm afraid I'm not a regular church goer either and I shall only be spending the odd weekend here. Maybe if I was here all the time, I would make the effort."

"Never mind. It's still good to meet everyone hereabouts whether they come to church or not."

After quite a long chat, Briony was quite glad when she eventually listened to his car going back down the lane.

Soon it was time to drive back to the city. She tidied up the cottage and put another selection of Mary's clothes in the suitcase. She wore the black slacks so that she would not be too conspicuous if she met any neighbours when she got home again. She liked them having a side zip instead of a fly opening - it somehow made her feel more female. When she was only a few miles from home, she pulled into a layby and reluctantly took off the wig and breast forms and became Brian again.

4.

He took another pill before going to bed but did not sleep well. He realised that he needed something better than the gaf to hide his male bits. He went on the internet, found lots of information on chastity devices and decided on an expensive she-male belt from Neosteel in Germany. He ordered their measuring kit as he wanted to be sure that the measurements he sent them would be absolutely correct. It arrived in a few days and, having checked very carefully, he placed his order. Delivery was promised in 6 weeks as they are made to order.

He also looked up hormones and found several suppliers of pills and breast enlargement treatments and ordered some double strength creams. Just as he had tried on Mary's clothes on an impulse, he did not stop to consider the long term effects of taking hormones. He was just determined that Briony should grow natural breasts with a modest cleavage.

Over the next few weeks he spent as much time as possible at the cottage, where, under Barbara's tuition, Briony became adept at make up and learned a lot about just being a female! She met more local people and began tentatively to take part in village social events.

The Neosteel belt arrived and fitted perfectly, although he took several days to get used to wearing it and at first kept the keys handy. He found it frustrating as he still had nocturnal erections which it restricted. Briony loved it as she felt more feminine knowing that her male bits were safely locked away.

5.

Fate then took an unexpected hand. He received an approach from a large group of estate agents asking if would consider selling out to them. The figure suggested for the goodwill of his business was generous and, together with the sale of his city flat, would buy a modest pension for Briony. He did not need any persuasion and was further reassured when the buyers said that they would offer his assistant a job as their local manager. The deal finally sealed Brian's ultimate demise and he immediately made plans to live in the cottage permanently as Briony.

He also hit a potential problem. His solicitor had previously sent the documents for the cottage but they had required a witness for both his and Briony's signature. His good friend Barbara had duly committed perjury on Briony's behalf! However, as Brian would in effect cease to exist, it now became necessary to put the record straight. Fortunately, the solicitor was sympathetic and was able to ensure that it was all duly sorted out. Brian arranged for all his mail etc. to be forwarded to Ms Briony Parry. The solicitor was the only person who knew.

So just six months after his first visit to the cottage, he sold all his furniture and most of his possessions. He gave his better male clothes to a charity shop and binned the rest except for just two sets of clothes for while the final packing up was done. He turned the key in the door of the flat for the last time, handed it in at the office and set out for the cottage. A few miles down the road, he stopped where there was a suitable waste skip, changed into Briony's clothes and rid himself of the last of his male things. His transformation was complete and final.

6.

Briony settled happily into her new life in the cottage. She was determined to lead a normal life and not become a recluse as Mary had. She attended several village functions and slowly expanded her circle of new friends.

Barbara would look in frequently at the cottage on her way past and one day found Briony obviously unwell with a dose of 'flu. Barbara insisted on calling Dr Clark who gave her a thorough examination before prescribing a course of antibiotics. He noted that her breasts were showing signs of development and her nipples were sensitive and tender.

The doctor seemed happy to stop longer for a chat. "I got to know Mary quite well over the years. So she was your Aunt? She made the transition very well. I've seen several similar cases but had no idea it might be hereditary. Must be in the genes. Are there any other cases in your family?"

"Not as far as I know, but my Dad died when I was 17 and if he did cross dress, he kept it a close secret."

"Anyway, My Dear, I'm glad I've met you. You must expect more bodily changes as time goes on. I'll be happy to prescribe more hormones whenever you need them. Don't be afraid to come and see me if you need any help or advice." Thus was another example of how she was made welcome with no awkward questions.

One village function she attended was of particular interest as it concerned a planning application for a development of new housing which was causing a lot of local controversy. She felt that new housing for local people would be beneficial to the community but thought that the plans submitted were inappropriate and would not blend in with local architecture. She managed to catch the chairman's eye and was able to express this view to the meeting. Her comments received a good round of applause. Afterwards, she was approached by a man she recognised as Jim Snow, a local estate agent who asked what she did before coming to the village.

"I worked with an estate agent in the city." She held back from saying she was that agent, but said she had enjoyed being involved for many years in all aspects of the business, including what she said would now be given the grand title of Sales Executive.

"Are you planning to retire completely now you're here, or would you be interested in part time work? I need an assistant. Perhaps I could buy you lunch and we can discuss it further. How about tomorrow, 12.30 in the Bull's Head?" Briony enjoyed the lunch, at the end of which Mr Snow had proposed that she work part time on a very flexible basis and receive a commission on the sales she negotiated. This suited Briony well as it would give her an added interest as well as providing additional income.

Jack, another local friend, was a retired widower who obviously had taken rather a fancy to Briony. Whether he knew her back ground she did not then discover but tactfully kept him at arm's length. Nevertheless, he proved excellent company and they enjoyed several excursions and meals out together.

7.

Briony has been at the cottage for nearly ten years now and there is little more to tell. She is a very happy and attractive spinster, leading a full and busy life. But underneath, she is still Brian. She doesn't want surgery but she now has a lovely full curvy feminine figure and real long soft hair.

No wonder Jack enjoys her company but he does now understand why their relationship can go no further.

Is it hereditary? Who knows?

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

July 2010.

[email protected]

A unique allergy?

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

Its now 20 years since my accident. I was 24 at the time and the proud possessor of a 650 cc. motorcycle. It was my pride and joy.

I had done reasonably well at school, enjoying the usual boy's sports, but had not achieved university entrance. So I joined a large local company as trainee and had risen to be a departmental manager. I used the bike for my daily commute which was about 10 miles each way, mostly on rural roads. Although I say it myself, I was a pretty good driver and always careful and conscious of the risks taken by all motorcyclists. However, things can always go wrong. That morning, it had rained heavily and there was a lot of water on the road. I “lost it” as I approached a sharp bend and finished up wrapped around a tree. Fortunately, a following motorist saw what had happened and called the emergency services who arrived quickly.

I woke up in hospital two days later and still have no memory of the actual accident.

There was a doctor and two nurses standing by the bed. “Hello, Johnny. Welcome back. You've been asleep for a long time.” And I just drifted back to sleep. Sometime later, I woke again. This time I was fully conscious and a nurse called the doctor. “Hello, again. Are you able to talk?”

I nodded.

“You're going to be OK. There is nothing life-threatening. You've broken both legs and your pelvis and there are some internal injuries. You spent several hours in the operating theatre while we put in some bits of metal to hold things together and we should have you up and about in a few weeks. There are lots of other cuts and bruises but they will heal quickly. There is one other thing which I'll tell you about later. So just relax for now.” He sounded very re-assuring. I must have been fairly heavily sedated as I don't recall having much pain.

A couple of days later, the doctor was back. “How do you feel?”

“I'm OK. How are things going?”

“Well, as I've already told you, the good news is that you'll soon be able to get up and learn to walk again but you'll need crutches some some time and may finish with a slight limp.”

“That means there's some bad news? You mean my bike is a write-off?”

“Yes. I'm afraid so. But there's more. Your crotch was badly injured and your testicles got crushed. We had to remove what was left of them.”

“You mean I no longer have any balls? So I'm a eunuch?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. I'm afraid so. It means you will gradually lose the ability to get an erection.”

Initially, I made light of the problem. After all, I might have been dead! But gradually I came to realise that I had lost my ability to have sex. I was not a virgin, having had several long term girl friends and I had found sex, not just enjoyable, but a wonderful experience. No girl would want me now. I became very depressed but in spite of that made good progress with my recovery — until the next bomb shell hit me.

It was probably about two weeks later when I started to run a very high temperature and the same doctor came to see me. “You know I told you that you would always have to take testosterone medication to maintain your male characteristics now that you have lost your testicles and can't regulate your own hormones. You've been on it for over two weeks now and we've discovered that you have a very rare allergy to all artificial testosterone. I have never come across it before and we believe it could be unique. Unfortunately there is no alternative medication and without it, you will gradually become visibly feminised.”

He waited for the information to sink in.

“You mean that I am going to look like a woman? And I will grow breasts?”

“Yes. And there will be other changes too. Your weight distribution will change and your skin and hair will soften.”

“How long will it take?”

“Probably a year or two unless it is given a helping hand.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Rather than suffer the embarrassment of gradual change with people wondering whether you're a man or a woman and looking like some sort of freak, you might decide to “come out” as a woman much sooner and we can help with that by giving you large injections of oestrogen and related female hormones. I propose to refer you to our gender clinic. They can be very helpful in leading you to a decision.”

The next morning saw me trundled across the hospital to the clinic in a wheel chair. I spent the morning with a nice lady who was clearly a little baffled by a patient who was not actively seeking a sex change. She read my notes carefully and said “Well, you are an unusual patient. It seems that you are going to look like a woman whether you want to or not. Its a question of when, not if. Is this something which you have ever thought about at all before your accident?”

On receiving my assurances that I had never even considered it, still less wanted it, she then asked very detailed questions about my background. I was an only child. Both my parents had died some years before. I had two female cousins who I hadn't seen in years. Did I enjoy my job? How did I get on with my colleagues? Had I ever had sex? Did I have a current girl friend?….. The questions went on and on. Eventually, she said “I think its time for a break now and you can see my colleague, Dr Watson, after lunch. He can tell you more about the physical changes to expect and advise on timing.”

Dr Watson proved friendly and helped me understand much more about what was likely to happen to me. But it was clear that he assumed that I would live as a female. The possibility that I might want to stay male, even if I looked a freak, never occurred to them. However, I was by now starting to accept that life as a female might be preferable — even desirable - and that it would be better to get the change over as soon as possible. By the time I returned to the ward, my mind was made up. I certainly didn't fancy growing breasts and then having them amputated — and probably still looking odd.

It was arranged that I should stay in the hospital longer than expected and I started on a strong course of hormone injections. Initially, they made me feel quite ill but my injuries were healing well and I found a lot of help and advice available in the clinic. The amount of re-education required seemed never ending. I had to learn all about things girls take for granted. Fashion, make-up, hair styles and lots more. And I would have to try to think female and engage in female chat! And that was quite apart from various formalities to do with changing name on lots of documents.

First and foremost, I needed a new name and chose “Cathy” as I wanted something quite different from “Johnny”. Cathy Cumlately seemed to sound right! The hospital authorities immediately changed the name in my records and I effectively became Cathy from that day on. I became a female patient overnight. The clinic provided breast forms for use until my beasts developed. They were very realistic and attached with a strong adhesive. With “breasts”, I immediately started to feel female, especially as my hair had by then grown quite long. I had not visited the barber for some weeks prior to the accident and a hairdresser working in the clinic was able to create a nicely feminine style. Kim, one of the nurses, kindly went shopping for me on her day off and I was amazed how many things she thought were indispensable. I had lent her my credit card and she returned with a pile of clothes and make-up — and a lot of bills! She helped me try on most it. Kim and I became and remain very close friends

I took my first tentative steps wearing a skirt and blouse, hobbling around the hospital on my crutches. It suddenly hit me that this was no charade. I was now female — permanently! It made me very emotional. To begin with, I felt very self-conscious but soon gained confidence.

I saw Dr Watson several times and on one of my later visits to the clinic, and he asked me if I wanted a proper sex change operation. I still had a penis which seemed a bit incongruous with my new gender. He said that nothing would be done until I had lived as a female for a year as they had strict rules and needed to be 100% certain that it was right for me, so there was no need to make a early decision, but the option would be available. He also offered a minor operation on my Adams' apple which would help to lighten my voice and electrolysis to remove my beard even though it was hardly noticeable under foundation make-up. I gladly accepted both.

Finally, the day came when I left hospital and returned home to my flat. It had been a bachelor pad but now needed to become a home for a single girl. I gave a lot of thought to how its should be re-decorated.

Before leaving hospital, I had written several letters applying for jobs in the hope that I would not have to return to my previous work and had two interviews lined up. I was quite open about my sex change, and, to my amazement, both made an offer. I accepted the one which seemed to be more interesting and arranged to start the next week.

And so Cathy began her new life.

I found my new job helped enormously. My colleagues were aware of my situation and very understanding. I made new (female) friends and started to have a better social life than before.

I soon found that the time could not go quickly enough for my operation. I wanted shot of my now diminutive penis and found the idea of having an artificial vagina fascinating. My breasts had developed nicely to a B cup and I was happy with my more womanly figure. After the op I might even try a bikini!

The operation is now a well documented procedure which I need not describe. It was successful and there were no complications.

There is little else to tell. Here I am, 20 years later and 20 years older. I am a happy and active spinster. I still have a slight limp and my regret is that I can't wear heels more than two inches. And do I ever wish I was still a man? Never. But then I don't have womens' problems either!

Kim is married and has a young family. I am delighted that they call me “Auntie Cath”.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately (or should it be Cathy?)

July 2012

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Civil War Casualty

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

I should never have gone to that godforsaken country, but I needed the money. I signed a two year contract with the National Oil Company at a salary twice what I could earn at home and found myself the only expat in a team of 12 men on a remote drilling rig miles into the desert.

Almost as soon as I arrived, I became aware of tensions and civil unrest. The country had been ruled by a ruthless despot for many years and there had been a series of demonstrations against him. However, the military were backing him, if only because they were some of the few well paid employees.

The demonstrations soon became riots and by the time I had been there three months, had become open civil war. Isolated in the desert, I thought we were fairly safe, but it was impossible to remain neutral when all the other men at the rig were clearly on the side of the rebels and openly flew the rebel flag over the rig.

One day, a lorry drove up with a squad of soldiers. They had heard that we backed the rebels and we were herded into the open back of the lorry and driven for an hour in the hot sun to a nearby town. “Town” is a bit of a misnomer. It was just a collection of houses, most of which were now deserted. The local school had been ransacked but the main hall still had walls lined with climbing bars. It had once also served as a gymnasium.

We were all stripped naked and tied by wrists and ankles with our backs to the bars. The sergeant in charge spoke in broken English.

“You foreigner. Joined rebels. Same punishment.”

I was third in line and watched as one of the soldiers handed him a piece of plastic pipe into which he dropped something from a tube and rammed it painfully onto my colleague's cock.

“Super-glue,” he said when it was my turn, “Never come off.”

The soldier then handed him what looked like a cable tie and grabbed my scrotum while the officer pulled it very tight.

“Soon - no balls, no sex, no kids!”

The pain was excruciating and as I realised what was being done to me, I must have passed out.

I don't know how long it was before I came to. Probably only a minute or two in time to see the same treatment being meted out to all my colleagues. I could see that the plastic pipe had been cut crudely so that each piece was about 2 inches long and not much more than an inch in diameter.

We were left tied to the bars for a long time but were eventually released and moved into an empty room under guard. I was still in great pain. My balls were blue and I knew that the damage was final. I had no means of removing the cable tie. We had to lie on a hard concrete floor to sleep as best we could. None of us spoke. I think we were all too shattered to say anything coherent.

Next day we were once again loaded onto the back of a lorry and taken on a 4 hour journey to the capital city. A large internment camp had been set up on the outskirts where there were already several hundred people. Men and women were segregated.

Conditions were primitive but at least there was running water, small food rations and camp beds. We were able to compare notes with other inmates, none of whom had been mutilated as we had but there were rumours of killings, women raped and men whose cocks were sliced off were left to bleed to death. No medication was available. We had no idea how long we might be kept and virtually no news of events elsewhere.

Over several months, I slowly got used to my status as a eunuch and any tendency to an attempted erection went away. It had initially been frustrating as the tube prevented it. Peeing was messy.

After nearly six months in captivity, I was pleased to see representatives of the International Red Cross and knew that my situation would therefore would soon be known back home. I asked them to try to get a letter to my sister, Alice. She is my only living relative. She is just two years older than me and we were always very close as children. I knew that she would be worried about me but my letter merely confirmed that I was OK. I did not wish to worry her with grim details.

As time went on, I became aware that our ambassador knew where I was and was trying to get me released. But things dragged on interminably.

After nearly a year, some of my companions told me they had noticed changes in their bodies, in particular a swelling of their breasts and shortly after that, I also noticed changes. I knew enough about hormones to realise that this was because we, as eunuchs, no longer produced testosterone and that our remaining hormones were way out of balance. I no longer had any feeling in my cock. It was just a nuisance being trapped in a tube.

Although I had realised the possibility that I might lose my cock as well as my balls, I was worried because I actually rather liked my budding boobs and was afraid that someone would want to cut them off when I eventually got back to civilisation. No way was I going to allow anyone to remove them as well as my male bits even if they did become an embarrassment.

Finally, one day I was told I was being moved, though I knew not where. But I was overjoyed to be taken to the embassy. I was given a thorough medical examination and de-briefed. The doctor did not seem unduly surprised at what had been done to me. Maybe he had seen other similar cases. He promised to arrange an appointment for me to see a top urologist back home. I was allowed to phone Alice and she promised to meet me when I was flown home and offered to put me up while I adjusted to being free.

At the airport, her first words were “My God, Johnny, are you having a sex change?” I had not realised that things were quite so obvious. Apart from my boobs, my hair had grown soft and I had put on weight around my hips. We spoke little in the car. She had prepared the spare room for me and made sure I would be comfortable. The luxury of a long hot bath was something I had missed for over a year and it gave me time to look at my new breasts and what was left of my balls. Tugging at the tube proved pointless.

Alice is a busy doctor in general practice. Her husband, Peter is also a doctor but has a permanent position in the local hospital. They have two boys aged 8 and 10 who greeted me with puzzled looks at though they didn't quite know whether I was an uncle or an aunt.

It was not until well after supper when the boys were in bed that Alice asked if I wanted to talk about what had happened. I decided that I should not hold back. After all both Alice and Peter were doctors and would provide good advice.

“Now I understand your change in appearance.” Alice said. “I'm glad you're going to see Mr Whitwell. He's certainly the best choice.”

I said “There is one thing you should know. I never thought it would be so, but I've grown to like my new breasts and I have no intention of letting anyone cut them off.”

“Well they are getting rather prominent,” said Alice, “I think you are probably a B cup already and they might grow bigger. What then? Maybe you , might find it easier to live as a woman.”

I had not thought about that. “I don't know whether it's what I want or whether it would be possible.”

“Is it something you ever considered? Even when you were young?”

“No, but now that you've suggested it, the idea is not unattractive. It's just that I can see so many obstacles in the way.”

“Maybe we could help.” Alice looked at Peter who nodded. “No one around here knows you or are even aware you are here. You could live with us as a female for a month or so without commitment.
I can help you with clothes and make up and make sure you're presentable. We're about the same size. I could lend you clothes. You will need a name. We could not go on calling you Johnny if you're wearing a skirt. How about Mary? I'll invent a long lost cousin who has come over from New Zealand.”

Bless her! Alice was always practical and ready to help. I was left slightly stunned at the prospect but did not really want to refuse. Besides, she was probably right about my boobs getting even bigger and I couldn't hide them for ever.

We talked about the practicalities and with her help I was sure I could do it. She even started to put flesh on her story about a cousin. Our father must have had a brother who emigrated before we were born, married out there and had a daughter, Mary, about the time I was born.

Two days later, I was sitting in Mr Whitwell's consulting room after he had spent nearly two hours giving me a very thorough examination.

“Let's deal with the easy bit first. We need to remove what's left of your testicles. They've been dead for over a year. That's why you've started to appear rather feminine. You're not producing any testosterone. Removing the tube is not so easy. We must assume that all the skin on your penis has fused with the plastic, so cutting the tube off may leave you with a skinless cock. It might be possible to do a skin graft but it would be difficult and you would be in great discomfort for quite a long time, even if the graft took. Realistically, your penis now has no sex life and is only a channel for urine. I'm going to suggest that it should be amputated, together with the remains of your scrotum. There is a good chance that your urethra is intact and we would reroute it to a new exit point between your legs. Its a fairly standard procedure for men who have advanced penile cancer. Bladder control should be al-right but cannot be guaranteed. You would have to sit to urinate like a woman.”

I think his prognosis was not unexpected and I just nodded. He went on “The other thing we have to
look after is your appearance. A strong dose of testosterone would stop further development but you have indicated that that may not be what you want. Although we should not delay surgery much longer, your sister's suggestion, which you seem anxious to try, may solve the problem. In that case, you may then be seeking a sex change operation. We cannot know whether that is possible until we know how much of your penile skin will be available. You probably know that that sort of operation involves inverting the penis into the abdomen to create an artificial vagina.”

“And if it is not possible?”

“Then at least you would have a smooth crotch which would look superficially female. If you're sure its what you want to try, go away and live as a female for a month. Then we can decide exactly what we will try to achieve.”

Back at Alice's home, I told her what Mr Whitwell had proposed.

“That's what I expected so I have been busy while you were out. You are going to become Mary today. Come upstairs.” I followed her up to my room where I found that my few male clothes had been tidied away and neat piles of new things had been placed on the bed. I could see at a glance that Alice had bought me a couple of bras, a pack of panties and a pantie girdle, all of which were in their original packaging. She had also put out what I suspected were some of her own clothes and a small collection of cosmetics.

“Strip off and go and get in the shower. I'll spray you with this” - she held up an aerosol marked “Depilatory Spray” - “We need to remove all your body hair from the neck down.” Ten minutes later, I was like a newborn baby and carefully blotted myself dry. It was a far cry from my appearance in the prison camp.

We went back to the bedroom where Alice told me to put on a pair of panties and the girdle. “The girdle will make sure that ugly tube is kept out of sight between your legs.” She then helped me to put a bra on and adjust it to fit. I shall always remember that first time. More than everything else, it was what suddenly made me feel feminine. She had to show me how to put on a pair of tights without laddering them but the feeling over my hairless legs was lovely. A blue patterned knee length skirt was paired with a white blouse through which the outline of my bra was just discernible. My hair, although fairly soft, was still quite short for a girl but Alice managed to shape it to look feminine. I also needed some tuition in the use of make up which she used very sparingly.

I was shocked when I saw my self in the full length mirror. It wasn't me but I liked the girl who looked back at me and I could not resist doing a little twirl.

“Just like a girl! Are you ready to meet the family, now?”

We went downstairs. The boys were doing their homework and Peter had just come home.

“Hi, Guys! Time to meet Auntie Mary.” The boys had a slightly puzzled look but just said “Hi!” and went on with their work. But Peter was clearly impressed. “I'd never have believed it. You actually look much better now than you did yesterday. I'm looking forward to having the company of a new sister-in-law.”

I was relieved that Peter was supportive. It made me feel more at home in my new persona and I was just amazed how right it all felt.

It was a day or two before I ventured out and then only with Alice as “guardian”. She took me shopping and spared no expense — which was just as well because I had few funds and little prospect of getting any payment for the last year. “You can't go around in my stuff indefinitely. You need things you have chosen which you can call you're own.” I think at that early stage, we both knew instinctively I would not be reverting to being male again.

One of the items Alice bought for me was a red sleeveless pencil dress, about 2 inches above the knee. It suited my inevitably rather boyish figure, but what really impressed me was how the dress fitted my still modest bust as if it had been specially tailored. I just loved it.

I found it a steep learning curve. Clothes and make up, even softening my voice, were the easy things. I had to discover an entirely new personality. How to walk, stand and sit like a woman. To remember that I carried a handbag. How to think like a woman. How to socialise, talk to and be accepted by other women.

The four weeks passed quickly. I became increasingly confident of myself. Peter and Alice introduced me to several of their friends and I went out alone occasionally. My only concern was that I might meet another New Zealander who knew the district I claimed to be from and that my story would be blown. Fortunately, I never did.

I could not wait for my operation and finally the day came. As I lay in the hospital ward awaiting my premed I realised that I would not know until I woke up whether my future would be as a female with an artificial vagina or a nullified eunuch in drag. I didn't really care as long as I could get rid of my now useless cock and balls and live a new life as a woman. Who could have guessed a month ago that I would have transitioned so quickly?

That sadistic sergeant had actually given me the most wonderful gift for which I remain profoundly thankful.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

July 2011

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Espionage!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

A cold war spy plot that went wrong!

Boris was born in Kostroma, an industrial town on the banks of the Volga River, some distance north of Moscow. His father was Russian, a marine engineer, but his mother was English, so he was brought up to be bilingual. His father had been seconded to a British company involved in building a large oil exploration platform and had met and married his mother while there. As a very young lad, Boris had naturally wavy fair hair and was small for his age, so that he was sometimes mistaken for a girl.

However, he did well at school and was an enthusiastic member of the local Communist Youth. He then went to Law College in Moscow, where he graduated with first class honours. Law graduates were often recruited by the KGB and Boris was no exception. Some years later, Vladimir Putin was to follow a similar path. Boris rose rapidly through the ranks and saw service in Germany and in the Middle East. He soon came to the notice of MI5 who, in the later years of the cold war, routinely tried to monitor the progress of up and coming spies. The KGB were no doubt aware of this as they also kept tabs on MI5 members.

Boris's fluent English and his English parent, marked him out as suitable for a posting to Britain but the KGB felt that he would be an obvious target for MI5 so they decided on an unusual sort of disguise. Lightly built., he stood only 5'6" tall and still had his naturally fair wavy hair. He would make a very convincing girl so he was duly despatched to a special gender clinic where he spent a month as a female learning everything about feminine matters - dress, makeup, hair styles, deportment, voice production. On arrival, he was stripped of all his male clothing, his body was shaved and he was given some strong hormone injections. For the whole month he was hypnotised and brain washed into believing that he was transgendered, being a girl born into a man's body. No one argued with the KGB in those days!

At the end of the month, Tanya emerged, a new person. With the help of surgical breast inserts, a wig which exactly matched her natural hair and a little padding around the hips, she was a very attractive 32 year old whose future was clearly mapped out by the KGB.. We was to be "married" to a research scientist who was to be allowed an exit visa to Britain for 12 months.

Alexis was 35 and worked in the Moscow research laboratories of a large international pharmaceuticals group whose headquarters were in London. The KGB knew he was a closet homosexual and used this to ensure his compliance. What they did not know, however, was that he was also a potentially violent sadist.

Alexis and Tanya were "married" in a quiet suburban registry office and given all the necessary documentation. To improve her cover, they were also to live together for several weeks prior to going to London. Alexis was quietly happy to be given a "ladyboy" companion. He had ready access to hormone preparations as part of his job and began to lace Tanya's food with them, not knowing that she had already received injected doses in the clinic. He expected Tanya to provide appropriate sexual favours and she had little option but to go along with this even though she found having to suck him off regularly distasteful. Even more so when he started to demand that she should allow him to tie her up in bondage at the same time.

By the time they arrived in London, Tanya's breasts had begun to develop, so that with the implants they were approaching DD size, which pleased Alexis. She made contact with her "controller" but was ordered to remain inactive for a time to ensure her cover remained good. They were given the use of a house by Alexis's employer. It was part of a Victorian terrace with large rooms and a basement which Alexis immediately identified as a potential dungeon. Away from the close supervision he had received in Moscow, he also started to visit BDSM clubs.

About a month after arriving in Britain, he set up some bondage gear in the basement. One day, he had Tanya kneel in front of some rings he had attached to the wall, roped her ankles, legs, waist and wrists and blindfolded her. When she was completely unable to move, he forced his cock into her mouth.

Even in the cause of KGB duty, this was more than she could take. With his cock half way down her throat, she was on the edge of gagging and panicked. She bit hard, partially severing his engorged cock which immediately bled profusely. Alexis swore at Tanya, calling her a bitch and many other things in Russian which fortunately have not survived translation! His first reaction to the pain was to hit out, but he quickly realised that he must get medical help before he passed out from loss of blood. He managed to phone the emergency services and an ambulance arrived within a few minutes, closely followed by the police who routinely attended such incidents.

In hospital, surgeons stopped the flow of blood and thus saved his life but were unable to save his penis and amputated the partly severed member, leaving just a stub. There is often a reporter hanging around accident and emergency departments looking for a story and this was his lucky day! He lost no time in chatting up the ambulance crew.

RUSSIAN SCIENTIST LOSES MANHOOD IN SEX GAME

was the front page headline next morning.

Meantime, the police freed Tanya from her bondage but assumed that she was an active participant in the bondage game and blamed her for Alexis's injuries. They took her to the police station for questioning where her true gender and identity were soon established. The rest of the media were now hot on the trial. One headline a day later read

KGB COCK-UP.
Russian scientist "married" a male KGB spy.

The paper's editor was probably rather pleased with that!

Tanya's cover was now completely blown, much to the amusement of MI5 who were quite happy to help their opposite numbers at the KGB spirit her back to Russia. In Moscow, KGB refused, however, to consider any possibility of restoring her status as Boris. In any case the hormones had ensured that she was now permanently going to appear female. As far as is known, she works as a junior lawyer in a remote council office in central Asia and has come to terms with her new gender.

As for Alexis, the scandal meant that his employer had him returned to his research work in Moscow where any future promotion was unlikely. He lives a solitary and frustrating life.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

July 2010

[email protected]

Give me the keys!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Bev's face was like thunder and her voice hard. "Give me the keys." Tom stood before her in the bedroom like a frightened rabbit, clad only in a bra filled out with tissues and matching panties which scarcely covered his chastity belt. She held out her hand. "Give me the keys!" she said again.

"I can't," Tom stammered "they're in the car."

"Then get them." Adding "Go just as you are" as Tom reached for a dressing gown. "And no shoes, either!" as he bent down to put on some slippers.

Unfortunately, Tom's car was parked in the road instead of in his drive beside the house and he was only too aware that the security lights would come on as soon as he left the front door. Elms Close, where he lived in number 10, was a small development of modern detached houses in a cul-de-sac where everyone knew everyone else. The sharp stones on the driveway would be painful underfoot so he must tread slowly in full view of any neighbours who might be looking.

Bev had known for a long time about Tom's chastity belt. In fact, they had occasionally used it as a sex game. Bev claimed that she preferred Tom's tongue to his cock and Tom delighted in Bev's teasing and the frustration of lack of satisfaction. Until that evening, however, Bev had not known of Tom's long-standing passion for cross-dressing. She had had a theatre date with Lil, their next door neighbour, but had returned unexpectedly early because the theatre had suffered a power failure and the performance was abandoned after the first act.

Tom managed to retrieve the keys from his car, just hoping that he had not been seen. He handed them to Bev who was still obviously angry. "You're not getting these back any time soon. At least you have not borrowed any of my lingerie so I presume you have a collection hidden away somewhere. You had better show me."

She was right, of course, and Tom knew he had to come clean. He took her down into the basement behind the garage where there was a lot of bricabrac and retrieved an old suitcase which he carried up to the bedroom. Soon the bed was covered with all his treasured clothes. Apart from several bra and pantie sets, there were tights, a couple of pairs of shoes and a couple of skirts and tops. "So this is what you get up to when I'm out. You had better put a skirt and top on to look half decent while we have a good long talk. No wigs or make up?" Tom shook his head. "We'll attend to that in good time."

A little later, they were down in the sitting room. "Right! Tell me all about it from the beginning." With occasional prompting, Tom told Bev how he had had the urge to dress in girls' clothes since he was a teenager and used to "borrow" his sister's things. This was the first time he had ever talked to anyone about his love of cross dressing and once started, he poured out his feelings and became very emotional. Gradually, Bev's initial anger had abated and her attitude had changed to one of sympathy as she listened patiently. Eventually she wondered whether, far from loosing her husband, she might be gaining a girl friend.

At bedtime, rather than banishing him to the spare room, she handed him one of her night-dresses and they slept curled up in bed together.

Next morning, they were having breakfast when the phone rang. Bev answered it.

"Hello. Oh, it's you, Lil. .............. Yes, I wondered whether you might have seen him. I was angry as hell, but I've calmed down now." They continued to talk for a couple of minutes and finally Bev said "You'd better come round and we'll have a chat with him."

Tom, fearing potential embarrassment, made to return upstairs, but Bev stopped him.

"You may not know this, but Lil's "ex" had the same problem as you and she can give us both a lot of help."

Lil came bustling in. "Hi! Bev! Hi! er.... What's your new name?" Tom shook his head. "You must have a name for when you want to be your other self."

"How about Lucy?" said Bev. "It's a lovely feminine name. I think we'll call her Lucy." Lil and Bev continued to chat for a few moments while Lucy considered her new name. It was clear to him/her that Lil was going to take charge.

"The first priority is to get you a complete makeover. There will be no half measures. When you're Tom you're Tom but when you feel the need to be Lucy, then you must be completely confident and convincing and prepared to face the world. No skulking around behind closed doors only partly dressed. Bev, may I use your phone?"

"Is that Auntie Doris? You remember what you were able to do for my Ray? Well my neighbour has a similar situation. Can I bring them round this morning? 11 o'clock? Yes, that's fine. By the way, her name is Lucy. See you then."

"Everyone calls her Auntie Doris, but she's really Doris Walker and has a discreet business she calls 'TV Facilities'. The uninitiated think it's something to do with television! But first, we have to make sure you're ready for Auntie Doris to work on you. You need to be hairless from the neck down, so off you go to the shower and Bev and I will come and do the necessary."

The "necessary" proved to be a liberal application of Nair which left Tom's body a clean as a new-born baby. Only the part covered by his chastity belt, which had a frontal shield covering his bits, was spared - which was just as well as Tom didn't want to be completely nude in front of Lil.

Lil insisted Lucy dressed in the skirt and top and she felt very self-conscious in the back of the car as Lil drove them across town and stopped outside a small house in a side street. Auntie Doris was a large lady of about 60.

"Hello Doris. This is Lucy and Bev."

"Hello, Lucy. Nice to meet you. And you too, Bev. I can see I've plenty of work to do! Come on in and tell me all about yourself, then we can decide what sort of person you want to be. And in the meantime I've got to give you a much more feminine outline - and that means some foundation garments." Doris had been a professional corsetiere and clearly knew exactly how to transform Lucy. First she changed the tissues for some very realistic stick-on breasts which she also held in place with a plain white long-line bra. Then a firm control panty girdle with some extra padding around the hips which nicely camouflaged the chastity belt.

For an hour or so, Doris worked on Lucy. She chose a suitable wig - straight brown hair down to her shoulders. Then added make up - foundation, eye shadow, eye brows, powder, lipstick. Lucy looked in the mirror and saw a strange girl she could hardly recognise but loved the feeling that it was actually her own face and girlish body. She could not help shedding a tear as it released a huge lump of emotion. Fortunately, Doris had seen this happen with other clients and was ready with a tissue and quickly repaired her make up.

Lucy put her skirt and top back on as both Bev and Lil looked on approvingly and announced that it was time for lunch before going shopping. With Doris the four of them adjourned to a local restaurant.

After seeing herself in the mirror, Lucy was now much more confident of her transformation, her main worry being that her voice might give her away. She ate her light lunch in a very ladylike manner and Doris gave her as big hug when she left them afterwards, promising to keep in touch.

Shopping with both Bev and Lil proved to be a delightful new experience, particularly with Lucy's new confidence. They came home with the first clothes Lucy had ever been able to choose and, in some cases, try on in shops. All her previous purchases had been by mail order or on the internet. Her new items included a couple of dresses, another skirt and top, a pair of trousers with a side zip, a lovely silk night dress and makeup. Back home, they had another trying on session before Lil went back to her house leaving Bev and Lucy to have a long discussion about Lucy's future.

Bev laid down the rules. "Firstly, don't forget that I have your keys now. There will be no dressing up unless I am at home and when you are dressed you must be prepared to go out with me anywhere I choose. I will make sure that you are 100% presentable. How often I let you dress will also be up to me. It might be once a week or once a month or even for a whole holiday. I will keep you locked in your chastity belt 24/7 except for necessary hygiene or exceptionally if I want to use your cock. Otherwise, you will keep me sexually entertained in any way I wish. Is all that understood?"

Lucy nodded.

"Tomorrow, Lil has suggested that you should play tennis with her at her club. That should be an interesting experience for you. She knows Tom likes an occasional game. She will lend you an appropriate skirt. Just remember that you are now female. No shouting. And use the ladies changing rooms. I will come to watch."

Fortunately, Lil's club was some distance away and Lucy was unlikely to be recognised by other members. Nevertheless Lil had obviously let it be known that she expected to have a game with her visitor and there were several spectators. Lil's grey skirt was very short and pleated and Bev told her afterwards that her white pantie girdle was very visible with almost every stroke. Ironically, Tom's main interest in watching women's tennis was the glimpses of underwear. It was just as well that Lucy was more concerned at the time about her wig and makeup and that she was conscious of the weight of her "breasts" even though they were well supported by her bra. It was not surprising that she could not concentrate as well as usual and lost 6-1, 6-3.

Back home, Lucy noticed that Bev and Lil seemed to be planning something as Bev disappeared to Lil's house for quite a time. Later she announced to Lucy "We think that Tom should go to work tomorrow as usual. You will, of course, still be locked in your chastity belt and wear suitable panties but otherwise you will dress as normal. Each evening you may revert to being Lucy and you will always wear a night dress in bed. Then next weekend, Lucy and I will be going on a weekend break to a nice country hotel, so you have something else to look forward to."

Lucy might have been a little less excited by the idea if she had known exactly what had been planned. Tom arranged to leave work early on Friday and to take the following Monday off. He found work difficult that week but if his colleagues noticed the subtle changes in his hair and eyebrows, and possibly the vestiges of makeup, they were too polite to comment.

Finally, Friday afternoon arrived and Tom could not wait to transform himself into Lucy. Bev unlocked his belt just long enough for him to wash and shower and he willingly allowed her to re-lock it, knowing that his weekend away depended on it. They packed suitable clothes for the country - jeans and sweaters for walking as well as a couple of dresses suitable for the hotel's excellent restaurant in the evening. They set out early on Saturday.

Bev had chosen a hotel in the hills about five hours drive away in a remote part of the country. It was seven or eight miles from the local market town. She had booked a twin-bedded room as being suitable for two ladies sharing. They arrived in time for afternoon tea and then lounged around and explored the hotel's large grounds before changing for dinner. Lucy, encouraged by Bev, enjoyed sampling the good wine list which ensured that she slept well. But Bev was awake early. She dressed quietly and slipped out of the room while Lucy was still asleep.

Lucy woke up a hour later to find a note on her bed:

"Dearest Lucy,

I'm sorry that we have to be cruel to be kind. I've told the hotel reception that I have been unexpectedly called home to deal with a family crisis. There are no local trains on a Sunday in this neck of the woods so you have no alternative but to stay until tomorrow. I'm taking the car. You should have enough cash to get home - you can hardly use Tom's credit card, can you? The room is paid for but please settle any extras when you book out. They will get you a taxi to the station. Good luck! See you back home tomorrow night. All my love, Bev.

P.S. I've left some of my clothes in the case. Be free to borrow as you wish!"

Lucy was initially very angry that Bev had played such a trick on her but by the time she had read the note for the fifth time, she began to realise that it was a situation she had often dreamed of. She dressed slowly in her side zip slacks and blouse and spent time checking her makeup very carefully before going down for a late breakfast. The waiter was particularly attentive when he heard that Lucy's companion had been called away but was sure she would nevertheless enjoy the rest of her stay.

She spent the morning idling in the hotel with the Sunday papers but after a light lunch decided to go for a long walk. She changed into jeans and sweater. She chose to wear Bev's designer jeans which were low cut, tight fitting and went well with a wide low slung brown belt and brown calf length boots with modest heels. She felt that the whole effect was very feminine as she walked out through reception under the approving look of the hotel manager.

It was a fine afternoon and she really enjoyed being alone on the hills. It was an opportunity to think about who she had so recently become. Tom had always felt that he had a strong female element in him and had always practised cross dressing in private, but now that was suddenly transformed into reality. His leanings towards femininity were out in the open and there was no going back. In any case, Lucy was enjoying herself far too much for that. But at heart, she knew she was male and would have to lead a double life. How practicable that might be remained to be seen and on how Bev was able to cope. They wouldn't be able to keep it from friends and neighbours for long. But Bev's actions this weekend gave her confidence that she would support her and that they would work something out.

She was still over a mile from the hotel when a call of nature became imperative. There was no question of just pulling the zip down and getting on with it, particularly being locked into her chastity belt. Having checked that there was no one around, she undid the zip on her jeans - it was a short zip which did up the girl's way - pulled them down with her panties and squatted behind a stone wall. She was able to mop up with a tissue which she carried in her pocket and all was well. Just like a real girl!

Back at the hotel, she spent a long time in her room before dinner. She ran a bath but had to be very careful not to spoil her hairdo or dislodge her stick-on breasts. She also had to use a hair dryer on the chastity belt. Then she spent a few minutes admiring her nicely curved body in her bra and padded panty girdle. Yes! Definitely female! There was no clue of what lay
beneath.

She decided to wear the dress that Bev had brought for evening wear. How lucky that they were both size 16. It was a lovely russet colour with short puffy sleeves and a round neck which only gave the slightest hint of cleavage. Extreme care with make up, sheer tights, shoes with just two inch heels, a ring on her right hand and a gold necklace completed her appearance. With a quick dab of perfume behind her ears, she was ready to go to the bar for an aperitif.

There were few other guests off season on a Sunday and the only other person in the bar was a man of about 45. Inevitably, they were soon talking. John was a director of a company which made large agricultural machinery and had a meeting the next day at which he hoped to secure a good contract. Lucy, remembering that the waiter had been told the reason for Bev's departure, told him she had come for a weekend with a girl friend who had had to rush home for a family problem. But she had to invent some other personal background.

John obviously appreciated the company of an attractive girl and invited Lucy to join him for dinner. Lucy felt flattered by his interest but relieved when he proved himself the perfect gentleman and excused himself after they had eaten, wishing her Good Night with a brief peck on her cheek. Lucy was happy to head back to her room for an early night.

However, the phone rang.

"Lucy? Hi! its Bev. Who are you doing?"

Lucy gave a summary of her day and what she had borrowed to wear for dinner and her meeting with John.

"You joined him for your meal, did you? And you say he seemed to enjoy your company? I bet he might have liked more than that...... You were afraid of encouraging him? I bet you were. How would you have coped? And you're sure he didn't catch on? OK. Tell me more tomorrow night. Sleep well and have a good trip home. Love you!"

Lucy was soon asleep but woke in the night with an attempted erection which was firmly restricted by her chastity belt. She felt frustrated when she thought how Tom would have relieved himself with a good rub. After that, she could not get back to sleep and kept turning over in her mind the events of the last week.

She packed Bev's clothes carefully and was down to breakfast quite early next morning but there was no sign of John. The hotel had ordered a taxi and she had checked out and was waiting in reception by the time it arrived.

The small train was full of local shoppers. Lucy found a seat next to an elderly woman who immediately engaged Lucy in conversation. Once again, Lucy needed to create a fictitious personal history. The woman's natural inquisitiveness meant a lot of detail! They stopped at every station and took about two hours to cover the sixty odd miles to the junction where she could get another train back to her home town.

Late that afternoon, a taxi drove into Elms Close and stopped outside number 10. Ann and Mary who lived in the houses opposite were chatting over their garden fence and Bob, three doors down, was cutting his front grass in the evening sunlight. They noticed an attractive girl, neatly dressed in sweater, tight jeans and boots pay the driver and walk with her suitcase up the drive. Bev had seen the taxi and the front door was open, otherwise Lucy might have made the mistake of using her own latchkey.

Once inside, they hugged each other as girls do. Bev said "You look happy!"

"Yes. I am, extremely."

"I expect would like a cup of tea. Then we'll sit down and you can tell me everything you've been doing. By the way, I'm glad you've used my clothes. We're exactly the same size 16, and those jeans and boots look super on you but don't forget they're mine!"

Lucy told her everything starting from her annoyance at the trick which Bev had played on her and how her anger had changed to the thrill of the challenge. How much she had enjoyed her walk in the hills and had time to think. How she loved wearing Bev's russet dress. And all about her time with John.

"You say you were flattered. Are you sure it was not more than that? Were you attracted to him?"

"Possibly. He made me feel the woman I wanted to be. Yes! I was attracted to him and I really enjoyed his company. It made my evening, particularly when he gave me a peck on the cheek when he said Good Night. I had never been kissed by a man before and in any other circumstances would probably have run a mile."

"You're learning quickly!"

Lucy held nothing back and told Bev about her midnight erection and how she found it frustrating. But she confessed that the most difficult time of all was getting out of the taxi in front of all the neighbours.

Later they came back to that last comment and started to discuss Lucy's future and the problem of keeping it quiet.

Bev said "I know now just how much Lucy means to you. I love you both - equally. And I want you both to be happy. Maybe in time you will want to be Lucy so much that you will want a sex change. If that happens, I will support you even if it means that we must technically divorce. I hope it won't come to that."

"Its sweet of you to say that, Bev. So much has changed in the last week. I am Lucy now, as much I am Tom. I know there will be problems but I certainly don't want a sex change. The neighbours are bound to twig soon enough and tongues will wag. We will just have to be very discreet. Perhaps we can keep Lucy behind closed doors at home and both go away for holidays and weekends. If the neighbours do start to talk, so be it. So long as we do nothing directly to offend them, I'm sure we can live with it. How do we know that some of them are not also transvestites? At least society is more open minded now than it used to be but there is still a lot of prejudice around.."

That night, Bev used her key - but re-locked the belt afterwards - and next morning, Tom went off to work as usual. Elms Close was hopefully as yet none the wiser about Tom's exploits. But for Tom, Bev and Lucy life would never be the same again.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

April 2010.

[email protected]

Guilty as charged!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

Part 1. My sentence.

Despite my pleas of innocence, I was found guilty of rape. It had always been regarded as a very serious crime and this was still true in the third decade of the 21st century. The mandatory sentence, however, had recently changed dramatically as more efforts were made to ensure that criminals did not re-offend. This is my version of what happened.

Gill and I had been in our final year at college and had both just received our graduation results. We had both achieved the levels we needed to go on to study for our chosen profession. We both hoped to become lawyers. We had not been particularly close as students but had knocked around quite a lot among a group of colleagues. I think we both had some mutual attraction but only now did I suggest a date. We had been in the bar of the students’ union and had each had several drinks but neither of us were more than just happy. It was a lovely midsummer evening and we decided to walk into the surrounding countryside.

We stopped in a small glade among the trees and I pulled Gill towards me and kissed her. She responded eagerly and we were soon lying on the grass in a tight embrace. She encouraged me by unzipping my jeans and pulled them down and then discovered my little secret. I was wearing panties! “Do you always wear those?” She looked surprised as I nodded.

“Why? Do you need them to keep you excited? Well, you are going to have to prove to me that you are not a sissy” she said as she slid her own panties down.

It was quite clear to me what she expected and wanted and I was not disappointed. I’m sure she enjoyed it as much as I did and she certainly came while I was inside her.

“I think you enjoyed that as much as I did” I said.

“Maybe, but now I feel as if I have been fucked by a pervert and I did not give permission for that.”

We walked back in silence and I assumed that the incident would be forgotten. However, a few days later I was interviewed by police and then told that I was being arrested on a charge of rape and kept in custody for several weeks pending the case coming to court.

The court hearing proved relatively brief. There were no witnesses so it came down to her story against mine. Thankfully, she did not refer to my panties when giving her evidence, merely insisting that I had forced her into having sex. I also thought it prudent not to mention the panties in my statement. There was little cross-examination. The court obviously believed Gill and not me.

“You have been found guilty of a very serious crime for which I must now pass the new mandatory sentence over which I have no discretion. This is has only just come into force and is designed to teach you respect for the opposite sex. You will be denied any sexual activity for the next four years. You will wear a chastity device for the whole of that time and for the first two years of that period, you will be confined in a woman’s prison and wear female clothing. The sentence is not subject to any commutation. Do you have anything to say?”

I shook my head. “Take him down.”

What the court did not know was that for some years I had often chosen to wear a chastity belt, partly to limit my tendency to masturbate several times a day and partly because I enjoyed the frustration of being locked up, having left the key in some inaccessible place. I had also enjoyed a sexual thrill by cross dressing occasionally. Maybe if I had been wearing my belt on that fateful evening things might have turned out differently. But I was not - only my panties. The sentence was therefore neither unexpected nor, in a strange way, unwelcome. But nevertheless the prospect of being locked into a belt and having absolutely no access to the key for such a long period sent a shiver down my spine. And I guessed that I might be given a rough time by the female prisoners.

I was taken down to the cells below the court but later that day was moved in a prison van to a small secure clinic run exclusively by the prison service. I was taken into an examination room where there was a doctor and a prison nurse, each wearing name badges.

Doctor James was elderly and seemed sympathetic. Nurse Williams was to prove very much the opposite. She ordered me to strip off and go into a small shower room next door. She put all my clothes in a black bag and threw it into a corner of the room. “You won’t be needing those again for a long time.” She told me that all the hair on my body must be removed - head, eyebrows, chest, crotch, the lot and handed me some small goggles of the sort swimmers use to protect my eyes while she sprayed me all over with liberal amounts of a strong depilating cream. After waiting about 15 minutes, she turned on the shower and I emerged without a single hair left. I could see in a small mirror that I was as bald as a coot but admitted to myself that it actually felt rather good. I was given a towel to dry off and then taken back to the doctor.

He explained that he had not previously dealt with anyone convicted under the latest sentencing regime. “I’m going to give you a jab of local anaesthetic in your groin to make sure that you won’t have an erection for the next hour or so. Please lie on the couch.” As soon as he was sure I was completely flaccid, he consulted an instruction leaflet before using the traditional stocking trick to slide a rigid plastic tube over my penis. It was about two inches long and scarcely more then one inch in internal diameter. The end of it was closed except for a hole which was just wide enough to allow the removal of the stocking and for normal urination. It was an extremely tight fit. “The leaflet says this tube is coated internally with a glue which will bond to your skin within the next hour or so and will remain in place for the whole of your four year sentence. The instructions do not make clear how it can be removed at that time other than, I assume, by radical surgery.” I wondered what he meant by radical. Amputation? If so why wait four years? Better not think about that!

He went on “When we’ve finished, the nurse will cuff your hands behind you while the glue sets but first I am now going to measure you for your actual belt and take a mould of your crotch area.” He carefully measured my waist and through my crotch and then covered my crotch with a sort of wet blanket of something like Plaster of Paris. I was told to stay still for a few minutes while it hardened. “The belt will be made from this mould to your exact measurements and I expect to receive it in three or four days. The tube you are now wearing will slide into a larger tube forming part of a shield which will cover all your genitals. You will be brought back here once a month when the belt - but not the tube - will be removed temporarily for cleaning and staff will then milk your prostrate and check on your general state of health. Since you will be in a women’s prison, you may come to be thankful for the protection the belt will offer you.”

The nurse then proceeded to fit breast forms to my chest with some sort of adhesive and handed me a pile of clothes and demanded that I put on some of them there and then. There were a couple of bras, several pairs of panties, a T shirt, a sweater, a skirt, a pair of lady’s pull-on denim slacks and girl’s pyjamas. “You will be held here for about a week to be indoctrinated into female ways before being sent to H.M.Prison Dotville. I suggest that you think of a suitable name for your female self before then.”

I was ready for that. “I think I would like to be called Jennifer.”

She told me that Dotville was not high security and therefore inmates were free to wear their own clothes. “You might find the slacks better to begin with as the other inmates are sure to want to see what is under a skirt. You won’t need fly openings when you’re wearing a chastity, will you?” She gave me a wig - short brown hair - and some makeup which she helped me to put on before inviting me to look in the mirror. She had pencilled in fine eyebrows and I saw a quite attractive girl with a T shirt and fairly prominent boobs. There was a definite protrusion where my new tube was, however. “Don’t worry, Jennifer, your belt will take care of that in due course. Your indoctrination will start tomorrow.”

My wrists were cuffed behind me and I was taken into a small room which was to be my home for the next few days. It was minimally furnished with a bed and chair. There were bars across the small window and a tiny en-suite toilet. There was a selection of women’s magazines and some romantic paperbacks. After about an hour, the cuffs were removed and I was given a tray of food. I heard the key turned in the door lock.

By now it was quite late in the evening so I stripped off and put on the pink flannelette pyjamas very conscious of the penis tube and my attached boobs. The bed proved fairly comfortable and I drifted off to sleep only to be woken in the middle of the night by an attempted erection. I gently pulled on the tube to see if it would come off but the bond had obviously taken effect and there was no way it could be removed. If this was a problem with just the tube, how much more frustrating would it be with the full belt? And the glued-on boobs prevented me from playing with my nipples!

Next morning, the same female officer, Nurse Williams, took me to an adjoining room. “You must understand that for the next two years you are for all practical purposes female. What is your name?”

“Jennifer”.

“You are not male any more. What are you?”

“Female.”

I realised afterwards that she quite quickly managed to brain wash me (or hypnotise, call it what you will) each day while she made me feel as if I had always been a girl. I was taught how to use simple makeup and also about female sanitary matters.

The belt duly arrived and was locked in place by the doctor.

“Do you have any problems before I lock this on?”

“Only when I have an attempted erection in the middle of the night.”

“That’s understandable. The nurse will provide some pills to help to control it.” He looked towards the nurse who looked as though she would relish doing that. It would be some months before I found out why. She handed me a box of pills which I must take daily under supervision to ensure compliance.

Where the waist band met the crotch section behind my back, the belt had a locking system which the doctor operated with a remote control. The narrow penis tube slotted easily into the larger tube behind the front shield which allowed for urination through a drain between my legs. I would clearly have to sit for that and mop carefully. The crotch strap divided to allow defecation. It was to prove fairly comfortable - better than the belt I had chosen to wear from time to time previously. But the prospect of it being there continuously for four years seemed an eternity. However, I liked the appearance of it and the smooth front added to my grudging acceptance of femininity. By the end of the week, I had begun to look forward to going to Dotville with much less apprehension.

Part 2. Prison.

Dotville proved to be a converted country house. Cells had been built in the old stable block. There were about 50 inmates, mostly in single cells The main building had spacious communal rooms and dining hall on the ground floor. The first floor had the governor’s quarters and offices and also accommodation for some of the prison warders. The staff were exclusively female. The buildings were set in large grounds with some modest sports facilities. It may not have been a maximum security jail, but it had high perimeter fences with razor wires and security lights. I doubted whether anyone would try to escape.

I was taken into a sparsely furnished cell with a single bed, a small dressing table and mirror, a cupboard and bookshelf. There was bars at the window, a toilet and washbasin. The door would only be closed and locked at night but had a spy hole. The warder (or should she be called a wardress?) introduced me to Julie, another inmate, who was detailed to show me round and make sure I understood the routine. Julie proved a pleasant girl who was half way through a five year sentence for her part in an armed robbery!

It was soon clear that all the inmates knew who I was and why I was there. They knew the full details of my sentence. They seemed to split into three groups - those who regarded me as a pervert to be avoided and refused to even speak to me, those (Julie was one) who sympathised with my plight and were happy to befriend me and those who just wanted to see the chastity belt and offer verbal abuse. I had to run the gauntlet of the latter every time I went into the dining room and - particularly - on occasions when I could no long avoid using the communal shower room.

We were expected to clean our own cells and do our own laundry. I was initially put on kitchen duty and finished up peeling potatoes and washing up. Only much later did I graduate to more amenable duties in the library.

Altogether, it was no worse and no better than I might have expected and I settled down reasonably well.

Monthly visits to the clinic were a pleasant break from prison. The belt was removed and the doctor carried out a brief inspection before telling the nurse to do her milking. The first time was very painful as she used very little lube. I had to bend forward holding a plastic cup under my tubed penis while she worked a probe inside me. I could tell when she found my prostate but was amazed to see a couple of spoonfuls of cum drop into the cup without any feeling of climax. The belt was then locked back on.

It was on the third of these visits that the doctor commented that my breasts were showing signs of developing. I had noticed that they had become rather sensitive and increasingly uncomfortable under the breast forms. My hair had also started to re-grow and was softer than before. Nurse Williams expressed her satisfaction. “Those pills seem to be doing their job. No more erections? We’ll make a female out of you yet. That’s what the judge intended, isn’t it?” I was slow to realise what was happening and it was not until my next visit that it became clear to me that my body was now distinctly feminised. I had put on a little weight around my hips and lost some round my waist. My skin seemed softer. It took some time before I eventually realised the nature of Nurse Williams’s pills. The breast forms were changed for just extra padding and I was soon able to go without the wig, albeit with a short, but I thought quite attractive hair style.

About this time, I had the worst experience of my time in prison. I’m told that all prisons have their bullies and gang leaders and Dotville was no exception. One day as I left the dining hall I was surrounded by three girls. One, Sharon, I knew was a trouble maker. They sort of marched me back to my cell. One stood outside to watch for warders and Sharon and the other girl shut the door behind them.

“So you’re a rapist. You’re going to find out exactly what it feels like to be raped.” They forced me to bend over the side of the bed, pulled my skirt up and my panties down and forced a rag into my mouth as a gag. I noticed that Sharon had a very unfeminine bulge in her jeans. She pulled down the zip and took out the largest cock I had ever seen which she plunged into my back passage. I’m sure it would have been worse still if I had not already experienced Nurse Williams’s efforts with her probe in my prostrate, but it was at least twice that size and there was no lube. The pain while Sharon fucked me was excruciating. She thrust into me about two dozen times before she squealed as she came and I realised that she must have been wearing a double-ended dildo. They beat a quick retreat leaving me in pain and shock and I lay on the bed for a long time before Julie came to see why I had not reported to the library and I felt able to stand and take stock of what had happened. All my fellow prisoners made a point of not tangling with Sharon and her mates and Julie advised me that any attempt to report the incident would land me in even worse trouble with them.

Surprisingly, all the time I was in prison, the only contact I had with the outside world was a letter from Gill. Whether she felt guilty for having testified against me I shall never know, but her letter was very welcome and in spite of everything I decided to send a warm and friendly reply. We had exchanged several letters when Gill wrote to say she would visit me in Dotville. She would be my first visitor and I was not sure what to expect. The visiting room had a number of tables where we sat opposite one another under supervision of a warder. There were no barriers but physical contact was not allowed.

Gill’s surprise on first seeing me was obvious. “My God! You really have gone native!” I was dressed in my usual sweater and denim skirt. I had modest makeup and my, by now, long hair was neatly tied back. “Whatever have they done to you? Are those boobs real?”

I nodded. “Yes. I didn’t exactly volunteer, but they are much better than the falsies I had when I first came here over a year ago. Actually, they help me to fit in and identify with the other girls better.”

“You sound quite proud of them.”

“I am. You’re proud of yours, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m a girl and you’re not - at least you weren’t when I last saw you.”

“Well, I feel like a girl, now. Most of them call me Jenny, or Jennifer and seem to accept me as one of them.”

We went on to chat about old times at college and Gill brought me up to date on some old colleagues who she said didn’t want to be associated with a convicted rapist. Since graduating Gill had joined a large law firm as a trainee. She had a reasonable salary and was able to rent a small two bedroom apartment and buy a small car.

It was really good to see her and I was happy to let bygones be bygones. I told her I hoped she would come again and write often - but please to address the letter to me as Jenny.

She did write and came again two or three times as the day of my release came nearer. But the prospect of returning to life outside left me with a major problem. Who was I to be? Johnny or Jenny? Either way I would still have to wear the belt for another two years. And I was now the proud possessor of a nice pair of boobs, smooth skin and long soft hair. I certainly looked female. And for almost two years I had had exclusively female company so that I now thought of myself as female a lot of the time.

Part 3 Release.

It gradually became obvious to me that I could not go back to living as a male. Even if I had surgery to remove my boobs, I would still look effeminate. And the chastity belt meant that I could not function as a male for another two years. I was not even sure whether my male bits would ever function properly again. I had to report back to the prison clinic once a month and would still be under Nurse Williams’s supervision. If I disobeyed her orders, she probably had the power to get me returned to prison. Anyway, I decided that I rather liked the idea of being a girl.

There would be complications either way. I would need a job and a plausible CV. I would have to come clean to any prospective employer where I had been for the last two years and why. Maybe they would look more favourably on me if I was a girl and therefore no longer a male rapist.

Gill and I discussed all this at length during her visits and in our letters and she offered me a possible solution. We now seemed to got on well as girl friends so I would continue to be a girl and could live with her in her flat until I had a job and an income sufficient to support myself. If it didn’t work out long term, maybe I could switch back. That clinched the argument for me.

Finally the day came for my release. Gill was at the gate to meet me. I gave the prison authorities her address as my temporary new home and asked them to change my name on their records to Jennifer. Among the formalities I was handed a black bag which I was told to sign for. It contained the rather smelly old male clothes I had been wearing at my trial and I threw it into the first waste skip we passed.

For the first few days I did not dare to go out, being convinced that I looked a freak. But Gill reassured me and insisted that we should go shopping together. Shopping for girl’s clothes was a totally new experience. I loved it! We had a limited budget to cover some things which would be suitable for work when I found a job and Gill also insisted that I must have a “Little Black Dress”, court shoes with modest heels and a few items of cheap jewellery. The clothes I had in prison were all skirts, jeans, tops and sweaters with trainers.

Gill had also bought some things for herself so that evening we had a “trying on” session. I had never worn a dress before and felt wonderfully feminine. Afterwards, we had both stripped to bra and panties and Gill wanted a close look at my chastity belt. “Wow. Four years in that! At least it covers your redundant male bits and has a nice clean front to go with your new boobs. No wonder you have chosen to stay female.” She took me to her bedroom and pulled me down onto the bed.

“You know, Jen, I really fancied you as Johnny until I discovered you were wearing panties but I fancy you even more as Jen now you’ve got boobs and actually need to wear panties. I guess you always wanted to be a girl and now you nearly are one so its time to teach you a few things about what girls like.”

She undid my bra and started to play with my tits. I had often played with my tits by myself in prison, but having Gill do it was really something else! I could tell she was also running a hand down the front of my chastity belt, but of course I couldn’t feel anything there. “Poor Jen! Four years with no cock. No wonder you’re getting used to being a girl.”

I started to reciprocate and she immediately guided my hands to her pussy and made sure I found her G spot. In a few minutes, she was squealing with pleasure. That was the start of our long lesbian partnership.

I managed to get a trainee job similar to Gill’s with another law firm and that enabled us to pool our resources and buy a larger flat.

On my monthly visits to the clinic, I found Dr James very helpful. Even Nurse Williams seemed more human now that she had succeeded in making a female out of me! He made an appointment for me to see a transgender specialist and - to cut a long story short - I was eventually accepted for reassignment surgery and the date fixed for the day when the chastity belt would at last be removed. By then, I had lived as a female for exactly four years. Dr James arranged to be present during the operation so that he could remove the belt and the tube after I had gone under the anaesthetic. My penis was to be amputated after all but it was so long since I had seen or handled it that I hardly gave it a thought. My main consideration was to be free from the belt and enjoy life with Gill.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately ( or should it be Jennifer?)

October 2010

[email protected]

Half Way.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Tomorrow will be my 40th birthday. I have a reasonable chance of surviving to see my 80th, so on that basis I am half way through my life. Tomorrow will also be a significant date for another reason. For the first half of my life, I have been male. For the second, I will be female so I have particular reason to celebrate.

40 years ago, my parents were delighted with the arrival of their second child. Their first had been a girl who they named Emma. I was a boy and they called me John. I was a normal baby in every way. 7lbs, brown eyes and a tiny skwiff of dark hair. Of course, I do not remember my earliest childhood but Emma, who is only two years my senior, can remember when I first went to junior school, a typical boy in short trousers. I naturally played games with the other boys with whom she tells me I was quite popular. I was also good at lessons.

Even at that early stage of my life, however, I had one personal secret — I hated my genitals. I knew nothing about girls, except that Emma was “different down there” and I could not understand why I had ugly bits between my legs and she didn't. Sometimes, I would wear my pants back to front and pretend that they had disappeared.

Later, I went on to senior school and reached the age of puberty. I soon discovered in the boys changing room that they all had similar bits and I remember the shock of my first “wet dream”. I have received no advice from my parents, or anyone else, to prepare me for it and it just reinforced my dislike of my male genitals. Being like all the other boys didn't change that.

I was a good scholar and good at sports. We played football and cricket and I was soon awarded at place in school teams.

Despite my attitude to my genitals, I became a compulsive masturbator — a habit which always made me feel ashamed. I enjoyed doing it until I reached a climax and then hated myself and my “bits” even more. I never discussed this with my mates because it was such a personal thing, although we certainly talked about girls and I learned — and was probably misinformed — about their anatomy. And I knew that they didn't have the ugly bits that boys had.

But my problem was just something I learned to live with. It was my thing which I would never talk to anyone about.

With good exam results, I went on to university to study law. I loved the student life and dated a number of girls. But at the least sign of intimacy, I would always back off and avoided any regular dating. This was when the internet was becoming more widely used and I spent a lot of time “surfing”. Inevitably, I found sites which either shocked or fascinated me and one of these was Altairboy — all about chastity devices. This seemed to be an answer to my masturbation problem as well as my wish to hide my bits away. But everything was too expensive for me as a student and the cheaper ones didn't hide things. Full Florentine belts seemed to cost a fortune so it had to remain a hope that one day I could afford one.

After graduation, I joined a law firm and had to serve time before taking my final exams as a lawyer. My pay was minimal — just enough for essentials. Once again, my desire to own a full chastity belt had to wait.

Eventually, as a fully qualified lawyer, I started to earn a proper salary and I was able to start to build up some savings. Sadly, both my parents died within a few months of each other. They were not rich, but the sale of the family home provided Emma and me with a modest nest egg and I felt able to fulfil my long-standing ambition. I ordered a Neosteel “She Male” chastity belt.

I now also bought a small house which became my bachelor pad and where I had privacy. I had some good female friends whose company I much enjoyed, but none was a regular girlfriend. I studiously avoided any intimacy. Thus I had no one in whom I would want to confide about my “kink” and thus no key holder. The belt was very effective in preventing masturbation so long as I made sure that the key was not easily accessible. I lodged one key at my bank in case of emergency and the other I would mail to a “poste restante” address some distance from my home from which I would collect it occasionally.

For the first time in my life, I could hide away my genitals and pretend they didn't exist. Wearing the belt, I got used to having to sit to use the toilet and found that panties were more suitable than Y fronts. I also chose to wear womens' trousers without fly openings — they were either pull-ons or side zip. I had always wanted to wear them and for me they were a constant reminder that my bits were not available but I was never aware that anyone else noticed! The belt proved comfortable for quite long periods and I happily settled into a life of chastity.

I spent a lot of time surfing the net and found all sorts of sites dealing with chastity. One day I entered “penectomy” in Google and was astonished how many sites were listed — including video shots of the operation. Most deal with medical and surgical practice in cases such as penile cancer. There were accounts of castrations and nullification in some old rituals carried out in India and the Far East. But among all these was a reference to a clinic in Thailand where surgery could be obtained on demand. I returned to that site time and time again until I knew every word of it.

Eventually I summoned up the courage to email the Dr Wong who ran the clinic. I was deliberately vague about my wishes but I had a friendly reply with more information about himself and his clinic. He emphasised that he was willing to do surgery for psychological reasons as well as clinical ones. After our second exchange of emails, I asked directly if he could do a full radical penectomy and what it would cost. He told me he had done several similar operations, all of which had been successful. He proposed an overall fee to cover two weeks in the clinic including anaesthetist, nursing care and accommodation. It would be expensive but within what I had mentally budgeted. I agreed and we arranged a date a month later. I arranged to transfer a large sum in US dollars to an account in Bangkok. My employer agreed to let me take a whole year's holiday entitlement of four weeks in one go.

'**********************************

I soon found myself on a plane to Bangkok not really believing what I had committed to. My belt had been left at home in case of problems with airport security and I had shaved off all my pubic hair. I was met at the airport by an attractive young Thai called Kim, who I soon discovered was Dr Wong's wife. She drove north from the city for an hour or so and eventually turned up a driveway through trees which led to the clinic. It was large modern single story building, well away from prying eyes. Dr Wong welcomed me with a friendly smile and gave me a brief tour of the facilities which basically consisted of a well equipped operating theatre and four rooms providing individual accommodation for patients. One was prepared for my arrival, but none of the others was in use.

Dr Wong told me that his wife, Kim, was a trained theatre nurse. He himself had been trained in the USA and worked for a time in a large New York hospital. However, his views on medical ethics had brought him into conflict with the profession and he left to set up his own clinic, well away from officialdom. There were two other nurses and some domestic staff. His anaesthetist worked in a hospital in Bangkok but was happy to supplement his income and did not ask too many questions about the nature of the operations carried out. Altogether, it was pretty much as I expected — modest but technically highly professional.

That evening, Dr Wong spent nearly two hours giving me a thorough pre-operative and psychological examination, going over my life history. He gave me quite a grilling to satisfy himself that I knew exactly what I was going to have done. Having removed my penis and testicles, he would re-route my urethra to exit at a new opening between my legs. I signed consent documents and exonerated Dr Wong from any possible comeback. He would operate the following morning.

Kim tucked me into bed and thoughtfully put her hand down under the bedclothes to my crotch. “You'll never have that again, so you might as well enjoy it for the last time.”

In spite of that, I slept little but finally dozed off before being woken my Kim with my pre-med injection. Of the actual operation I knew nothing, being under general anaesthetic. It must have been late afternoon when I first came round and aware of pain in my groin as if I had been hit in the goolies with a baseball bat. I was still very groggy but Kim was at my bedside and reassured me that the operation had gone well. She gave me another injection to dull the pain and I soon nodded off again.

Much later, I came to and was immediately fully awake. It was dark outside but there was a light in the corridor outside my room. I tried to move but found my wrists had been tied to the bedframe. One of the nurses had heard me stir and was soon at my side. “Don't try to move just yet. We didn't want you exploring before we remove the dressing for the first time in the morning. You can look then.”

I lay awake knowing that I had achieved my ambition and impatient to see the results. The two nurses helped me to sit up to have some breakfast and at last were ready to change the dressing. I was a bit taken aback by what I saw. It was not a pretty sight. There was a lot of bruising but, most importantly, where my cock and balls had been there was now a neat scar about two inches long with a line of stitches which I was told were soluble. From somewhere between my legs a catheter tube led to a bag at the side of the bed. “Don't worry! The bruising will soon go and the catheter should be out in a few days.” All very professional as though they were used to dealing with men who have had their dicks cut off.

That afternoon I was helped out of bed and took a few steps round the room. There was still a dull ache in my crotch and I was very sore and conscious of every movement. Nevertheless, it was a good start and by the fourth day, I was able to walk around unaided, still sore but the aching pain had gone, together with most of the bruising. And I could then see what a neat job Dr Wong had done.

The next day, they removed the catheter and I managed to spend a penny through my new peehole, albeit with an acute burning sensation. I was given incontinence pads to look after the inevitable leaks. I also had to dilate regularly. The nurses helped me with this initially, but I had to get used to doing it by myself and found it painful. Dr Wong had warned me that I might have to do this for a couple of months, or so.

I had arranged to spend nearly a month in Thailand altogether so as to be close by if there were any post-operative problems and Dr Wong recommended a small private hotel by the ocean which proved ideal. I guessed that he often sent patients there to recuperate. I spent most of the time lazing by the pool or on the beach though I didn't strip off to sunbathe! I quickly adjusted to my new status. Bladder control was soon back to normal and clean but I had to get used to the different feel. I had also asked the doctor to recommend a tailor as I wanted to buy a couple of bespoke suits for wear at work. He promised that the tailor would be a model of discretion and there was no surprise when I asked for the trousers to have side zips instead of flies.

Finally, Dr Wong invited me to spend my last night back at his clinic so that he could do a thorough check that all was well. He gave me a large supply of medication which he said I would need to take for the rest of my life. He also gave me a contact in London who was a pharmacist working for a big hospital and who could get replacement supplies when needed. By now all the bruising had gone and I was very proud of my nice smooth crotch. Some pubic hair had started to regrow and would soon largely cover the scar. Although still a bit sore, I was walking easily.

There was one other patient in the clinic that night to whom I was introduced. “J” was an attractive Thai woman, probably about 40, who had come for a routine check. I soon learnt that “she” had had a penectomy operation like mine ten years earlier. She had no inhibitions in lifting her skirt and dropping her panties to show me and explained that she had been a ladyboy prostitute and had had a course of female hormones both before and after her operation. She had a lovely figure with nice breasts and now worked as a bank clerk in the city. Meeting her would haunt me for years to come, though I suspected that Dr Wong had intended that I should take to heart the need to take his male hormone replacement pills regularly.

Next morning, Kim took me to the airport and bade me a fond “Good Bye” with a big hug. Her final words were “Look after yourself, Johnny, and don't forget to take the pills.”

'********************************

It took me a little time to settle back into the routine of office work. When asked, I told colleagues that I had been visiting friends in Thailand. I enjoyed wearing my new suits and no one seemed to notice anything unusual, nor that I never used the urinals in the toilets.

Gradually, the sense of euphoria evaporated and I became sad at the realisation that I would grow old a lonely bachelor. I had realised my life's dream and now had nothing to look forward to. Although I had never entertained the thought of marriage before, the fact that it was now impossible made me depressed. I felt frustrated at not being able to masturbate, although I did get a pleasant sensation in my groin from fondling my nipples and the area round my new pee hole was mildly erogenous.

Socialising did not come naturally to me but fortunately, I was busy at work and had some hobbies.

It was about two years after my op that I first noticed a slight swelling in my breasts and that my nipples had become more sensitive. They felt good. I had never been good at remembering to take medicine regularly and it now hit me that the box of pills had sat on the bathroom shelf untouched for about three months. I remembered my meeting with J at the clinic and wondered what would happen if I took female hormones instead. Would I become a credible woman? Did I want to?

The question began to bug me and the thought developed that it might be an answer to future loneliness. After all, females were naturally more sociable than males and my impression was that old ladies were mostly happier and better able to cope than men. I would have to learn the art of conversation and routine household skills.

Indecision meant that the pills stayed on the shelf but I held back from buying female hormones. I emailed Dr Wong partly for advice and partly because I wanted to contact J. I told him that I had not been taking his pills and rather expected an “I told you so” reply. He wrote “You will soon have to decide which life style you want. Reverting to the male pills will stop further development but not undo what's already happened and you would have to live with that. If you really want to cross over and live as a female, then you need to take oestrogen pills which will speed things up. I've had patients who have done that and been very happy, including J who you met. Be warned, however, that the process is not reversible other than by surgery. Its up to you but doing nothing is not an option. You would just finish up as a nobody! Anyway, good luck and let me know how you get on. P.S. I have attached a prescription for the female pills in case you decide to go that way. My pharmacist friend can get them for you.” I suppose I should not have expected him just to say “Yes! Go for it!” - he was too professional for that — but at least he hadn't said “Don't do it!” Even so I was no nearer a decision.

However, a few days later I had an email from J. “Dear Johnny. It was good to meet you at Dr W's clinic. I'm not sure that I can really tell you what to do because our circumstances are so different. But hopefully what follows will help. I was orphaned when I was quite a young boy and when I left school I had to find a way to earn a living. To cut a long story short, I ended up as a “ladyboy” prostitute. I lived as a girl. I was given hormone pills by my “minder” which started my breast development. I was a “chick with a dick” and business was good. But I hated it and felt trapped, and decided that the only way out was to have my dick removed. Then I could pose as a real girl but as I would have no vagina, I would be useless as a prostitute. I managed to save up enough to get help from Dr Wong and persuaded him to do the surgery. I continued to take the hormones and they have given me the figure I have today. My only regret is that I didn't have enough money to pay for a full reassignment operation and the operation we've both had virtually precludes that now. Do please keep in touch. I would love to know how you get on. Love, Jan.”

I loved her email address: [email protected]!

I needed to experiment and started to buy some female clothing on the internet. I knew nothing about fashion or make up and my early efforts were sadly unconvincing even to me behind closed doors. So I signed up with a lady who advertised discretely as providing services to transvestites. She ran weekend courses in a pleasant country house where I realised just how much I had to learn. I went four times which was not cheap, but finally gained the confidence to venture out dressed. She had a vast wardrobe of clothes available to try out for a few hours and they were available to purchase at the end of the weekend if I so wished.

Very early on, I discovered the delights of wearing a bra. My boobs had not developed enough to fill even the smallest of cups, but with falsies I could experience the feel of the proper shape that my bust might one day achieve if I decided to go that way.

It did not take long to decide. Part of my earlier depression was that I was now a “nobody” - no longer a complete male but no nearer a female either. I wanted to be a “somebody” and the possibility of having breasts would give me a new identity. At least I could look female with boobs and a smooth crotch even if my internal plumbing didn't match.

I made contact with Dr Wong's friend who was able to provide exactly what had been prescribed. This time I managed to remember to take the pills regularly and in a few months, results had become very apparent and I definitely needed an A cup bra. I also needed to hide my new assets when in male mode — particularly at work. My hair had become softer and I let to grow a bit longer, tying it in a pigtail which could be shaken out when I was “dressed”.

I knew that eventually, I would have to “come out”. My 40th birthday was then three months away and it seemed it might be an auspicious occasion.

Those three months proved difficult. There seemed to the 101 things to set in hand, quite apart from trying to ensure that I would be 100% convincing as a woman and never just look like a man in drag. I deemed it wise to confide in my local doctor who, after some “tut tutting” proved surprisingly supportive. There would always be some things that I could not legally alter, like my birth certificate, but I needed to change my identity with my bank, credit cards, driving licence — the list seemed endless. I left telling my employer until last. He said he had noticed how I had changed and actually guessed what I was going to do. He promised to smooth the way with all the office staff.

And so tomorrow is the big day. I'm ready and anxious to face the world as a 40 year old woman. I've booked a hairdo and facial for early morning. I've developed a nice figure. My breasts have
grown to a nice B cup and I've managed to lose a little weight around my waist.

Oh! And I almost forgot to tell you that I have asked everyone to call me Mary.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

July 2011

[email protected]

Happy Bunny!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

My name is Barbara and I'm a happy bunny. After many years of uncertainty I seem to be on an even keel at last and know who I am.

It's Saturday morning and I've dressed casually in a plain white top and pale blue pull on draw-string jeans. I glance in the mirror before going into the kitchen for a modest breakfast. I look down over my breasts which now occupy a 42B bra. They have developed nicely over the last couple of years. I'm no sylph, but am a fairly standard 42, 32, 42. UK Size 16 clothes usually fit pretty well. Getting my waist down to manageable size was quite an effort but sensible dieting has helped. Breakfast in just orange juice and Ryvita.

I've arranged to drop in on my Mum for a coffee and then head into town to meet my friend Debbie for a light lunch and some shopping. I have to watch the budget, though, as I have a modest salary, albeit in a relatively secure job. I consider myself lucky.

I hate leaving the house in a mess so do a quick tidy up before going out. A dab of lipstick has to do for make up. Today is the third anniversary of Dad's death so I call at the florist for flowers for Mum. Dad worked hard all his life and was looking forward to retirement when he had a massive heart attack. Poor Mum was devastated and it made it all the more difficult for me to give her my news. I shall never know what Dad would have made of it, but Mum is fine with me now.

….......................................................................

As I drove over to Mum's place, memories came crowding back. At school as Johnny, I had never been keen on sports and much preferred to spend time in the art room. I loved to draw and paint — still do. I used to feel there was something wrong with me but could never quite put my finger on it.

Later, when I went away to college, I had my very first date. Mary and I got on famously for a time until she openly asked if I was gay as I had made no move on her and all the other boys in college seemed to have one track minds. I said “No way. Its just that I prefer girls' company as friends.”

A couple more dates with other girls ended in much the same way and that made me think that perhaps I wasn't a normal guy but I still couldn't figure out why. And that strange feeling of something wrong wouldn't go away. I seemed to enjoy the company of girls more than boys and felt much more comfortable with them.

It was in my last year at college that I first met Debbie. She was different and she was to change my whole life.

….......................................................................

“Hello, Dear. What lovely flowers. So glad you remembered. You look happy today, anyway and I'm so glad you've turned out to be such a super daughter.” I am very relieved that Mum has accepted me for what I am. It's one of the things that have gone right with me and greatly eased my path into my new life.

We chatted about various things for a while and then Mum asked me a question which completely took me by surprise. “You know, Dear, I have been reading up on this trans-sexual business.
When are you going to have the operation?”

I paused for a long time before I answered “I don't regard it as that important. Just having things between my legs or not isn't going to change my life. And anyway, I am afraid of what it might do to me.”

“But supposing you meet a nice man and fall in love? What would he think if he finds you're not a real girl but just a ladyboy?”

“No, mum. Ladyboys live in Bangkok and a lot of them work as prostitutes.”

“Well, you need to think about it.”

Fortunately, Mum let the matter drop and we chatted about various things for an hour until I said it was time I went to meet Debbie.

Driving into town, I again found myself remembering how Debbie came to be such an influence with me.

…................................................................

Debbie and I had been very close friends ever since college. I had kept in close touch when she started work as a physiotherapist and I got a menial job in the town planning department. I think she realised long before I did what had been troubling me all those years. We would meet regularly, sometimes in her nice flat and sometimes at my bachelor pad.

One day, she had suddenly asked me “Would you have liked to be a girl?”

I paused for thought before answering. “I've never really thought about that, but I think it would have been nice. But anyway, I'm male aren't I? Can't change that.”

“It's just that you seem to be much more comfortable with girls than boys. You seem to see things our way. Maybe you should try it.”

“Try it? What do you mean?”

“Well, you could try living as a girl and see if you like it.”

“I can't see how I could do that.”

“Maybe, I could arrange something.”

“Like what?”

“Well, how about you coming here next weekend and I'll show you.”

I knew Debbie well enough to trust her, so it was agreed that I would go to her place straight from work on Friday and stay until Sunday evening.

When I arrived, Debbie immediately showed me to her bathroom. “Strip off and I'll get you prepared.” As I stripped in front of her, I realised that I was not in the least self-conscious and that my cock made no attempt to get erect. She pushed me into the shower and sprayed some sort of shampoo all over me. “Wait a few minutes before you turn the water on.” When I did, I was amazed to see all be body hair wash off into the drain. I was never very hirsute, but now was as clean as a baby from the neck down. Even my pubic hair had gone.

Debbie helped me dry off and then took me into her bedroom where there was a pile of clothes laid out on the bed — girl's clothes.

“You really are intent on making me into a girl, then.”

“Just for this weekend to see how you get on.”

Starting with some panties and a bra stuffed with old tights and making sure that my male bits were properly tucked between my legs, Debbie proceeded to dress me in a top and skirt, tights, court shoes with fairly low heels and, of course a wig and make up. By the time she had finished, I could not believe that the girl looking back at me in the mirror was actually me.

“How do you feel?”

“Strange, but in some odd way it feels right.”

“I thought so. I've suspected for some time that you were more girl than boy. I suggest we take it easy this weekend and don't try to go out until you're ready for it. Just relax. Try to adjust. Remember we're just two girls together.”

Debbie had prepared a light meal and then we sat and watched a DVD. It was a sentimental film which I would normally have avoided, but again, it seemed right now and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

At bedtime, Debbie showed me to her spare room where she had put out a pink nightdress. She wished me sweet dreams and I turned out the light. Sleep did not come readily as my mind was in a whirl as I tried to make sense of my emotions. My main feeling was one of relief. Maybe Debbie was right about me. Eventually, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

We spent the weekend around her house enjoying girlie talk which seemed to come easily now I was dressed the part. And Sunday evening came all too soon and it was time for me to put my male clothes on and return home.

…...................................................................

Town was busy with Saturday shoppers but I found a place to park. Debbie was waiting in the small café where we had arranged to meet.

“Hi, Barbara! You look good today. How's your Mum?”

“She's fine, thank you, but she has started asking me some leading questions about my future. I'll tell you later.”

We ordered some food and chatted about work, weather, clothes and a lot more, before Debbie said she wanted some new clothes and we headed for a major department store where we spent a happy hour trying on several outfits. Debbie always had a good clothes sense and was always dressed to perfection, even when very casual. However, on this occasion she came away empty handed and after looking in a couple of other shops, we headed back to her place for a well earned cup of tea.

“Tell me what your Mum was asking about.”

“She's expecting me to have the operation and then find a nice husband! She's looked it all up on the internet.”

“Well mothers will be mothers, won't they? At least she'll know that she can't expect grandchildren — not unless they are adopted anyway.”

“I've been thinking about the operation. I've been female long enough for the medics to agree to it but I'm happy as I am and can't imagine wanting a boyfriend. And I readily admit to being scared of it. Quite apart from the physical side, would it change me psychologically?”

We talked about it for some time. Debbie has always been a wonderful sounding board for my thoughts but was careful not to try to influence me. “Just wait a bit. Your feelings may change.”

I drove home later full of thoughts and more memories.

…......................................................................

After that first weekend, I had not needed any further encouragement to dress up again. I spent most weekends with Debbie and was soon happy to go out with her. We went out for meals, to movies and — not least — shopping, as I needed to build up a small wardrobe of my own clothes. Debbie's advice on what to wear proved invaluable. Debbie also invited a few of her closest friends around and they seemed to accept me as the girl I was beginning to realise was the true me.

One day, Debbie said “Next weekend, take Monday off as well. I know you've a few days holiday due. I've arranged something for Monday.” She would not say what.

Come Monday morning, dressed as Barbara, we got in Debbie's car and she drove for over an hour eventually turning into a large hospital. At the main reception desk, she asked for Dr Hilary Robinson. The receptionist looked in her long list. “Go to the very end of this main corridor. Its the last door on the right.”

It was a very long corridor, but finally, we came to a door marked “Gender Clinic”. A nurse asked for a large form to be filled in. Debbie explained that I was the patient and handed it to me. Name at birth. Name now. Date of birth. Contact address. Names of parents. etc etc... and a space for me to sign authorising various tests. The nurse took a blood sample and said other tests would be needed later. Dr Robinson would see me in a few minutes.

I asked if Debbie could come in with me. Dr Robinson turned out to be a charming lady of about 50 who immediately put me at ease. An hour later, she had learned my complete life history.

“So you've only fairly recently discovered what you describe as your true self. But I must say you present as a very creditable female. And you say you still live as a male during the week.”

“That's mainly because I have to earn a living. I work for our local council in the planning department where they know me as Johnny and I might find it difficult to get a new job elsewhere as Barbara.”

“Fortunately, local government offices usually have very understanding personnel managers. Would you like me to speak to your manager and explain your problem? I know most of the personnel people for miles around.”

“Yes, please. That would be great.”

“Well, I'm sure you know that you must live entirely as a female before we can take your transition any further. In the meantime, I'm going to ask a colleague to interview you. We always try to have at least two opinions on all our patients.”

A couple of weeks later, the personnel manager, Ms Barker, asked me to go and see her. I was, of course, dressed male but I was glad she was female as I think I would have been embarrassed to talk about my problem with a man. She was very friendly and, as Dr Robinson had anticipated, very understanding. It seemed I was not the first trans-sexual she had come across. “I'm sure we can accommodate your wishes, but first I would like to meet your female persona. I will be happy to see you here in my office on Saturday morning. As you know, the office is nominally closed then so there will only be a few people around. Shall we say 11 o'clock?” I was happy to agree and duly turned up “en femme” dressed in a simple blouse and skirt. Ms Barker took one look and said “My word, Barbara! You really do our sex proud! No one who hasn't known you as Johnny would ever guess. I'm sure there will be no problems and I'll tell your immediate senior who he can expect to see gracing his staff in future.”

…............................................................

That was two years ago. My return to work as Barbara was not as daunting as I had feared and I was surprised how much support I received from most of my colleagues. The inevitable curiosity faded after a couple of days.

I finally ditched all my male clothes and Debbie and I went out to celebrate.

Dr Robinson agreed that I should start on a course of hormones and I attended the clinic regularly so that my progress could be monitored. Mum frequently asks whether I've found a nice boyfriend and I keep disappointing her. The truth is that I enjoy male company but have never felt any sexual attraction. Both Mum and Debbie sometimes ask when I am going to have “the operation”. I am in no hurry. Dr Robinson had told me that she would readily recommend surgery if I want it but said quite a few TS girls don't want it and I'm quite happy with my anatomy the way it is.

Debbie is still my best friend to whom I owe finding my true self. And I'm a very happy bunny!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

[email protected]

January 2013.

Home leave.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

The envelope was addressed to Steve Smith, The Cottage, Combe Farm, in familiar writing and the post mark said "BFPO 952." Inside was a photograph of an attractive girl dressed in Army desert combat uniform. She wore a regimental beret, camouflage shirt with corporal's stripes, trousers and army boots. The picture was taken at an angle so that the outline of her breasts was clearly visible. Her hair was tied back and she had just a hint of makeup. Very obviously female. There was a short note:

"Hi! Joe. This is me, Karen, who you knew as Joe. I'm due some home leave next month and hope to see you after all this long time. Just wanted to prepare you for a possible shock. All the best, Karen."

It was nearly four years since they had met but they had once been inseparable. They were almost exactly the same age and had started school together in the local primary school. They lived in the same small village in Devonshire where everyone knew everyone else. They both went on the secondary school in the local town and both left when they were 18.

Joe was an orphan. Both his parents had been killed in a motor accident when he was only five and he had been taken in and brought up by his maternal grandparents. His only other relatives were some cousins living in Australia. It was therefore not surprising that he chose to sign up in the army when he left school and after initial training was posted abroad.

Steve went on to agricultural college and later became manager of a large local farm. A year ago he had met and married Mary, a girl from a neighbouring village. They now lived in a farm cottage on the estate.

Steve remembered Joe sometimes saying that he should have been a girl but had taken little notice and certainly would never have thought that Joe was serious about it. And now, here was a photograph of a girl who claimed to be Joe. On close inspection, Steve realised that there was a strong resemblance to his friend, but could not really believe what he was looking at. Maybe his mates had dressed him up as a girl as a joke but the picture looked too real for that. He showed it to Mary who, knowing that Joe's grandparents had died, immediately said that they would put Karen up in their spare room when she arrived home and insisted that she should write the reply:

"Dear Karen,
Lovely surprise! We have some news too. Steve and I were married just a year ago. We have a spare room here in the cottage and hope you will stay with us while you are here. You will be very welcome. Just give us a call as soon as you are back in England. Love, Mary."

.....................................................................

Four weeks later, the phone rang. Steve answered it. The voice was familiar but somehow different. "Hi! Its Karen. I'm in the UK and would love to come and see you. Would tomorrow be OK?......................... Great! I can get a lift into London, then a train which arrives 4.15. ........... You'll meet it? ........... No way. I don't wear a uniform when I'm on leave. Just jeans and a sweater. .............Thanks, Can't wait to see you and meet Mary."

Mary had already prepared the spare room and they were waiting on the platform when the train arrived only two minutes late. Steve would have recognised Karen immediately even if he had not seen her photograph, but she looked even more feminine casually dressed, with more makeup and hair nicely styled in a sort of page boy cut. There was a nip of autumn in the air and she had a brown roll neck sweater, blue denim jeans and brown calf length boots with two inch heels which made her look taller than Steve remembered Joe. Mary immediately gave her a big welcome hug and kisses and Steve, although feeling embarrassed to be kissing his old mate, did the same. On the drive back to the cottage, Steve was strangely silent but the two girls chatted happily.

Mary showed Karen to her room and then set about preparing the evening meal. As soon as Karen came down she offered to help but had to explain that cooking was one of many things she had yet to learn about since she became a girl.

Later, Steve got around to asking the inevitable question. How had all this come about? This is Karen's story in her own words:

"I don't really remember either of my parents as I was only five when they died, but Nanna often told me that Mum was convinced that I was going to be a girl and was disappointed when I turned out to be a boy. Mum was Nanna's only child, so Nanna herself had no experience of bringing up a boy and treated me more as a girl in my early years. I think I was a normal boy at school though, and I remember how you and I, Steve, used to muck around together. However, when I joined the Army, it was pretty much a male dominated macho environment and I always felt that I didn't quite fit. Nevertheless, I got through the hard initial training - "Square Bashing" - and went on to train as a radio operator which I enjoyed. As soon as I finished that course, I was posted out to the Middle East.

"Conditions out there were rather basic, but again, I enjoyed the work and, in spite of my previous comment, the camaraderie. After twelve months, I had earned a month's leave. By that time, Nanna had died and Grandad was in a home - he also died soon after - so I had no reason to come back to England and chose to travel round the Far East. I finished up in Thailand.

"I was having a drink in a bar one night when I was approached by a glamorous girl who I guessed was a prostitute. I didn't want sex, but I was lonely and decided to pay her for a couple of hours of her company. Her name was Tina and our discussion got quite intimate as she revealed that she was a "ladyboy", born male but now living as a female and still possessing her male bits. I was fascinated because that somehow forced me to face up to growing doubts about my own gender. We spent several evenings together. I think she sympathised with me as after the first two, she refused any further payment and when I left at the end of my leave, she insisted on giving me a large supply of hormone pills in an unlabelled box. They were are cocktail of oestrogen and anti-testosterone drugs which were readily available in that part of the world.

"In hindsight, my decision to take them was probably reckless and should have led to the end of my military career. After about three months, I was aware of increasing tenderness around my nipples but it took six before my breasts had developed enough to cause embarrassment and force me to report sick. The unit medical officer told me that breast development in males, gynaecomastia, is not uncommon and normally dealt with by surgery. He had recently seen another similar case and wondered whether it was caused by something in the local water supply! I was sent back to the UK and told to report to a military hospital where I was seen by a Captain Browne.

"He proved to be a kindly and experienced doctor to whom I owe a large debt of gratitude. I did not at first admit to taking the pills. However, the prospect of undergoing what would have been a double mastectomy prompted me to "come clean" and tell the doctor about the pills and my doubts about my gender. He was very sympathetic and arranged for me to go to a private gender clinic where I would spend a week at the Army's expense undergoing a full assessment.

"The clinic was a large house in the country. After a brief preliminary examination, I was given a complete outfit of women's clothes which I was required to wear all the time I was there. I had hours of questioning by psychologists and medical tests, but I think they were anxious to see how I would adjust to being dressed and treated as a female. I loved it, feeling completely relaxed and at ease with myself and clearly passed all their tests with flying colours so that I returned to see Captain Browne with a recommendation to that I be allowed to start on my long journey to womanhood.

"He did all he could to help me, even sending me out with his wife on a shopping trip for a basic wardrobe. He signed me up for three months further sick leave and, having discovered that I had long lost cousins in Australia and no remaining relations in England, suggested that I go there as a woman. 'If they've never met you before, they might not be too surprised that you are a girl!' Finally, he arranged for all my army records changed to Corporal Karen Jones.

"I had a very happy three months in Australia where I made contact with a transgender club and received a huge amount of help from like-minded people. My cousins were indeed rather surprised to find that I was female but made me very welcome nonetheless and I was sorry when the time came to return home and report back to Captain Browne and to a new army life. He was delighted that I was now completely confident in my new gender and told me to see him again in nine months when he would arrange reassignment surgery if I so wished. I was again posted to the Middle East, but this time to a unit where there were quite a few female soldiers. They soon discovered my secret but mostly proved supportive and friendly.

"On my next home leave I had surgery, again at the army's expense, and have been an - almost - complete woman ever since."

Steve and Mary had listened to her story in silence. "No regrets?", Steve asked.

"Only a few, such as that I can never have children. Oh! And I wish my voice was a bit lighter. It took me ages to sound even half feminine."

Mary commented "We think you are very brave to come back here to the village where everyone knew you as Joe."

"Well, I have to face it sometime."

Karen went with Steve and Mary to several village events and coped well with the natural curiosity of the locals. She made a point of answering their questions in an honest and straightforward way, even those which concerned intimate parts of her anatomy, so that her return became just a 10 day wonder and after that almost everyone accepted her as the lively natural and confident girl she had turned into.

Steve, however, felt her presence in the cottage disturbing because he found himself more and more attracted to her as a girl. Shortly towards the end of her leave, Mary had gone to a Farmer's Wives meeting, so that he was alone with her and could not resist making a pass. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. For a few moments, Karen responded eagerly but then pulled away.

"Thank you, Steve, that's boosted my ego a lot but I cannot come between you and Mary. In two days I shall be thousands of miles away and your life is here with your lovely wife. I would have loved you to be the first to try out my new - er - equipment. Maybe one day I'll find a nice unattached guy and fall for him. Who knows?"

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

October 2010

[email protected]

Madame Norma.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

It is six months today that Madame finally took total control over me. Before that, I was a regular "client" of hers for several years.

My interest in BDSM, and enforced chastity in particular, goes back a lot further. Years ago, I bought a "SheMale" chastity belt from Neosteel, a company in Germany. It held my penis in a tube behind a plain front shield, out of both sight and touch. It was very secure, beautifully made and cost me a bomb! I didn't have anyone to hold my keys then but I just loved to wear it, often for days on end. I cannot explain it, but I found the frustration of having one's cock locked away and inaccessible was truly delightful.

Later, a contact on the internet introduced me to Madame Norma who lived in an old house with a large cellar. Superficially the cellar looked like a well equipped gymnasium. It was only on much closer inspection that it could be seen that the equipment was designed to serve a purpose very different from that of physical health and exercise. Actually, it was the dungeon in which Madame entertained her clients. Norma had been a qualified nurse but clearly found her new occupation as a professional domme more remunerative! Her knowledge of medicine and human anatomy also came in useful.

Right from my first visit, I came under her spell and wanted nothing more than to submit to her. Over time, she must have had me one every piece of kit but her routine was always to lock a blind hood over my head so that I could often not tell exactly which torture I was subjected to. I was always stripped naked except for my chastity belt which seemed to fascinate Norma, because she would tug it to make sure it was securely locked on and then pat the front shield.

Her favourite choice of kit for me was a hoist. I would be made to step onto a small platform and raise my arms. She would slip ropes over each wrist and wind up the hoist until I was made to stand on tiptoe. She would gently tickle my nipples, which have always been sensitive and send immediate messages to my penis which would grow until I felt that it would almost burst the penis tube of the chastity belt. The pressure in the tube made it impossible for me to cum and I was held on edge at Mistress's pleasure. She would usually end the session by kicking the platform away so that I dropped until I was just held by the wrists. Being blind and helpless, the drop may only have been a few inches but it felt more like six feet!

One day, she said "Where do you keep the keys?"

"At home, hidden away where they a relatively inaccessible."

"You must bring them with you on your next visit." I knew Norma well enough by now to know that this was a command, not just a request and on my next visit, she merely held out her hand without saying anything. I meekly handed them over. All next week, I was in a constant state of excitement with the knowledge that, for the very first time, I no longer had any means of release from the belt.

I went to see Mistress Norma once a week and sometimes she would release the belt after making sure I was securely tied up, give me a brief wash and replace it. She never gave me release by allowing me to cum.

After a few weeks, when I was in the hoist, she was teasing my nipples and said "I can give you something which will make these even more sensitive. Would you like that?"

As I was enjoying her attention and the sensations she was causing, I answered without hesitation "Oh! Yes, Please, Mistress!"

She left me alone for a few moments and when she returned I felt a needle go into my thigh. I asked her what had been injected but she simply replied "What's good for you and what you need."

Every week she repeated the injection. I had odd feelings at times but not knowing what she was doing, I couldn't make them out. I didn't feel ill, just different and couldn't explain how I felt, even to myself. I did feel my nipples grow more sensitive, just as Mistress had said and one day she looked carefully at my nipples and said

"These are starting to grow nicely. Now you are on your way, I want you to wear more suitable things. You can't use your cock any more and you have to sit to urinate like a girl, so you must start to wear panties instead of those ugly Y fronts. And you won't be needing the flies on your trousers either."

Curious, I asked her again what she had been giving me.

"O.K I'll tell you now that they are bearing fruit. It is a potent mixture of female hormones and an inhibitor to stop you producing testosterone. It also acts as a chemical castration. You have probably reached the point of no return." I had been very slow to guess what the injections were, but now the realisation of what was happening to me really hit home. And I could now do nothing about it.

"Do you do this to all your "clients"?"

"No. Only once before and it worked well. James became Sylvia and Sylvia and I became passionate lovers. She made a very beautiful girl but sadly, she was killed in a car crash last year. I was shattered and determined then to try to create someone to take her place."

So that was to be my destiny!

When we had finished our session, instead of returning my usual clothes, she handed me a packet of cotton briefs and a pair of ladies pull-on cord slacks. "Make sure you wear these from now on."

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And so, just six months on, I am sitting at my computer writing this journal, wondering whether I am male or female. I am wearing an ordinary (man's) shirt, but girl's panties and slacks. My breasts are only just starting to develop but I have noticed that my skin and hair is a little softer and I have put on weight around my hips. At any casual glance, I am male. My friends may have noticed some changes but maybe they are too polite to comment. Strangers may think I am a bit effeminate. But I speak with a deep voice and no one is likely to notice that my trousers have no flies.

--------------------------------------------------------

But what does my future hold? I AM GOING TO BE A GIRL!! It was not something that had ever crossed my mind until a few weeks ago but now I'm very excited at the prospect. As Mistress said, I am at the point of no return. Do I want to return? No, I am too much under Mistress's influence to cast adrift now and anyway I would need medical help to try to reverse the effect of all the drugs.

I'm fed up with being neither male or female, boy or girl, man or woman. I now know I want to make the final transition. I want my breasts to grow. I want to wear a frilly blouse and a bra which is just visible under it. And a skirt. And a curvy figure. And I want to have nicely styled hair and a nice complexion so that my makeup will look genuine. And above all, I want the freedom to wear nice girlie clothes whenever and wherever I want.

Mistress has promised to look after me. I've always adored her, and I am now to be her lesbian lover.

And what of my chastity belt? Mistress says I must still wear it "because girls don't have cocks" and she has the keys. Otherwise she will arrange to have it amputated. She always was a sadist!

Life will be different and I'm going to enjoy it.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

February 2010

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Mastectomy!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

I was born on 5th March 1932, christened Joseph Stanley and my birth was registered as Joseph Stanley Marples, son of William and Anne Marples.

My parents already had two girls and were delighted when I turned out to be a boy. My sisters were Alice and Ruth who were then four and two years old. We lived in a small village in the middle of England.

I had a normal sort of childhood in a happy and caring family. Our parents were strict and were not well off but made sure we didn't lack for the essentials. I was very much under the influence of Alice and Ruth and joined in their games in preference to boy's games with my school friends. We played Mummies and Daddies and Doctors and Nurses and dressing up games in which I was invariably dressed as a girl.

I went to the local primary school and later I moved to the grammar school in the nearby town. I was 15 when I first noticed that I seemed different from the other boys. In most cases, their voices had broken and some of them even started to shave. My voice remained a light falsetto and my face showed no sign of starting a beard. But what really concerned me was that my breasts started to grow and I knew enough to know that that was not normal. Girls had breasts - boys didn't. I was afraid to tell my parents who were highly religious and regarded any sort of abnormality as a mortal sin. I told Alice and Ruth, who by then were budding beauties with lovely curves and nice breasts. Their response was simple. "We always knew you were really one of us!" They kept my secret for a time but I soon reached a stage when my parents noticed. Their reaction was predictable bearing in mind their religious convictions and our doctor was told in no uncertain terms that he must "do something about it". A few days later, I went into the local hospital "for minor surgery" and emerged a few days later with small scars on each side of my now flat chest.

I returned home completely traumatised. Subconsciously, I knew that an essential part of me had been cut off but was totally unable to explain how I felt - least of all to Mum and Dad. It was only years later that I discovered that I had undergone a full double mastectomy and that it would really upset me for the rest of my life. For several days I refused food and stayed in my bedroom. Mum and Dad were concerned and tried hard to discover what had upset me and with their loving care I got back to some sort of normal life although they never understood what was the real reason for my reaction. My sisters smothered me with sympathy but their help probably made me feel even worse as I realised that I would never actually look remotely like them.

Back at school, I tried to blot out my depression with hard work so that by the time I left school at 17, I had obtained excellent exam results and won a place at a major university to read chemistry. I had little idea then what sort of career I wanted but it was my favourite subject and seemed to offer plenty of possibilities.

Going to college was the first time I had been away from home for more than the occasional day or two. Rather than being homesick, I found the life refreshingly easy now I was away from my parents' strict influence although I missed day to day contact with my sisters.

Student dress, then as now, tended to be pretty much unisex - tee shirts, old jeans and trainers. Boys wore their hair long. My voice still had not broken and I still had a smooth complexion and soft fair hair, so that I was often mistaken for a girl, albeit a flat-chested one. By then I had also put on weight on my hips and thighs so that I was a bit pear-shaped.

During a visit home in my first term, I compared notes with Ruth. "If they think you are a girl, why don't you pretend to be one? You might find life easier. After all, Alice and I have said all along we thought you were really one of us! Call yourself Josephine, or just Jo for short instead of Joe. We'll find you a bra - you won't need much more." I made a spur of the moment decision to do just that. Before I returned to college, we experimented a little while our parents were out. The girls did my hair slightly differently and applied a tiny amount of make up, showing me how to do it for myself. They stuffed the bra with tissues temporarily and promised to get some proper breast forms for me.

Josephine arrived back in college feeling slightly apprehensive but need not have worried. One or two girls said that I looked a bit different but they called me Jo anyway - not concerned whether it had an "e"! A discreet parcel arrived a few days later and I just loved the feel of having breasts again, even modest false ones.

There were inevitably a few complications but no one seemed to notice, least of all the university authorities. Maybe I was not the first student to change sex! Of course, I had to revert sometimes and always when I went home. I worked hard and after three years emerged with a "first" degree. Mum and Dad insisted on coming to my degree ceremony. I guess they were justifiably proud of me. Unfortunately that meant I had to be Joseph again and that caused more confusion.

In those days, compulsory National Service was still the norm for all males over 18. I had had a deferment while I completed my studies but soon after leaving college, I received a letter addressed to Joseph Stanley Marples containing official notice of call up. The three weeks notice went by quickly. I had a very perfunctory medical exam and was passed A1. After all, I was perfectly healthy. I duly reported to the reception centre for new recruits, was issued with standard (uncomfortable) uniform and all the usual bits of kit, including heavy boots and kit bag and was given a very "short back and sides" haircut.

I was then moved to another camp for three months basic training ("Square Bashing") which really was hell on earth. Because of my soft voice and girlish looks I was picked on regularly by the NCOs and teased by some of my fellow trainees. I found the training physically exhausting but knew I had to get through it somehow and managed to find the strength to cope. By the end, I think I was able to pretend to be a reasonable soldier!

With typical army efficiency, I was then posted to a unit of the Service Corps and given a pen pushing job in the stores on the basis that as I had a university degree, I should at least be able to read and write. Life suddenly became a lot easier. The main problem threatened to be boredom. There was little to do, but at least I was left alone most of the time.

Then fate finally intervened. I went down with a severe case of 'flu and had to report to the sick quarters where I was examined very thoroughly by the young Medical Officer, Lieutenant Tony Barker. There were only two other soldiers in the sick bay and the MO had time on his hands. He asked about the scars on each side of my chest and commented on the tiny size of my genitals. He was far more interested in learning about me and my background than my 'flu symptoms. Over a couple of days, we spent several hours talking in which I found myself telling him about how I had had a double mastectomy when I was only 15 and my parents attitude to any form of abnormality and how I had lived as a girl at college without their knowledge. By then we were on first name terms (but strictly only while off duty). He told me that his uncle James was an acknowledged expert on transsexuals and gender reassignment and that he wanted me to go and see him for a private consultation. It was duly arranged that he would personally drive me to the clinic (it was in a large teaching hospital 100 miles away) and that the army would pay any necessary fees.

James had set aside half a day and in addition to a long and very intimate consultation, I was given a number of tests, blood samples taken, etc. Tony was with me throughout and finally I was asked to wait outside while he talked to his uncle.

We went back to the car, but before Tony started the engine he turned to me with a smile and said "Josephine, you shouldn't be in the army at all. I'm going to arrange for your discharge on medical grounds." I couldn't reply. As the full impact of his words and calling me Josephine sank in, tears welled up and I just sat and sobbed for several minutes. Tony thoughtfully reached into the glove box for a packet of tissues.

As we drove back, I managed to collect my thoughts and told him that I was afraid of my parents reaction. Tony had already worked that out. "I would like to go and meet them. I'm sure that I can get them to understand your problem. And I would also like to meet your sisters, particularly as you say they will be so supportive."

I remained in the sick bay while Tony arranged all the formalities. He returned from his visit to my home to tell me that Mum and Dad had been persuaded that they should rejoice to have another daughter and how Alice and Ruth had both spoken of their previous convictions that I was more sister than brother to them. He had arranged for Alice, who had a car by then, to collect me as soon as the necessary papers had been signed.

Three days later, Alice arrived with a suitcase full of clothes. She had thought of everything I could possibly need to make sure that I arrived home looking like the girl she knew I was. We spent a couple of hours that afternoon trying things on and me having some lessons in using the makeup kit. Since the end of square bashing, I had been able to allow my hair to grow back to something approaching its usual length and Alice was able to style it slightly. She had arranged to stay overnight at a local hotel before we set off for home the next day. I overheard Tony ask whether she would join him for a meal that evening.

My last night in the army passed very slowly. I was far too excited to sleep much and couldn't wait to leave the camp for the last time already dressed for my new life in a floral summer dress and strappy sandals. Alice checked my makeup and hair. As Tony (and several of the medical staff) waved us off he said "Wow! You are both as pretty as a picture and very obviously sisters. Good luck, Josephine. I'm sure you'll be very happy." And he gave each of us a hug and kiss.

Homecoming was an emotional moment. All my apprehensions vanished as Mum and Dad both hugged and kissed me. "Can we still call you Jo, then?" "Of course, it's short for Josephine."

Epilogue.

There is little more to tell. I returned to college to do a masters degree and then won a research fellowship. I retired a few years ago and am now in my 70s - an elderly spinster!

Tony and Alice were married and he left the army and joined a busy doctor's general practice quite close to the family home so we saw a lot of them and their growing family.

I paid a number of visits to see James who, of course, became my "uncle-in-law" - and had surgery to remove my diminutive male genitals. Unfortunately, he was unable due to my lack of development to create a passable vagina, so I just have a bare crotch and a little "pee hole".

Over the years I've been very happy and comfortable in my new gender, but there are lots of times when I have regretted that I never had proper boobs or proper equipment down below. Mum and Dad both died a few years ago and before they died, I forgave them for the original operation - they had tried to act in my best interests but got it wrong!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

July 2009

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Mirror image.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

I had had a shower, dried down and put on a pair of Y fronts. Then I glanced in the mirror and froze.....

Instead of my own image, there was a girl getting dressed. She was about my own age. Similar height. Brown hair like mine only longer and straight down to her shoulders with a lovely sheen. She had brown eyes like mine but with a trace of eye-shadow. Her eyebrows were neatly narrowed. She had a light application of lipstick and some modest make-up which enhanced her flawless complexion. She wore a black bra and matching brief brief panties. Her waist was slender and hips gently curving giving her a classic hour-glass figure with long slender legs.

As I watched, she put on a white long sleeved blouse with a stand up collar. The outline of the black bra clearly visible through the white fabric and emphasised the line of her breasts. She then stepped into a pair of black slacks and I noticed that she did them up with a zip at the side so that they had a completely smooth front. Strappy black sandals with two inch heels were highlighted by red painted toenails and a wide black belt completed the outfit. Her finger nails matched her toes. She added a few accessories — tiny gold clip-on earrings, a thin gold necklace and a gold bangle on her wrist.

Then the picture slowly faded and my own image reappeared. Tousled hair, a five o'clock shadow as I had not yet shaved, flat hairy chest and a manly bulge in my Y fronts.

I knew there and then that I wanted to be that girl! I want to live in her body, to dress in her clothes.

I found it disconcerting as I had never had such a feeling before, but it was to recur time and time again, stronger and stronger. Who was she? I don't have a twin. Was it me, in another gender?
Is there another, female, self? I shall never know. But I can dream. I wish I could be her.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

August 2012.

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My Legacy.

A legacy enables Johnny to have the surgery which will ultimately enhance his cross dressing and change his life.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

The four of us had known each other since school days - Fred, Dave, Bill and myself. We were now in our late fifties but had always kept in touch and met up once a year for a meal out. Not a long boozy evening, but a good meal with a couple of glasses of wine - little enough to make sure we were safe to drive home. We all had had modestly successful careers but it was Fred who had struck it rich. He had started his own business years ago and it had grown into a large profitable organisation. Bill and Dave were happily married but I was a confirmed bachelor.

The conversation on these occasions usually progressed from catching up on what we had been doing, to politics and moaning about the government, to philosophy and whatever other topic seemed to emerge. On one occasion, Fred came out with a conversation stopper. "If money were absolutely no object and leaving aside any problems with medical ethics, what sort of surgery would you have to improve your life?"

It didn't take long for Bill and Dave to reply. Bill had had an injury when playing Rugby in his youth and had a cauliflower ear as a result. And Dave had always had a slight but noticeable squint. I knew exactly what I wanted but said I would need a lot of time to think!
Fortunately, the conversation moved on to other things.

I couldn't answer because my friends didn't know that I was a long term closet transvestite. Maybe a lot of transvestites would like their bodies to match the clothes they like to wear, ideally with boobs but no cock, so my real answer would have been that I would choose to have a radical penectomy.

I had quite a collection of underwear and a few other items. I would wear a tight girdle over my panties and tuck my bits out of sight. With a bra and falsies, I would look in the mirror and see a nicely feminine shape with no bulge. I sometimes wore ladies pull-on slacks without flies when I was out and about - they were not obviously feminine and I don't think anyone noticed. I hated my cock and balls and would have done anything to rid myself of them.

............................................................

Six months later, I had reason to remember that conversation. Sadly, Fred had died suddenly of a heart attack and after his funeral, I had a call from a Mr Robertson who told me he was the solicitor and trustee acting for the estate. Fred had, as we would have expected, died a very rich man. His last will, which must have been written shortly after that last reunion, contained a strange bequest. It restated Fred's question and made generous provision for all three of us to have whatever surgery, cosmetic or otherwise, that we wished.

Now I had never answered his original question. Could Fred possibly have known about my very private life? Still less of my lifelong wish to be nullified? I don't think so but either way, this was a possible answer to my prayers which would never be repeated. I would have to pluck up courage to discuss it openly with the solicitor. Dare I do that, even in strictest confidence? It took me only a couple of days to decide that I would. I was then 60 and unlikely ever to want to have sex. So I phoned the solicitor back, said I had something I needed to talk to him about in confidence and we arranged an appointment for the following day.

I came straight to the point. "This may surprise, possibly shock you, but I've always wished I could lose my male genitals. I would like to spend Fred's money on having a penectomy."

Mr Robertson was clearly rather shocked. "That is a very strange request but if it is what you really want, it is my duty as trustee and executor to carry out Fred's wishes as far as may be practicable. Whether such an operation might be possible for legal or ethical reasons remains to be seen."

I was ready for that. "Not in the UK, but certainly possible in some parts of the world. I have done some research on the internet and believe that it would entail a visit to Central or South America. It may also be possible in India or some countries in the Far East. It may be stretching ethics a bit but as far as I am aware would not be illegal."

"You put me in a rather difficult situation. I would like time to consider your request and to take advice on it. I can assure you that I shall maintain strict confidentiality and not disclose your name to anyone else. In the meantime, I suggest that you continue your researches so that you will have a specific proposal next time we meet. I would also be interested to hear more of your motives. Perhaps you could come back to see me this time next week."

Well he hadn't actually said No! I went away determined to find the names and addresses of surgeons who might oblige.

My first priority was to establish contact with some of the "Nullos" whose experiences have been written up on the net. This would involve responding to their blogs or joining their discussion groups. I had already done the usual Google searches and now I had some success in making three contacts who were able to give me names of surgeons and a vague indication of possible costs. More interesting for me, however, was their more recent feelings or possible regrets. I needed to talk to them face to face and went back to Mr Robertson with a proposal in the hope that he was willing to proceed.

"Hello again. Are you still sure you want to do this?" I nodded. "Well, I can't think of a reason to refuse you. Tell me more about your reasons and motives."

I explained that it had been a fantasy ever since I was a teenager. I had always envied the girls their anatomy and found male bits dangling between our legs somehow unattractive and vulnerable. I had sometimes dressed as a girl, but did not consider myself trans-gendered. I knew I was a boy, whatever. I don't think Mr Robertson was convinced by what I said, and I still find it very difficult to put such a lifelong compulsive urge into words. He asked for my proposal.

"I need to go to the USA and Mexico to meet people who have had this operation and to meet the men who did it. I will then return to the UK and give you full details of where I will go and how much it will cost. I think we need to look at a total budget of around  £40,000 of which I would like an advance of -say -  £10,000 to cover all the initial travel."

Rather to my surprise, he agreed and ten days later I found myself on an American Airlines flight to Chicago.

..............................................................................

Mike had kindly agreed to meet me off the plane and suggested that I stayed with him for a couple of nights. He had not sent me a photo of himself and I was a little surprised to see a man of about 55, six feet tall with fairly long hair and a bushy beard standing at the arrivals barrier with a card with my name of it. He was an extrovert and proved to be excellent company. He drove me to his condo somewhere off Interstate 88 in the outskirts of Chicago where I was able to relax after my long flight and it was only much later that I broached the subject of my visit. I asked him to tell be a little about himself.

"I've always been involved in bondage. Originally, it was always self bondage and there was one occasion when I frightened myself silly and wondered whether I had overdone it and would not be able to escape. This resulted in me joining a local BDSM club and there is still nothing I enjoy more than submitting to an experienced domme and being tied up and completely at her mercy.

"I still occasionally do self bondage and that is what brought me to my present state. I always make sure that I can ultimately escape. I sometimes did suspension bondage and on that occasion had put a noose around my scrotum in addition to the usual ropes. I must have miscalculated because I finished with all my weight on that extra rope. It soon became excruciatingly painful and I passed out before I could release myself. When I came round, the pain had abated somewhat but my balls were absolutely blue. I managed to free myself but it was soon clear to me that I had castrated myself and that I needed them removed. A friend from the club put me in touch with a "cutter" in downtown Chicago who said he would deal with them for an immoderate fee. In fairness, he made a good job of cutting them off, tying the cords, removing my empty scrotum and suturing the wound. But his facilities were very crude and unhygienic and I had taken a huge risk."

"So that made you a eunuch. Did you then have to take hormone pills to replace the testosterone?"

"Yes. I have ever since which is why I still look male and have a beard. But my cock gradually lost any enthusiasm for getting erect and became a completely useless appendage which I wanted to get rid of. Once again, the friend at the club was able to help. He had heard of a Dr K in Mexico who would do the amputation. Such surgery would be unethical and possibly illegal here in the US and probably also in the UK. I managed to find more information on the internet and finally spoke to Dr K on the phone. He described his facilities and named a fee and in two weeks the deed was done. The operation is fairly standard. Your penis is split so that the urethra can be retained while the rest of the penis is cutaway. The urethra is then re-routed to a new pee hole created just ahead of your anus. You should be able to retain bladder control but of course you have to sit like a girl."

"Tell me more about Dr K."

"He was a urologist here in The States with a growing reputation but got into trouble with a couple of female patients, finished up in prison and got struck off the medical register. When he was released, he fled to Mexico but soon established a clinic doing mostly legal work for a local hospital. If you go to see him, you will find his whole set-up highly professional. But he's not cheap."

"Fortunately, cost is not a consideration. I want the best available." I told Mike briefly about the provisions of Fred's will.

"I expect you would like to see the result." He stood up and dropped his jeans. He was wearing a pair of girl's brief panties. There was no unsightly bulge. What I saw could have come straight out of a lingerie catalogue and was the opposite of his otherwise male looks. He eased them off to reveal just a small triangle of pubic hair which almost covered the operation scar. He opened his legs to show me the neat pee hole. I was really turned on by what I saw.

He did not fail to notice my erection and reached over to unzip my flies and put his hand inside. I came almost immediately. "Thank you. I guess I needed that."

"Sorry if I was a little presumptuous. I'm not gay but I really needed to remember what it is like to handle a real cock."

Next morning, he sent an e-mail to Dr K. "I have a friend from the UK staying with me who wants the same services that you gave me. He is due to fly on to LA tomorrow but could visit you in Mexico in a few days. Can you give him a phone number to reach you, please? His name is Johnny."

Mike spent the day showing me around Chicago and by the time we got back to his condo, there was a reply. "Shall look forward to meeting Johnny. I'm sure I can make him happy! Please tell him to call me on my private line ..............................."

.............................................................................

Next day I flew on to LA, booked in to an airport hotel and rented a car. Then I called Peter who I had also corresponded with by e-mail. He gave me directions to his apartment in Long Beach which turned out to be in a select position overlooking the ocean with the rather sad sight (for someone from England) of the Queen Mary in the distance.

The door was opened by a lady dressed in an immaculate loose cream trouser suit. There was a simple gold chain around her neck but no other jewellery. She told me later she was 65 but I would have guessed mid-fifties.

"You must be Johnny. Please call me Penny. I've not been Peter for some time now. Come on in and I'll go and get some coffee."

I followed her into a large and beautifully furnished living room. Looking around, I saw several photos of Penny in glamorous dresses and a couple of a man who I assumed to be Peter. She soon returned with a tray of coffee and some cookies. I looked at her closely and had to admit that I would not have guessed at her true sex. Her voice was deep but not obviously male. As a part time transvestite myself, I was very envious!

"I see you are surprised. Let me tell you a little about myself. I've been cross dressing as long as I can remember but I've only dressed full time for the last two years. Originally it was more an aid to masturbation than anything else but gradually it started to take over my life. I never married and was very lucky to have inherited a small fortune twenty years ago. I have been a gentleman - or lady - of leisure ever since and lead a double life. As Peter, I had a house in Palm Springs and then bought this apartment as Penny. I have since sold the place in Palm Springs.

"I'm a transvestite, not a transsexual. I know I'm male but enjoy pretending to be female. I was always much more comfortable when dressed and I badly wanted the body to go with the clothes, so some years ago I started to take female hormones and after about six months had developed quite nice boobs." She put her hands over her breasts. "These are genuine!"

"Yes, I can see that," I said, "in fact I think they look fabulous!"

"Thank you. I always try to look my best. Anyway, the hormones also eventually stopped me getting an erection so I couldn't masturbate but by then it didn't seem to matter because I felt more Penny than Peter. And having male bits was a nuisance. They spoilt my profile so they had to go! And that's when I went to see Dr T in Venezuela."

"How did you find out about him?"

"Long story. I've got several TV friends and one of them had been to see him. And I found more information on the internet."

"And were you happy with his services?"

"Yes. Generally. I didn't think his actual operating facilities were as good as I'd expected and its a long way to go back if you need any after care. Even in Venezuela, his is a slightly shady set up, so he has very few trusted assistants and nurses. But I was fine. It all healed quickly and I'm delighted with the result. I expect you know all about the actual operation." I nodded.
"I'll give you his contact details in case you wish to follow it up. Do be discrete if you phone him."

We went on to talk about Penny's present life. She has quite a lot of female friends who accept her as one of them so she has a busy social diary.

"No regrets?"

"Absolutely none!"

I thanked Penny for her help and hospitality and returned to the hotel to phone my third contact in San Diego.

....................................................................

Rob lived in a mobile home on a park in Spring Valley in the hinterland of San Diego and I drove down to see him next morning. He was a complete contrast to both Mike and Penny. His mobile home was very basic and I noticed that his old car had seen better days. He looked rather effeminate. Did his loose coat hide some boobs? I had the impression he was something of a hermit. Nevertheless he welcomed me warmly and we sat down to chat.

He had been married for a few years but it didn't work out. She divorced him and took him for every penny he had. Their house was sold, together with nearly all his possessions but he managed to get a mundane job is a supermarket - enough to live on and build up some modest savings. However, he got very depressed and spent most of his time drinking or masturbating.

He finally managed to kick the drink but he thought the only way to kick masturbating was to cut it off. He was seriously tempted to try to do it himself but fortunately realised that he would probably bleed to death. He confided in close a friend who told him about a Dr X who lived in Playas de Rosarito in Northern Mexico, just over the border from San Diego. His friend thought he was totally crazy and never imagined that Rob would actually have the operation. Dr X worked in a hospital in Tijuana but Mexico is a relatively poor country and he needed to supplement his income. Rob drove down to see him at his home.

"Dr X - I was told to just call him Juan - lives in a large house with his wife, Maria, who is a fully qualified nurse. They have converted the basement into a tiny operating theatre and are willing to do surgery on a no questions basis. They showed me the theatre and a room where I could stay to recuperate. It was all immaculately clean and they quoted me an all-in fee with a promise that I could visit them again afterwards if there were any problems. The fee was not extortionate and I could just about afford it. And I was attracted by being within driving distance of my home which meant there would be no significant travel costs. So I went ahead without giving too much thought to consequences.

"All the arrangements went OK but they have no supporting staff. I do not know what would have happened in any emergency. However, I made a quick recovery and came home as soon as the catheter was removed. I went back for a routine check two weeks later."

"Are you happy that you had it done? No adverse after effects? Do you have good control of your bladder?"

"Fine. No problems. No masturbation either! If you like, we can call Juan and I'll take you down to see him."

"I'd like to do that." Rob managed to reach Juan on his cell phone and we were invited to see him at his home next morning. Rob offered to put me up on a camp bed for the night. He drove me in his old car as my rented one did not cover going over the border into Mexico.

Mexico may be a relatively poor country but Juan and Maria seemed to be very affluent. The old house was large and the grounds were well kept. There were two expensive cars in the drive. Juan and Maria greeted Rob like a lost friend and Rob then introduced them to me. Juan proudly showed me his operating theatre and explained exactly how he would do the operation. I found this very helpful and reassuring, even though I already knew most of the details of what has become a standard, if uncommon, procedure.

Other than the operating theatre, it appeared that patients were accommodated in one of the bedrooms. I think there were just two domestic staff who presumably did the cooking and cleaning. However, it was all clean and tidy.

I asked about fees.

"I will charge $25,000 all in, payable up front. This includes the operation and anaesthetics which are administered by Maria, accommodation, food and any necessary aftercare."

"I do have other visits to make, so I won't comment at present, but Rob has kindly offered to look after me if I do come to you."

"May I ask who else you have found who is willing to do this sort of work, because there aren't very many."

"I know of someone in Venezuela and someone in Acapulco."

"You mean Dr K? He's runs a large clinic. Good surgeon but you'll find him expensive."

I didn't tell him that expense was no object! I wondered what Mr Robertson would say.

Rob took me back to San Diego and I drove back up to the hotel in LA where I put in a call to Dr K. who agreed to see me the day after next. That gave time to take the midday flight to Acapulco, book into a hotel and have a look around the city.

The following morning I found the clinic readily enough on the peninsula overlooking the sea. It was a big house which had been considerably extended. There was a sign saying "Acapulco Urology Clinic." and in smaller letters "Dr K....." with a string of qualifications.

The receptionist asked me to wait for a few minutes and then Dr K appeared and showed me into his spacious office. We exchanged pleasantries and he asked after Mike in Chicago.

"I understand you want a similar operation. You must understand that most of my work here is done in conjunction with our local hospital but I do cater for private patients with - shall we say - special needs. Mike had already been castrated but it makes little difference as we would remove the scrotum and testicles anyway."

"I'm still intact in that respect."

"Good. I will show you round." The operating theatre was obviously well set up with modern equipment. There seemed to be plenty of staff, several of whom Dr K said were qualified nurses. He used an anaesthetist from the hospital who was happy to help with special needs. All the wards were single rooms. There seemed to be about half a dozen patients in residence. The whole building was spotlessly clean. It was all very professional.

Back in the office, Dr K came straight to the point. "As you might expect, our charges are quite high. I would expect you to stay here for about two weeks and assuming no complications, you should budget for a total of around $40,000, payable half when you confirm your booking and the balance before surgery. I will give you a detailed costing and give you details of a bank account to which payment can be made in dollars by bank transfer As you will eventually be flying back to the UK, you would be advised to stay here in Acapulco after your operation in a hotel for a further two weeks so that we can do a postoperative check that all is well. It might be embarrassing for you to have to go to A&E the minute you get home!

"I always do some preoperative tests - just a blood sample and an ECG to ensure that you are fit for surgery. If you wish, I can do those today."

I took a deep breath. Decision time! The reality that my dream was soon to come true hit me, but having come so far, I was not about to chicken out then.

I explained that the finance was coming from the estate of a dead friend and that I must check with the trustee before making a final commitment. However, Dr K said he would be happy to do the pre-op tests anyway as it would save a day before the actual operation.

After the tests, I thanked Dr K and he wished me "Au revoir."

...................................................................

A week later I went to see Mr Robertson. "Tell me all about how you got on and how much you've already spent and how much more you need."

I was ready with the figures and told him where I had been and who I had met. I had travelled business class and had so far spent about  £6,000 on airfares, hotels etc. - well short of my original  £10,000.

I gave Mr Robertson a copy of Dr K's detailed estimate and conditions. It came to $38,560 about  £23,000 at the rate of exchange at that time. We agreed that I should have a contingency fund in Mexico of a further $5,000, plus the flights to Mexico and local hotel bills. He was obviously relieved that the overall figure would be within my earlier guess of  £40,000.

....................................................................

Two weeks later I was on another American Airlines flight, this time back to Acapulco. I was not nervous of what lay ahead but naturally a little apprehensive as before any surgical operation. I was met at the airport by Dr K's attractive secretary. Actually, she was more than attractive - "Drop Dead Gorgeous" would be a more accurate description. She was driving Dr K's large Mercedes and spoke excellent English. We talked for a while in the car. She knew the purpose of my visit. "So you're another guy who doesn't want to be a complete guy any longer. We have had quite a number of similar patients. Dr K has probably done the operation about two dozen times so its become pretty much of a routine. I'm all in favour of it. I'm a lesbian and have always got on nicely without having a cock inside me. I get plenty of sex with my girl friend. Maybe most men should be done and forced to take the green pills. The world would be a much safer place." Her directness surprised me, but then the whole set up was a bit unusual. I didn't then understand the reference to green pills but that was to become clear before I finally went home.

I was shown into a small single ward where more tests were done. The operation was performed that night under a general anaesthetic. When I came to, I was in some pain but this soon abated. I felt on a high having achieved my lifelong ambition and found it frustrating to have to wait some days before I was allowed to see the results.

The nursing staff were very kind and efficient. They had obviously dealt with similar cases before. I found the food good but I don't really go for Mexican cooking.

Dr K had a long talk with me. "You made a courageous decision to come here and have the operation. Now you must make another one."

He handed me two boxes of pills. "You must take the red testosterone pills regularly if you wish to retain your male appearance and physique. Or you can take the green oestrogen pills which will accelerate the changes to make you more feminine. If you can't make up your mind and take neither, you will become more feminine anyway, but it will take longer. If you take the green ones, you will soon find you cannot change your mind without more surgery. Many of our patients are cross dressers and choose the green pills."

He looked at me closely. "I guess you will choose the green ones. I wish you well." How did he know? I had been hugely impressed with Penny's convincing appearance and had been cross dressing myself long enough to know that that was what I really wanted. I guessed that Mike and taken the red pills, Penny the green ones and Rob had either dithered or been unable to afford ongoing medication.

There were no complications and it all healed quickly. The catheter was removed after about 10 days. Peeing was strange and painful at first. Sitting down soon becomes instinctive! Longer term, I have had no trouble with bladder control and just a neat triangle of pubic hair where once there had been ugly male bits. I am very proud of that! And bring able to wear panties without tucking is a delight. I remembered how envious I had been seeing Mike in his.

.................................................................

A month after the operation I was back home with the box of green pills. I knew that in a few months time I would have to "come out" full time when I could no longer hide a more female appearance. I started to add to my modest wardrobe and to dress whenever I could, mostly in the privacy of my home. But I joined a TV club where I received huge help and advice from other members. Most were TVs like myself but some were pre-op transsexuals. They were fascinated and perhaps a little envious when I told them about my operation. I learned a lot about all things female - fashion sense, make up, hair styles, deportment and how to enjoy chit chat with other girls. I also spent several weekends at TV friendly hotels and guest houses and went out anywhere I was unlikely to be recognised. My local social activities took a back seat.

About eight months after the op my new boobs had grown to a full B cup and I decided that I must take the plunge and go full time female. It was then mid February and it was leap year. What more suitable date than 29th February? But I would only be able to celebrate the event every four years! Accordingly, I sent the following to my friends:

ANNOUNCEMENT AND INVITATION.

Johnny wishes to announce that she would like to be known as Jean in future. Some of you may have wondered about her since her visit to Mexico. This is the result!

Jean will be "at home" to her guests on Saturday, 29th February from 8.00 p.m. when she will permanently adopt her female persona.

RSVP to Ms Jean Cumlately.
................ ............... ..............

I was not surprised to receive almost 100% acceptance!

The afternoon before the party, I went to have my hair restyled. I had let it gorw longer and it had been a sort of unisex for some time. At last, it was feminine. And the make up artist at the salon made a super job on my face. Looking in the mirror I saw an attractively mature lady who I realised was me!

I bought a new outfit for the occasion. I didn't want to be OTT but did want to display my modest assets. I wore a plain black long skirt with black sheer tights and strappy shoes with 2 inch heels (I am already quite tall and 2 inches are comfortable). And I had bought a lovely see-through black frilly chiffon blouse with a low cut bra so that my cleavage was discretely visible. Falsies are never as good as the real thing. Accessories were just a simple gold necklace and tear drop matching earrings, also a ruby ring which had once belonged to my mother. She would never have imagined that I would wear it myself.

The evening was a great success. I was surprised that the girls all seemed to accept me as one of them and complimented me on my appearance. It was the guys who obviously found it difficult not to think of me as Johnny in drag.

I had never told Dave and Bill what I had spent my legacy on. They and all my other guests no doubt guessed that I had had a sex change operation. But they would be wrong. I'm just a guy without a cock who loves to pretend to be female!

...................................................................

Author's note: What would I say if I were offered an all expenses paid trip to Mexico? Yes, please! Red or Green? I don't know. Sadly, all the characters and clinics in this story are entirely fictitious.

Johnny Cumlately
March 2010

[email protected]

Risks!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

I've always been a risk taker and this has sometimes got me into trouble and for many years I have been an active transvestite. I am also something of a loner and in view of what has happened, perhaps that was just as well.

I used to love the risk of discovery when going out dressed. I am fairly small — 5 foot 7 and only 112 pounds with naturally light brown hair — and found it fairly easy to wear a wig, falsies and a little padding over my hips. I became quite knowledgeable about make-up and, although I say it myself, presented as quite an attractive woman. I loved it. But above all it was the risks involved which really added to the excitement.

I acquired quite a large and varied wardrobe and wore anything from light summer dresses or shorts to winter warmers — sweaters and slacks. Footwear ranged from 5 inch heels to brightly coloured wellies. But always underneath I wore a “SheMale” chastity belt. It had cost me a small fortune and became a very treasured possession. I found it secure (although I held the key myself) and preferable to hiding things away with a gaffe.

By the time I turned 40, I had had a variety of different jobs. I lived alone in a luxurious apartment and but never seemed to be able to earn enough to satisfy my chosen life-style. So it was that I answered a job advert at a salary almost three times my then earnings. It was as Catering Manager to a small diplomatic mission for 12 months in Kabul, Afghanistan. The location was the obvious reason for the high salary on offer. I had worked in several hotels and restaurants and was confident of being able to meet the job requirements. I was offered the contract and signed up without really considering the risks involved.

I realised that I would have to forego the pleasures of cross dressing. Even for me the risks would have been too high in a Muslim country. However, I packed my CB and some frilly panties and was delighted to find, once there, that day to day security, though strict, did not involve airline type scanners! I found that I could wear the CB which was unlikely to be discovered. The fact that I had no key-holder did not concern me. I did not have one at home anyway. I was careful to avoid any personal contact although one or two ex-pat female staff made quite obvious advances!

I soon settled into the work which I found both challenging and enjoyable. An apartment went with the job, as did a small car to enable me to commute across the city to the base.

It was just three weeks from the end of my contract when my luck finally seemed to run out and I found myself coming round in an American military hospital. A young doctor was leaning over me. “Hello. You awake now? Do you know what happened?”

I shook my head. “You're car was booby trapped. The good news is that you have been very lucky to survive with no life-threatening injuries and we should have you up and about in a couple of weeks. The bad news — (the doctor winked at me) or perhaps in view of what you were wearing you might find it good news — is that you're cock and balls were blown off. You owe your life to that nice chastity belt which took the full force of the explosion. And I'm afraid we had to throw out those little frilly panties with the remains of the belt.”

I soon discovered that all the nurses had been acutely interested in my predicament, but there was no way I was going to pretend to be embarrassed and managed to put a brave face on it.

Over the next two or three days, I asked a lot of questions and managed to piece together what had happened. The previous day, my car had been in for service and someone had placed a small anti-personnel device under the drivers seat. I always made a habit of looking under the car for bombs but never imagined one would have been put inside. Fortunately it had failed to explode fully but it must only have been about two inches from my crotch. I suffered a lot of bruising and loss of blood but help had arrived quickly.

The pain eased off after a few days and when I was allowed to see the damage, it was clear that the surgeons had done a wonderful job. I certainly now had no cock or balls, but I secretly had to admire my lovely smooth crotch. Later, I was also very relieved to find that I could still control my bladder, although peeing was a bit messy and, of course, I need to sit on the toilet. That was something I was used to anyway when wearing the belt.

As predicted, recovery was surprisingly quick and I was soon looking forward to flying home. I was also looking forward to getting back to my wardrobe and an idea began to form in my mind. Maybe the doctor had guessed right!

By the time I got off the plane, I had made a major decision. I would in future live as a female. After all, my manhood had been blown away so I was already half way there. I had only a couple of remote cousins as relations and few friends, most of whom were in “the scene”. And I had been away from home for a whole year anyway. I knew there would be complications but once again, I was keen to take the risk.

In spite of all the things to be done when I reached my flat, my very first priority was that Johnny should become Elizabeth, which was the femme name I had used before. I had a long hot bath and shaved my legs before collapsing into bed in a silk nightie. I felt quite emotional but was soon asleep, tired after the long journey.

Next morning, it was wonderful to dress without the need to hide any “bits”. Frilly bra and panties seemed even more right now. But with jobs to do, I settled for practical clothes — blue jeans with a white top and white strappy sandals. Falsies, of course, and I still needed my wig as my hair had not had time to grow long enough to be styled.

I had written to my friendly landlord warning him that I might have changed a lot in appearance while I was away. He had kept an eye on my flat and, until recently, forwarded any mail which looked important. He came to welcome me home and to check that all was well and was clearly taken aback by the woman who answered his knock on the door. “Hello! Is Johnny home?” He paused with a slightly puzzled expression, “Wow! You are Johnny! You did say you had changed but I thought you just meant that you would be suntanned with a beard or something.”

I assured him that I used to be Johnny but would he please now call me Elizabeth? Or perhaps just Bessy for short. Bless him! He was too discrete to ask for details!

It did not take long for the complications to arise. I knew that my passport would always describe me as male but there were things like the photo on my driving licence. And the bank wanted all sorts of security information before they would change the name on the account and give me new credit cards and a new cheque book.

I had stopped taking the testosterone pills the American hospital had provided and needed to buy oestrogen instead. And until I had a new credit card, I could not even order things on the internet. I decided to take my doctor into my confidence. Once he had got over his surprise and been told about my bomb injury and I had explained how I had always been a transvestite, he agreed to refer me to a gender reassignment clinic and wrote out a prescription for me in the meantime. That was one hurdle overcome. But I never did bother with the clinic!

One piece of luck was finding a suitable job. I soon found that my savings from Afghanistan would not last for ever and the local college of adult education advertised for a manager for the refectory. My experiences in Afghanistan almost exactly matched their job spec and I was duly appointed as manageress but not before I had come clean about my gender and been able to offer references as Johnny.

The catalogue of problems, mostly small but annoying, was long and tedious. But the main thing was that I was happy in my new self. Yes! I had taken another big risk but I could see light at the end of the tunnel. I had absolutely no regrets and celebrated by disposing of all my old male clothes. I redecorated my flat using more feminine décor and was surprised that I quickly made new friends, mostly straight females who seemed to accept me without question.

With the new pills. I soon began to notice small bodily changes and knew it a just a matter of time before I had a visibly female body.

And, here I am, a year after the bomb injuries. I have long wavy shoulder length hair and wear a 36C bra filled with my very own boobs. In most ways, I have become a typical unattached 40 something female. And that is exactly what I want to be.

So I now sign off as Elizabeth Cumlately.

May 2012

[email protected]

Speed Trap.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Robert Whitehead, always known as Bob, was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. He was an only child and his parents doted on him. His Dad was a pharmacist and owned three chemists shops in a large seaside town popular with tourists for most of the year, so there was a steady income from both tourists and local residents. The family lived in a large house on the edge of town. It was always understood that Bob would one day inherit the business. He had a good education, achieved good grades and later went to college where he graduated with distinction as a pharmacist.

He had a passion for sports cars and was given a beautifully restored 1948 MG/TC for his 21st birthday. He always kept that car but also had a succession of others over the years. He was regarded as a prime catch for a local girl but for him cars always appeared to come first and he did not form any lasting attachments.

Inheriting the family business came all to soon. He was 32 when both parents were killed in a helicopter crash in Nepal. They were keen travellers who loved to visit the remoter parts of the world. The chopper came down in the foothills of the Himalayas, killing the pilot and all six passengers.

What no one, even Bob's parents, ever knew was that his other passion in life was cross dressing. He had always kept it a very closely guarded secret but now living alone in a large house and with plenty of money, he began to indulge in his hobby regularly and quickly built up a large wardrobe of clothes. As far as girl friends were concerned, he kept his distance as he did not see them as sexual partners but rather as the girls he wanted to copy. For a femme name he chose Miranda.

He taught himself the skills of make up and it was this, together with his pharmacist skills which led
to a business opportunity. He devised a range of cosmetics specially for cross dressers and trans-gendered people who needed effective coverage but the ability to remove it easily without leaving any tell tale traces. He started selling them on the internet under the name “Miranda's transmetics” and quickly built up a small but lucrative business. Initially, he operated the new business alone from his home in his spare time.

As a prominent shop keeper in the town, he was soon persuaded to join the local golf club and Chamber of Commerce. However, it was his love of fast cars which eventually led to his undoing.

He loved “wind in the hair” motoring, so always had the top down whenever the weather permitted. He was careful to observe speed limits and knew the location of all the fixed cameras in the area. However, one day he was caught at 44 mph in 30 area by a mobile speed van. The first he knew of it was when a buff envelope fell through the letterbox. As usual in these cases, it required him to identify the driver and warned that a fine would probably be imposed, together with penalty points on his licence. He swore gently but confirmed that he had been the driver and posted the form back without further thought. In due course, choosing not to appear in court, he was fined £100 and three penalty points.

Several weeks later, there was a ring at the front door. It was answered by an attractive girl with long blond hair. She was casually dressed in a loose yellow dress and sandals.

There was a local policeman at the door. “Is Mr Whitehead in, please? I am required to deliver this to him and it needs signing for.”

“I'm afraid he's out at present, but I can sign for it if you like. Is it something important?”

“Well, between you and me, he's in a spot of bother. Seems he didn't reveal who was really driving when he got done for speeding. These new hightech cameras pick up a lot of detail and I'm told that the picture of a girl at the wheel of an open sports car is very clear. And seeking to pervert the course of justice is a serious crime.”

The girl quickly scribbled an illegible signature and the copper went away apparently satisfied.

Bob let loose a string of most unladylike expletives, realising immediately that he was between a rock and a hard place. If he pleaded guilty, he would still be told to disclose who was driving and if he refused, he might finish up in prison. If he pleaded not guilty, his defence would involve making his cross dressing public. He couldn't win and spent a sleepless night trying to decide what to do. His decision was simple. He would attend court “dressed” and plead not guilty. He was sure the local press would have a field day but the fuss would soon subside.

And so, when the case came to court, he stood in the dock immaculately dressed in a beige skirt suit with a white blouse and red chiffon scarf. He wore brown shoes with three inch heels and matching accessories. With his long blond wig and make up he looked very bit the woman he wanted to be. The magistrate seemed puzzled to see a woman in the dock.

“Name, please?”

“Robert Whitehead” he answered in his usual bass voice.

The magistrate held a brief conversation with his clerk. He asked again “Please repeat your name.”

“ROBERT WHITEHEAD, YOUR HONOUR!”

The magistrate consulted his papers.

“Case dismissed!”

Bob was aware of a flurry of activity in the press gallery and when he reached the door of the court house, he was met by a battery of press photographers. He smiled and waved to them before walking confidently to his car and driving home.

Once safely through his front door, he kicked off his heels and poured himself a stiff drink. The ordeal had left him emotionally drained. However, now he been outed and everyone knew about it, he realised that he could dress whenever and wherever he liked. If he did so with confidence, local people would soon get used to it.

The local press headlines screamed “Speeding cross dresser in court!”, “Local drag queen escapes prosecution!” and several others. But as he expected, it was a nine day wonder.

…...........................................................

Six months later, Miranda was often seen around the town, always elegantly dressed. Business was booming. He bought a small hotel which now catered exclusively for transgendered and cross dressing visitors. Miranda's transmetics were selling well and he employed two assistants. Even the turnover in his shops was well up.

He had, however, felt it necessary to resign from the golf club. He didn't think it would be fair to drive off from the lady's tee!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

[email protected]

May 2015.

Steps along the road.

A fantasy by Johnny Cumlately

The small chapel in the crematorium was nearly full except for the first pew which had been kept of close family. Just before 11 o’clock, Janet’s twin sister Ann came and sat in it with her husband Matthew and their two children. The coffin had already been placed on its plinth. A few moments later, the Minister entered though a side door.

“My friends, we have met here today to celebrate the life and passing of Janet, er.. Stephen. I expect that most of you will have known her as Janet, but some of you with longer memories will be remembering Stephen. Let us start with a short prayer ........”

After singing the hymn “The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended” the Minister invited Matthew to say a few words. Matthew was, thankfully, very brief and after another hymn, more prayers, the committal and blessing, the coffin slowly sank from sight and the mourners trooped across the road to the “Red Lion” where sandwiches had been arranged.

They were a very mixed lot but were soon exchanging recollections. John had been in school with Stephen and remembered him as being a bit of a loner but usually near the top of the class. He was also a very nimble fly half in the school Rugby team. Sue had been in college with Stephen and said that he got on well with all his fellow students but seemed most at ease in company with the girls. He spoke their language and they never felt that they were being chatted up.

Mark and Wendy had both helped Stephen when he gradually became Janet. Mark was a
psychologist and Wendy a nurse who helped look after Janet following her reassignment surgery.

Linda and Joyce were both more recent friends and had been very surprised by what they had just learned about Janet’s background. Neither had ever suspected that Janet was a transsexual. To them, she had just been a very good friend.

The one person who was not present was Aunt Agnes. Sadly, she had died a year previously at the ripe old age of 91.

......................................................

Well! They certainly gave me a good send-off!

The first time I could remember dressing in girl’s clothes was when we were about 12. Ann and I were very close, having lost our father some years previously in a motor accident. Mum had been left to bring us up alone which she did wonderfully until she died of cancer after a short illness. Fortunately for us, our maiden aunt, Agnes, took us both in and made a good home for us. It was inevitably a female household. In spite of her good intentions, Aunt Agnes had little idea how to care for a boy just reaching puberty.

It was Ann who first suggested that I might dress in some of her clothes when we were at home. Aunt Agnes was happy to go along with it as it would save her the embarrassment of buying boys’ things other than the bare essentials needed for school. And as for me, well, I just loved the look and feel of pretty dresses. I wore my hair as long as I could get away with at school and Ann would tie it in a short pony tail. She decided to call me Janet and said that she had always thought I should have been her twin sister. There was a lovely photograph of us two “girls” wearing identical dresses and similar hairdos. We must have been about 15 when the photograph was taken and I was very envious of Ann’s nicely developing bosom.

I did well as a boy at school but did not make friends easily. Most of the friends I had were girls from another school who were also friends of Ann and knew me at home as Janet. I was always asked to her parties and loved to wear party dresses. I managed to live two quite different lives. As I got a bit older, I wore a bra with modest false boobs, though I have no idea how I acquired them. I hadn’t really grown a beard and the few wisps of hair were easily camouflaged with foundation cream - applied under Ann’s careful supervision. When my voice broke I even managed to use a light falsetto when I was Janet.

Eventually, I (Stephen) won a scholarship to university and my time as Janet was limited to when I was at home during vacation. Most of my friends there were girls - I just seemed to have a natural empathy with them and they were happy to include me in girlie talk about boyfriends and fashions.

I got a degree in electronics and computing and then a job in a large company’s IT department where I was able to do a lot of work on program writing from home. I was still living with Aunt Agnes, so I naturally spent most of my time as Janet.

I eventually realised that I must make up my mind who I really wanted to be and the decision seemed obvious. I needed to make preparations for leaving Stephen behind. I was fortunate to find a similar job in another company which I applied for as Janet. I gave my notice to my previous employer but felt that I had to warn the personnel officer in confidence that he might receive a request for a reference for someone called Janet. I am pleased to say that he respected that confidence!

Buying the pills was the least of my problems. There were a number of shops on the web offering them - and many other related items - at exorbitant prices. I assumed the supply of pills was legal but they weren’t the sort you could just walk into a chemist to buy. Much more of a problem was that I actually funked swallowing one for quite a time. After all, it would lead to the most profound change that I could imagine. However, once I had popped the first pill I quickly became addicted - not in the purely physical sense but I was impatient to see results.

Eventually, after several months, I noticed that my nipples had become much more sensitive and had increased in size, but it was much longer until I had even a faint swelling of my breasts.

By now, I had been living as Janet for over 6 months and knew that I would need to see a psychiatrist and win his approval if I was to go further. That was when I first met Mark who was very friendly and helpful. He regarded me as a slightly unusual case in that I had never doubted my original gender. It was only when I went to live with Aunt Agnes that I pretended to be a girl and that was more for convenience than necessity. Obviously, being a twin had something to do with it and I had been greatly influenced by Ann. Few youngsters have the opportunity to try out both sexes and then later choose which they want to be!

After two meetings, Mark said he would be happy to recommend that I should eventually have reassignment surgery. In the meantime, I should consider being castrated. Loss of my balls would help with my hormonal balance and in due course my penis would shrink to resemble that of a young boy. I could then finally decide if I wanted the major surgery.

He arranged a visit to a local clinic for day surgery under a local anaesthetic and I watched fascinated as the doctor slit open my sack, removed my testicles and tied off the cords. Apart from soreness for a few days, there were no immediate after effects.

As my female characteristics continued to develop, I soon realised that I would not feel completely changed without the rest of the surgery which was, of course, a major operation and I was given an appointment in a hospital which had a specialist department dealing with gender problems.

Wendy was the first person I saw when I came round. “Hello, Janet, it’s all over now. Welcome to the sisterhood!” Post operative pain was considerable but Wendy helped me cope and in a short time I was up and about really enjoying my new status. She became a close friend. Friends who also knew Ann said that we were almost identical twins. Ann knew me as the sister she might never have had and regarded my sex change operation as just correcting a minor deformity.

Now I could wear a bikini without any unseemly bulge!

My social life as Janet was busy but I never developed any romantic attachments. I was completely happy with female company but was never tempted into a lesbian relationship. After Ann got married, I continued to live with Aunt Agnes and Linda and Joyce lived just around the corner. They became very close friends and we had several holidays together.

I led a full and happy life. I was good at my job and never short of funds. As Aunt Agnes grew old, I took my share of looking after her and when she died she left all her modest possessions to Ann and me. I was able to go on living in her house until I, too, was struck down by cancer and died after a mercifully short illness when I was 58. Too bad that I had been looking forward to a long retirement as a contented spinster.

Looking back, I had absolutely no regrets.

....................................................

I had one final problem with St Peter at the Pearly Gates.

“Name?”

“Janet”

“Just a minute. I was expecting Stephen. We seem to have an error in our system. It says you have been trying to outwit nature with the wrong gender. I’ll go and investigate.”

He left me waiting and wondering if I would be allowed in but soon returned.

“I’ve just called ‘The Other Place’ and they have no record of either Janet or Stephen so you must have a reasonably clean record and have not committed too many sins. We take a fairly strict view of entrants not being who they should be. But you were good to your aunt and I guess you didn’t harm anyone so I will open the gates for you. By the way, you’ll find Aunt Agnes on cloud 59.”

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

January 2009

[email protected]

The Accident.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

Rachel had spent a quiet Sunday afternoon and evening with her friend, Gwen, who lived in town. At about 9 o'clock she made her excuses as she had a heavy work load the next day. She lived alone in a small cottage up in the hills about a half hour drive away and knew the road well as she commuted daily.

It was late in November and Rachel was dressed in a thick white roll-top sweater and jeans. The earlier rain had cleared and there was a bright moonlit with a touch of frost. As the road climbed into the hills, the temperature dropped and where a culvert had overflowed there was a sheet of ice. Her car slid off the road and buried itself in a large oak tree. There was little traffic at that time on a Sunday night but fortunately another car passed only about a couple of minutes later and the driver saw what had happened and called the emergency services. They found Rachel unconscious and had some difficulty in freeing her from the wreckage. It was obvious that she had sustained serious injuries to her legs but those would have to wait as the paramedics needed to concentrate on life support until they reached hospital.

As soon as the emergency team had stabilised her condition, they had to cut away her jeans and panties and discovered that she had broken both legs and they suspected a fractured pelvis. They were used to unusual things in the A and E department, but even they were surprised to see that she had a penis and testicles which had been encased in a metal chastity cage. Part of the car must have pushed the cage back between her legs, crushing her testicles and almost severing her penis, accounting for most of the loss of blood.

…..................................................................

Raymond Whiteley ran a successful estate agency in the town. He was now 34 and had inherited the business when his father had died some five years earlier and his mother died soon afterwards. He had no brothers or sisters so now had no close relatives. He had sold the family house and bought a cottage up in the hills. He enjoyed solitude and being able to live his secret other life as a cross dresser. He used the femme name Rachel and spent almost all his time away from the office, dressed. Considerable practice had enabled him to pass as a very convincing girl. He wore his hair fairly long and was able to restyle it in a few minutes to look female. When dressed, he always wore a chastity cage to prevent unwanted erections. There was a small TG community in the town and Rachel had developed several close friendships there, his friend Gwen being one of them.

Few other people knew his secret but one couple who did was the neighbouring farmer, Fred, and his wife, Margaret. They had quickly accepted him/her at face value. He had put a lot of effort into modernising the cottage, often with Fred's help and Margaret was happy to advise Rachel on more feminine matters. They had invited Rachel to join them for their Christmas dinner.

The morning after the accident, they were not surprised to have a visit from the local policeman.

“I suppose you know about the accident. Seems there was no other vehicle involved. There was a girl driving but the car was registered to Mr Whiteley and there was a credit card in the girl's handbag with the name Rachel Whiteley. There doesn't appear to be anyone at home at the moment.
Was he married?”

Fred and Margaret were always extremely discreet but in view of the circumstances felt they had to explain.

“No. He's not the marrying type. Actually, Raymond and Rachel are one and the same person. He's a cross dresser.”

“Oh! That explains it, doesn't it? Well, it takes all sorts to make the world and its not illegal.”

A few minutes later, the telephone rang. It was a reporter from the local paper. This time, Fred was not very helpful. Yes. They knew about the accident but didn't have any details. Yes. Mr Whiteley is a good neighbour but we don't pry into his affairs.

…....................................................................................

Rachel came round later in the night. She told the nurse her name was Rachel but she was heavily sedated and could not remember anything about the crash. Further investigation had shown that apart from a bump on the head and cuts and bruises, all her injuries were to her legs and lower abdomen, and were not life-threatening. She was moved into a side ward as the staff could not decide whether to treat her as male or female!

Next morning, she was taken to the operating theatre for her “plumbing” to be sorted out which they considered more urgent than resetting bones. It was a difficult operation and they were unable to save her penis. Her testicles had been crushed anyway but the surgeon managed to reroute her urethra and, for the time being, installed a catheter. That evening, when she had regained consciousness, the surgeon came to talk to her.

“Hello. I'm Dr Robinson. I'm in charge of the team which has operated on you today. How are you feeling?”

“A bit sore down below, my legs hurt, and I've got a headache.”

“You're extremely lucky to be alive. The combination of airbag and safety belt undoubtedly prevented much worse injuries. The good news is that you should be up and about in a few weeks when we have got your legs sorted out, which we will start on tomorrow. But I have to tell you that your penis and testicles are gone for good. I'm not sure whether you might regard that as good news as you obviously enjoy passing as female, but I suppose its the next best thing to having a full sex change operation. I've given you a new outlet for urine and am hopeful that you will not be incontinent once it has all healed. If you ever want an artificial vagina, it might just be possible but there's not much left to work with. Either way, you will have to decide on your future so that we can prescribe appropriate hormone drugs.”

He wasn't sure whether Rachel had taken in what he had said, as she just nodded her head and said “Thank you”.

“OK. Get some sleep now. I'll come and see you again tomorrow.”

….................................................................

Rachel had several visitors over the next couple of days. The first was Margaret from the farm. She had a key to the cottage so had been able to collect things which any girl might want who suddenly found themselves in hospital – two nighties and a bag full of toiletries and cosmetics. She told her that the car was being written off and that Fred was looking after the necessary paperwork and had contacted the insurance company. The police had confirmed that they regarded it as an unfortunate accident and were not preferring any charges. She promised to return in a few days but to ring if Rachel wanted anything.

The second visitor was a local hairdresser who did the rounds of the hospital. She gave Rachel a shampoo and set which cheered her up considerably.

Next was Gwen, Rachels' TG friend in town. Naturally, she wanted to hear all the intimate details of the injuries. “Well, my dear, it looks as though you are definitely on your way to permanent womanhood, but I knew it would not have been long anyway.”

Soon after Gwen, Dorothy arrived. She was Raymond's secretary in the estate agency. “Hello, Rachel. We meet at last! Working closely with you, I've had my suspicions for some time. The way you kept your hair and trimmed your eyebrows. An occasional whiff of perfume and traces of make up. Your secret other life is now common knowledge, I'm afraid, especially as the accident was reported in the local rag. The staff in the office can't wait to meet their new boss. You're very popular, you know. Don't worry about the business. It's all in competent hands. And most clients don't really know you as they only appear when they want to move house, which is not very often.”

Everyone seemed to take it for granted that Rachel's transition would be permanent. Raymond had always been frightened of publicity but the secret was out now and it would be more embarrassing if she returned to work as Raymond. So her mind was now made up and on Dr Robinson's next ward round, she gave him that decision.

“Very well. I will give you a strong dose of oestrogen. It will be in a slow release subcutaneous capsule and as you no longer produce testosterone it should show results surprisingly quickly. I will also arrange for you to go through the usual transgender counselling.”

.............................................................................

Raymond died in the accident. Rachel is very much alive and living a full life in her new gender.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

[email protected]

June 2015

The Agony Aunt.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

This is a sequel to "A cottage by the sea" which should be read before this story.

.................................................

Briony was enjoying her work for Jim Snow, the local estate agent. She had become familiar with the local area and developed a sense of values of local property. Initially, she worked part time whenever Jim had clients wanting to be shown around properties.

Jim, like many in the village, was aware of Briony's situation and Briony had admitted to him that Brian used to run his own estate agency. She became more and more involved in the day to day running of Jim's business. After some months, Jim had offered her a partnership and after some hard headed negotiation, she agreed. Jim also did little to conceal that he found her attractive but like her friend Jack, knew that he must stay at arms length. Nevertheless, they both enjoyed each others' company.

One afternoon, she had no commitments and decided to go for a walk along the cliff path which ran only two fields away from her cottage. When she returned, she found an envelope had been pushed through the letter box. It was simply addressed to "Miss Briony Parry." Inside was a hand written letter:

The Old Mill, Tanmouth.
Tuesday

Dear Briony,

You were very helpful to Peter and me a few months ago and we met you several times when we were buying The Old Mill where we are now happily settled in.

I do hope you will forgive me contacting you to ask a favour on a confidential personal matter. I have recently become aware that you may be the only local person to whom I can turn for advice. Perhaps we could meet for a chat and I can explain my problem.

Peter is away in London for a couple of days, so I will be sure to answer the phone if you could ring me. Our number is 246759.

Regards,

Julia.

Briony was intrigued. She remembered Julia and Peter well. They were a nice couple moving down from London and had bought the Old Mill which had been tastefully converted into a beautiful house. It was tucked away in a corner of the valley some distance off the nearest road. She was puzzled by the request for advice and dialled the number. Julia answered almost immediately.

"Julia? It's Briony here. I've got your letter and am happy to help if I can."

"Thank you. It's not something we can discuss on the phone. Perhaps we could meet somewhere."

"Why don't you come up here for coffee tomorrow morning..... About 10.30?.... You know where I live?.... Fine, I'll see you then. 'Bye."

Still none the wiser, Briony would have to wait until the morning to find out.

Julia arrived promptly at 10.30 and Briony had already put the kettle on for coffee. They talked for a few minutes about the village and the Old Mill before Julia broached the reason for her visit.

"You seem to have settled in here very happily in spite of possible gossip about you having been born male."

Briony had wondered whether it was something to do with that and was not surprised.

"Yes. I've had remarkably little comment and have been welcomed unreservedly by the local people." She went on to outline what had brought her to Tanmouth and caused her to live as Briony.

"Well, that is why I think you can give me some advice. About two years ago, I noticed that Peter appeared to be engrossed in one of my women's clothes catalogues. He held it up and pointed to one particular picture of a girl wearing a beautiful and expensive dress. It had short puffed sleeves, neat bodice, a belted waist and flared pleated skirt. It was a deep blue except for the sleeve puffs, belt and inserts in the skirt pleats which were silver. 'Do you think that I could look nice wearing that?' he asked. I laughed. 'Its a lovely dress but you would have to have a wig, a stuffed bra, a lot of makeup and some matching accessories!' 'No! I'm serious. I've always envied you ladies your freedom of clothing. You can have interesting colours and lovely soft fabrics. I really would love to be able to dress up like that, even if it was only in private.' I was shocked that he seemed deadly serious about it and said that if it made him happy and he kept it secret, I wouldn't try to stop him. Over the following few weeks, several parcels arrived addressed to Peter bearing the labels of well known stores and I had to agree that he seemed to have chosen some good things with a real sense of style. He also bought a couple of wigs, makeup, shoes and underwear. He had obviously tried on the clothes while I was out and finally asked me to help him with his makeup. I asked whether he had done this before. 'No, but I've always wanted to and never plucked up the courage to tell you.' I did help him and had to admit that by the time I had finished with him, he really looked quite a presentable and attractive woman."

"I guess that you are going to tell me that now he had broken the ice, he wanted to dress up more and more. And you are worried where its leading. Is that why you think I can help?"

"Yes. As soon as I found out you were a transsexual, I thought you would know better than anyone else and be able to tell me how to handle it."

"Well, I'll try. But first, there is a difference between transvestite, transgender and transsexual. This may not be quite the way the medical profession would describe it, but a transvestite, or cross-dresser, is someone who just likes to dress as a woman and often does it for sexual enjoyment. A transsexual is someone who believes themselves to be female in gender but born into a male body and often wants permanent surgical change. My understanding of transgender is somewhere in between, that is someone who doesn't fit the usual expectations of being male or female. I have oversimplified but you need to know where Peter himself believes he fits in. I would class myself as transgendered. I'm not just a transvestite because I've made the decision to live permanently as a female, but underneath, I know I'm male and have no intention of seeking reassignment surgery. I'm very happy with that."

"I think Peter is a transvestite. We still have an apparently normal relationship as man and wife, but he sometimes gets these urges to dress up and wants me to go along with it."

"Well, why not, if it makes him happy? There is another side in all of us but it varies considerably. I'm told that few people are wholly male or wholly female. Does it upset you? Do you think you can come to accept it? You might find that giving him an outlet for his feminine side actually improves your marriage."

"I am starting to accept it, though it did upset me a lot to begin with. As long as he keeps it private I can cope. Maybe that's why he was so keen on buying the Old Mill. Its so secluded and not overlooked by anyone."

They went on chatting for a long time. Julia described some of Peter's outfits with almost a touch of envy. It was clear that she approved of his choice of fashion. She said she was not aware that he dressed just for sexual satisfaction as he seemed so relaxed about it. Finally, she thanked Briony for listening so patiently to her problems and for her wise advice and promised to let Briony know how things developed.

................................................

Briony had little time to reflect on the conversation as Jim Snow found her more and more work. But one day, Briony's phone rang.

"Briony? Its Julia here. I want to ask you to dinner one evening. There is someone I'd like you to meet. Next Thursday?........ 7.30?........... Fine, we'll look forward to seeing you."

Briony half guessed who she was to meet and so was not surprised when Julia opened the door and turned to a lady standing behind her.

"Briony, this is Penny. I think you have met her before but in other circumstances!"

Penny was wearing some lovely clothes - an expensive looking brown dress with long sleeves and a full skirt. She had nice accessories and would have looked a million dollars but for some unfortunate give-aways. Her makeup was a little too heavy as it tried to camouflage a five o'clock shadow. Her wig didn't quite match her natural hair which was visible around the edge. She had quite a prominent Adam's apple and she did nothing to lighten her bass voice.

"Hello, Briony. I know that Julia told you all about my little hobby. She really is very understanding about it and this is the first time I have ever met anyone else as Penny."

"Yes. Julia did come to see me and told me about you. Its good to meet you. I do like that dress. I suspect Julia is quite envious."

Julia had cooked a lovely meal and the conversation flowed easily. It was while they were enjoying coffee afterwards that they got back to the reason for the invitation.

"Briony, please tell me what you think. Am I even half convincing as a female? Don't be afraid to criticise. Julia has proved much more supportive than I ever expected, especially since she went to see you. But I know I could do better and you have the experience to share with me."

"I think I can help with some small things but you must understand that our circumstances are very different. As I understand it, you enjoy dressing up for the thrill of it - not necessarily a sexual thrill but certainly a buzz knowing that you are not who you appear. And you obviously enjoy wearing beautiful clothes which would not be possible for a man. Tomorrow, you will presumably be Peter again. I'm now permanently Briony. Brian got killed off some time ago. This is now my life. Tell me, do you intend to go out as Penny and cope with the big wide world? If so, will Julia be able to cope?"

"Probably not. At least, not at present. I've promised Julia I'll kept it behind closed doors."

Julia nodded. "I don't think I would like anyone in the village to know what Peter does. But I've certainly found that its nice to have Penny around as a girl friend. And even when he's not dressed up Peter is more attentive to my needs."

"That's good, but I rather doubt that you will be able to keep it a secret here indefinitely. Someone is going to call unannounced, even if its just the postman needing a signature. News will get out. I've been accepted because I've always been Briony here full time and they also knew my aunt Mary who born male. Briony has never lived anywhere else. Brian lived another life in London which they never knew. The good people of Tanmouth are tolerant but curious. What would you think, Julia, if it became the subject of local gossip?"

"I would find it very embarrassing. So far, we have found everyone so friendly and welcoming, but that could quickly go sour if rumours got out that Peter was a transvestite."

"Yes, that's what I am afraid might happen. You came to me for advice some weeks ago and you said then that you could come to accept it if it stayed secret. So far all has been well, but you are taking a risk." Briony paused, "I have a suggestion to make."

"Go on then. Tell us." Penny had been quiet up to now.

"From what I learned when I was advising you about the property, you are not short of funds. Why doesn't Penny buy or rent an apartment back in London where she can be anonymous? Somewhere to retreat to when Peter feels the urge to be Penny. You, Julia, can always go as her "sister". Penny might also take advantage of joining a TV club and meeting other like-minded people."

"We have actually thought of that." said Penny. "But as you may recall, I took early retirement when we moved down here and wanted to cut adrift from city life. Nevertheless, what you suggest may be the answer. I don't want to cause any problems which may upset our relations with the local people. We realise that your circumstances were very different."

"Yes. Life here is slow and they like continuity. Because I'm always Briony, they are used to that. If you were sometimes Peter and sometimes Penny, it would throw them completely."

"We would have to choose an area, probably North London, well away from previous friends where we used to live in the leafy Southern suburbs. If I get good enough to pass, I would love to go to the theatre as Penny. That's one thing we miss here."

"Yes. It would have advantages for Penny but even if Julia was with you in London, commuting and being with you as Penny would put a strain on your marriage."

Julia's comment was "Well, we'll just have to try it, then. Rent, not buy, then we won't have invested too much either of cash or emotions. As far as the locals here are concerned, Peter will have to be in London from time to time due to unfinished business."

Julia's acceptance seemed to clinched the discussion.

"Thank you, Briony, for being such an understanding Agony Aunt. There's a possible new profession for you if you get tired of being an estate agent."

Briony thanked them for the meal and hoped she had been able to help.

..............................................................

Julia and Briony became close friends and regularly met for coffee in the small cafe by the harbour.

Penny rented a small two bedroom ground floor flat in Maida Vale near to Lords cricket ground. Peter had always loved cricket and Penny enjoyed lazy days watching matches.

She spent three or four days in London every other week. Occasionally, Julia went with her but did not feel comfortable about it. Penny joined a TV club and made several good friends and received a lot of good advice. Julia went to the club with her twice, more out of curiosity than anything else, and was surprised to meet some other wives and share thoughts with them. They proved very helpful in enabling her to understand Peter's hobby.

But Julia had made it a rule that Peter does not dress in Tanmouth. They have integrated well with the local community, who have been led to understand that Peter needs to visit London often on business.

"I'll tell you something, Briony, Peter's hobby is proving expensive. The rent and out-goings on the flat, commuting, clothes and entertainment in London add up to a tidy old sum!"

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

August 2010

[email protected]

The Ballet Dancer

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

This brief biography is based on a diary discovered in the archives of the Russian National Ballet.

Boris was born on 30th April 1958 in Moscow in Soviet Russia and even when very young, his parents took him to see the Bolshoi Ballet. It was not surprising, therefore, that he soon declared that when he grew up, he wanted to be a ballet dancer. He did well at school and later won himself a place in the prestigious Bolshoi Academy.

Training there was hard. A ballet dancer has to be 100% fit which meant long hours in the gym as well as at the bar. And there was normal school work as well. Boris showed promise, but was well aware that only a very few dancers really hit the headlines. For the rest, its just hard slog.

He was in due course accepted into the Bolshoi corps de ballet but never seemed to get offered solo roles and eventually auditioned and was accepted by the Leningrad (now St Petersburg) Mussorgsky State Ballet. This was a good company based in the old Mussorgsky theatre but always overshadowed by its neighbour, the Kirov at the Mariinsky. However, he was able to realise his ambition to dance some of the leading roles. The company's repertoire was almost exclusively the traditional classical ballets such as Giselle and Swan Lake.

Dancers of both sexes regularly wear tights and Boris had always felt that men's profile was spoilt by the inevitable bulge. He envied the girls their smooth fronts! As time went on, this envy was constantly on his mind and became an obsession. In those days the internet had not arrived but he heard rumours of an American surgeon who had “gone native” after the Vietnam war to help people in remote rural communities. He was reputed to conduct pioneer surgery in relatively primitive conditions which had even included the removal of a man's penis as a result of cancer. Maybe that would be the answer? However, Boris then had absolutely no prospect of going to Vietnam, still less
paying the surgeon a visit and he tried to put the thought out of his mind.

Fate was to take a hand when two years later, the company embarked on a strenuous “cultural” tour to communist countries in the far east. They gave short seasons in Peking (now Beijing), Shanghai and several other Chinese cities. They then went south to Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) in Vietnam.

Boris had managed to contact the surgeon who had locally become known as “Doctor Sam” and found that he was not averse to doing any surgery on demand for an “immoderate” fee and asked no questions about such a strange request. Boris had managed to save quite a lot as ballet dancers in Russia were comparatively well paid and he lived very cheaply. He was relieved that Dr Sam was willing to accept payment in roubles which was not a convertible currency.

As soon as the curtain came down of their last performance, Boris disappeared. A local friend of Dr Sam's met him at the stage door and escorted him up-country to the tiny clinic. The authorities made a rather perfunctory search for him but it was feared that he had managed to reach a Western embassy where he would ask for asylum and such publicity would not have been welcome.

Dr Sam's clinic was primitive but he had honed his surgery skills while on active service and had earned a good reputation since in spite of limited facilities. He assured Boris that he was confident about the procedure which involved removal of testicles and scrotum and amputation of the penis down to the root while preserving the urethra to create a new exit for urine just ahead of the anus. A large wad of rouble notes was handed over and the surgery was conducted next morning.

Boris was in considerable pain for several days afterwards and his recovery and convalescence took longer than expected so that its was about four weeks before he was fit enough to face the long journey back to Leningrad — mostly by train including four days on the Trans-Siberian railway.

The director at the Mussorgsky theatre was surprised when Boris walked in but seemed to accept without question Boris's rather unlikely story. As the situation would have become apparent as soon as he donned his tights, Boris explained that he had had a urinary problem for some time but put off getting medical advice before and during the tour. By the time they reached Vietnam it had become urgent and penile cancer had been diagnosed necessitating an urgent amputation.

He hoped to resume his career but badly needed to regain his strength. He was allowed to use the company's gym and rehearsal facilities for four weeks after which he would be assessed before returning to the stage in minor roles. Boris worked hard during that time and succeeded in rejoining the company.

His fellow dancers could not fail to notice the change and some of them teased him, calling him a lady boy. When would he be dancing on points and wearing a tutu? He just had to put up with it.

Apart from that, all went well for about three months but a major problem then arose. Dr Sam had told Boris that he would need to take male hormones for the rest of his life and had provided six month's supply. But such medication was to prove unobtainable in Communist Russia and there seemed no possibility of getting the pills sent from abroad. Boris just had to hope that there would be no noticeable consequences of going without.

But it was not to be. Several more months later, he became aware of slight swellings in his chest and increased sensitivity of his nipples, together with putting on a little weight around the hips. He became noticeably effeminate, even by ballet standards. More importantly, he was losing strength and found lifting his partner increasing difficult. It was not long before the inevitable happened and he lost his job.

…..........................................

His body was found in his tiny one room flat in a depressing concrete apartment block in the suburbs of Leningrad. He had taken an overdose of sleeping pills.

Among his meagre belongings was a diary which detailed his life in the Mussorgsky ballet and before. It was filed away in the company's archives and only discovered by a researcher many years later. This story is a very brief account of Boris's sad life. The final entry in 1987 reads

“No job. No future. I don't even know whether I am a man or a woman now.”

R.I.P.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

[email protected]

February 2012.

The girl who never was.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

A sad tale of confused gender.

The body was discovered by a man walking his dog. Or rather, the dog found it and would not obey his masters calls! It was in a small patch of woodland about a mile outside the village of Lockvale. A girl of 25 to 30.

The police cordoned off the area and made a minute search. There was no obvious sign of cause of death. The weather had been unseasonably cold for two weeks with the temperature seldom rising above freezing so that the body had not decomposed and it was difficult to guess how long she had been there. She was dressed in a woolly sweater, well worn jeans and imitation leather boots. There was no means of identification, no purse or handbag and nothing in the pockets of her jeans.

The post-mortem examination by the pathologist produced little more information. She appeared to have died from hypothermia and had eaten very little for some time before death. There was one important distinguishing feature - she was inter-sexed. That is, she was visibly female with nicely developed breasts but had undeveloped male genitals instead of a vagina. Labels in her clothes were mostly those of cheap multiple stores and could have been bought anywhere with the exception of her bra which came from a French supermarket chain. Search of the police missing persons list also drew blank, as did local enquiries. No one had seen her before and she had not been seen around the village. An inquest was opened but adjourned for lack of evidence.

There was a short report in the local newspaper which stated that the dead girl was inter-sexed but produced no identification and the police investigation was wound down, although as is usual it was not finally closed.
.....................................................................

Not long afterwards, a journalist who had read the report was visiting Paris and had a chance conversation which caused him to wonder about the dead girl. He was sufficiently curious to make his own enquiries and thought it probable that she had lived and worked in Paris for about two years. He gleaned sufficient information from people who had met her to make a tentative identification and to follow this up when he returned to the UK. This is his story.........

........................................................................

Peter and Mary Smith were delighted when their new baby turned out to be a boy. They already had a daughter, Alice, who was then aged two and had wanted a boy to complete their family. They were not well off and lived in a small semi-detached house in a suburb of a large city. They were loving and caring parents. The boy was christened Phillip.

He was a cheerful child and the apple of his parents eyes. They regularly read stories to him and Alice at bedtime and Phillip had started to learn to read even before he went to primary school. He was usually in the top five or six in his class and integrated well with his class mates, both boys and girls. When he was eleven, he went on to the local comprehensive school and continued to do well for some time.

However, when he was 13, going on 14, his progress suddenly came to a halt and his form teacher asked Peter and Mary to meet her to discuss the problem. Phillip had become very introverted, he did not pay attention during lessons and seemed to live in a little world of his own. There was no obvious reason and despite careful questioning they failed to get any comment from Phillip. He was late in showing signs of puberty at a time when most of his contemporaries' voices had broken. The school wondered whether he was being bullied for that reason but could find no evidence of it.

It was the end of the summer term and his sister, Alice, had gone way to a Girl Guide camp. One morning, his parents were surprised when he came down to breakfast dressed entirely in Alice's clothes. At first, they thought it was just a childish joke, but took it seriously when he said "I'm a girl, really. So I'm going to be Phillippa in future, but you can call me Pippa for short." They had a long talk about it and quickly realised that that was the root of the recent problem.

They went to see the family doctor. The doctor had known Phillip all his life and treated him for the usual childhood diseases. His only comment after an examination was that his nipples were slightly enlarged but he recommended that they took him to a gender clinic for further assessment.

The clinic did a number of tests and took several samples as well as a long interview with a psychologist. The tests revealed abnormal chromosomes and a high level of oestrogen but lack of testosterone. His breasts were beginning to develop as if he was a girl starting puberty. Phillip himself continued to insist that he was a girl. It was concluded that, although he was technically male, it would be wise to allow him to follow his wishes but to monitor his progress very closely.

Peter and Mary were worried that Pippa (as they now were getting used to calling her) should not return to the comprehensive as a girl but should move to another school where she was not known. They went to see Mrs Roberts, the headmistress of a local girl's grammar school and explained the situation. They showed her Phillip's school reports which had, until recently, shown excellent progress. The head was very sympathetic and they were delighted that she agreed that Phillippa could join the school that autumn. It would severely strain their financial resources but they were given a substantial discount on the usual fees. Mrs Roberts promised to take a personal interest and to try to ensure that possible embarrassment was avoided, particularly when it came to using communal changing rooms for games.

She settled in remarkably quickly. She was accepted without question by the other girls and had soon made up for lost time with her studies. She certainly enjoyed both her new gender and her new surroundings. Pippa's male bits remained small but the rest of her body developed and it was clear that she would in time be a very attractive girl. Her one regret was that Alice was unable to join her at the school as her parents could not afford to pay for both of them but she and Alice developed a very close bond as sisters.

Once again, she was always close to the top of the class and got excellent exam results which earned her a place at university, where she would to study languages. This meant that she would be away from home for the first time but, apart from some initial homesickness, she soon found herself revelling in student life. She was, however, very much aware that she must keep potential suitors at bay and studiously avoided becoming anyone's regular girlfriend - not that there was any shortage of boys who would have loved to date her!

Her studies went well and by the middle of her third year she was expected to get a good degree. But then something happened which would have tragic consequences. She was raped anally which caused injury needing medical help. The boy was convicted in court but in spite of being given anonymity, rumours went round the college about Pippa's real gender and these added to her trauma. She dropped out of college and couldn't face telling her parents what had happened. She fled initially to London and managed to survive in a squalid bed-sit by taking menial part-time jobs. She refused to tell Mary and Peter here she was, just an occasional card to confirm she was alive. Nor did she try to contact Alice.

Finally, being fluent in French, she went to Paris, again living in a tiny bed-sit and taking part time jobs but found it very difficult to earn enough to live on. The few friends she made were all living in similar circumstances. She didn't realise it to begin with but one was a prostitute who later showed Pippa that there was easy money to be made, particularly from kinky clients who would pay more to have sex with a she-male.

Added to the trauma of her rape, she began to feel totally degraded and suicidal. Her friends managed to keep her away from drugs and persuaded her that she must return home. But still she could not bring herself to tell her parents.

Quite how she came to die as she did remains a mystery. Nor is it known why she was in Lockvale which was a long way from her old home. Perhaps she just chose it as an easy way out and lay down and waited to die in the freezing winter weather. The police were able to close their file and the resumed inquest finished with an open verdict.

The memory of their promising son who became a beautiful daughter will never leave Peter and Mary. They will for ever torment themselves wondering whether they could have done anything to have saved her.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

December 2010.

[email protected]

Two's company.

A sequel to “Winter Break” (November 2010)

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

“Two's company, three's a crowd.” I was to find out the truth of this old adage over the next few months. In “Winter Break” I related how I came to transition. I had met Sheila who lived in Edinburgh and her friend Alice, a nurse living in London. They had castrated me and given me a strong oestrogen transdermal patch. I had developed nice boobs and regularly dressed when not at work and, according to Alice, had become quite presentable as a woman. But I had reached the point at which I could no longer keep my situation secret at work.

I had confided in Ms Smith, the personnel manager who proved surprisingly supportive. She was unable to arrange a transfer to the Edinburgh office but gave me a month's sick leave and promised to prepare my colleagues for my return. I spent part of that time in Edinburgh during which Sheila acquired a female chastity belt to which Alice and I now held the only keys.

*******************************************
On the morning of my return to work, I put on a black pencil skirt - just above knee length - black tights and simple court shoes with modest two inch heels which I could now cope with quite well. I wore a purple blouse over a black bra which revealed a small amount of cleavage and showed the shape of my budding breasts. From a silver pendant hung a small key. My hair had been done by Alice’s hairdresser and I used only a small amount of make-up. Although by now being used to dressing “en femme”, I felt very self-conscious as I walked back to my old desk.
One of my male colleagues looked me up and down. “Hello, you must be Joanne. Welcome back.” Several of my female colleagues came to say “Hello” and all complimented me on my appearance. Only two young juniors seemed to have a quiet snigger but by the end of the day, everyone seemed to accept my new status without question and I was able to get some work done. Ms Smith asked how I was getting on and I was able to thank her for all her help. I still could not decide whether she was also a TS — it was certainly possible!
Both Sheila and Alice called me that evening anxious to hear how I had got on and Alice insisted that I joined her for a meal the following night.

*****************************************
I found myself spending more and more time with Alice over the next few weeks. I would go to her flat two or three times a week, whenever she was free from hospital duties. Usually we would eat out or do a show before returning to watch TV or, more likely, just enjoy each other's company with some mutual and sometimes passionate contact. I already had a lot of experience with Alice and knew that she had an insatiable need of lesbian sex. As what might be described as a “pre op TS” and as a result of castration and hormones, my remaining male equipment no longer worked but I would wear a dildo to please Alice.
Alice and I also made several shopping expeditions. I had binned all my male clothes and needed to complete my basic female wardrobe as well as giving my flat a more feminine feel.
In the meantime, both Alice and I received regular calls from Sheila in Edinburgh and I suspected that she might be just a little jealous of my relationship with Alice. She was constantly imploring us to mail her a key to her new chastity belt. She was going frantic being unable to get any relief at all. We also talked and chatted face to face with Sheila on Skype. It was clear that her chastity belt really was proving enormously frustrating and one evening as we watched, she suddenly stood up in front of her camera, dropped her panties and tried unsuccessfully to get a finger under the polished shield of the belt. I regret that that just caused us to laugh, which was perhaps rather unkind as I at least had experienced the frustrations of a chastity belt to which I did not hold the key.
“Don't just sit there laughing! I'm going to come down to London tomorrow and demand to be set free. There's a train that gets into Kings Cross at 5.”
“Why don't you fly down on the shuttle?”
“Because I would be the laughing stock of all the staff at Edinburgh airport when they saw this f****** belt on their security screens.”
“OK,” I said, “Alice will be on shift but I'll try to leave work early and meet the train.”
I was on the platform when the train drew in at exactly 5 o'clock. Sheila gave me a big hug.
“Thank God you're here. Have you got the key?”
“No, its in my flat. But surely you weren't proposing the strip off right here in the station.”
We caught a Circle Line train to the station near Alice's flat and met Alice just as she got home from work. The kettle was soon boiling for a welcome cup of tea.
It was clear to me that Alice had no intention of producing the key just yet, but I guessed she would later and felt it politic to leave the two of them together. After all, “three's a crowd.”
I did not see Sheila again before she took the train back to Scotland two mornings later. However, Alice gave me a detailed account of her visit.
As I had anticipated, they had had a light supper and retired to bed before Alice undid the belt. She told me Sheila was so keyed up that she immediately masturbated herself for nearly an hour, taking no notice of Alice until she was finally spent and fell asleep. The next night, however, they had a steamy sex session well into the night until Alice was surprised that Sheila demanded that she be re-locked into the belt. Needless to say, Alice made sure that the key was hidden away so that Sheila returned home without it.
I decided that it was time I introduced my old Aunt and Uncle to my new persona. I had last visited them at Christmas before I went to Scotland for Hogmanay and in view of all that had happened since, it seemed years ago. On that occasion, I had still been male but had nevertheless worn black side-zip slacks. I had not expected them to notice and they didn't, but what now if I turned up in a skirt?
“Hello Dear! You look different. Is that the latest fashion?”
“No. I've a surprise for you. I'm going to be a girl, so you'll have a niece in future instead of a nephew. I will be Joanne, not Johnny.”
“Oh, well! Whatever will you youngsters be getting up to next? As long as you're happy, we'll love you just as much. Now put the kettle on, there's a dear, and we'll have a cup of tea.”

**************************************
Soon after Sheila's short visit to London, she invited me to spend a week's holiday with her in Scotland before the winter set in. She suggested that we should tour round the highlands which I had not previously seen, staying in B and Bs or modest hotels. I had some holiday due to me and readily accepted.
As was now becoming usual, I caught the train rather than flying to Edinburgh. I had dressed for my holiday in ladies jeans and a white T shirt and jumper. I just had a small case with extra clothes suitable for autumn weather. These included a pair of cord rugby pants with a drawstring which had become favourites after replacing my old cord trousers which Sheila had thought I had worn out! But why are they called “Rugby”?
The train was fairly full and I found myself sitting next to a man of about my age and soon got into conversation. I found him pleasant company and he treated me with a sort of old world courtesy. We talked about all sorts of things but I deliberately kept the discussion way from my own background. After he left the train in Newcastle, I found myself thinking about my reaction to him. He was undoubtedly handsome and I thought that most girls would have been very attracted sexually. However, while I had enjoyed his company, I have never wanted sex with a man. Maybe that's because I'm only female from choice and still genetically male. And one thought lead to another. Sheila had told me soon after we first met that she was bi-sexual while Alice is openly lesbian. I enjoy sharing a bed with either of them. So where does that leave me? Now that I think of myself as female, am I a lesbian, too?

*****************************************
Sheila met me at the station in Edinburgh with more than a sisterly kiss and we were soon back at her house. I had agreed with Alice that I would unlock her belt as soon as I arrived and Sheila immediately disappeared into the bathroom where she spent a long time relieving herself and then asked me to lock the belt on again — exactly what had happened when she visited Alice a few weeks earlier. We shared her bed that night but she remained belted.
Next morning, we set off in her small car and over the next week got as far as the Isle of Skye and covered most of the popular tourist areas — Fort William, Glencoe, Loch Lomond, The Trossachs. We stayed at B and Bs, always in the same room with preferably a double or failing that twin beds. This never seemed to raise any problems but we wondered what the reactions would have been if two men wanted similar accommodation. At least they would have got some strange looks! I used the key twice during the week and we both enjoyed the resulting session.
We were blessed with excellent weather and really enjoyed our holiday but I sensed that Sheila was holding back something she didn't seem to want to talk about. When it was time for me to go home, we almost had a heated argument about leaving her locked in the belt which was only resolved by an urgent phone call to Alice who insisted that I return with the key.
Back home, I didn't need to wait long before my doubts were explained. Alice and I resumed our usual relationship and Sheila called frequently bemoaning her chastised state and wanting us to send the key. However, the calls became ever more frantic until eventually Sheila told us that she had found a nice boyfriend and she particularly wanted to get the belt off before things got too intimate!
We had no intention of complying but events took over anyway. It appeared that Sheila and her friend Peter had been canoodling on the sofa when he discovered the hard front of the belt. “Wow! Are you afraid I might take advantage of you? Do you often wear a chastity belt?” Sheila was forced to admit that she couldn't take it off because she didn't have the key and told Peter the whole story — right back to her putting one on her first husband and her later meeting with me. (See “Winter Break”). Sheila finished up dropping her panties for his inspection and noticed a large bulge in his trousers.
Peter was due a business visit to London and we arranged to meet him for an evening meal. Sheila had obviously told him about Alice and me so he knew that Alice was a lesbian and that I was not a genetic female. He certainly seemed to enjoy our company and paid me the compliment of saying he would never have guessed my true status.
We soon got around to discussing Sheila's chastity belt and Peter told us that the idea of forced chastity was not new to him. He had once owned a belt and used the services of a professional domme to hold his key. So we hatched a plan and suggested that we might - just might — send him a key in due course if he promised that he would keep Sheila locked up at all times except when he himself wanted sex with her. He thought this was a great idea and we suspected that Sheila herself would protest but eventually go along with it. Peter therefore returned to Scotland without a key but with the plan to put to Sheila. In reality, she would not have much of an option since we would keep the keys anyway if she objected.
We did not have to wait long for her reaction. She gave us a real earful on the phone and said she would wait for Peter to make the next move. He obviously did a few days later as by then Sheila had calmed down. Ironically as we already knew, the belt was like a drug to her. When she was locked into it, she wanted out, but as soon as she had had any relief, she couldn't wait to have it locked back on. So we sent him one of the keys and she and Peter happily became an “item”. They both keep us informed and live happily together! Two's company.
I gave up my own flat and moved in to live with Alice. By now my breasts had fully developed and I had a definitely female figure under the influence of Alice's hormone patches and the absence of my balls, so Alice made an appointment for me at the gender clinic in her hospital. That started the clock ticking on the long wait for re-assignment surgery.
To say Alice and I are “in love” in a starry eyed sense may be a slight exaggeration but I do love her dearly and we live very happily together. Two's company.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.
[email protected]

February 2013

What shall I wear today?

A fantasy by Johnny Cumlately

Vi and I are not doing anything special today - just a trip to the local supermarket for the weekly shopping. Its a cold mid-winter day, so I will choose something warm and androgynous.

I put on panties and an bra. I hav'n't needed Y fronts or boxers for many years. I need a bra these days since my breasts developed. I'm rather proud of them. They are quite small, only B cup, but they are real and they are all mine.

Woolly tights, a pair of pull-on cord slacks with drawstring waist and a thick sweater will keep the cold out. The slacks do not have fly openings - I have no need of them - and the sweater is loose enough not to emphasise my modest breasts. I don't put on any makeup and just run a comb through my unruly hair. At my age its sort of white, more ivory coloured, and fairly straight.

Dressed this way I might be either male or female. Who cares? Some of our friends still call me John and others Jean. The girls at the checkout at the supermarket call everyone "luv" anyway.

Violet and I have been married for 45 years and are both just turned 70. Its a very happy if somewhat unconventional marriage.

...........................................................

When we were first married, we were always short of money like most newly-weds. Vi worked as secretary to the junior partner of our local solicitors and I had a junior management job in a small subsidiary of a large international group of companies.

We were madly in love and took very opportunity to enjoy sex - sometimes several times a day. But we decided to defer having a family until we had saved enough for a deposit on our own house, which was clearly going to take a long time.

After about a year, the group offered me a twelve month secondment to one of their offshoots in the Far East. The money was very attractive and I hoped to return with enough for the deposit. I was reluctant to leave Vi but she insisted it would be for the best so I accepted.

Six months later, I was stuck in some god forsaken dump in the back end of nowhere. There was little to do other than work and I really missed Vi. I wanted a good fuck. One night, I got talking to a very attractive Asian girl in the local bar and - to cut a short storey even shorter - finished up spending the night with her. It was the only time when I have ever been unfaithful to Vi and it changed my life.

I learned afterwards that the girl regularly looked for a guy who would give her free night's lodging. Needless to say, I never saw her again.

A few weeks later, I needed to visit the doctor who diagnosed an early case of Syphilis, but was reassured that it would respond to a course of strong antibiotics. He arranged another appointment for three weeks later.

When I returned, he told me that the Syphilis had responded well to the treatment but then dropped a bombshell. He had routinely taken a blood sample and the results showed that I was now HIV positive. He said that I may never show any symptoms but that it would be advisable to refrain from intercourse in future and certainly to avoid having any children.

For several weeks I was in shock but gradually I turned to wondering how I could tell Vi. Eventually, I decided that I could not leave it until I arrived home and that I must write to give her time to react. I would say exactly what happened and plead forgiveness but also offer an undefended divorce. I had broken my marriage vows and must now pay a terrible price of lifelong chastity. I still loved her dearly but starting a family would no longer be an option. It took me about a week to draft the letter and summon the courage to post it.

Mail to Europe usually took up to a week, so I could not expect a reply in less than a fortnight. In the meantime, I threw myself into my work to try to forget it. It was actually three weeks later that an envelope arrived addressed in Vi's neat writing.

"My Dearest John,

How awful! At first I could not believe what you had written and all I could think about was that I never wanted to see you again.........................

However, I gradually calmed down. No matter what has happened, I do love you as much as ever and cannot wait for your return home. Our lovemaking was wonderful but sex and kids are not everything and if we have to go without both, then so be it - we married for better or for worse. If it had been me who was away, would I have been tempted? Who knows? ........"

The letter covered three pages and went on to give routine news from home almost as if nothing particular had happened. It ended:

"I shall always love you and I want to stay with you. Don't worry - we'll get over it somehow. Come home soon, my darling. I can't wait to see you again. All my love, Vi. xxxxx"

It was just as well that I had gone to my room to read it. I just collapsed into tears and sat down wondering if I had been dreaming.

................................................................

The last three months of my contract went by quickly and Vi was at the airport to meet me. We fell into one another's arms in a tearful reunion.

Neither of us dared speak about the problem for a couple of days but eventually it was Vi who spoke out. "I've been giving a lot of thought to how we are going to cope with our lives in future and I think it would be a sensible for both of us for you to wear a chastity belt - just in case we got a bit carried away. I've done some research and there is a guy in Germany who makes some beautiful belts which are very secure. I think we should go and see him. You have several weeks leave due to you and we could make it a bit of a holiday. I've spoken to him on the phone. He says that in view of our circumstances, he could make one specially in a week. You would have to be carefully measured and he would make sure that it was completely comfortable for long term wear before we came home."

"Wow! You really have been doing some homework! I can't imagine what it would be like to be locked into a chastity belt. I know that there are modern belts which are not like the ones knights of old were supposed to lock their ladies in when they went off to the crusades. But if that's what you want, then I'll wear one especially for you."

I didn't really know what I was agreeing to but two weeks later we arrived in a small town in Germany. We had decided to travel by car so that there should be no problem for me with airport security when we returned. We found Herr Schmidt's house fairly easily and he made us very welcome and encouraged us be informal and call him Ludwig. He showed us samples of his full range of belts which I found a bit awe-inspiring, but Vi seemed to know exactly which one I should wear. It was a she-male belt with a smooth frontal shield which would completely hide all my genitals and a tube behind it which would be just big enough to hold my flaccid penis. I was assured that I would not be able to touch it or to get even half an erection.

She asked him to measure me. This involved stripping while some very personal bits were measured and made me quite excited but I was soon put at ease by his professional approach. Vi handed over a pile of D Marks (this was before the change to the Euro) and we were asked to return in a four days time. Ludwig had booked a room at a nice small local hotel which we could use as a base to explore the locality.

I was apprehensive when we were back with Ludwig later in the week. I was shown how to put the belt on and I was locked into it for the first time. Vi said I looked very sexy in it! It fitted well. It felt very strange and tight but not uncomfortable. I was given advice about sanitation and general maintenance. No question now that I would be sitting down to pee! Ludwig suggested that he should keep the keys while we were still in Germany and visit him again before returning to the UK. I spent a couple of sleepless nights - particularly due to nocturnal (attempted) erections - but was getting used to it before our final visit. Ludwig wished me luck before handing the two keys to Vi with a warning that there were no more copies!

........................................................

Back home, Vi gave me a packet of white panties and some liners "because you won't need boxers or Y fronts anymore" and I gradually learned to cope. She lodged one of the keys in her bank (to which I did not have access) and I never discovered where she kept the other one.

Of necessity, we tended to keep each other at arms' length as the aids virus can be transmitted in other ways than sexual contact but, occasionally, Vi would tease my nipples which would immediately cause my penis to try to grow. But the narrow tube was like a vice. I just loved the feeling!

Vi would unlock me once a month so that the belt could be thoroughly cleaned while I enjoyed a bath but she locked it on again immediately afterwards.

She also bought me several pairs of ladies pull-on trousers for casual wear which I had to admit I found nice and convenient, since I had to drop my trousers to visit the toilet. On the odd occasions when I went out with them on, no-one seemed to notice, although I was very conscious of the lack on a fly opening.

Our finances had improved considerably. We now had a nice house and a new car. My work while away had earned me promotion and a generous salary and Vi had become secretary and PA to the senior partner in the law firm. I guess we qualified as "DINKIES" - Double Income No Kids - and whilst we regretted not being able to have a family, we enjoyed our chaste life together. Over the years, the belt became part of me. I got to take it for granted and just hoped that none of my colleagues in the office noticed that I never used a urinal! It was totally invisible under normal clothes but I did need to avoid wearing bathing trunks when on holiday.

......................................................

I was surprised one day a few years later, when Vi said to me "I know you manage very well with that belt, but perhaps we should consider a more radical solution to our problem."

"Radical solution? What have you in mind?" I asked remembering that Vi had been the one who had done all the research on chastity belts.

"Well, bearing in mind that you are going to have to wear it for ever, what if something was done which would make it redundant?"

"Go on! Tell me what you have already decided!"

"You would have to go abroad for the operation, but there are surgeons who would carry out a total penectomy for an appropriately large sum of money."

"You mean, have my cock and balls cut off?"

"Yes. They would leave you with a smooth crotch with just a small scar which would soon be covered by your pubic hair and they would create a small pee hole between your legs."

"Sounds as if you've been doing a lot of homework again. I must admit that getting rid of the belt has it's attractions. Where would we have to go and how much will it cost?"

"There's a man in Mexico, recently retired from general practice after a slightly shady career, who nevertheless still has an excellent reputation for the quality of his work and he has his own clinic. As to the cost, we can now afford it!"

And so it was that a few weeks later, we boarded a flight to Acapulco. I was very apprehensive but relieved that I would soon be able to go through airport security without embarrassment. I had got used to saying that I wore a metal belt for medical reasons and, to be fair, seldom had to explain further.

We took a taxi to the clinic which was in a posh residential district of the city. Mr Shapino proved charming - as well he might considering how much we were paying! He said it was not his policy to pry into patient's motives. If someone felt the need for his surgery and was willing to invest a large sum, then they must have given it a lot of thought and know what they were doing. We had warned him that I had been diagnosed HIV positive so that he and his staff could take any necessary precautions.

He explained to me exactly what the operation involved. I would have to stay in his clinic for about a week and must then remain in Acapulco for another two weeks so that he could check that I had healed properly. During this time, I would wear a catheter so as to ensure that the urethra was draining and that I could control my bladder. Apart from the inevitable pain associated with a surgical procedure, I would experience discomfort for a time. He said he had carried out the operation about twenty times and had never had any problems. In his experience, the wound should heal quickly.

I would have to take male hormone pills for the rest of my life as the body would no longer produce the correct balance. If I failed to do this, I would be likely to develop female characteristics such as enlarged breasts.

He asked me to sign a consent form which set out all this is detail before taking some blood samples and initial tests. He suggested we adjourn to the hotel where Vi had booked a double room and that I should report to the clinic the next morning. He gave me some tablets to take overnight. The operation would be carried out the following afternoon.

I spent a sleepless night hoping that we had made the right decision and at 9.00 the next morning Vi came with me to the clinic and handed over the key to the belt - I was not to be allowed the pleasure of removing it myself! It would be removed once the general anaesthetic had taken effect.

As Mr Shapino had predicted, I came to later feeling very drowsy but not in any real pain. I was aware of bandages but still had little feeling amidships. The belt had gone! There was constant nursing attention and in a couple of days I was able to get out to walk around the ward, albeit in some discomfort.

The first time the dressings were changed, the nurses allowed me to take a quick look. "You're doing fine!" Where my "equipment" had been, there was now just a neat wound held together with stitches, which they said would be removed in another couple of days. Is that really me?

The next day, when the dressings were changed, Vi was with me. "That looks great! Now you really are half female!" Had Vi been leading me that way for years?

Just two weeks later, Vi and I paid our last visit to Mr Shapino. He confirmed that the operation had gone exactly as expected and told me not to expect any complications. The catheter had been removed a few days earlier and my bladder control should soon return to normal. I would have to ensure that my new pee hole was regularly dilated for the next few weeks. He handed me a generous quantity of hormone pills and a prescription for further supplies when I got home. I handed the pills to Vi who thereafter always looked after them for me and ensured I remembered my daily doses.

"There is one thing which I should tell you. The blood test which was done before the operation showed no sign of HIV. I can only conclude that the tests which you had originally were in some way contaminated. Anyway, I wish you luck. I'm sure you will be happy with your new status as it is clear to me that it was what you and your wife most desired."

We shook hands and almost fell out of his room trying to take in the impact of what he had just told us. Had I really endured several years of enforced chastity and just become a eunuch because of some minor problem in a laboratory in the Far East?

...............................................................

Back home, the priority was to get another blood test to confirm what Mr Shapino had told us. I did not want the embarrassment of explaining to my local doctor what I had just undergone - though he was going to find out sometime - but fortunately managed to spin a line to the nurse about having been abroad and being worried about Aids.

A few days later, a small envelope fell through the letterbox.

"I am pleased to tell you ......................."

Vi and I enjoyed the most passionate kiss we had had since I went off to the Far East. "Shall I tell you a secret? I've often dreamed of having a lesbian affair and since you're partly female now, maybe that dream will come true!" As usual, Vi was way ahead of me. I would have to learn some new tricks to make up for my new lack of equipment!

I was soon completely back to normal, that is as far as I would ever be "normal" in future and I was able to start to take my new status as a eunuch for granted. After all it was not so different from being locked in the belt 24/7. Vi seemed more aware of it than I was.

"You know you really should explore the feminine side of your character more now that you are no longer wholly male. I think I'll buy you some nice things to wear, at least around the house when we are alone." I wasn't sure about that but at least she intended to keep it just between the two of us.

A parcel arrived a few days later containing a lovely long skirt, a jumper, a bra and some bra forms and Vi immediately wanted a trying-on session. I admitted that I liked her choice but sensed that it was only the beginning. I soon would also be the proud owner of wigs, makeup, tights, shoes and lots of other feminine requirements.

Thus began many years of a new and happy life with Vi. Not only did she teach me about clothes and makeup but she also taught me how to satisfy her considerable sexual appetite. We used several sex toys but the dildo I wore was her favourite. I learnt that I could share her orgasms in spite of my lack of a penis and that I could achieve emotional release to match her climaxes.

I dressed as Jean most days when we were at home and we went on holiday as sisters. Only a very few of our closest friends knew my secret.

Some years later, I began to notice small but significant physical changes. My already sensitive nipples became enlarged and almost painful. I put on weight with fat around my hips. My hair started to get softer. When I told Vi, she said "Oh! Good! Its working!"

"What's working?"

"I didn't want you to know until now, but you were doing so well as a female, I wanted you to go further. For the last three months I have switched your male hormone pills for female. With any luck you should soon grow a nice pair of proper boobs instead of having to wear those falsies."

As usual Vi had taken the decision for me and it was too late now to go back. And anyway, it had occurred to me how much I would like a more female figure. After about six months, I was able to throw out the falsies and enjoy my own real boobs. They are quite petite but nicely shaped and comfortably fill a B cup bra. I grew my hair longer and had it styled so that with a quick brush, it could be either shaggy male or attractively female. I no longer needed to bother with wigs.

With our silver wedding coming up, we decided it was time for me to come out properly. We invited about 30 friends. Apart from the few who knew, the reactions of the others to seeing me in full party outfit - long sleeveless dress with full skirt and bodice with obviously real contents, high heels, modest makeup (I never overdo that) and a nice hairdo - ranged from surprise to envy, particularly from a couple of men friends.

That was five years ago. Since then, Jean has led an active social life, but John is still around from time to time, particularly for cold winter shopping trips.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

January 2009

[email protected]

What's in a name?

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Ann, Barbara, Christine, Delia, … … … Xanthe, Yvonne, Zoe. I've been a closet cross dresser for many years and never bothered to adopt a femme name. But now I'm intending to come out and can't go out with boobs and a dress and still call myself Johnny. You would think choosing a name would be easy but I've been through the alphabet twice already and can't find one which I feel fits my new self.

Most of us stay with the names (and gender!) given us by our parents, even if we think they didn't do a good job choosing them! And my parents would never have thought their little boy would want a girl's name.

Let's have another go! Alice, Betty, Celia, Dorothy … … … O dear, I've run out of X, Y and Z. Last time I thought I had invented Xanthe, but now I've seen it in a newspaper. And I don't want anything that begins with J for Johnny. I never realised just how many names begin with J. Jane, June, Jean, Jennifer, Julia, — lots lots more and I don't want any of them.

I'm 48 now, so I can't identify with being young and twenty. Should sound a bit more mature.

I started dressing when I was a teenager. I “borrowed” some of my older sister's things. I just loved the feel of silk panties. And of course she found me out.

“Have you been rummaging through my things again, Johnny?”

My red face gave her the answer. She held up the panties I had worn and I nodded. But I need not have worried.

“Next time, please just ask! If you feel like that, I'll find you something suitable.”

Sue is three years older than me and to my surprise, seemed to understand. She has kept my secret ever since and actually encouraged me. I think she looked it up on the internet and probably understands it better than I do. Words always fail me when I try to explain why I do it. It's just a strong urge, deep down, which keeps on surfacing.

Not long after that, our parents went away for the weekend to visit friends and left Sue in charge at home. “Well, Johnny, this is your big opportunity to find out what it's like being a girl. That's what you want, isn't it? Mum and Dad won't be home till Monday. Go and have a shower — and take this and use it all over.”

“This” was a spray tube of Nair and a few minutes later all my body hair from the neck down had disappeared down the drain. Sue put out things for me to wear. Silk panties, a bra (which was stuffed with old socks — it would be some years before I bought some proper breast forms), a white blouse which left the bra clearly visible, tights and a shortish tartan skirt. Her shoes were all too small for me, but she found sandals with an adjustable back strap and two inch heels. I was still young enough not to have much facial hair and Sue set about making me up with a good layer of foundation. By the time she'd finished and found a simple wig I could hardly believe who I saw in the mirror.

We spent the weekend together as sisters but did not venture out. That was the first time I “dressed” and a time I will never forget. It simply felt right for me and was to be the first of many.

In due course, Sue got married and left home. By that time I had a small collection of my own clothes hidden away but I greatly missed her company, advice and practical help. Whenever Mum and Dad were out or away, I would immediately dress up but I always found make up difficult. And, of course, I had to make sure it was all removed before they came home.

My parents knew nothing about it and I don't think they ever had any idea. Sadly, they both died some years ago. Dad had a heart attack and Mum seemed never to get over losing him and only outlived him by a few months. They left a substantial sum and the family home to me and I have lived there ever since. I am financially independent.

Sue's marriage did not prove a happy one and ended in divorce. Fortunately, there were no children and she moved back into the family home with me. Which was fine for me! Whenever we had a day or two with nothing in our diaries, we lived as sisters. My wardrobe grew. And even when not “dressed” I preferred to wear girls underwear and slacks, either pull-on or with a side zip. I wore them out and about and never once detected anyone noticing the difference. For me, they were a private symbol of my other self — my alter ego.

Now years later, Sue has decided that I must “come out”. She thinks we should both have more social life and wants me to be a cousin with whom she can meet her friends.

As a first outing, she has bought tickets for the opera. “La Traviata” is a story about a girl who eventually dies of consumption (not quite sure what that was but the Victorians usually found it fatal). I had tears running down at the end and Sue had to do some emergency repairs. The interval was a bit nerve-wracking. Long queue for the “Ladies” and a lot of casual chit chat. I was very glad of Sue's company. Why do architects not realise that girls take a lot longer and always redo their makeup?

And my name? After much thought, I chose either Ruby or Wendy. They're both definitely girls' names. I had given in to temptation and bought a beautiful full length maroon evening gown which I saw in a second hand shop. Sue says I look fabulous in it. So the choice is obvious. Ruby it will be and I guess even more time spent dressed.

Ruby truly is my alter ego.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.
August 2012

[email protected]

Whose trousers?

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

“Do you always wear girl's trousers?”

The question came out of the blue. Bob turned to face the questioner and paused before answering “Not always. But quite often.”

….....................................................................

Bob's meeting had finished early and he had booked into the large modern city centre hotel. It could have been any hotel in any city in the world. They all look much the same, these days. He had spent an hour in his room writing up his notes and making a couple of phone calls before changing and going to have a drink in the bar. He was standing at the bar enjoying a nice cold pint of lager.

“Do you always wear girl's trousers?”

The girl who asked the question was standing quite close to him and had just ordered her drink. He guessed she was between 35 and 40. Long auburn hair flowed down over her shoulders. She was dressed in a grey pinstripe trouser suit and heels which made her legs look very long. A white blouse with a dark red scarf was tied loosely round her neck. It would probably be described as power dressing but actually the masculine look made her attractively feminine.

“Not always. But quite often.” Bob had no wish to elaborate but added “I like to get into something casual when I change out of my business suit.”

He waited for the obvious question but was relieved when she said “I had a boyfriend once who liked to wear my panties. Lots of blokes seem to enjoy that sort of thing.”

Bob had changed into a pair of pull-on beige slacks with a draw string waist and a brown turtle neck sweater. He was surprised that anyone would notice.

The girl then introduced herself as Liz and changed the subject by commenting on the hotel and her work. She said she represented a well known clothes manufacturer and had been visiting an important customer. Her work meant that she always took particular notice of what people were wearing.

They had been chatting for a few minutes when a waiter approached them with menus. “Will Madam be dining tonight? Sir?” He obviously assumed that they were together.

Bob hated dining alone and seized the opportunity to ask if Liz would like to join him.

“Yes, please. That will be a welcome change from being put at a single table in a corner where the staff seldom take much notice of you. And you can tell me more about my question, later” she said smiling.

Bob knew he would not be able to dodge more questions but in the meantime would at least have some pleasant female company. They talked about lots of things and discovered they had quite a lot in common. They both lived in the same town and neither was currently in a relationship. They enjoyed a leisurely meal and it was not until they had adjourned to the lounge for coffee that Liz said “Come on! Tell me more about your choice of trousers. Are you wearing panties under them?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a cross dresser, then?”

“Not completely, but I have experimented once or twice.”

“This is getting interesting! Tell me what else you are wearing right now, that I cannot see.”

“That would be telling!”

“Go on. We're strangers. You can trust me.”

“I like to make sure that my male bits are safely tucked away out of sight and out of touch, so I wear a chastity belt. Panties and girl's trousers without fly openings are a logical choice.”

“A chastity belt? Does that mean that you can't take it off? Does someone else keep the key? Or do you have a key yourself?”

“Unfortunately, I don't have anyone else to hold the key but I can't take it off right now, even if I wanted to, because I've left the key back home.”

“So there is no way you could rape me, even if you had a mind to. Oh! I get it! You can't even jack off! That must be very frustrating.”

“That's the way I like it.”

“Well, I said we're strangers. But we're getting to know one another and we've already discovered we live in the same town, so I guess we should see more of one another.”

Bob had begun to wonder where the conversation was going but now he guessed that Liz might be leading up the holding his key. The thought was exciting but frightening as well.

However, Liz stood up and said “I don't know about you, but I have work to do tomorrow so I'm going to call it a day.” She handed Bob her card. “Its my business card but its got my home phone and email on the back. I have a feeling I'll be hearing from you! Thanks for a fascinating evening. Good night!”

Bob had a feeling that Liz was right!

…..................................................................

Four days later, when Bob had been back home for two days, he picked up the phone and dialled Liz's number. “Hello!”

“Hi! Liz. Its Bob here. I was wondering whether we could meet up. I'd be happy to take you out for a meal, if that's what you’d like.”

“I was wondering when you would call. Yes. I'd love to do that.”

“Great! How about Arturo's Bistro?”

“OK. That's only two blocks from where I live. So that's fine.”

“Tomorrow. 7 o'clock?”

“Thank you. See you there. And come back to my place for coffee. Make sure you are suitably but casually dressed and bring the keys. 'Bye.”

Bob had a pair of women's pull-on draw cord denim jeans which he reckoned fitted the description of suitable and casual. The advert in the catalogue described them as “the most comfortable jeans you'll ever wear” and he agreed. He had had to find the most suitable size by trial and error and in this case 14 (GB) proved right even though he had a 36 waist. But pull-ons had to go over a girls hips anyway. They had prominent seams down the front of the legs which he had never seen on men's jeans.

The instruction to bring the keys slightly surprised him because the possibility of Liz acting as key holder had not been specifically mentioned. But of course he would comply.

So the following evening saw him wearing these jeans and a light weight pale blue sweater. He got to the bistro just before 7 and Liz arrived almost immediately afterwards wearing designer jeans, heels and a sweater which hugged her breasts. She looked super!

She looked Bob up and down and nodded approval. “Yes. They are obviously women's jeans but they suit you well in view of what I already know.”

They enjoyed the meal and then walked to Liz's spacious first floor flat where she had already put out a tray with coffee cups. She made the coffee and they had finished drinking it before Liz finally said “Now hand over the keys and let me inspect my goods!”

Bob had never actually asked her to be his key holder but Liz had clearly taken it as read.

He handed over the keys and Liz undid the draw cord and eased the jeans down until they rested round his ankles. The panties followed so that his chastity belt was exposed for inspection.

“Wow! That's awesome! And you have actually chosen to wear that?”

“Yes. I tried another type and then made one or two myself but this is what I always wanted. It's a shemale belt made by a company called Neosteel in Germany. It cost me an arm and a leg.”

“I don't know about an arm and a leg but now you've given me the keys, its going you cost you your cock and balls. I'm getting wet just thinking about having total control over you. Don't even think about when I might get around to unlocking it.”

She ran her fingers over the polished front of the belt, admiring its quality. Of course, Bob couldn't feel that but he felt his cock trying to respond.

“You know I work for a clothing manufacturer. I'm going to get you some more clothes which will be even more suitable for someone with no cock. And you'll come to wish you had real boobs to go with them. I need to take your measurements to ensure a proper fit.”

She got a tape measure and expertly measured his chest, waist, hips, inside leg and several more places while he stood in front of this gorgeous girl who he scarcely knew but to whom he had already given charge of his most intimate bits. “Right! I'll let you know when I'm ready. In the meantime, just remember that I'm in charge and its no good whining if you get frustrated. If you do that, I shall just throw away the keys and have nothing more to do with you. Thanks for the meal. Time you went home.”

Bob was a bit taken aback by this abrupt change in her attitude as she showed him out.

…........................................................

He had to wait more than a week before Liz contacted him. For the first time, he was locked into his belt with no means of escape. He found it exciting and, as a result, very frustrating.

Eventually, his phone rang. “Hi! Bob, its Liz. Listen carefully. Come to my flat tomorrow, Friday, at exactly 7 o'clock. Make sure you've shaved all your body hair. I've got some surprises for you.” Click! The line went dead.

Bob wasn't quite sure what to make of the instruction to shave. It wasn't something he usually did but the next afternoon he left work early and called at the chemist on his way home. He bought a tube of Nair hair remover which he thought would be better than risking cutting himself with a razor. He went in the shower and liberally coated himself with it. He didn't have much hair on his chest but he included that as well. He couldn't remove his pubic hair which was covered by the belt. After some minutes, he turned on the shower and watched all his body hair disappear down the plug hole. It made him feel delightfully clean and fresh.

At 7 o'clock prompt, he rang the door bell for Liz's flat.

She answered the door wearing a T shirt, jeans and flipflops. “Come on in. Glad to see you in those nice jeans again, but its time to give you a complete makeover. I promised you some new clothes and I think you may be surprised but pleased. However, I must remind you - although its probably not necessary - that I'm in charge. I expect you to obey my instructions implicitly. We have the whole weekend and by Sunday night you'll forget you were ever male.” She took him into what appeared to be her spare bedroom. “Now strip off — right down to your chastity belt.”

There were some obviously brand new clothes laid out on the bed. Bob immediately noticed that they were all girl's clothing and they confirmed his suspicions as to what was in store. He had in the past experimented briefly with cross dressing but without help his efforts had always fallen short and he had therefore never ventured out dressed.

Liz noted the lack of hairs and nodded approval. “First of all, I've bought you some breast forms which are adhesive backed so I'm going to attach those first. Then I'm going to paint your finger and toe nails.” The breasts were soon fixed and looked very realistic and permanent, particularly as Liz added some extra adhesive. And his nails were painted a pleasant shade of dark red. Not too garish but certainly not a natural nail colour.

Next, she selected a suspender belt which she fastened around his waist and then handed him a pair of “nude” sheer nylon stockings. She showed him how to put them on without laddering and attached them to the suspenders. His painted toe nails were clearly visible thought the sheer material and he was amazed at the feel of the stockings over his hairless legs and how the bare bit at the top of his legs made him feel very vulnerable.

A bra and pantie set followed. They were a very flimsy material and the panties scarcely covered his chastity belt. But the B cup bra seemed a welcome asset to support his new breasts.

By now, it was time to add a wig and make up. Liz was ready with a brunette wig with quite short hair which curled in at the neck and then set about using her make up kit. Bob lost track of which items she used and Liz said “Next time, I'm going to teach you how to do this yourself.” After she had added eye-liner and lipstick, she finally pronounced Bob ready to see his — or rather her — new self. He — She — saw an attractive woman dressed only in bra, panties and stockings. His belt ensured that there was no trace of a bulge amidships.

“You're my girl friend Bobby now, short for Roberta and we're going to have a lot of fun. Are you happy?” asked Liz.

“Yes. Its a strange feeling but it somehow feels right. It's something I've always had a secret longing to try.”

“That's good. One advantage of working for a clothing company is that I can borrow things on a sale or return basis. That large pile of clothes are for you to try on and see what works and what doesn't.”

They spent the next couple of hours trying on various garments. There were several dresses. Those with a plunge neckline didn't work because Bobby had no natural cleavage. But there was a pretty print dress with short sleeves and a round neck. It came just above her knees and looked super with two inch strappy sandals. Cropped jeans also looked good with a plain white T shirt. And Bobby loved a pair of black slacks which had a side zip and a smooth front which would have shown a bulge if she had had one. They looked good with a bright multi-coloured blouse. Lots more — good and not so good. Bobby enjoyed every minute of it.

“OK. That's enough for now. I'll get you a sandwich and coffee before bedtime. Incidentally, don't imagine that staying here overnight might lead to you getting unlocked. You're sleeping here in the spare room. Tomorrow, you've got to practice being female!”

….................................................

Bobby spent a rather restless night but eventually fell asleep until she was wakened by Liz with a cup of tea. “Come on, sleepy head! Time for my new girl friend to wake up and get moving. We're invited to Ros for coffee this morning. I'm hoping to have her approval of my new protégée.”

“You mean I'm going out already?”

“Yes. I've known Ros for a long time. She has an interesting history.”

They had a leisurely breakfast and it was soon time to go out. Liz helped Bobby choose some black leggings with some brown knee-length leather boots with two inch heels. “The boots should help to support your ankles and you'll soon get used to the heels.” She also wore a long loose top which at least partially covered the plain front of the leggings. Bobby loved the way the leggings fitted so tightly. Liz helped Bobby with her make up, which was just as well, because Bobby was going to need a lot of practice with it.

Bobby was glad that the walk to Ros's place was quite short as she tried to get used to wearing heels. She was a little surprised by the woman who greeted them. Ros was all of six feet tall in her stockinged feet. She had long flowing hair and a nice figure but Bobby thought her hands rather large. Her voice was a low contralto and was that an adam's apple?

All was explained when Ros told Bobby that she was transgendered and had come out about ten years previously. Liz thought that meeting her would give Bobby more confidence. Liz had known Ros way back when she was still known as Peter and Ros said how much she had appreciated Liz's help and support when she first came out as Ros. Bobby wondered whether Liz was now expecting her to follow the same path. Although Bob (Bobby) was quite certain that he was “merely” a transvestite who just loved wearing womens' clothes, he found meeting Ros fascinating and her comments were definitely helpful. He hoped they would meet again.

The rest of that day turned out wet and Liz suggested they stay in and watch a movie. She had quite a large library of DVDs and chose one which she described as a “weepy”. Girls need to let their emotions go sometimes and Bobby did indeed need a handkerchief at the end. But then Liz found another DVD called “Chaste Nuns!”. It was a blue movie which featured graphic descriptions of lesbian sex. “If you're going to be a woman, you'd better find out more about what turns us on.”

They were sitting beside one another on the sofa and Bobby could not help noticing that Liz had a hand down her own jeans. When it was over, Liz said “Come on. Let's see how much you've learned from that!” and led the way into her bedroom which featured a large double bed.

A few minutes later, Bobby found herself naked except for the belt and Liz strapping a large dildo on her. Liz got Bobby to undress her - jeans, top, bra, panties - until they both fell on the bed in each others' arms. They slowly explored each others' bodies, exchanging deep kisses. Liz fondled the dildo and cupped Bobby's breasts as if they were real before easing the dildo into her pussy. As Bobby gently worked the dildo and teased Liz's nipples, Liz continued to play with Bobby's “breasts”. Bobby was left in no doubt when Liz came, not once, but several times, with noisy screams. Then she turned over and was instantly fast asleep.

Bobby, however, was wide awake and quietly went to the bed in the spare room. As far as she was concerned, although she was very turned on, her “breasts” covered her real nipples and the belt prevented any erection, so that she had experienced little or no satisfaction. And as Bob, he now badly wanted to masturbate but couldn't.

Before she finally nodded off, it occurred to her that Liz might get her kicks from liaisons with trans-sexuals. Was that her relationship with Ros? Had Ros had surgery? Did she still have a cock? Did that make Liz a lesbian?

…..................................................

Once again, Liz woke Bobby with a welcome cup of tea. Neither of them made any reference to last night's activities but Liz said that Bobby needed more lessons in makeup. She also had to practise with heels and softening her voice. Ros had said she would come round and later they would go to a club.

This time, Bobby noted that there was clearly something between Liz and Ros, especially when Ros said something which suggested she knew what had been going on the previous night. By mid afternoon, it was time to dress up to go out. Bobby wore black stockings with the suspender belt but this time chose a “little black dress” with short sleeves with which she wore a red chiffon scarf, red belt and red shoes with three inch heels. With her dark wig and help with makeup she looked super — very feminine. Liz and Ros were both dressed up, Liz in back trousers with a sequined top and Ros in a powder blue trouser suit which, although very feminine in colour, seemed to over-emphasise her height. Ros ordered a taxi.

It was a fairly short ride to a large suburban house. There appeared to be about 20 girls there — except that some of them weren't girls. Liz explained that it was a select group of people who met once a month, mostly trannies or trans-gendered and some had wives or girl friends with them. Liz introduced Bobby, saying it was her first real outing.

Bobby was relieved to find that the meeting was fairly low-key — mostly just girly chit-chat. But she met several “girls” whose experiences were similar to her own and she hoped there would be opportunities to attend the club in future.

They returned to Liz's flat before midnight in time for Bobby to catch a bus home as Bob had to go to work the next morning. Liz refused to let Bobby change but fortunately it was a warm night. Waiting at the bus stop, she felt very vulnerable but made it home without incident.

However, when Bob came to undress, he realised that he didn't know what adhesive Liz had used for the false breasts which were very firmly attached. Standing naked in the bedroom, he saw that with boobs and his belt creating an apparently smooth crotch, he looked and still felt female. He couldn't even remove all the traces of make up. How was he going to dress for work tomorrow? He decided he couldn't and that he would call in sick and say he had a dose of gynecomastia. If he mumbled the word quickly, he doubted whether anyone would understand and know that it was the medical term for men having swelling breasts! He had a disturbed night, frustrated that he could not masturbate nor even play with his nipples. However, if pushed, he might admit that he found that frustation pleasurable.

......................................................................

Next morning, he tried to phone Liz but there was no answer on her home phone. She did answer her mobile, however. “Sorry, Bobby, can't talk now. I'm with a colleague and we're just about to board a plane to Milan. Should be home on Friday. See you then.” She rang off. No work for Bob that week!

Then he had an idea. He found Ros's number and rang her. After he had explained his problem, Ros agreed to come over on condition that she was visiting Bobby and not Bob. She would bring make up and some spare clothes. Later that day, she arrived carrying a suitcase.

“Hello, Bobby. I had a feeling I would be seeing you again soon. I don't know what adhesive Liz used either, so I guess you're going to have those nice boobs for the next few days. So you might as well make the best of it. I've brought some of my stuff which should fit you — just casual things — slacks, a skirt, tops, sweater and a cardigan.”

Ros helped Bobby with make up and Bobby chose some beige slacks and a sweater. The slacks had a “wrong side” front zip whereas all her own slacks were either pull ons or side zip. They were an excellent fit.

They spent the evening chatting and Bobby learned a lot about Ros. As Peter, she had never really thought she was any other than male, although as a teenager, she had tried to avoid the rough and tumble of boy's games and tended to identify with the girls. Later, when all his friends started dating, he realised that he was not attracted to girls sexually but loved the shape of their bodies and the clothes they wore. He wanted to be one! Gradually, this thought became an over-riding passion. He bought some girls' clothes and started to wear them in private.

And that's how he came to meet Liz. He answered a discretely worded advert on a contact page. “Female seeks male company with mutual interest in clothing and TV.” Peter had wondered whether there was a hidden meaning and was not disappointed. With Liz's help he learned a lot about clothes and make up and soon had the confidence to venture out dressed. He started to take hormones and had his balls removed by a surgeon abroad. It was not long before his breasts developed and he finally came out as Ros.

Bobby had held back about asking the inevitable question but Ros answered it anyway. “No. I've not had the operation so I've still got a small cock. But that doesn't worry me. I can live with it rather than undergo major surgery.”

Ros returned home after insisting that Bobby visited her next day. That would mean she would have to travel on the bus in broad daylight.

….....................................................

Bobby slept well and woke feeling confident and positive. After all, hadn't Bob dreamt about being dressed as a girl and going out feeling that she really looked like one? Now she had no choice — at least not until Liz returned from Italy and even then it would depend entirely on what Liz wanted Bobby to do. And in the meantime, she could enjoy Ros's company and advice.

She spent a long time on her make up. It was the first time she had had to do it alone and it had to be perfect. Then she put on her favourite pull-on jeans and teamed them with a white T shirt which emphasised her boobs, a loose jacket, a pair of ankle boots and a bead necklace. Admiring herself in the mirror, she left a fairly typical modern girl. The bus ride was uneventful and Ros expressed her approval when she opened the door. “Wow! You've done well! Come on in.”

Later, Ros said “You seem to be enjoying yourself. Have you given any thought to your future? I mean — are you happy just being a transvestite or is this leading to something more permanent?”

“I don't know. It's all happened rather quickly since I gave Liz the keys to my chastity belt. And I know that she has a thing about feminisation. Maybe that's one reason why she was so willing to help you. I think she'd get a kick out of turning me into a woman.”

“I know she would. But what about you? How do you feel?”

“Right now, I feel great. Liberated from conventional men's things. I don't think I'm trans-gendered, just a transvestite but I imagine spending more and more time dressed female.”

“I know just how you feel. I started like that but it gradually became a 24/7/365 thing, especially when I started on hormones. And now I've come out and transitioned, I wouldn't ever want to revert to my former self. But I warn you, its not an easy path to follow. Society isn't ready to accept people like me too readily.”

“I guess I'm not going to have a lot of choice when Liz gets back. After all, she literally holds the key to my future.”

Ros nodded. “Guess so!”

….........................................................

Liz returned on the Friday afternoon and invited Bobby round that evening. “Hello! I can see that Ros has been giving you good tuition.”

“Yes. I could hardly go to work with these -” she put her hands under her boobs “ - so I had to stay at home. Ros and I have spent quite a lot of time together this week and had several long chats. But I hope I can get back to normal as Bob next week. I have to earn my living.”

“Ah! Yes! You didn't have the right solvent, did you? We'll have to see about that! Anyway, you'll definitely be keeping those nice boobs for the weekend. And your chastity!” Bobby had expected that reaction and was not surprised. Neither was she disappointed but sincerely hoped that Liz would relent before Monday. Nevertheless, she was quite looking forward to the weekend with Liz.

That night, she was shown into Liz's bed who enjoyed the same dildo session as the previous week leaving Bobby once again without relief. And again, Liz just fell asleep leaving Bobby to spend the rest of the night in the spare bed.

Saturday night was different. Ros stayed with them and Liz had set up a three-some. Actually, it wasn't really a threesome as Bobby found herself more of a spectator as Liz and Ros enjoyed quite a steamy session. She discovered that Ros's small cock was still functional!

They had a lie in on Sunday morning and after lunch, Liz announced that it was time to check on Bobby's chastity belt. Before Bobby realised what was happening, Liz and Ros had stripped her down to bra and panties, tied her hands behind her and added a blindfold. They told her that they would start by milking her and she felt a probe going up her backside and was relieved to find it a pleasant sensation although well short of a full erection and ejaculation. Ros held a small glass under her belt and soon reported a stream of cum.

Liz then unlocked the belt and sponged her clean. Bobby felt something cold applied to her cock which was still limp when Liz slid it into it's tube before putting the belt back on and locking it. “You didn't think I was going to leave you unlocked, did you? And even if you weren't locked up, you won't be getting the tube off any time soon.”

“What have you done with it?”

“I've used some of the adhesive that's been holding your boobs in place.”

“I'm hoping that you can get my boobs off. I've really got to go to work in the morning and I can't go with these.” She held her hands under them and merely succeeded in looking as though she was proud of them.

“Maybe. Wait and see.”

Bobby had to wait until the evening before Liz said “You've been very patient. Now we'll see if this solvent stuff works. The adhesive has certainly proved good and held you for over a week.” She produced a tube of a colourless goo and applied it to the top of one of Bobby's breasts and tried to work it under the plastic with no success. “Nothing doing! It looks as though you're going to have to stay female a bit longer. I'll have to ring up the manufacturers for help and they won't be open until tomorrow.”

“Here, let me read the instructions. No. It says here put the solvent under the false breast and leave for an hour. OMG! What if it doesn't work?”

“That will be too bad. You'll have to tell your employers you're having a sex change.”

“But I'm not! OK. I love dressing up as a girl but that doesn't mean permanently!”

To Bobby's huge relief, an hour later the breasts came loose. But even then, Liz and Ros had not finished with her. Where the false breasts had been, her nipples were now extra tender and they made her endure having them teased so that Bobby's cock almost burst out of the chastity tube.

Finally, they relented and allowed Bobby to become Bob again. But he still wore his favourite jeans to go home and now found it odd not to have the weight of his breasts on his chest. And of course, he was still locked in his chastity tube.

….................................................

He arrived at work the next morning only to find the personnel manager wanting to know more about what had been wrong with him. It seemed that they had heard what he had said about having gynecomastia and had discovered what it was. Bob had a very red face as he assured them “it was just a minor swelling but the doctor had been concerned lest it might prove to be more permanent.”

“Like changing sex?”

Bob's hesitation suggested that the question might have been rather close to home. “No. Not really. I'm not taking hormones, if that's what you mean.”

Fortunately, the manager let it rest at that. “Anyway, we're glad to see you back at work. If there is any problem you want to talk about, don't hesitate to come and see me.” Bob wondered whether the manager suspected that Bob's “illness” was not all it seemed and kicked himself for mentioning gynecomastia in the first place. Perhaps he should just have said he had flu. But he thought it likely that with Liz in charge, there might be problems in future.

That night, he thought long and hard about where things were going. His long held wish to have a keyholder had come home with a vengance. And he knew that he would not be giving up the idea of cross dressing. He felt sure that it would not be long before he had breasts again and would enjoy wearing them. And as for girl's trousers, he had already changed into his favourite pull-ons when he got home from work.

Liz phoned. She wanted to know how Bob had got on in work and Bob told her about his interview with the manager. “It looks like he suspects that there is more to your absense than you've admitted and he's not far wrong. Just wait till I've finished with you. You'll have a lot more to explain. And are you wearing girl's trousers now?”

“Of course!”

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

[email protected]

November 2013.

Winter break. Part 1.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

I was due a few days holiday to be taken before the end of the year. It was already mid November and the nights had closed in. I did not want to fly off to foreign parts and the papers were full of adverts for short winter breaks. A city rather than a remote rural hotel made more sense and I chose Newcastle because I had never been there and it seemed to offer plenty to do and see even if the weather was wet and cold. I booked a good city centre hotel and decided to travel up by train.

I had always had a problem with excessive masturbation and choose to wear a chastity belt. It is a beautiful SheMale belt which nicely hides my male bits and cost me a bomb! I did not have a keyholder and usually left the keys in some fairly inaccessible place at home or took them with me if I was away. There are two identical keys and I have always kept them together. On this occasion, however, I decided to tempt providence and leave them both at home. The prospect of being locked up for nearly a week with no possibility of relief was exciting.

Another quirk of mine is that I always wear women’s trousers with no flies when I am belted. After all, I have no use for fly openings and have to sit to pee anyway. Worn with sweaters or jackets, the difference is not noticeable except on close inspection and they are a pleasant reminder of my situation.

I wore a sweater and pull-on cords for comfortable travel, arriving late afternoon. The hotel came fully up to my expectations. I had a leisurely bath and changed into an open neck shirt, jacket and a pair of smart “classic” pull-on slacks which I had bought from a well known multiple store. The restaurant was not yet open so I sauntered down to the large bar, which at that early time was empty. I sat on one of the high bar stools and ordered a drink.

A few minutes later, an attractive lady came in and sat on an adjoining stool. I noticed that she wore an identical pair of slacks to my own. They were a pleasant grey/blue check with the usual small ornament on the front of the waistband. I had not done up the button on my jacket so that the front of my trousers was clearly visible and girls are quick to notice such things!

After ordering her drink, she looked across to me and said “I see we have a similar choice in clothes. But I didn’t know they made gents slacks in the same material.”

I blushed and only managed to say “They don’t.”

“In that case we really do have the same taste.” Fortunately, she went on to talk about how nice the hotel was and we made small talk for some time until a waiter arrived to say that the dining room was now open and we found ourselves sitting at single tables at opposite ends of the large room.

The next day was fine and dry so I spent the time sightseeing in and around the centre of the city, admiring the Tyne bridges and crossing the river to see the new Sage Centre in Gateshead and was back in the hotel in plenty of time to change and have a pre-dinner drink.
The same lady was in the bar before me but we both did a double take when we realised that once again we were again wearing the same trousers from the same “classic” range, only this time in a green/brown mix.

I took the lead. “Well, this proves we have the same taste, so maybe we should get together. Why don’t we share a table tonight instead of being treated like lepers?”

“Thank you. I should like that.”

It turned out that her name was Sheila. She looked about five years older than me and told me she was a divorcee living in Scotland although she did not have a Scots accent. “My husband was Scottish and we lived up there. I stayed after the divorce.”

Sheila was good company and there was no shortage of conversation but it was only when we had retired to the lounge for coffee that the trousers were mentioned again.

“Why do you wear women’s trousers?”

I decided there was no point in trying to duck the question. “Because I have no need of access to my male equipment.” We were sitting together on a settee and I guided her hand down the front of my slacks so that she could feel the hard smooth front of my belt.

“Wow! A chastity belt. Do you choose to wear that, or does someone else control it?”

“It’s my choice.”

“So you’ve got the key and can take it off whenever you want.”

“Not exactly. I’ve left them at home this week.”

“So you can’t take it off now, even if you want to?”

I shook my head.

“You and I have a lot in common as well as our choice of trousers.”

“You mean you wear a belt?”

“No, but I know someone who did. He was my husband. I caught him fucking my young 18 year old niece who was half his age. A prostitute would have been bad enough but not my own family. I’d read something about chastity belts for erring husbands and told him he could choose to wear one or get out. He chose the belt so we bought the most secure one we could find on the internet and I kept the keys. I didn’t allow him out for three years except when I tied him up for a quick hand job and a clean up once a month. In the end, he whined continually and was so frustrated he chose to leave but I ensured I got a good deal and wouldn’t give him the keys until all the documents were signed and sealed.”

“I guess the difference is that I wear mine by choice and he didn’t.”

“You know, I’m very curious to see your belt. Why don’t we go up to my room and then I’ll tell you what else happened?”

I followed Sheila upstairs wondering what I was going to hear or see next. She shut the door of her room and dropped the latch.

“Stand up straight!” She stood in front of me and, as there were no buttons or zips to undo, easily slid my trousers down to my feet. I was wearing black opaque tights and a tight long legged panty girdle. They also finished up around my ankles revealing the plain front of my chastity belt. I explained that I had chosen the shemale belt because it looks almost identical to a female belt from the same German manufacturer.

“Oh! My! You do do the job properly! Judging by the steps you take to make sure your male bits are hidden away and inaccessible, I suspect you would actually prefer to be girl. Your belt is beautiful, lovely shiny stainless steel, and I know its very secure because I did some research before I ordered my husband’s belt. Now I’ll tell you the rest of my story....

“After a time, it wasn’t just my husband who was frustrated by being locked up. I was equally frustrated by not having my usual amount of sex. There was a lovely Canadian girl renting the house next door while she was in Scotland and I had a passionate affair with her. She was openly lesbian and taught me a lot about my own sexuality. And one of the things we used was this...” She crossed the room to her suitcase which was open and produced a strap-on dildo which she proceeded to put on me.

“I love it because it never goes soft.” She dropped her own trousers and panties and pulled me onto the bed. She played expertly with my nipples so that my penis was straining in its narrow prison before she guided the dildo into her cunt. In spite of the constraint of my belt, I found myself hugely enjoying fucking her. Half an hour later, she had had several orgasms and finally became exhausted. “Thank you. I haven’t had a session like that since Helen went back to Canada.”

For the next two days, Sheila and I did more sightseeing together and each evening after dinner had sessions with the dildo.

“Would you like to come to Scotland for Hogmanay? I could do with some company and I want to take you to a fancy dress party.”

I had no other plans and readily accepted.

“There is just two conditions. You must wear exactly what I tell you. And bring the keys.”

We parted with a long kiss in the station next morning when she caught her train north and I caught mine south. I was again wearing my cord pull-ons and secretly admired the front seam and lack of a fly opening all the way home. I wondered what lay in store for me in Scotland.

It seemed a long time to Christmas and the New Year. As soon as I had finished work on Christmas eve I put on my belt and resolved to stay locked until I returned from Scotland in the New Year. I’ve always spent Christmas day with an old Aunt and Uncle who are my only remaining relatives. They never seem to notice what I wear and probably would not comment even if I turned up in a skirt but I had on a nice pair of side-zip black slacks.

Three days later I was on the train to Edinburgh. Fortunately I had booked a seat as the train was very crowded. Having had problems on a previous occasion, I was concerned about using the toilet on the five hour journey in view of the need to sit and then mop up carefully but all was well.

Sheila met me at Waverley station. After a quick kiss, I realised that she was running her hand down the front of my usual pull-on slacks and feeling the hard shield of my belt. “Good Girl! Properly dressed and all locked up for me.” Girl? I decided not to comment there and then!

She drove me straight to her large terraced house in the southern suburbs of the city where I was shown up to my room and was surprised to see a selection of girls clothes laid out and that the bed had not been made up. “You remember when I invited you, I laid down two conditions, one of which was that you would wear exactly what I tell you? That condition starts now. We’re eating in tonight so I suggest you have a wash and brush up and change into something comfortable. I think you’ll like all these things which should fit quite well once I’ve fixed you up with some false boobs and a bra. And I’ll give you a hand with makeup until you get the hang of it. I can’t have the neighbours thinking I am entertaining a gentleman friend. It wouldn’t be proper, would it? ... And please hand over your keys for safe keeping. Don’t expect them back any time soon.”

I had half expected that the fancy dress party might involve some cross dressing but Sheila obviously intended that I should be en femme throughout my visit. I was a bit dismayed but also excited as I had never cross dressed before. Nor had I ever given the keys to anyone else.

An hour later, we were downstairs enjoying a cup of tea. I was wearing a white jumper over a long denim skirt and strappy sandals with manageable one inch heels. I had a wig with shoulder length brown hair and modest makeup and a pendant on a narrow gold chain. The jumper emphasised the shape of my new boobs.

“How do you feel now?”

“Much better, thank you. I was really ready for a cuppa.”

“No. No. I meant how do you feel in yourself?”

I paused for a moment. “Comfortable. I just feel right and relaxed. This the first time I have ever worn a skirt, but its lovely. You said we are going to a fancy dress party tomorrow and if you told me to go upstairs now and put my male clothes back on, they would already feel like fancy dress.”

“That’s just what I thought you would feel. Right from the first moment we met in Newcastle I felt sure you were more female than male.”

We chatted on about what we had been doing since Newcastle and over Christmas and then Sheila said “By the way, the neighbours have invited us to a pre-lunch drinks party tomorrow. Its not a formal affair but I think a dress would be more appropriate than trousers. There is a nice black cocktail dress on the bed for you. Short sleeves, about knee length. There’s a stole as well which will look good with it. Its nearly the same colour as your hair. You’ll need to wear tights and there’s a pair of patent leather shoes. They have two inch heels which you should be able to manage. Oh! And you’ll need to shave your legs before you can wear sheer tights.”

“So they are expecting me to be female.”

“Of course. I’ve told them your name is Joanne, or Jo for short.

When I went up later for a long soak and a shave in the bath, Sheila asked if it mattered if my belt got wet. “Its fine as long as I use a hair dryer to make sure its absolutely dry.” I went down afterwards in just a negligee over bra and panties feeling delightfully smooth and fresh and we soon retired to Sheila’s large bed for a dildo session before falling asleep. I woke next morning with the large artificial cock still attached. It felt strange.

I loved dressing for the drinks party. I had often worn thick opaque tights, but sheer tights over shaved legs were something else! The dress and shoes fitted perfectly and with Sheila’s help, I was confident of my appearance and enjoyed socialising with her neighbours, managing to soften my voice to a sort of husky alto. The only problem was that, standing a lot and not being used to wearing heels, my legs ached badly by the time we got home. I guessed I would get used to that.

In the evening we dressed up to go to the party. Sheila had a super Robin Hood outfit. Her green tights nicely complimented her long legs, the very model of a pantomime “principal boy”. She dressed me as Maid Marion in a full length white dress and changed my wig for one with long blond hair which came right down to my waist. Sheila was careful with my makeup so that I looked and felt genuinely feminine. A taxi took us to a club in the city centre where security was tight. Bouncers carefully inspected our invitations. There were about 40 guests in every conceivable sort of costume, many obviously cross-dressed. We had an excellent meal and Hogmanay was duly observed in true Scottish manner. There was a lot of merriment and a lot of alcohol was consumed but no one appeared unduly the worse for wear.

Well after midnight, I was approached by a man dressed as Dracula, obviously male, and after a few minutes chat realised that he had succeeded in getting his hand under my long dress, eventually reaching the hard front of my chastity belt. “Wow, young lady, I see you came prepared for every eventuality and are definitely not available. Does Robin keep you locked up against mediaeval knights?” Little did he know how close he was to the truth.

We got home at around 3 o’clock and both fell asleep as soon as we got into bed.

On New Year’s Day we got up late and then Sheila took me to join the crowds in the sales, so that I could buy some more clothes. I had decided that I would not be leaving Joanne in Scotland so I wanted some simple cheap things to wear around my flat when I got home. A couple of bras, a sweater and tops and more slacks. I would order another pair of breast forms on line.

I was due back in London the following day and when I was about to leave to catch the train home, I asked Sheila for my keys.

“Oh no, Jo. Its not as easy as that. If I hold them, I can be sure that my new girl friend comes back to see me before long.”

“But Scotland is a long way from London. What happens if I need them in emergency?”

“I’ve thought of that. I have a friend living in London. We’re two of a kind! I am going to mail one of the keys to her with instructions not to hand it over unless I agree. I will give her your name and address but I’m not giving you hers, so you can’t pester her for it.”

So that was that. I’d had a super time with Sheila but I was going home still locked up for what might be a long time.

Winter break. Part 2.

Except for being locked into my chastity belt with no access to the key, life returned to normal. I was back at work in the new year and just had to remember that I couldn’t use the urinals in the gents. I don’t think any of my colleagues noticed.

About ten days later, there was a letter waiting for me when I got back from work. The writing was unfamiliar but obviously female.

“Dear Jo,

I’m Sheila’s friend and can’t wait to meet you. She has told me all about your visit to Scotland and how you much prefer being a girl. I’m sure I can help you a little further along that road. Please give me a ring and we will arrange to get together. Love Alice.”

There was a phone number, but no address. Was this something that Sheila had set up, or had Alice decided she could use the key as an opportunity for some fun? Either way, I didn’t need any encouragement. A meeting with Alice might even get me unlocked. I dialled the number and the phone was answered “Nurse Williams.”

I paused, “Hello. Is that Alice?”

“Oh, Hello! That must be Jo! So glad you’ve called. Are you going to come and see me?”

“Yes, please. I think you have something of mine of a rather intimate nature.”

“Yes, Jo. And I have strict instructions from Sheila on what to do with it — or rather what not to do with it, so don’t get excited about it. Saturday afternoon 3 o’clock Okay? 5B, Trafalgar Gardens. I’ll look forward to meeting you, Jo. See you then. ‘Bye.”

She had emphasised the name Jo, so I had no doubt that I was to go en femme but tried to be androgynous by choosing my usual pull-on cords and a thick sweater which would partly hide my artificial boobs. It was the middle of winter, after all. Just a smear of lipstick. It would be the first time I had ventured out on the streets of London as Jo but I need not have worried. People out shopping on a Saturday afternoon were not likely to notice me anyway.

5B turned out to be a first floor spacious flat. My ring was answered by a buzz and a voice on the intercom. “Hi Jo! Door’s unlocked. Come on up.”

The girl at the top of the stairs was obviously Nurse Williams.

“Hello, I’m Alice. I’ve just come off shift at the hospital and haven’t had time to change so we might as well do the business first and then I can get to know you later. Come with me.”

I was taken into the bathroom. “Strip off! I’ll be back in a moment.”

By the time I had taken off my cords and panties she had returned carrying a small black bag from which she took a familiar key. She put on some rubber gloves and examined my belt carefully. Very professional!

“I like that. Better than some I’ve seen. You'd be surprised what we see in the accident department. But at least I won’t have to call the fire brigade to cut it off you. Stand in the shower and put your hands above your head.”

I had not noticed a length of cord hanging over the shower rail which had slip knots at each end and quickly found my wrists had been secured. Alice unlocked the belt and as it fell away my cock immediately came to attention. “Been over three weeks, has it? I’m not surprised.”

She reached into the bag for something else, which I couldn’t see in spite of there being a mirror above the wash basin immediately opposite the shower. I felt something pushed up my back passage which started to vibrate. Alice held a plastic cup in front of me with one hand while she manoeuvred the probe with the other and I soon saw cum dripping from my cock. There was no sense of climax but two or three spoonfuls of cum had been collected in a couple of minutes and by then I had gone completely limp. I was literally drained.

Alice washed the belt, sponged my groin area and quickly refitted and locked the belt.

“Good Girl! That should keep you safe for another month. Don’t bother to dress yet. I’ll go and change into something more comfortable.”

She reappeared a few moments later dressed only in a see-through negligee which left nothing to the imagination. She took me into her bedroom and strapped a dildo on me which was very similar to Sheila’s.

“Sheila’s told me all about your romps in Newcastle and in Scotland and has told me I can have some too!”

I thought Sheila had been good at keeping me turned on but Alice had an intimate knowledge of erogenous zones and despite being re-locked, I loved fucking her until she squealed so loudly that I was concerned about her neighbours.

Afterwards, we chatted for a long time. Alice asked much the same questions as Sheila had about my belt and my gender. As a nurse, nothing surprised her and I found it good to talk frankly to someone who was so sympathetic and understanding. And she offered to help me with dress, fashion and makeup.

It was quite late when I returned home and I found a message from Sheila on the answerphone. “Please ring me as soon as you get home, no matter how late. I want to know all about it.”

It was already nearly midnight, but I knew Sheila was unlikely to be in bed.

“Hello. Its Jo. I’ve only just got home but you said to call you.”

“I know. I’ve already had a long chat with Alice but I want to hear your story.”

I described everything that had happened since leaving home earlier. “I think you had better plan another visit to Scotland. Make it a long weekend. Maybe you should wear a skirt on the train next time. You must have worn those cords out by now. Anyway, neither Alice nor I are going to unlock you until you’ve learnt to be a good girl all the time.”

“I’d love to come up to Scotland again. And with a bit of encouragement from Alice, I might even summon up the courage to travel as Jo.”

I managed to arrange a Friday off three weeks later, so that I could travel up on Friday and back on Sunday. In the meantime, I paid several more visits to Alice who spent time teaching me more about makeup and all things girlie and took me on a shopping trip to buy some girl’s tight patterned jeans ( I got used to them having a short zip which did up the “wrong” way) and I splashed out on a lovely pair of brown leather knee length boots. It was the middle of winter, after all! The boots had two inch heels which I could manage because they supported my ankles and made me feel a million dollars.

Talking to Alice one day, she asked “Did you always want to be a girl?”

“Yes, I think I did. But I knew I was a boy and never had any doubt about my gender. It was just that I never liked my male appendages and envied the girls their figures and nice clothes.”

“Is that why you took to wearing a chastity belt, to cover them up?”

“Yes - and to stop me masturbating.”

“So Sheila was right about dressing you as Jo. With a bit more experience you’ll be a lovely girl and never want to go back.”

My time with Alice always ended on her bed with the dildo. She seemed to have an inexhaustible desire for sex - but not with real men. Just like Sheila.

The journey to Scotland was uneventful. I wore a sweater with a long denim skirt and woolly tights and the boots as snow was expected in Edinburgh and settled into a corner seat on the train. Sheila met me at the station with rather more than a sisterly kiss and eyed me up and down with obvious approval. “Well done, Jo. I can see that Alice is doing you a lot of good.” She took me home where we cuddled up in front of a bright fire before adjourning to Sheila’s bed.

Fortunately, it had not snowed on Saturday and the weather was sunny but cold. Sheila took me sightseeing. I wore my new jeans and boots and we walked the whole length of the Royal Mile from the Castle to Holyrood House.

We had both been invited out in the evening by two gentleman friends of Sheila’s for a meal. I was a bit intrigued by the idea that Sheila was being entertained by men, in view of her being openly lesbian. She insisted that we dress up for the occasion. I wore the same black dress as I had for the drinks party on New Years Eve. She said, jokingly, “You’ll be quite safe. They can’t rape you while you’re all locked up, and I think I can look after myself.” David and Peter turned out to be very good company. It was a new experience for me to be flirted with and I’m sure Sheila enjoyed the attention she received. I felt sure they were a gay couple. They must have known Sheila’s sexual orientation and probably guessed my true gender but played up to it. Either way, it was a good night out.

Back at Sheila’s home, we had a long chat. “I just knew from our first meeting in Newcastle that you were not a proper guy and you’ve taken to being Jo like a duck to water. Have you given any thought to the future?”

“Not really. I definitely prefer being Jo to Johnny but I suppose Johnny has to earn a living and I can’t quite see myself turning up at the office in a skirt. Not at present anyway.”

“You mean there might be a time when you would? If you really mean that, you should start planning now. I might have a word with Alice, because she could help you on your way.”

Sheila’s comments set me thinking. We arranged that she would come down to London soon and stay with Alice. I suspected that they would both try to encourage me to change.

Back home in London, I continued to visit Alice regularly and Sheila joined us for a weekend a few weeks later. I soon found my self enjoying a lesbian “threesome”. They returned to the question of my future and by now I had made a decision. “Who are you going to be, then, Jo or Johnny?”

“I’m spending more and more time as Jo, except for work, and feel really comfortable about it. I feel confident when I’m out and about. I don’t have any close relations to worry about and I’ve told my old Aunt and Uncle who I spent Christmas with that I might visit them wearing a skirt one day and they just said “That’s all right, so long as you’re happy.”

Sheila and Alice looked at each other and Sheila said “You’re due a monthly milking. Alice will get a strong transdermal hormone patch and fix it under your belt where you can’t touch it. So that will be final. She will need to replace the patch once a month and in six months you should have a pair of budding breasts. Agreed?”

I nodded my consent, knowing that I was making a life changing decision.

Next day, when Alice came home from work at the hospital, Sheila asked her if she had everything they needed. They turned to me. Alice asked “OK? Not changed your mind?” I nodded again. “This time I’ll give you a jab. It’ll put you out for an hour or so while we do the necessary.”

I was actually quite pleased that I would not have to witness both girls milking me. I hadn’t minded Nurse Williams’ professional touch, but wasn’t so sure about Sheila. Anyway, Alice’s jab knocked me out pretty quickly.

I woke up lying on Alice’s spare bed and discovered I had been asleep for four hours. I felt decidedly odd and a bit sore in my groin. My belt had been locked on again. By then Sheila had left to go back to Scotland.

Alice appeared with a welcome cup of tea. “All right now? You’re another step along your journey. No regrets? - its too late now to change your mind. The patch may make you feel a bit queasy for a day or two and the soreness under the belt should go quickly. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Come over one night during the week so that I can do a quick check.”

As I was still a bit shaky after the anaesthetic, I got a taxi back home and felt fine the following morning going to work as usual in male mode. I did still feel a bit sore and wondered why, but it soon wore off and on Wednesday night made a short visit to Alice. She told me to go in the shower and again roped my wrists while she undid the belt and after a brief inspection announced that all was well and re-locked it. “Everything’s fine. The hormone patch is quite strong and without a supply of testosterone you should soon find some changes, particularly around your nipples.”

I kept up my weekly visits to Alice and went to see Sheila a couple of times during the spring. In early summer, Sheila paid a visit to London. By then, there were very definite signs, not only physically but psychologically. I was aware that my attitude to work had changed. I no longer felt so competitive and seemed to identify more easily with the female staff. My breasts had developed so that I wore a training bra and had to make sure it was not visible under my shirt at work. I had put on weight around my hips and no longer got the usual early morning attempted erections. I let my hair grow and tied it in a pigtail when in male mode. I would soon have to decide when and how to “come out” at work.

It was Sheila who provided the solution. “Come and live with me. I’d love that. Your company has an office in Edinburgh, doesn’t it? Why not ask for a transfer? Tell the personnel people in confidence what’s happening to you and ask them to take you on in Edinburgh as Jo, instead of Johnny.”

“Thank you. I’ll see if they can do that.”

It was time for my regular milking. When Alice took my belt off, I could see that my penis had shrunk a bit and no longer sprang to attention when freed from its narrow tube. Also, the result of Alice’s efforts with the vibrator produced nothing more than a trickle of colourless liquid. When she cleaned round between my legs, I realised that no balls were visible. She noticed my concern.

“You’re well past the point of no return now. We removed your testicles when we first put the patch on, so that you would stop producing male hormones.”

“You mean you castrated me?”

“Technically, yes. But think of it as just another step along the way.” She turned to Sheila. “There doesn’t seem much point in keeping her in the belt any longer, does there?” Sheila agreed and the belt was put aside on a table, together with Sheila’s key which she always carried with her and which had been used to unlock me this time. Putting my panties on without it seemed odd at first after so long but my limp penis nestled down between my legs so that it was scarcely visible.

Sheila had always been fascinated by the belt. She picked it up and could not resist pulling her panties down, removing the penis tube and stepping into it. To our surprise, it fitted her almost exactly and in a moment she had snapped the lock closed. Alice and I looked on and exchanged glances as we both reached the same idea. I quickly grabbed the key off the table before Sheila could reach it.

“You look really sexy in that. Its almost the same as a real female belt, except you might be able to get a finger under the front. But there’s no way you could enjoy a dildo. I think its my turn to keep you locked up.”

Sheila looked as though she didn’t know quite what to make of her predicament. “You can’t keep me locked up! I’m wet already just thinking about it.”

“Oh! Yes, we can.” Alice and I said together.

It was by then time for Sheila to leave to get her train home, and we flatly refused to release her. “You’ll bring the key when you come to see me in Scotland, won’t you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Winter break. Part 3.

On Monday morning, I plucked up courage to see the personnel manager. Ms Smith was a pleasant and understanding lady - about 55. Married, or spinster? Nobody knew.

“I have something to tell you in complete confidence and then I want to ask a favour.”

“Go on, then.”

I opened the front of my jacket to reveal my budding breasts and said “I am undergoing a sex change.”

“My dear, that’s wonderful! I see you are well on the way to joining the better half of society.”

“That’s why I have come to see you. I have reached the point at which I can no longer keep it a secret. I’ve been Joanne for some time now everywhere except here at work and I don’t know how the staff will react if I suddenly appear in a skirt. ”

“And the favour?”

“I wonder whether it would be possible for me to transfer to our office in Edinburgh? I have a close friend there who had offered me a home and I think I might find it easier to start in a new job as Joanne. People are bound to find out sooner or later, but I’d rather it was later.”

“Well, I don’t know whether it will be possible because all our branches a trying to reduce costs and staff numbers but I’ll have a word with my opposite number up there. Don’t expect an answer for some days. Thank you for confiding in me. I will respect that.”

That night I had a call from Sheila. “Have you asked about moving to Edinburgh? When are you coming to see me?”

“I have asked but I shall not know just yet. Anyway, I only saw you yesterday.”

“But you’ve got the key to the belt and I’m already going crazy not being able to even touch my self properly.”

“Ah! So that’s what the hurry is. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to wait. You’ll get used to it and then find you like wearing it. I’m rather missing it, myself.”

It was nearly two weeks on Friday afternoon before Ms Smith called me into her office. “I’m afraid Edinburgh is no go. But I’ve a suggestion to make. We don’t want to lose a good employee. I can give you a month’s sick leave and in the meantime break the news to your colleagues. They may be curious but I’m sure they will be very supportive and will have had time to get used to the idea that you will be wearing skirt in future.”

“Okay. I’ll try it, but if they won’t treat me as a normal colleague, I’ll have to hand in my notice and try to get another job.”

“I’m sure you won’t need to do that. Is there any particular work you must finish?”

“No. I’m pretty much up to date.”

“Good then I’ll see you four weeks on Monday. Good luck!”

As soon as I got home, I rang Sheila with the news and also spoke to Alice whose main comment was “Don’t give her the key just yet!” I arranged to catch the train north the next morning.

As before, Sheila met me at the station with a hug and a smacking kiss. “Have you brought it?”

“Brought what?” I teased.

“The KEY! .”

“I think so. I threw a lot of things into the bottom of my case. It may have been among them”

“I’ve made a decision. I’ll tell you tonight.”

As we snuggled up in bed together, Sheila told me. “You were right, I like the feeling of being locked up and protected. I’ve ordered a proper female belt for myself. With any luck, it will arrive while you’re here.”

I spent some chaste but happy weeks with Sheila. She did not pester me for the key but I now knew that I would have to use it when her belt arrived. In the meantime, she took me on a tour of Scotland. We stayed mostly in Bed and Breakfasts and I was pleased that not once was an eyebrow raised at the idea of two girls sharing a room, often with a double bed. Even in these more enlightened times, I doubt if two men would have had the same experience.

The day before I was due to return to London, a parcel from Germany arrived for Sheila. I watched her excitement growing as she opened it A beautiful shiny steel edged with soft rubber. It looked almost exactly like mine except that the front shield was rather wider and obviously intended to prevent even a single finger of access. I got the key of my belt and unlocked Sheila. As it fell away, she instinctively moved her fingers to her pussy. “God, how I’ve waited for that!”

She disappeared into the shower and I guessed from the noises that she was making the best of her freedom. When she had dried and powdered down, she asked me to put the new belt on her. It was a perfect fit but I suggested she should wear it for a few hours to get used to it until bedtime. I would finally lock it on before I went home. She insisted that I wear my belt immediately, however. I loved the feel of it after so long even though my cock was no longer truly functional and I knew that she would be keeping the key in Scotland.

That night, we used the dildo for what may be the last time. As soon as Sheila had reached an enormous climax, she said “Lock me up. NOW! Don’t wait until tomorrow.”

We had a tearful parting at the station next day and I promised to be back soon, but did not promise to bring her key.

As soon as the train pulled out of the station, I discretely fingered the pair of keys hanging down my cleavage, one of which I looked forward to giving to Alice. Then I booted up my laptop. I had five hours to finish this autobiography and to consider my future.

By the time the train reached the outer suburbs of London, I was up to date and actually looking forward to Monday morning with confidence. My colleagues will be expecting me to arrive in a skirt and I will not disappoint them. I shall get up in plenty of time and put on a black pencil skirt - just above knee length - black tights and simple court shoes with modest two inch heels which I can now cope with quite well. I will wear a purple blouse over a black bra which will reveal a small amount of cleavage and show the shape of my budding breasts. From a silver pendant will hang a small key. My hair will have been done by Alice’s hairdresser and I will use only a small amount of makeup.

Everything else is in the future.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

November 2010

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