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

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Author's note. This tale is mostly a one-hander, erm, if you'll pardon the expression. It's just Charlie on his own until part three, for reasons which will soon become apparent.

Charlie Maxwell groaned, his hands going to the small of his back. He had been on his knees far too long, and his back had become stiff. Lifting the cardboard box onto the chair beside him, he clambered back to his feet, wincing as his knees protested.

I've been on my knees all day, it's no wonder they feel stiff. Still, that's the last box of papers, thank God.

He reached for the roll of parcel tape and secured the box shut, adding it to a pile just inside the door.

I need a drink. Let's get these boxes out to the wagon and take a break.

He looked out the window, seeing the angle of the sun on the apple trees outside.

Later than I thought. Just as well the days are getting longer.

He picked up a pile of boxes and carried them out through the front door of the cottage towards his Range Rover. Using the remote to unlock it, he opened the tailgate and added the pile of boxes to those already inside.

Hmm. This lot is going to fill the back. I reckon I've just enough room to get them all in.

Turning, he shaded his eyes and looked at the landscape. To his front, a slope filled with ancient apple trees beyond a small garden filled with country flowers. In the hazy distance, a range of rolling hills, heavily wooded. There was sound, agricultural machinery, but it could only just be perceived above the hum of busy insects.

To his side, Orchard Cottage, where his Aunt Alice had lived until recently. It wasn't a large property, but it had two floors and the rooms weren't poky by any means. Built sometime around the Napoleonic Wars, it was originally Georgian with later Victorian upgrading. As built, he had been told, it had had a thatched roof, but three fires in the space of six years had convinced the owners to replace them with tiles. Behind him, a typical country cottage front garden, and a winding drive that led to a very small road. There was an immense oak tree in the middle of the front garden, probably planted when the house had been built.

It's a nice enough place, real chocolate-box affair. So quiet and out-of-the-way it's ridiculous. I wonder how much I'll get for it? Half a mill? Easy! Maybe seven, seven-fifty. I wonder what that pirate of an estate agent is going to say.

He headed back inside, fretting over the likely valuation.

Knowing my luck, there'll be wet rot, dry rot, death watch beetle and almost everything else he'll be able to think of. About the only thing that I'm safe from is flooding. Mind you, with that damn great tree out front there could be subsidence...

He entered the kitchen, walking to the worktop and filling the electric kettle. While it boiled, he got out a bottle from the box of supplies he had brought down with him and prepared a cup of instant coffee.

Not like the real stuff, but then I must be fifty miles from the nearest Starbucks. Still, it's hot and wet and just what I need right now.

He took his drink to the big kitchen table and sat, contemplating his progress so far. He had spent the morning and most of the afternoon packing up all the papers he could find. Some had been in a bureau in the living room, most had been in a smaller room at the front of the house which he assumed his aunt had used as a study. Rather than grovel on the floor trying to make sense of what he had found, his plan was to take them back to his Docklands loft apartment where he would have more room. There, he had a scanner that could be used to digitise the important stuff and a shredder that could be used for whatever he decided not to keep. Here, there were no mod cons at all.

Like I said before, I've done the easy part. Let's go and look at what else there is. I've time for a quick run-through before I think about dinner.

He left the kitchen and started climbing the stairs.

I know what else there is, really. I just don't want to do it, that's all.

He reached the top and turned into the main bedroom, one that occupied one whole end of the upper floor. There were windows either side, one facing north and the big oak tree, the other south overlooking the paved area (he couldn't really call it a patio, not the way he understood the term) and the orchard. Either side of the door was a double wardrobe. Facing the door was a double bed, with a bedside table either side. Under the north window was a double bank of chest-of-drawers. Under the south window, where it could catch the light, was a dressing table, the top covered with the usual feminine tools and materials. Beside the dressing table, in a free-standing frame, was a full-length tilting mirror.

Yuck. I don't like going through other people's things. Seems... disrespectful, somehow. Especially not women's things. Especially not used women's things, of a woman I never knew existed till a month ago.

He sighed.

It has to be done. Perhaps I ought to have talked Brenda or Pattie from Accounts into coming with me to sort this stuff out. And, bizarre though the thought is, all this is actually mine now, isn't it, not someone else's. I'm the sole heir of Alice Wrayburn, lately deceased, the inheritor of a cottage and five acres of land and everything that's contained within. So, let's get to it.

He started with the bedside cabinets, discovering jewellery and trinkets, old medication, bus tickets, theatre programs, other memorabilia of a life well spent. In the one on the northern side, there was an electric razor that looked as though it had not been used for many years. He stopped then, considering the significance of the double bed and two bedside cabinets for the first time.

There's been no hint of a man up till now, has there? Never mentioned in the will, and there's not much sign downstairs. Hmm, I'll check the bookcase when I go down, see if there's any clues there. Of course, I've packed up all the paperwork, I'll probably find a marriage certificate eventually... maybe even a death certificate.

He moved on to the chests of drawers, discovering as he had expected the wardrobe of an older lady of means, as much as he could recognise. Jumpers, cardigans, t-shirts, gloves, scarves, woolly hats. Lots of lacy, shiny and frilly underwear he skipped rapidly over. There were items in boxes, too, knickers, tights, bras, other underwear he didn't know the names of.

Of course. Living way out here in the sticks, you couldn't just nip over to the supermarket when your tights got ripped could you? You have to plan ahead, get in supplies just in case.

He moved on to the wardrobes. In the first, a small length of rail held a man's suit, several men's shirts, some pairs of gents' trousers and what would once have been called a 'sports' jacket. The rest of the rail was filled with blouses, women's trousers on hangers and what his women friends called 'tops'. In the bottom was a jumble of shoes, both men's and women's. The shelf above the rail was lined with handbags, plus one or two faded cardboard boxes.

So, there was a man, but it looks like he's long gone. There's a line of dust on the shoulders of that suit jacket.

He mentally shrugged.

Don't know what I was concerned with, really. I guess all this should go to a charity shop, I certainly don't see anything here of interest.

He closed the doors and moved on to the next wardrobe. This was exclusively filled with women's clothes, and it appeared to be the more often used one of the pair. There were winter coats, a lightweight rain mac, short jackets, several skirt suits, skirts and a number of dresses of several types and styles. To a man like Charlie, they were all just 'dresses', period. At the bottom, more shoes and boots, this time neatly arrayed in pairs. He realised that the shoes looked fairly modern and up-to-date and blinked.

Perhaps I've got Aunt Alice all wrong. I've been assuming she was elderly, but these don't look like the footwear of an old lady.

He frowned, considering the discrepancy.

I'd better check the documents I got from the solicitor a bit more closely.

He looked more closely at the clothing, seeing the bright colours for the first time.

Change of plan. Some of these look as though they could be new and possibly expensive. Okay, perhaps Aunt Alice wasn't so old after all, if she had clothes like this. Before I just dump them all on a charity shop I ought to bring one of the girls down and get an expert opinion, that is a female opinion. This is all outside my experience.

The top shelf held a number of shoe boxes and two hat boxes. It occurred to him that the shoe boxes might not contain shoes but maybe papers or photographs or something else unexpected. He pulled them all out and put them on the bed, lifting the lid on each as he did so. Two held faded photographs, one held papers, the rest shoes obviously bought for an 'occasion' like a wedding or some such. He lifted out the papers and went through them, discovering his first surprise.

Alan Wrayburn? I thought Alice was an only child... Not a lot of documents here, he must have died quite young.

Duh. Perhaps he was her husband. Her parents weren't Wrayburns, were they? Still, all this is history now.

He returned the papers to the shoebox and and put it to one side, intending to take it downstairs and add it to the other documents. He replaced all the other shoe-boxes on the shelf. A flash of colour caught his eye, and he realised that there was a cardboard box lying flat on top of the hat-boxes, at the back. He pulled it out, long and rectangular.

Miracle

BodyForm

Pantee Corselette

Shapes your body into the

woman you always wanted to be

On the front of the packet, which was mostly pink, was a picture of garment which looked like a kind of all-in-one swimsuit. A token woman shape had been roughly sketched around the picture as though wearing it. At the bottom right-hand corner, in a white rectangle, was the word 'Natural'. The style of the box made him think it dated back to the Fifties.

What had his mother called this kind of thing? Oh, yes, a 'foundation garment'. She hadn't worn such things, that was for a yet older generation, but it had come up in conversation, in the days when both his parents had still been alive. Mostly made of elastic in his grandparents' era, the women of that time had used them to contain their bodies and squeeze them into fantastic shapes. Fantastic to modern eyes, that is.

He looked at the picture. To think that a woman would voluntarily want to put that on and restrict her body so! He paused then, remembering cycling and running gear made of Lycra he himself had worn in the past. This wasn't so different, really, was it? Maybe the elastic was a little stronger, but one couldn't condemn a whole generation just because of that. That was the best that the technology of the time had to offer. And, really, this was little different to a swimsuit after all, just one worn under clothing.

He opened the top of the box and the garment was still there. He pulled it out, expecting the rubber to have long perished, but to his surprise it looked and smelled as good as new. In fact, it showed no signs of wear or stain, even though the box had obviously been opened and closed quite a number of times in the past. He looked at it with curiosity. It was a sort of biscuit colour, and quite odd to the touch. It didn't appear to be fabric that he could tell, but thin and soft and non-shiny, which meant it wasn't latex or rubber. His fingers found one of the cups and discovered a padding of foam inside.

Hm! Perhaps she wasn't quite as well endowed as she wanted to be. Well, that's true of many women.

He carefully pushed the garment back in the box but left it, on impulse, on the bed.

He turned his attentions to the dressing table and went through the drawers. A mixture of cosmetic consumables and equipment, they didn't detain him long. A hair dryer in one of the lower drawers looked so old he guessed that it would fail almost any modern safety inspection. He frowned.

Another complication. I'd better check everything electric I find. It's possible some of the gadgets in the cottage are old enough they could be dangerous. Modern regulations mean they have to be disposed of responsibly, I can't just chuck them in the bin.

The top surface held brushes, combs, hair-grips, clips and barrettes, two compacts, a jewellery box. He opened the box to find neat rows of ear-rings on the top layer, dress finger rings lower down and brooches, necklaces and bangles in the bottom.

Hmm. I'll have to get all these valued. I know nothing about jewellery, but I'd feel sick if I gave or threw away something that turned out to be valuable or antique.

He abandoned the main bedroom, crossing the tiny landing to the second, smaller bedroom. He had already dumped his overnight bag here, preferring to sleep on the guest bed rather than disturb whatever ghosts might still inhabit the main bedroom. A bedside table, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, plus a replica steamer trunk and a large cardboard suitcase of a type used in the Fifties.

The chest of drawers was completely empty, as was the bedside table. The wardrobe contained three long opaque plastic bags containing what he assumed were full-length dresses. Otherwise, there was the usual collection of random coat-hangers one might find in any small hotel. The steamer trunk was filled with linen. Sheets, pillow-cases, tablecloths, even curtains, carefully folded and wrapped in tissue. The old suitcase held towels, most in their original wrapping but still capable of use.

About what I expected. I think I've seen most of what's here, now. Let's go down and sort out some food.

Descending the stairs he made for the scullery behind the kitchen. Here, on the cooler north side of the cottage, was kept the fridge, freezer and washing machine. Aunt Alice may have lived in an old house, but she had all the mod cons. Why, there was even a phone line!

Just as well, seeing as there's no mobile signal out here in the back of beyond. I need to keep in touch.

A wry grimace. I wonder, how many of them at the office even know how to dial a land-line these days?

Opening the fridge, he selected one of the ready meals he had bought on his way here and took it back into the kitchen. Ignoring the impressive and no doubt valuable range - which was, of course, cold - he stabbed a fork into the package and put it into the microwave, twisting the dial with a deftness borne of experience. While that was cooking he returned to the scullery and inspected the rack of wine bottles he had noticed in a corner. Most of the eleven bottles were coated with dust and when he brushed them off most were from places he had never heard of. Selecting a white wine at random, he returned to the kitchen and uncorked it, finding a clean glass in a cupboard. When everything was ready he took his meal to the kitchen table to eat.

It's a shame. This is a pretty enough place, I guess. It's just miles away from anywhere. And anyone. There's no work to be had nearby, unless I want to take up basket weaving or something like that. Certainly nothing that would keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed. Could I keep it as a second home? Come down here week-ends, say, or even rent it out to friends and colleagues? Dunno. Don't think so. I'm already into serious tax avoidance as it is, this would just be another complication I can do without. And that solicitor, Barker, told me the local council have a policy of discouraging second homes as it drives the locals out.

He scraped the last of his dinner from the plate, stood and put his eating equipment in the sink.

Huh. No dish-washer, naturally. I'll have to make sure I tidy the place up before I go, in case that pirate wants to show anyone around. Mustn't leave it looking like a tip!

He left the kitchen, wine-glass in hand, intending to go into the living room and find something to read. It was late May, perhaps he could go and sit on the paved area out back for an hour or two before tidying up and getting ready for bed. There was no TV, although he had noticed aerials in the village a mile away.

Something made him stop in the small hallway and turn towards the stairs.

Why not?

There had been an idea in the back of his mind all afternoon, one he had tried to avoid thinking about, an idea that presented itself to him again as he stood, uncertain, at the bottom of the stairs.

This is the perfect opportunity. No-one will ever know, will they? No-one can even see the cottage, let alone see what you are doing inside it! It's something you have always wondered about, and this is the one chance you have to find out the truth.

He took a step forward.

No-one is going to come here this evening, are they? No-one at work even knows where you are. The chances of a local turning up unexpectedly are somewhat remote, so you have the cottage to yourself and you can do what you damn well want in complete safety.

He climbed the stairs and entered the main bedroom, where he stood thinking.

Think of it as an experiment. You can do what you want, try what you want, in complete privacy. After it's all over, you can bundle the whole lot off to a charity shop and it will just be a memory of an interesting evening you spent in a country cottage.

The thing that had triggered this sudden impulse was the discovery that the foundation garment had padded cups. If it hadn't, the idea would probably never have surfaced at all. Now, his eyes strayed to the worn box on the bedspread.

Supposing it's not my size? I have no idea what Aunt Alice even looked like, let alone what size she was.

He picked up the box and turned it over. On the back was a fairly typical table of sizes and measurements, with the size of the boxed item picked out in bold. Unfortunately, none of them made any sense to him at all.

Oh, well. As they always say, there's only one way to find out.

Decision made, he moved quickly. His shoes came off to be followed by his socks. Off came the shirt, trousers and boxers, to be tossed on the bed. He stood there naked, a curious feeling of - what? anticipation? threat? whatever - beginning to build in his abdomen. He lifted the box, quickly pulling out the garment before he could change his mind.

He walked over to the south window and held the garment up to the light. In direct sunlight, it was possible to see that it was a fabric, incredibly finely woven. There were fine seams as well, defining the panels that made up the garment. He turned it inside out, looking for stains or wear or anything that might put him off what he was about to do next.

Nothing. This looks brand new, although I know it can't possibly be.

Almost unwillingly, he inspected the gusset closely. It looked factory-new, unsoiled, even though he knew that feminine biology meant that most women occasionally experienced some kind of leakage or discharge even when they weren't menstruating. Turning the garment right way out, he moved away from the window, bent down and put one foot into the garment, followed by the other.

As he was pulling it up he paused.

Ah. If I put this on, how am I going to pee? There's no way - naturally - to open the bottom, is there? That means that I am going to have to take it off - and anything else I put on over it - before I can get to the toilet. Best go first, prevent any accidents.

He stepped out of the garment, leaving it on the bed while he visited the small upstairs bathroom. Returning, he picked it up again and stepped into it. As he worked it up his body he got another surprise.

Huh! There's more padding than I thought. Looks like I get hips to go with the tits.

As he settled the lower part about his abdomen he looked down, expecting to see a bulge and finding something, but certainly not all that he imagined he would.

Even better. Looks like the padding conceals my crown jewels as well. And it doesn't even feel uncomfortable at all.

His eyes narrowed as he considered the significance of this.

This can't be right, surely? This is obviously intended for a woman, isn't it? So why...

But when he ran his hands down his thighs, he could feel no padding at all. What he could feel through the thin material was his own body. And though there was a bulge in the front, the result looked more feminine than masculine.

Clever, that's what it is.

He slipped his arms through the shoulder straps and pulled up the torso, settling the straps on his shoulders. He immediately noticed the presence of breasts by the slight extra weight they applied to the front of his chest.

Woo! This is different!

He stood in front of the mirror and inspected the result.

That's... uncanny. My hips aren't that size, surely, and my waist was never that small! Of course, I never did get to have a weight-lifter's physique but even so... that's remarkable!

He turned to the side to see what difference the breast padding made.

Hmm. Not great bulging titties, to be sure, but I've known lots of women who weren't big breasted. Actually, looking at the profile, they seem about in proportion, don't they?

This barmy idea might actually work!

He turned round to the front, concentrating on his face and head.

It still looks like me up top, though. Even so, sitting on top of a reasonable imitation of a woman's body, it looks... somehow not quite so masculine. The hair is what does it, I think.

He went to the dressing table and grabbed a comb, returning to the mirror to stand and tease his hair into something that might be found on a woman's head. A grimace of dissatisfaction.

Too oily, been two days since I last washed it. It's just lucky I have enough hair to even think of doing this!

Wandering out of the bedroom into the bathroom, he wet the comb and tried again using the mirror over the wash-basin. That produced a better result, and as the warm air dried the new shape into position he nodded in satisfaction.

That doesn't look too bad at all. Good enough for what I wanted to do this evening, if nothing else.

He returned to the bedroom and contemplated his next move.

Shall I bother with underwear? I don't think so. I really don't want to go pawing through those drawers. Besides, I have a foundation garment on that will do for bra and knickers all in one, and it's warm enough I shouldn't need another layer. Let's go look at those dresses.

The clothes in the wardrobe covered all seasons, and he pulled almost every item out to try and find something that he might choose to wear. Some of them left him cold, and some of them made no impression at all. There were, however, three summer dresses, all light cotton and covered with floral designs.

Let's try them all.

It was a struggle to pull the rear zip up the first time, until he understood how to manoeuvre his arms behind his back. The dress was light and floaty and the skirt swirled around his bare legs.

Ooh, that's nice. I could get to enjoy this.

The first dress had short, loose sleeves that floated around as he moved his arms. Something didn't quite work, though.

The foundation thing, it pulls my skin. What's going on?

He wriggled out of the dress and walked over to the window. Digging a finger under one shoulder strap, he ran it down the inside of the breast part to the middle. Just inside the lip of the cloth was a narrow transparent bead of some kind of soft plastic, presumably designed to keep the garment in place once put on. Charlie frowned. It had begun to itch under his arms and around his legs as well, and when he lifted a leg the pull around his thigh was quite uncomfortable.

Damn. Just when I thought I'd found something to entertain myself with this evening. Ah, well.

He began pulling the corselette off, finding the beading reluctant to let go of his skin.

That's a shame. Perhaps the beading has started to perish, even if the rest of it is perfectly okay.

He dropped the garment around his ankles, feeling glum.

Can't use that, then. Shame, it was damn near perfect! Can't say I'm really looking forward to the alternative, which is using a bra from the underwear drawer and stuffing it. It won't give the same look or feel at all.

He picked up the box off the bed to put the garment away and it rattled. Puzzled, he upended it and a toothpaste-style tube fell out onto the bed. Charlie picked it up.

Miracle

BodyForm

Seal Lubricant

Use sparingly. Release with water.

About a third of the tube had been used, he guessed.

Ah! Why didn't I think of that!

He removed the cap and carefully squeezed a blob about the size of a pea onto a fingertip. It looked like translucent jelly. Standing naked by the window, with the garment in his hand, he delicately ran the jelly round the beading which went round both leg-holes and both arm-holes as well as the neckline. The stuff seemed to go a long way, he only needed a tiny bit more than his original blob.

Now, how do I get this up my body without smearing the jelly everywhere?

He touched the bead and it seemed dry, so he stepped into the garment and pulled it up again, this time standing in front of the mirror to ensure that it was positioned properly. Now, when he moved his arms and legs, the garment seemed to move with his skin and he felt no discomfort at all.

Brilliant! Right, now for the second dress.

He pulled on the next one which had a slightly higher neckline and no sleeves at all as well as a less fuller skirt.

Mmm. That's good, as well. Would this one be a bit more formal? No idea, but I like it anyway. Now for the third one.

This was a proper sun-dress that stopped under his armpits, with just two wide straps going over his shoulders. He fumbled to set the zip and then did up the sash which went round the waist. This one was quite full and had a flounce at the bottom of the skirt which just reached his knees. He was quite unprepared for the sensation of joyful happiness which burst through his being.

Oh, wow! This is amazing!

He stood in front of the mirror and inspected himself. The foundation garment was nowhere to be seen, just a 'woman' in a pretty dress. With his hair combed just so, he would be mistaken for the real thing from most distances, he decided. Only close up would the masculine shape of his face be apparent, and even that had somehow been softened by what he wore.

Unless I open my mouth, of course. That'll give the game away in seconds.

He pranced and turned in front of the mirror, enjoying what he saw and felt. He felt alive, free, in a way he never had before. There was a stupid smile on his face that he found hard to remove.

That does it, I reckon. I'm going to have to think about all this much more, now. I didn't know I could do this, and now I do, I realise I'm going to have to think very carefully about my future. If just putting on a dress can make me feel like this, what more is possible?

First things first. If I can look like a woman from a distance, I might as well stay like this for the evening, enjoy myself, get used to being dressed like this. Dare I go and sit out in the paved area?

Of course I do! No-one can see me anyway!

Decision made, he turned for the door.

Oops. Better tidy up around here first. And I'll need some footwear. Appropriate footwear.

Dresses were placed on hangers and returned to the wardrobe. A pair of white three-strap sandals seemed to fit, although his big toes were hanging off the front. His own male clothes he took and hung in the wardrobe in the guest room before he returned downstairs with the now-empty wine glass.

Snagging the wine bottle from the kitchen table he went through the back door into the garden. The late-afternoon heat hit him immediately, along with the sounds of the countryside and the fresh spring smells. Together with the incredible sensations he was getting from having so much skin bare yet feeling the soft cotton caressing it, he was almost high as he walked to the lounger.

This is... incredible! And women get to feel like this all the time? Almost makes up for all the crap they get from men, doesn't it?

He settled on the lounger and filled the glass.

No. Nothing could make up for the crap they get from men. I reckon most men don't realise how cushy their lives are by comparison. When I think how the women at the office get treated, talked about, leered at, fantasised over... and that's without all the actual, physical, abusive stuff that can go on.

Still. Not my problem today. Today, I just enjoy myself. This is wonderful!

He sipped the wine, leaning back and closing his eyes, just listening to the rustle of the trees, the whine of passing insects, the screams of the swallows nesting in the eaves of the cottage. He felt the warmth of the sun and the wind gently passing over his body in a way that was quite different to anything he had experienced before. Slowly, he drifted off.

He came to abruptly. The wine glass was empty and so was the bottle, though he did not remember topping his glass up. The sun was much lower in the sky, just a diameter above the hills to the south-west, and the air was noticeably cooling. He groaned, because he had a headache.

Oh, no! I've done the beginner's thing and fallen asleep in the sun! I've probably got a little sunstroke, if it wasn't the wine.

He sat up on the lounger, trying to rub wakefulness into his eyes. A sudden thought made him groan.

Oh, no! I've fallen asleep in the damn dress, haven't I? I'm going to have tan lines that everybody is going to recognise! I'll be the laughing stock of the entire company if I'm not careful!

He staggered to his feet, heading for the house.

Ow, that hurts. Wonder what I have to do before I fall into bed? Do I have to lock and bolt all the doors? Do they do that sort of thing round these parts?

He reached the kitchen and added the bottle and glass to the rest of the things in the sink, which he viewed with bleary eyes.

To hell with that. I'll do it in the morning. Right now, I just want to get to bed.

He pulled himself laboriously up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. Fumbling, he somehow managed to find the zip and undo the dress, letting it fall in a heap on the floor.

What about..? Nah, leave it on. I can't be bothered to take it off and anyway, it's comfortable, I can barely feel that it's there. I'll find out how a woman sleeps with these things on her chest.

He almost fell on the bed, pulling his legs up and swivelling until he was more or less in the right position. As the last rays of the setting sun left his window, he relaxed and was almost instantly asleep.

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

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

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

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

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

Huh? What?

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

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

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

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

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

He looked down at the mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes narrowed as he finally remembered.

What did it say on that tube?

Use sparingly. Release with water.

Ah! Aaah! Of course!

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

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

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

SHOCK -

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

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

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

OH, NO!

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

Oh, wow!

Oh, God. What do I do now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now dry, he hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now for the unpleasant part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, wow. This body is full of surprises.

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

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

Toast and coffee, I think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why not? Plenty of women do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is impossible!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Make a note, get the whole place surveyed sometime.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miracle

BodyForm

Seal Lubricant

Use sparingly. Release with water.

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

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

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

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

---

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

---

Morning came and Charlie rolled over, noting with interest the curious independent movement of certain body parts. The nightdress had somehow worked its way up during the night and was now bunched around his waist. It was broad daylight and he thought he must have overslept.

Who cares? It's Sunday anyway and I'm not on the treadmill any longer. Time to greet the world.

He decided not to shower this morning as he usually did. Partly, he wasn't entirely sure about the water supply situation and partly it was because he just didn't care.

He went from the bathroom straight into the main bedroom and selected a fresh pair of knickers and another bra. He knew from association with girlfriends that knickers got worn once and then washed. If clean, it was acceptable to keep the same pair on overnight. He didn't remember any bra routine, though. Hanging in the wardrobe he found a short-sleeved cotton khaki shirt-dress which he decided might be practical if he was going to look through boxes of old papers. The same sandals went on his feet, his hair received a good brushing and he was ready for the day.

Breakfast was the same as yesterday, toast and coffee. He had enough of each to last him perhaps another day but after that he really would have to go shopping, somewhere, somehow. Once the dishes had been washed and left to dry he went to the study to continue his researches. What he found puzzled him.

It seems that, for a short time at least, both Alan and Alice managed to co-exist simultaneously. At least, I have dated evidence that both signed documents over the same small period of time. That sounds as though this might not be a single-shot one way ticket like I first imagined. If that is the case, then how..?

Shaking his head, he continued until hunger pangs made him realise it was lunch time again. Taking his plate of sandwiches and glass into the paved area, he paused.

That was stupid, what I did yesterday. I got myself burned unnecessarily.

Putting the glass and plate down, he laboriously dragged the lounger across the paved area until it was nearly under the closest apple tree.

This is not as easy as I thought it would be. Perhaps I don't have the strength I had before. I'm going to have to watch that, might hurt myself if I don't make allowances.

There! This way I'll be mostly shaded, and when the sun moves round I'll just be under the next tree.

This time he had brought his iPad out and after eating he examined the time-line he had drawn on the device.

I still reckon that was what happened. Alan Wrayburn came here and soon became Alice Wrayburn. Looks like she pretended to be Alan for a while after the transition, presumably to get her ID set up and the property title altered.

Could I pretend to be Charlie? I don't think so, not with these on my front. My face looks... similar, that I grant you, but the people who know me well are the ones I'd have to fool, and I can't see that happening.

Again the warmth of the sun made him sleepy and he wasn't too bothered about dozing off. After all, what could be better than falling asleep on a warm Sunday afternoon, a warm breeze rustling the trees around you, insects humming, the cries of birds echoing from the skies?

This time it wasn't the cool air that woke him but rather a tiny discrepancy that his brain had noted and worried at while he slept.

Huh. Shows my powers of observation aren't up to much. Wonder what else I've missed?

What was it I saw anyway? Let's go and see.

Galvanised into action, he hurried inside and up to the bathroom. Opening the bathroom cabinet, he retrieved the tube of Seal Lubricant.

I was right! How could I have missed that before?

The tube, like the one he knew was in the bedroom, had about a third used.

If this was a one way deal, then surely only one of these tubes would have been used? Also, it only took a tiny bit for me to rub the whole length of that seal, so how come a third of each of these tubes has been used? I can't believe that many men have been changed into women!

The excitement rising, he hurried into the bedroom. Placing the tube carefully on the dressing table so that he wouldn't get them mixed up, he pulled the box from on top of the hat-boxes and shook out the other tube. His eyes narrowed. Picking up the other tube, he went to the window to examine them closely.

Well I never! Such a tiny detail, too. I wonder how many other people never noticed that?

The tubes were the old style of thin metal, manufactured long before plastic became the standard. Each was coated in white with the words printed in fancy script in black on one side. So much the same. But behind the words, and covering most of the tube, was a swirly design of thin lines, a decorative pattern like that used on banknotes to discourage counterfeiting. One tube had red lines and the other blue. The red lined tube was the one that had been in the box with the garment.

If red is for girls, then, by association, blue is for boys. Isn't it? Oh, God, I hope so. I really hope so.

He sat down abruptly on the bed, overwhelmed by his new discovery. He began shaking and the tears came again. Once again, his world had been turned upside down. Finally, he calmed down, exhausted by the roller coaster of emotions.

Do it now?

It's a little warm. And now I have control of the process - I hope, I really hope I do - I don't have to try it immediately, do I?

It can't be a quick process, anyway. The other time it took all night. I'll wear the garment tonight, with the blue seal lubricant, and see what happens. If it doesn't work, I'm no worse off than I am now.

It if succeeds...

The implications of an amazing possible future suddenly sprang into his mind.

Oh, wow! I bet that's what really happened. It has to be. That's why they could seemingly exist at the same time. So, what should I do, assuming this works the way I think it does?

He stood and started pacing up and down the bedroom.

Stupid! You can figure that out tomorrow, once you know whether it worked or not. Leave it! Tonight, now that you know it's possible you aren't backed into a corner, why not just enjoy being a woman? Wasn't that what this whole business was about in the first place?

He smiled to himself and began unbuttoning the shirt-dress.

- ~ - ~ - ~ -

Charlie Maxwell was awakened by the sound of birds' cries and scrabbling from the eaves just outside the bedroom window. He blinked and came to, conscious that it was still early morning by the light streaming through the bedroom window.

Then he recalled what had happened to him during the last two days and came fully alert.

He looked down to see the familiar mounds on his chest, snugly retained by the fabric of the unusual garment he had worn through the night. The weight felt about the same but... something felt different. Eager to see the results of his experiment he threw the light covering back so that his whole body lay exposed.

It looked the same, at least superficially. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, shivering in the morning chill. His hands went to the cups of the garment. It was strange, it was as though he could feel his skin, and his skin could feel his hands, but there was a certain something there... like padding. Good start. He reached an exploratory hand down to his lower front and was rewarded by feeling a very familiar sensation through the fabric.

Phew. I'm a man again.

He sat on the edge of the bed feeling immensely relieved and at the same time a little sad. What had happened to him the previous two days had taken him places both physically and mentally he hadn't known existed, and now he was just boring Charlie Maxwell again.

Still, he had made an important decision during the night and if things went right Charlie Maxwell might not be around much longer.

First things first though. As had been the case Saturday and Sunday when he had awoken, nature called. But before he could even do that he had to take a shower.

Power shower dials twisted to the right locations, he stood under the spray and let the warm water wake his body properly. He hadn't even attempted to remove the garment this time, knowing what the result would be, but as the water worked its way through he could feel it changing, loosening it's grip on his skin. In a very short space of time he was able to peel it off and flip it into the washbasin for later rinsing and drying. The garment needed to be looked after with great care, now. It was the key to his entire future, after all.

He dried himself, noting with disappointment that his skin felt much less sensitive. The texture was harder, coarser.

If I had never sampled the life of a woman, would I ever have known the difference between the genders? I suspect not. Funny how we all wander round, completely ignorant of what the other side feels, smells, tastes, sees. We all think we are the same, I now know that's entirely wrong.

He examined his face in the bathroom mirror. Again, he didn't quite know if it was him or not. The nose looked a little longer, perhaps, but for the rest, he would just have to hope everybody else saw him the way they always had done. He ran his fingers round his chin noting that his skin was still smooth.

At least I got something out of this weekend, I didn't have to shave at all.

Before leaving the bathroom he rinsed out the corselette and hung it up to dry as before. He decided to check his body out in front of the mirror in the main bedroom, padding naked across the tiny landing. Everything looked normal, just the way he remembered it had done before.

My bits and pieces seem all right this morning. I was a little worried about that, especially seeing as how they had completely disappeared yesterday. As they say, everything still seems to be in perfect working order!

Perhaps his waist was a little lower? His hips slightly narrower? And what of his feet, were they bigger? Logic said that the changes would be reversed but what if things had gone a little farther?

Am I still going to be able to get into my old clothes? I certainly hope so!

Back in the guest bedroom he dressed in his usual clothes, discovering that they still fit him as well as they ever did.

Mens' clothes seem so baggy after yesterday. I think on the whole I prefer the other kind. Ugh! And these are rough to the skin, as well!

He made up the guest bed and carefully repacked his overnight bag. A quick check that everything and everywhere was clean and tidy and he went downstairs to make breakfast. The bread had begun to go hard in the warm weather but it was fine for toasting. He used up the remains of the loaf, there just wasn't any point leaving any. Once finished he washed up what he had used and made sure the kitchen and scullery looked clean and tidy.

The next task was to use the telephone wired into the living room. He had to go through his own smartphone address book to find the right number.

"Hello..? Yes, I need to speak to Dominic Everhart-Smythe in Settlements, please. It's Charlie Maxwell. Oh, hi, Brenda! Yes, I'll tell you all about it when I'm next in." Not all about it, no. I can't think of a quicker way to spread scandal round the entire district. "...Dom, it's Charlie! Of course I'm not in! That's why I'm on the phone... Yes. If I could get a word in edgeways? ...Yes, I will. So, listen. I told you I was going to go out to this cottage I've been left, pick up some papers and come straight back? Well, something's come up, I'm going to have to visit the solicitor handling the bequest this morning... Yes, this has to be done in person, Dom. We're not all wired up out here in the sticks, you know. There's no signal here and no Internet either, and I doubt the solicitor knows how to use a web browser anyway... What? Not a chance. I don't know how long this will take and it's about a four to five hour drive, you realise that? ...Wednesday, I guess. I might have to find some local tradesmen, as well, and I'll travel back tomorrow... Well you'll just have to like it, Dom. I haven't taken any leave this year and I have so many hours owing it isn't funny. See you Wednesday, Dom."

He slammed down the phone, anxious to be rid of the demands of work. The job itself was fairly absorbing, he liked doing it and it paid extremely well, it was just all the absolute bastards he had to work with. Now that he had an alternative possibility in mind he couldn't wait to be out of that place.

The second and third phone calls were local and much briefer. He checked all the downstairs rooms and made sure the windows and doors were secured properly, then, with his bag in one hand, he made for his Range Rover.

The village was about a mile from the cottage and Charlie stopped at the tiny shop to buy a paper. This wasn't his only reason to stop, he wanted to check out the shop to see what variety of goods it held and the prices it charged - it might be his nearest supply of food and household goods if his plan worked.

There was no pub, no post office and no bus service. Owning some kind of vehicle was going to be essential if he were to move to the cottage. Charlie drove off towards the local market town where the estate agent and solicitor were based. Parking there was easy this early in the day and Charlie smiled as he used the Pay-and-Display machine. An all-day ticket to park here cost less than twenty minutes on a meter in Central London.

The office of the solicitor was nearby in the main street and Charlie made himself known to the receptionist. He was asked to wait and given a coffee. He had taken his paper with him and he read this while he waited. After some minutes he was ushered into Barker's office.

"Mr Maxwell, please take a seat. I trust you are well? You have found some kind of problem, I take it, to bring yourself here this morning?"

"Not a problem exactly, Mr Barker. I've changed my mind, I don't want to sell the cottage now. I spent the week-end there and my... opinions of the place have changed somewhat."

"Oh, really?" Barker's eyebrows rose. "Well, of course, that's your right. It will become your property, of course, as soon as the will is probated and you are perfectly at liberty to do with it as you wish. Have you informed the estate agent yet, may I ask?"

"I did, yes. I phoned them first thing this morning, and I went to them and confirmed in writing before I came here."

"Hmm. If you will excuse me? I ought to get out the file, have the details in front of me."

Barker got up and went outside. Charlie could hear him talking with the receptionist and presently he returned carrying a thick folder.

"Here we are... of course. Tell me, Mr Maxwell, will I offend you if I telephone the estate agent and confirm your instructions? There are... particular reasons for my request."

Charlie gestured to the phone on Barker's desk. "Be my guest."

Barker phoned the estate agent and confirmed that, yes, the client had called in and cancelled the sale order. He hung up.

"Very well. Mr Maxwell, I should have asked, you realise there is a cancellation fee due to the estate agent? You are content to pay this?"

"Of course. So long as it's reasonable."

Barker bent his head over the folder and presently lifted a sealed packet which he inspected closely.

"I must enquire, sir, what you intend to do with the property. In general terms, of course."

Charlie shrugged. "Why, live in it, I think. It won't happen immediately, because I have a job in London and an apartment there as well, and both will have to be dealt with. But, yes, it is my intention to move here to live. Why?"

"This came with the will," Barker explained. "There are instructions that it is only to be opened in the event that you decided to reside in the cottage. If you were to sell or let it, then the packet is to be destroyed by fire without opening. Here, you may read it for yourself."

Barker passed the packet over and Charlie read the crabbed writing.

If she's done this, then that more or less confirms my theory. Now, how much does Barker know?

He handed the packet back to the solicitor with a question.

"Suppose that I told you I was going to live in the cottage, we opened the packet and then I changed my mind?"

It was Barker's turn to shrug. "It isn't practical to write post-mortem instructions that can cover every possible future combination of actions." He gave Charlie a wry smile. "That's why there are lawyers, after all, and why we can charge large fees in certain circumstances. In your case, though, I judge you to be a reasonably truthful, honest individual and I will believe you when you say that you wish to live in the cottage. Good enough, Mr Maxwell?"

"Good enough, Mr Barker."

Barker took a pair of scissors and carefully cut the string binding the packet. Opening the thick paper wrapping revealed a number of envelopes and a thin sheet of silvery metal.

"What's this?" Barker held it up with a frown.

"May I?" Charlie took the metal sheet and realised it was very light.

"I think it's insurance," he said. "I believe this is magnesium, so that if the packet were to be burnt, then it would make certain nothing remained that could be read." He put the sheet on the desk between them.

"There are three envelopes," Barker noted. "Two addressed to you by name and one to me. This one of yours says, 'read me first'."

"Shall we read them now?" Charlie asked. "They may raise more questions or have further instructions."

Barker nodded and handed two to him before opening his own. Charlie used his finger to rip the first envelope open and then pulled out the letter he found within.

"Dearest child," (it read)

"If you are reading this, then I will be dead and you have inherited my cottage and lands. Further, you will have decided to live in the cottage, and you will probably have decided this as a result of what you have found in the cottage.

"You know by now that I was once like you. In fact, we are more alike than you probably realise. I, too, wondered from an early age whether I should be a boy or a girl. I, too, was sent to boarding school where all such thoughts had to be suppressed or forgotten. I, too, made my way in the world until I came across the object which enabled me to fulfil my true destiny.

"I came across this garment by chance, as part of the effects which were left when I bought another property, a house in a quiet suburb in the Midlands. I do not know how many previous owners it has had but I judge not many, otherwise more of the seal lubricant would have been used up. I do not have any idea where it comes from or how it works. I'm not even sure that the box you found it in is the original one. I only know that it does work, and by now I am sure that you are convinced of the same. Look after it carefully and it will serve you and many others well in the years to come.

"Because of my own leanings I was ever alert for others like me and I quickly noticed you during visits I made to your family and those of my brothers and sisters. I vividly remember you playing with my nieces one summer's day, all wearing sun dresses, laughing and shrieking on the lawn behind your Aunt Margaret's house. You must have been about five years old. There were many other signs as well, although you did well to try and hide them, and I recognised that you were caught in the same trap as I was. In the following years, as we both grew older, I kept note of your progress but thought little more of it. After all, what could either of us do?

"Then I discovered the garment and everything changed. In those days, transitioning from a man to a woman was something the establishment frowned on and I had to use some unorthodox methods to turn myself into a legal woman. These days your problems are greatly reduced, my dear. If you were to take a holiday to certain countries abroad and return with a certificate (which would not be that difficult to arrange by one means or other) I'm sure that you could make your own transition quite painless by comparison to my own.

"I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer nearly a year ago and I knew that I only had a certain time left to me. I had to make certain that you were the appropriate one to pass my gift on to and so I employed a firm of private detectives to make sure that I had not chosen incorrectly. I apologise for doing so, it was an invasion of privacy that was unavoidable but necessary. The results confirm that you are the right person to inherit this gift. We are so alike, you and I.

"The garment only seems to work while you are asleep. Every night you wear it will make your body more male or female as appropriate. It won't make you more male than possible or more female than possible. It does not appear to make you older or younger. If you wear it two nights one way, then you will need to wear it two nights the other way to reverse all the changes. From what I know of you I think you will not be wearing this garment very often at all, any more than I did. It will give you a chance to become your true self at a speed that is appropriate to your own circumstances, which I know will be difficult in the short term.

"If you are wondering if you have the funds to adopt a new lifestyle, let me put your mind at rest. In the other envelope is the instruction leaflet for the garment plus a key and a security code to a safe deposit box at a bank in Birmingham. I am sorry, some of the funds therein have been used to ease my final days but what is left should help boost your own savings.

"My dear, I must end this letter now. I am becoming very tired. Barker knows a little of my story, although he does not know about the garment. That is between you and me. Enjoy living in the cottage. Enjoy the fresh country air. Enjoy the new life you have ahead of you.

"Alice Wrayburn."

Charlie lowered the letter, overwhelmed.

So, this whole thing had been set up, just for me! She's right, absolutely right, I am going to do it!

He looked up to find Barker looking at him.

"Interesting," the solicitor said. "I knew about Miss Wrayburn's... difficulties, of course. She had been a client of ours for many years, although it was old Mr Brocklebank who used to deal with her before he retired, she was never my client. Her letter indicates that she believes that you are of a similar nature?"

"Yes, that's true," Charlie replied reluctantly. "Although I didn't really understand that nature until relatively recently."

"Well, in that case, you should know that this firm will be at your disposal should you encounter any difficulties in the future, er, as your status changes. And we are quite prepared to act for you in the same way as we acted for Miss Wrayburn, that is as her personal law agents. There is land attached to the cottage, and rural bye-laws can seem somewhat complex, especially for someone like yourself who is city based."

"I understand, Mr Barker. Yes, I see no reason why you shouldn't act for me here."

"I'll have a document drawn up and posted to you. At your London address?"

"Please."

"Then, Mr Maxwell, I believe we are done for today. Unless there is something else?"

"No, that's everything for now, thanks. I'll be in touch."

Charlie put the letter back into the envelope and put both envelopes into his inside jacket pocket. Standing, he shook Barker's hand then made his way out of the office onto the street. The day had begun to warm up and more people were about in the streets. Casting about he spied a small cafe with tables on the pavement and headed towards it.

I need to sit and digest this. My entire life has just changed for ever. What an amazing woman she must have become!

With a coffee and a Danish he made himself comfortable, sitting in such a way that no-one could read over his shoulder. Then he pulled out the letter and read it again.

Number one question is, who was she? Or rather, who was he? It's obvious now that it must have been someone I knew well as a child. She mentions Aunt Margaret, and she said I was about five.

He couldn't remember the occasion at all. Apparently, running around with two female cousins, dressed like them, had made no significant impression on him. Like it was a natural thing for him to do.

Who was around about that time? Dunno, there were loads of people who got called "Uncle" this and "Auntie" that, could have been anyone. Don't remember any Uncle Alans, though.

Wait. I'm making assumptions, here. Supposing he just kept the initials and had a dummy male name during the change-over process? She implied she had to do some dodgy dealings to get the paperwork right, didn't she? So who...

...Not Uncle Andrew, surely? He was supposed to have died during a holiday in Turkey years ago, wasn't he? What was his name... Andrew Westcott. Bingo!

And he, she, has been watching over me all that time.

He drank some of the coffee, ate the pastry.

If she went through the change years ago, why didn't she contact me earlier, while she was still alive? I could have easily travelled out to the cottage and done my thing, with her overseeing the process. Why did she wait until it was too late for her?

He drank off the remains of the coffee.

Money, perhaps. She waited until I could stand on my feet first. The cottage and land is worth a fair bit, but only if you want to be stuck in the country. She had a nest egg in Birmingham, but I've no idea how much is left. And perhaps she wanted to keep a respectable distance between her and the rest of the family, in case someone could draw conclusions.

Maturity, perhaps. I'll give her that one. Not so many years ago I wouldn't have been able to deal with what she has given me now. Heck, that was some weekend I just lived through! I needed to be old enough to understand the implications and handle the consequences.

He waved to the girl and asked for another coffee. Once she had brought it he reached into his jacket and pulled out the other envelope. Inside was the expected key, a sheet with instructions for gaining access to the safe deposit box, a printed leaflet which went through the use of the garment, and a sheet of paper he read with surprise.

It was a list of transgender groups and other organisations in England that he might find useful. Names and address of clinics both domestic and foreign. There were even website addresses! Perhaps Aunt Alice hadn't been quite so cut off, deep in the country, as he had imagined.

She's thought of everything. What a wonderful legacy to have been given. I'm going to do my darnedest to make sure I live up to it, too!

He thought again about his plans for the future.

Technology has moved on since Alice's time, I'll bet. I'm sure there are non-destructive tests that can be done on the corselette to try and understand how it does what it does. I suspect that I'm not going to get any answers, at least not for some years to come, if ever. I could take samples of the lubricant, though, get them analysed. That garment becomes much more useful if the supply of lubricant isn't so limited.

He rubbed his hands together with excitement.

There's so much to plan, so much to do. I can't wait to get back to London and tell Dominic where to shove his job!