CHERISHING MARY
By
Anne Gray
I wrote this one very quickly after watching the evening news and I think it has a different twist. I hope it is as kindly received as my first contribution.
Anne
CHERISHING MARY!
By
Anne Gray
“To love and to cherish,
As long as we both shall live?
I do.”
Life wasn’t fair, in fact sometimes it was downright hard to handle.
Mary and I had been married for just on thirty years and now I was looking at closets full of her clothes wondering what I would do without her.
At fifty-two I was alone because a stupid bastard had decided to drive home from a bar with a load on and T-boned Mary’s car. She never knew what hit her.
My tears had been shed until I thought none were left. The marriage had been productive but not with children; we were both too career orientated agreeing early that kids were not on the agenda. Naturally, that had upset both sets of parents but they were no longer around. After the funeral our circle of friends paid their condolences and went on with their own lives.
Between us Mary and I built a very profitable business but I lost interest without her. The negotiations for selling it had just wrapped up and I signed the contract a week ago. The proceeds, and the very large insurance settlement, meant there was more than enough money to keep me comfortable until I joined her again.
We had done everything together and shared everything. Well except for one thing I had never told my love. Why would I put my marriage in jeopardy for something locked away since she came into my life?
The two of us matched in more ways than one. I was just an inch or so taller except when she wore heels but I didn’t mind that she could look down at me. We were life partners and could give a damn about convention. The love we had was palpable.
After meeting and falling in love at university Mary and I married when we were both twenty-two. On the proverbial shoestring I gradually got a business idea off the ground and a year later Mary took over the selling part while I handled installations.
It got a bit rough at times but then things took off and by the time we were in our thirties Mary and I would arrive at the office each morning holding hands as husband and wife. After seven or eight hours as business partners, she guiding the large sales force and me supervising the crews, we left again the same way.
Early on we decided to fight the stress of developing the business by staying in good shape and joining a health club. One hour each weekday morning was spent there; consequently, even at fifty-two, there had been no middle age spread for either of us and our ideal weight was within a few pounds of each other.
Now, as I fingered the soft fabric of one of her dresses, I wondered how I could live with only memories. I had to keep part of Mary with me or lose my sanity.
Later that week I was again in one of the closets drinking in the oh so familiar scent of my wife. I had just finished a shower and padded, naked, back to the master bedroom to get dressed. I guess the subconscious took over and I found myself surrounded by her clothes.
Without even thinking I lifted one of Mary’s skirts off the rack and stepped into it. After sliding the silk lined tweed up to my waist I closed the back zip and fastened the button.
It was thirty-three years since I had last worn a skirt. That one was badly made and the wrong size, the result of a furtive grab at a thrift store. It looked so ridiculous I ended up purging everything in my collection. A few weeks later I met Mary.
This one was much nicer!
I hung it back up, grabbed my robe, and went down to the living room for a long think about what had just happened.
The experiments with cross dressing in my teens were something I could never really explain. I wasn’t gay but female clothes held some sort of attraction for me and felt right when I wore them. Balancing that was the fear of being found out. I had kept to my bedroom and the thought of going out dressed in public just never entered my head.
In the age before computers it was natural for me to think I was the only one to have such unnatural urges. After throwing out my meager collection, then meeting Mary, life became so busy and full of activity I was able to push that part of me into a tiny pocket in back of my head, there it had stayed, until now.
It was the early hours of the morning before I finally dragged myself up to bed to try and shut down my churning brain.
A few days later I just said the hell with it letting my business experience take over by making a ‘for and against’ list. That led to a ‘what needs to happen’ list and finally, after two weeks of research on the net, a ‘how to do it’ list.
The first item on each list was the same. Was it possible for Michael to pass as female?
Now was the time to find out then either work down the final list or shred them all.
First came a shave, including my sideburns, the rest of my very sparse blonde body hair could wait until after a decision was made. Then a shower before I stood beside our king sized bed where everything was laid out. Having watched Mary get dressed so often I called on those memories rather than the amateur fumblings of three decades ago.
One thing she had never needed to do was hide any equipment between her legs but I solved that problem with a panty girdle I’d found in the bottom of a drawer. Dark pantyhose covered the fact my legs were not shaved and then I picked up the bra.
Feeling a bit like a smart ass I had done up the small hooks and now slipped my arms through the straps pulling it down over my head to settle in place. The old standby, rolled up socks, went in the cups then the silk slip followed the bra down over my head.
After that I pulled on a long sleeved high necked sweater and, since it had started this whole thought process, the tweed skirt. Not only did everything seem to fit but it gave off the lingering scent of Mary. I think, even after dry cleaning, that would remain.
So far so good but I avoided looking in a mirror and would until everything was in place. The tweed jacket of the suit had four buttons down the front that pulled it in to fit around my waist.
The wig was not the colour of Mary’s hair; she had worn it to a company staff party a few years ago. But it was in her pageboy style and I settled it, by feel, on my head.
Using one of her small compact mirrors to apply some lipstick I nearly broke down and stopped to collect myself. I had last tasted that lipstick when I kissed her goodbye for the final time.
I didn’t bother with any other makeup. In the first place I wasn’t sure how to apply it and, in the second place, if everything else didn’t work, it wouldn’t help.
Shoes were a problem because my feet were a bit bigger than Mary’s but I managed to squeeze into a pair of black pumps with a two inch heel.
Now it was what they call the moment of truth.
The image in the full length mirror scared me because, as I turned back and forth looking at it, the female in the mirror matched my actions. True, the skirt was a bit baggy at the back and a pinch tight at the waist but the rest reflected a fifty year old, well dressed woman wearing Mary’s clothes.
I collapsed on the bed and cried. Cried for what I had lost and cried for what I had just found.
Chapter 2 —
A few days later I was flying across the country to San Francisco. As a businessman, after making a decision, I always moved deliberately to attain the desired result. Now I was going to work my way down the ‘how to do it’ list.
After checking in my hotel I phoned to confirm the appointment with the owner of a boutique called ‘Crossroads’. The Internet was an amazing resource and this place was highly recommended among the west coast transgender and transvestite community.
There were equally capable facilities close to home but, with what I had in mind, the fewer local contacts the better.
Clearing my wallet of any identification, I slipped a roll of bills in my pocket then walked the four or five blocks to the meeting with the owner, Gloria. She, or he I never did find out, was close to my age, which made things only slightly less embarrassing despite every effort to put me at ease.
Once in a private office my question was straightforward.
“I want to be able to pass occasionally as a women in my own age range. Can you help me do that and teach me what I need to know to carry it off? I don’t wish to attract attention, in fact, that is the last thing I want. This is to achieve the personal ability to satisfy a very real need.”
Gloria’s reaction was to remind me that I had agreed to pay for a one hour private consultation but, with my permission and at no additional cost, she would like to have one of her staff join us. I agreed and she left for a few moments returning with a man who was easily ten years younger than us.
“This is Tony and he is an expert, among other things, where hair is concerned. Please strip to your underpants and let him examine you.”
Fifteen minutes later he spoke for the first time.
“I would not recommend electrolysis for your beard; it could take at least a year of weekly treatments and I don’t think it necessary to go through that. It is quite light so starting with a close shave and a couple of tips we can provide, there is no reason why you should be concerned for periods over twelve hours or more before it would need attention.”
“Your body hair is no problem at all. Any readily available product, such as Nair, will work well. Just make sure you use a skin soother afterwards to avoid irritation. I must suggest, with respect, that at your age, you do not try shaving anything except your face. I can adjust your current haircut to be completely acceptable for a male yet one that, under a properly fitted wig, will be completely hidden.”
With that he left and Gloria spent the last of the hour not only assuring me I could pass but talking of breast forms, foundation garments and gaffs.
I paid for that hour and booked longer sessions for each of the next three days. That was the ultimate learning experience and I left with a new haircut and a great respect for their professionalism.
I flew home with a suitcase full of supplies, a seriously depleted roll of bills, and a direct e-mail address for Gloria who had agreed to reply to any problems or questions I ran into.
Our house was so full of memories I didn’t have the heart to sell it and yet could not have a female be seen going in and out without drawing unwelcome attention. This would be Michael’s home; my plan called for another and I decided on a condo’ apartment with a private entrance.
First though I had to practice and get comfortable with what had been learned on my trip. That could be done without leaving the house.
Tony had worked a little bit of magic with my eyebrows. Since I wore glasses but my female persona would wear contacts he had shaped them to look natural in either situation. The frame of the glasses covered up the slight feminine curve while I was Michael.
One of the things Gloria had insisted I buy was a pair of properly fitted shoes in my own size; they had two and a half inch heels and I was to begin wearing them immediately around the house. At the start thirty minutes was all I could handle but, gradually, worked up to longer periods without much discomfort.
For the first week or so I never even looked at Mary’s clothes. I wore the shoes and practiced the makeup techniques Gloria had shown me including wearing one of the wigs Tony fitted for me. The first few times I almost gave up because the look was nowhere close to what they achieved at the boutique.
“What am I doing wrong” was the gist of the message I e-mailed to Gloria with a head shot of my latest attempt?
The reply was concise. “Lighten up, you’re being too heavy handed!”
It worked and, with continued practice, I began to like what I saw in the mirror.
All of a sudden the makeup softened my features and blended into itself without leaving harsh contrasts in colour. Even the tiny wrinkles at the corners of my eyes were hardly noticeable. Eyebrow pencil darkened the arched blonde hairs to the same shade as the wig. That, along with a minimal amount of eye shadow and carefully applied lipstick in a muted shade of red, made my face undeniably feminine.
Pulling off the wig I cleaned my face; tomorrow would see the next item on the checklist scratched off. I didn’t need to check, it read:
Full dress rehearsal!
There was only one thought in my head the next day — Mary, please help me.
The body hair was gone without any problems, I had bathed using scented crystals and now, with the gaff and panties in place, was ready to get dressed.
Gloria had supplied and fitted the basic foundation garment. It was a one piece combination long line girdle and bra. There was a minimal amount of padding at the buttocks. I slipped my arms through the shoulder straps and then started to close the front zipper. Taking a deep breath I pulled it up past my waist to the top of the closure between the bra cups.
The tension only took about two inches off my waist but, as Gloria said, with the enhanced measurements around my chest and rear end, that was all that was needed. I popped in the breast forms, settling them in the cups the way I had been shown, then closed the satin flap to hide the zipper with several tiny hook and eye fastenings.
Very carefully I rolled the nylons up my legs and fastened the garters pulling them taut. I had practiced that before but could notice an almost sensual effect now the leg hair had gone. The satin slip literally slid over my head and in place with the bottom hem about four inches above my knees.
At this point I pulled on one of Mary’s silk kimonos and walked over to the dressing table. If this continued I would have to go out in public because I only had the one pair of shoes and not even slippers that fit, except Michael’s.
As I painted my fingernails it amazed me again how feminine such a simple thing made my hands look. When they were dry I worked at it until my makeup gave just the look I wanted then fitted the wig that was in Mary’s colour and combed it in place.
The pale green, long sleeved blouse buttoned in front and had a high collar with ruffles around the neck. More ruffles covered the buttons and were trimmed in dark green piping. The knee length A-line skirt was the same dark green and I tucked in the blouse then fastened the two inch wide belt snugly around my waist.
Slipping into the black pumps I added large button clip-on earrings that matched the skirt. Piercing my ears was not a decision I was ready to make yet. Eventually I might have to make another visit to Gloria for that and advice on how to handle the problem of my voice. Mary’s watch went on my left wrist and I took a hard look at the image in the full length mirror.
True, it was not Mary, but it was definitely a well dressed female who, if I passed her outside would not raise any questions in my mind.
I made a pot of tea and carried the tray though to the home theatre, setting it down on the side table next to Mary’s easy chair.
One of our favorite movies was already loaded and I made myself comfortable in the chair, even remembering to smooth my skirt as I sat down.
Slowly I removed the wedding band from my left hand and moved it over to my right. Mary’s rings slid on in its place. I dimmed the lights and thumbed the start button for the movie.
As the melody of the theme song filled the room I clasped my hands together in my lap so the rings were touching and whispered,
“Stay with me Mary and be part of me. Make it bearable for me - as time goes by!”
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CHERISHING MARY.
By
Anne Gray
Chapter 2
The movie was over, the tea was cold and I was almost content. Mary was here, but she wasn’t. I knew my love could never return but during the last couple of hours I had felt as close to her as if she was sitting with me.
There were no more tears to be shed. I had found a way to bring her close to me again. There was no rational explanation but none was needed. If dressing in her clothes could bolster my memories and ease my hurt then so be it.
Leaving the part cup of cold tea I poured myself a stiff drink and sat down again. It was no more than a few seconds after settling back in the chair when I realized I had smoothed my skirt under me without thinking.
There was no way what happened this evening, the almost agonizing beauty of what had happened in my head and in my heart, would survive if I tried to call on it everyday. That was just common sense. Just as anything good becomes diluted when overworked I had to find a happy medium or lose what I had just found.
Finishing the drink I went back upstairs and stripped off everything including the makeup. A quick shower and my hand hovered over the drawer with my pajamas then reached instead for one of Mary’s nightgowns.
Climbing into bed I was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of loneliness; there were still tears left.
God, I couldn’t do this by myself. I had to pull myself together. I had to talk to someone.
Gloria?
Four days later, after a series of e-mails, I flew west again.
I had booked a three hour evening session with the owner of ‘Crossroads’ and asked her to recommend a quiet place where we could have dinner. There had been some surprise at that request but, by early evening, we had settled into a booth and made small talk while ordering drinks and our meals.
She, I had given up wondering and just accepted her as female, wrapped both hands around the cocktail glass and raised an eyebrow as she looked at me. The unasked question was obvious and I started talking.
Pausing only while our meals were served and eating just as an excuse to gather my thoughts, I told her the whole story.
Gloria was silent through dessert and so deeply in thought that I held my own tongue.
“Michael, this is beyond me. I am very, very good at what I do but I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist. I want to help you but what you describe is, to me, a completely new reason for someone crossdressing.”
“Many of the clients I treat have, for obvious reasons, the need for medical advice and treatment. I have a colleague who is not just a medical doctor but also a councilor to the TS/TV community. Thank you for trusting me enough to reveal what is going on; now trust me again and go to see this doctor. If you don’t Michael what is happening could become a mishandled obsession or a crutch that will ruin the 20 or 25 plus years you have yet to live. Please!’
I knew I needed help and agreed.
Gloria pulled out a cell phone and walked away from the table only to return in a few minutes.
“I explained that I had a client with a unique problem who does not live in this part of the country; he has agreed to see you tomorrow morning.” She wrote down a name and address.
Without any feelings of embarrassment I repeated my story to the doctor and he listened, without comment, for the best part of thirty minutes. It was quiet for a few minutes then he spoke.
“Michael, I understand you do not live near here, is that correct?”
“Yes”
“I need to know where you do live and I’ll explain why. I am just one of several dozen in the medical profession who have set up a loose association to look after the needs of our transgender and transvestite community across the country. What you have told me is not something that can be resolved, or helped, without an in depth look at what is going on with you. I would like to refer you to someone within our network who you can meet with on a regular basis.”
He saw my hesitation.
“Michael — you are forgetting something in your need for keeping this private. I, and anyone I refer you to, are bound by professional doctor patient ethics; your secret is safe with us. You just have to trust us!”
I told him where I lived and he consulted a Rolodex then smiled and said I was in luck.
“If anyone can sort out what you need to do and how to handle it then Dr. West is the one with the experience and knowledge to help.”
Dr. West was a woman who, I guessed, had at least a couple of years on me. She spent our first fifteen minutes outlining her credentials and putting me at ease. Then Lianne, as I was asked to call her, settled back in her chair and asked me what was going on.
For the third time I outlined the happenings of the last few months that led up to my feelings of being swamped and overwhelmed.
When I finished she clasped her hands under her chin and just looked at me for a few moments.
“Michael, I’m not going to pull any punches, that would not do either of us any good. I am going to pose to you a very difficult question to think about before our next session.”
“You stopped cross dressing when you met Mary because you thought that if she found out you would lose her. Now she is gone and you have started dressing again. I’m sorry, Michael, but this is very critical to any progress we might make. Are you now exploring dressing again because Mary is gone and you can’t chase her away now or does it really help you to hold on to a part of her? You have to be brutally honest with yourself. Think about it and I will see you next week.”
Over the next few days I tore myself apart. The thinking behind Dr. West’s question was obvious. Was I using Mary’s loss as an excuse to start cross dressing again?
After five days of sleepless nights, half eaten meals and, maybe, too much to drink I again found myself leaning against the door of the walk-in closet. Staring at the hangers of clothes, the shoe racks along the floor and a few hats and purses on the shelf I closed my eyes and again tried to sort out my thoughts.
“I was thinking of my wife Dr. West. The happiness we had together, the almost scary way we could finish each other’s sentences or know what the other was thinking. The clothes were secondary but they are a means to an end. That end is staying connected with my love of the last thirty years — Mary. Does that answer your question?"
“Yes Michael, it does and well done. You know that question had to be answered first. Now for the next one, how far do you want to take the cross dressing? Are we talking full time perhaps where Michael disappears? You need to give me some parameters so I know what we are working towards. It might seem that I am making you do all the work but until I know your goals I can’t plan a course of action.”
“No, not full time or any where close to it. It’s hard to explain but I think I can almost feed off getting close to Mary to support me, as Michael, while I try to pull my life back together. I do want to be able to pass in public because I don’t want to be housebound when I’m dressed. What about one or two days every other week?”
“That’s hardly practical or feasible Michael. I’ve met very few in the TV community who can turn everything on and off like a light switch. The occasional professional impersonator might manage but I don’t think it is an option for you.”
You want to be able to ‘go public’ but not from your house so what did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking of buying a condo with a private entrance. I could move what was needed there from the house and set it up as a lease to my ‘sister’ who travels a great deal”
“I suggest you go ahead and find something suitable but that you lease it to maybe a distant cousin, not a sister. Once that is in place then perhaps plan on eventually spending one week a month dressed. But first I’m going to suggest, at the very least, you spend one complete month en femme until you feel comfortable. You have to find and develop your female character and get so used to it that it becomes second nature.”
“You’re going to need help to continue developing that feminine persona. Believe me it’s not just the clothes and makeup and, Michael, it is not something you can do by yourself.”
We knew I could not keep flying to the west coast so, after asking my permission, Lianne made a call to Gloria and flipped on the speakerphone so that we could have a three way conversation. I stayed out of things while she explained the situation. Gloria asked me few questions and confirmed what Dr. West had told her before she asked for a few days to think about our request.
Lianne suggested we call her again in a week when the next session was scheduled.
The next week was a busy one as I contacted agents setting the hunt for a condominium in motion. Entering Lianne’s office for our weekly session I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Gloria standing beside the doctor.
“Please come in and close the door Michael then I’ll explain. Gloria called me three days ago with an idea to help you and solve a problem she has. It’s a bit complicated so I asked her to fly in for this session and explain it to you herself. I hope you don’t think I have violated your trust.”
I walked over to the coffee tray thinking hard. “I consider Gloria a friend, even though I’ve only known her for a short time and she knows my story so no I am not upset. What’s the idea Gloria?”
“Thank you Michael. Like you I had someone close to me involved in a car accident several months ago. Unlike you it did not result in their death but is tragic none-the-less. Nancy has worked with me since I opened Crossroads as a makeup and hairdressing expert and became as close to me as a sister. She lost both her legs above the knee.”
The room was very quiet, as Gloria seemed to collect herself and then continued.
“The case is before the courts and her lawyers have already turned down a very large out of court settlement; they expect the final decision will be in the millions. That, however, will take time and Nancy needs desperately to occupy herself to take her mind off things a little bit.”
“My idea is that I will pay for Nancy to fly here if you will agree to arrange a place for her to live and provide a small weekly salary to tide her over. In return she will tutor you until you are completely comfortable passing in public.”
Dozens of questions tumbled around in my head. I looked at Lianne and she just nodded slightly.
“Have you talked to Nancy about this idea?”
“No, but I think she will agree. She’s going stir crazy confined to the wheelchair.”
“How old is she and is she married?”
“She’s in her mid forties and was divorced ten years ago.”
“She doesn’t have any ‘hang ups’ about cross dressers?”
“I told you she’s been with me at Crossroads for years.”
“Why is she still in a wheelchair and not fitted with prosthesis’s?”
“It’s an insurance thing. They are waiting for the court decision. It will force them to pay but, in the meantime, they are playing their usual delay at every turn game.”
I thought I heard a muttered ‘bastards’.
“Dr West?”
‘If I didn’t think the idea had merit I would not have invited Gloria to join us today Michael.”
“OK Gloria. Talk to Nancy and let me know immediately if she agrees because I’ll have to change my condo search for something that is wheelchair accessible. After that we need to get down to the details.”
Several very hectic weeks later I had purchased, not a condo, but a fairly secluded bungalow and arranged for a contractor to install the necessary ramps and grab bars. A couple of the inside doorways were widened and I bought some basic furniture. I also took out a short term lease on an SUV equipped with a chair lift
During this time I dressed one or two evenings each week and felt revitalized as I gradually emerged from what Dr. West had told me was an almost dangerous case of depression. The weekly sessions continued as she helped me understand what was going on inside my skull.
Finally, I moved most of Mary’s clothes to the bungalow and stocked in some groceries. Two days later Gloria arrived with Nancy.
She was a lovely pixie who had short hair that was an almost white blonde with a fringe that fell across her forehead drawing attention to the most amazing pair of blue eyes. There was sadness in those eyes, understandably, but they held mine firmly as we shook hands.
“Hello Michael I hear that we can maybe help each other; I hope so.”
I took them on a tour of the house and made some notes as they suggested things that were needed. Things like a dressing table with makeup mirrors and a full-length mirror that could be mounted on one of the doors. In the kitchen Nancy asked for a microwave because, when I was not around, the stove would not be practical for her to use.
After a couple of hours of chatting and discussing our plans Nancy glanced at Gloria and said, “I am quite comfortable with Michael and the set up here and I’m sure we will get along. If he feels the same way then let’s do it.”
Gloria looked at me with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
“I agree with Nancy so why don’t you head home and let us get to work.”
After she had left I took Nancy’s suitcases to her room and then went to a local second hand furniture store and arranged for them to deliver the dresser and mirror. The microwave and other things on the list went in my SUV and I headed back to make dinner.
As far as the other house I had arranged for a maid service to go in once a week while I was supposedly on a month long cruise. They would look after any problems and the security service would check it regularly.
Nancy and I had a quiet dinner and, although she handled the wheelchair easily enough, she promised to call me if she needed help with anything.
“Michael, in the morning we will start so please come to breakfast dressed as you think is appropriate and we will take it from there.”
I was up early and spent over an hour getting my makeup and hair done. Over the one piece body shaper I put on a slip that nearly reached my knees and then a crisp white high necked blouse and a rust coloured skirt and black pumps. Feeling a little bit proud of my efforts I followed the smell of coffee and said good morning to Nancy.
“I have a couple of questions. What do I call you is one? And the second is when was the last time you saw a woman making breakfast dressed like that and wearing 3” heels?”
I just sat down and stared at her then sipped on the coffee she slid in front of me.
“The secret to dressing, and being passable, is to look natural and as if you belong in any given situation. You are dressed for the office but you are in a kitchen. I want you to go and take off all the makeup except for the eyebrow pencil and a touch of lipstick. Then find something to wear that fits what I have just said.”
Wearing a simple sweater, a pair of slacks and flats I came back to finish my coffee.
“How about Marie? Your wife is a silent partner in this right? You are not attempting to bring her back by trying to be her so Mary is not an option. You are trying to explore your feminine side because it brings you closer to her memory; am I correct?”
“Yes and Marie would work because most of my identification is just with my initial M.”
“Marie it is then. Now one other thing before breakfast; I don’t think it is a good idea for you to always be wearing Mary’s clothes. For those special moments just between the two of you they are fine but day to day would diminish the effect.”
It only took a few moments for me to see that Nancy was right and I said so.
“Fine then go and find Michael and we’ll visit the department store in town. Gloria gave me your measurements so I know Marie’s sizes. Just help me around and I’ll pick out a basic wardrobe for her and then we will come back here and start again. Do I need to worry about a budget?”
I told her that, within reason, money was not a problem and then went to change.
The lift worked very well and once I had her chair locked in place she arranged her long skirt to drape down to the empty footrest.
It was four hours later, one of which had been spent enjoying a lunch in the store’s restaurant, when I helped her back in the house and unloaded an armful of packages. Another hour was spent moving Mary’s clothes into a spare room and taking off labels and tags before putting our purchases away.
“Now, pick out something suitable for a women making supper and say goodbye to Michael for a while.”
For the next five days Nancy never let up and we didn’t leave the house. One hour each morning I helped her through a set of exercises she had to do. Then I stayed close by the closed bathroom door in case she got in trouble bathing away the sweat.
She had me change clothes two or three times a day and do my makeup to match what I was wearing. Nancy would set out a situation or scenario such as lunch at a nice restaurant then spend ten or fifteen minutes critiquing me. Anytime we took a rest she handed me a magazine or a book to read out loud and practice a more feminine voice.
She was positive and supportive and, with the makeup, she always showed me my mistakes and how to match it to the outfit and situation. Very occasionally I got to wear flats but usually it was heels of varying heights and Nancy kept up a constant stream of advice until I could adjust my posture and steps almost automatically.
I must admit I was very glad that the stairs to the basement had a solid handrail because for a while she had me going up and down them in high heels.
“You will not always be faced with nice flat floors Marie” was her practical reasoning.
It was around one o’clock the next morning when I woke up trying to place the sounds I was hearing and, grabbing a dressing gown, went out in the hallway. The sounds were coming from Nancy’s bedroom and as I pushed open the door there was enough light for me to see her face down under the covers with a pillow wrapped around her head; she was trying to muffle the heartbreaking sobs that I heard.
I moved to stand beside the bed for a moment unsure what to do then it was obvious what was needed.
I sat on the side of the bed, pulled away the pillow and gathered her into my arms.
“Let it go Nancy, let it out. I’m here and my shoulder is all yours.”
For a moment she tried to pull away and I was afraid that she would be angry I had invaded her privacy, but then she just went limp and the sobs seemed to tear themselves from her throat. I just held her firmly but gently in my arms.
Gradually she calmed down and I got a facecloth and towel from the bathroom to wipe her face. Holding her again I stayed quiet and felt some of the tension leave her body.
It was barely a whisper. “It was watching you practice in those high heels today and I realized I would never wear them again; it all just caught up with me. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, you had me worried that’s why I came in your room; I’ll get back to my own unless you’d like a cup of tea or something.”
“No nothing but thank you Michael for being so caring.”
The next morning nothing was said but she gave me a light kiss on the cheek when I sat down with our coffee.
“Marie, you are doing very well so far but I don’t think you would be happy just yet going public. Am I right?”
There was no doubt that I had made a great deal of progress with Nancy’s guidance but, besides the obvious fear of going out for the first time, I knew she was reading me correctly. I just nodded.
“Well then I hope you don’t mind that we will be having a visitor this morning. No don’t look so scared; what day is it?”
I had to think.
“Oh God. Dr. West.”
It was her turn to nod.
“Are you all right having your weekly session with her here as Marie? I can call and change the plans if it is a problem.”
Lianne complimented me on my dress and makeup and we spent most of the session strolling in the garden. I told her what had happened the night before and was surprised at her reaction.
“Two hurt and lonely people comforting each other, I don’t see anything wrong with that. Do you think Mary would object?”
Did I?
“Mary was a very loving and compassionate person and she would not see anything wrong with what happened.”
“Then, Marie, think of this, if it had been you who died would you have wanted or expected Mary to live the rest of her life without human companionship? Don’t answer that now; let it simmer for a while. Nancy thinks you are doing really well and I wonder if you would aim at coming to my office next week as Marie for your official ‘coming out’?”
Nancy seemed to step up the pace of the lessons getting critical to a point where I started to have second thoughts. I had somehow believed that learning to be Marie would help me relax as I came to terms with why I was doing it but Nancy was picking me apart at every turn.
After three days the tension was getting unbearable and I was losing all the confidence I had gained. At lunch that day she kept up the constant stream of comments.
“You had breakfast this morning Marie so why are you shoveling food in as if you were starving. That’s hardly ladylike.”
I just looked at her trying to see if maybe she was joking; she wasn’t. I slammed down my knife and fork and left the table. Fifteen minutes later after a quick shower Michael was back and I headed for the front door of the house.
“Chickening out Marie?”
“No. I’m going out to probably get drunk while I try to figure out where the supportive teacher I was growing very fond of went and where the bitch came from who has replaced her.”
I had enough commonsense, despite my anger, to know diving into a bottle would not solve anything so two hours afterwards I was still nursing the large scotch I had ordered.
What had happened? Everything seemed to have been going along smoothly. Nancy and I had developed a great relationship being supportive of each other when it just seemed to fall apart. My cell phone buzzing broke into my thoughts.
“Michael, it’s Gloria. I’ve just spent a long time on the phone with Nancy and she is really upset.”
“So am I Gloria, so am I; I have no idea why she’s acting like she is.”
“I do Michael and I’m going to interfere because, while I like you, I love Nancy and you are both hurting. She’s scared Michael.”
“But I have never give her any reason to fear me, or Marie for that matter. I’ve treated her with the respect she deserves and, honestly if you must know, I was getting very comfortable with her around.”
“That’s what has scared her Michael. She’s feeling the same way. She told me she likes both Michael and Marie and that you were so gentle with her no matter how you were dressed. I’ll quote her ‘a cross dresser and a cripple what could that lead to. I know I hurt him but I had to push him away because I don’t think I can stand to be hurt anymore.’ Do you understand Michael?”
I downed the rest of my drink.
“Let me see if I can sort things out Gloria; I’ll stay in touch.”
She seemed so small huddled down in her wheelchair when I came into the living room.
“I’ve talked to Gloria.”
“Oh, when is she coming for me?”
I knelt down beside her chair.
“Nancy, I’m only going to be a cross dresser maybe five percent of the time but during that time I want to be very good at it. The rest of the time I’ll be Michael. You are not a cripple. You have your brain and the ability to use it. You have your beauty, your sensitivity and gentleness. That to me does not define a cripple. Now, I have three questions for you. What would you like Marie to wear while she makes our dinner? Would you help her with her makeup? Will you make sure she is ready to visit Dr. West next week?”
The light came back in her eyes.
“I have question for you Michael. Can we have a nice stiff drink together before we start again?”
We did.
Marie ‘came out’ beautifully even if I do say so myself. Full of confidence in a navy blue power suit, 3” chunky heels, hair and makeup just so, even the voice she used to announce herself to the receptionist was just a touch husky.
Michael moved back to his home and Marie visited Nancy for just a week or so each month but Michael visited a bit more often. Then, two months later, Nancy announced it was time for her to return to the west coast and they went out for dinner.
“Nancy. The first time I dressed I asked Mary to help make life bearable for me and I believe she has. Everything that happened after that led up to me meeting you. It is just too much of a coincidence not to have been meant to happen.”
I’d like to tell you that Nancy agreed!
I’d like to tell you that we got married and lived happily as Michael and Nancy.
I’d like to tell you that, every once in a while, Marie comes to visit but just for fun.
And I can because that’s what did happen!
Oh, and at our wedding, I saw Gloria and Lianne giving each other a big high five.
We had been set up!
The End!
With thanks to Kristinals who helped me ‘close the loop’ and get the story finished after going around in circles for weeks.
Secrets revealed can lead to happiness - really!
Marriage Made in Heaven!
By
Anne Gray
Secrets revealed can lead to happiness. It might sound silly but my wife and I are proof of that statement!
Karen and I had been happily married for nearly eight years. We were both in our late twenties, career professionals with excellent prospects, a nice home in a secluded neighborhood and no intention of having any children.
Our lives revolved around work, the house, a few close friends and a satisfactory, but not spectacular, sexual relationship. That we loved each other was obvious to anyone who saw us together.
About a year ago I had gone on a three day business trip. Partway through day two it was obvious that nothing was being accomplished so I adjourned the meeting and, meaning to surprise Karen, took an evening flight home.
In the driveway was a car I recognized as Jill’s. She was a long time friend of Karen’s and had been her Maid of Honor at our wedding. I don’t really know why but instead of pulling into the garage, I parked beside her car and quietly entered the house.
Downstairs was in darkness but, knowing the layout like the back of my hand, I made my way upstairs to the master bedroom. Halfway up the stairs my ears told me fun and games were in progress.
The door to the bedroom was wide open but the two on the bed in a classic 69 were too involved to even glance in that direction. Karen and Jill were locked in an embrace of tongues on clits, hands on breasts and eyes closed in ecstasy.
I loved Karen with all my heart but, watching them, had to admit to myself that I had never been able to arouse, or apparently, satisfy her in the way Jill was doing. I decided to record the event in the hope it would help me in some way to understand and be able to give her more satisfaction.
Moving quietly down the hall to one of the spare bedrooms we had turned into a den, I got our state-of-the-art video camera, picked up a step stool and went back to set it to the side of the door to the master bedroom. All the lights were blazing and by standing on the stool then poking the camera around the doorframe I got an excellent view of the two on the bed. As they thrashed around each eventually presented a clean shot of their face.
After about five minutes I shut off the camera, returned the stool to the den, then removed the film and hid it behind a set of history books in the bookcase. History was my hobby and Karen never touched those books.
2.
Leaving the house I drove away to check into a hotel for the night before returning home, at my scheduled time, to a warm welcome from my wife.
Almost exactly six months later the roles were reversed and Karen was the one away on a week-long convention. She came home two days early and I never heard her enter the house. I certainly jumped though when a camera flashed several times and I turned to see her standing in the doorway to the living room snapping shot after shot with the camera she had taken to the convention to record some of the exhibits.
She laughed and said, “I’ll just go and leave this film in to be developed”. I tried to catch her but the new 4” heels I had been practicing in proved too much and I ended up tripping over her suitcase in the hallway, landing flat on my stomach, with my skirt riding up as I watched the front door slam shut.
Now, neither of us had a secret!
When Karen came back about a half hour later I was dressed in slacks and tee shirt. The makeup was washed off and the clothes stashed away in their hiding place. I was nursing a stiff drink and not looking forward to the next few hours.
Her first words were, “Make me one of those too and start explaining.” So I told her how I loved her with all my heart but once in a while I needed to cross dress to satisfy an urge I had lived with since childhood. I explained that I wasn’t gay and I didn’t want to hurt her but sometimes it got the better of me.
Karen was quiet for a while, with a strange almost introspective look on her face, then said she could understand how sometimes an urge was so strong you would risk almost anything to satisfy it.
“So why did you take the pictures?” I asked.
“Well”, she said, “it was spur of the moment. When I came through the door I could smell perfume that was not mine and for one horrible moment I thought you were cheating on me. It only took a split second for me to realize that it was you because you might have been doing this for a long time but you were still easily recognizable as a guy in a dress.”
She got a very female smirk on her face. “Besides a girl always likes to have the upper hand. So now when you get lazy and start spending too much time watching football on TV I could always threaten to have the pictures going around at your office.”
I grinned right back at her “Oh, I don’t think you’ll do that”. When she looked quizzically at me I said, “You might have those photos of me but would you like the people in your office to see a video of you and Jill having fun in our master bedroom? That’s your occasional urge isn’t it?”
“I think that’s Check — Mate!”
First shock and worry crossed her face, then a ruthful shake of the head, a grin and “OK let’s work this out.”
So we did.
3.
Once every month or so we leave our offices early on a Friday and meet at home. In the cold weather from October to April I keep my legs shaved since there is no call to wear summer shorts. Karen has gradually got my own hair into a neat cut, with no sideburns, which is acceptable with my everyday business suits but also very easily covered with one of the wigs she surprised me with on my birthday.
At first she would help me with my makeup but now, since she taught me as we went along, I can handle it myself with some expertise. When Karen has checked that I’ve got it right, and before I put on my lipstick, she gives me a loving kiss, takes her overnight bag, and goes to Jill’s house.
Since this is only happens every few weeks, Jill has accepted that I am out of town on business. Karen and I agreed to keep our urges to ourselves.
Once she has gone I get dressed. The feeling of doing this with no apprehension is hard to explain. As I tuck my genitals back and pull on a panty girdle to hold them out of the way, the next 48 hours stretch in front of me with the knowledge that there is nothing to fear while I satisfy a part of me that has been hidden for so long.
With Karen’s help there is now a closet full of clothes to choose from. Most of them are suitable for the office or ‘housewifeish’ if there is such a word? That’s what I wanted and that’s how I can now pass unnoticed.
I’m 5’ 9” and 150 lbs, which translates, in Karen’s language, to a near perfect size14! My bra cups are filled with thin plastic bags containing birdseed; they form perfectly into the right shape. Pantyhose slide easily up my legs followed by a white long sleeved blouse and a knee length denim skirt. Knee boots that zip up the inside of the leg and have comfortable 3” block heels complete the basics. Brunette pageboy wig, conservative earrings (clip-on) and it’s down to the kitchen to check the supplies.
4.
A wonderfully warm belted leather coat and gloves; shoulder strap purse checked for all I need, including the new drivers license Karen got me. Then it’s into the car and off across town to do the grocery shopping.
Mundane — you bet! Wonderful to be dressed as I am and exciting to pass un-noticed — you better believe it!
Back home I unload and put away the groceries, make myself something to eat and get into a comfortable silk lounging set for a quiet evening in front of the television and do my nails. I keep my fingernails just slightly longer than the average guy but once they have a couple of coats of polish they become very feminine.
Saturday I spend casually dressed, usually a knee length skirt and light sweater but in pumps with 3” heels that now feel natural, puttering around doing housework and getting the place in shape. Karen loves this part — no more housework or laundry for a week after each of these occasions. I just enjoy the freedom to dress how I feel like doing and not worry about any consequences. If the phone rings I answer in my normal voice and the doorbell, on the infrequent times it sounds, goes ignored.
Saturday evening I’m out again, usually to a movie. Sitting in the theatre dressed from the skin out as a completely ordinary woman I’m in heaven. Many times I can’t even remember what the film was about! There’s not anything sexual about the whole thing; sensual is a better word.
Sunday afternoon Karen comes home to find her husband wearing jeans and a sweater, drinking beer and watching football on TV. As she settles down beside me we don’t speak. The look in each other’s eyes of utter contentment is all that is needed. Slowly we kiss and then I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom where we demonstrate to each other the depth of our love.
5.
It’s now just over a year since Karen and I came to our agreement and there have been so many changes it is hard to know where to start.
Every few weeks Karen would spend a weekend with her girlfriend Jill and I would have 48 hours of bliss, dressing without stress or fear, as my feminine alter ego.
It was after about four months that things started to change. Usually she would leave on Friday afternoon before I got “dressed” but this time she asked if I would let her see me as my other self. She said that, although she had helped me with my makeup, she had never seen how I spent these special weekends. She could only visualize that one time when she took the photographs of, as she had observed at the time, a guy dressed as a girl. Now she wanted to see the progress I had made.
It was a request I could not refuse; Karen had been so much help to me. Thanks to her I now had proper breast forms, instead of the birdseed in plastic bags, to fill my bra. I had a closet full of clothes, a couple of wigs and she had plucked my eyebrows for me. I had very fair eyebrows, in fact if I got a lot of sun they were almost invisible so she had plucked them just enough not to be noticeable in my everyday life but so that when I took a dark pencil to them they became obviously feminine.
I poured her a glass of wine and told her to give me some time to change.
Male equipment tucked away and held in place by a panty girdle, which also helped smooth that “love handle” at my waist. I was going to have to work on that but I did enjoy a few beers with the guys after a game of golf. As an aside, I often stood on the tee and grinned mentally as I wondered what the other three would think if I was dressed differently.
I imagined myself in a blonde wig, full makeup; a dark green golfing skirt topped by a light green sweater. Matching socks and a lovely pair of two-toned spiked loafers. Hey I would get to hit from the ladies tee - another bonus.
Back to reality. Thirty minutes later I was ready, dark pageboy wig and makeup just so. A knee length brown tweed skirt with a brown silk blouse tucked in at the waist. Brown square-toed shoes with 3” heels and beige hose finished the outfit.
Taking a deep breath I went downstairs into the living room. Karen just stared at me with a look I could not fathom. “Good Lord, you’re amazing”, she said, “but what do I call you?”
We had not discussed this. The driver’s license she got me was actually a duplicate of hers. Except for the few inches difference in height the description would probably get by in a pinch.
I sat down beside her and we threw out possibilities. My name is Norman so the obvious route was to go with Norma but I didn’t like it. When I was dressed like this there was no way I wanted to have anything close to my male side. So we went back to the beginning of the alphabet and ended up with Alice.
When we had agreed on this name she rose from the chesterfield, reached down for her handbag and said it was time she left for Jill’s. As she went past me she reached into her bag, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and pushed something into my hand.
“Tear them up” she said and left.
They were the photographs she had taken that night she came home unexpectedly and caught me. She was right I looked pathetic. I tore them up and then went upstairs and erased the tape of her and Jill.
A month later, one week after one of our “special weekends”, she came out of the kitchen after dinner with two drinks in her hand and sat beside me on the chesterfield. “There’s a problem and we need to talk.” She said and handed me one of the glasses. I’ll swear my heart stopped for a moment.
I listened as she told me that the time when she asked to see me as the person we now call Alice she didn’t go to Jill’s. “Instead I left the house and sat in a rented car down the street. I watched as you left and followed you. Even in the stores you had no idea I was there, you were so engrossed in being Alice and doing what you were doing. I checked into a hotel and on the Saturday evening followed you again. I sat two or three rows away from you in the movie and just off to the side so I could see you.
I watched you as the movie ended and you left the theatre. I was behind you as you walked to our car. If I had not known who you really were I could find nothing that weekend to convince me you were not the woman you presented to the world.”
She continued, “Last weekend I spent with Jill and two things happened. One — all of these months I have not felt comfortable with our arrangement. It satisfies us both but still I feel unfaithful, even though my weekends with Jill are with your knowledge, it is still outside our marriage and it has, to me, become unbearable. Two — when I was with Jill all I could think about was the Alice I had just met and left at home.”
“Norman, when you are Alice you are now so completely feminine that I think we can work it, if you agree, so that Alice will satisfy my lesbian urges and everything we do will be just the two of us. Or should that be three?” she said and looked at me with such urgency in her eyes that I had to close mine.
I rested my head on the back of the chesterfield and said a quiet prayer to whatever deity had blessed me for whatever reason. Then, I opened my eyes, put down my un-needed drink and gathered Karen in my arms.
The only problem we have now is with my voice, when we go out with me as Alice I let Karen do any talking. If there is a need for me to say something out of politeness to a waiter, for example, I raise my red finger-nailed hand to my throat and whisper a husky thank you.
We don’t go to the same places too often because the sore throat & laryngitis bit only stretches so far. We still kept it to maybe one weekend every month but gradually Karen let me, or even asked me, to “dress” even on weekday evenings after work and has coached me in things I didn’t even think of. For example — walking in 4” heels without getting that exaggerated rear end swing. I’ve also stopped eating, as Karen says, like I’m using a shovel. They say that clothes make a man. Oh if they only knew what clothes can do!
Two weeks ago for our vacation we flew to Vegas for a four-night stay. All of Norman’s clothes stayed behind. We were not crossing any borders so identification was not a problem. Once in Vegas Karen and Alice had a ball. I was dressed mostly in skirts and blouses or dresses and always with heels. Nothing attention getting just the 3” or 4” that I was comfortable with. Karen wore jeans or slacks and light sweaters with medium heels and, I might add, looked fabulous.
After a day of sightseeing, with me the silent partner, and then an evening in the casino (thank God for slot machines and hand signs at blackjack!) we went to our room and Alice made love to Karen. I must admit it wasn’t easy. I enjoyed working with my hands and tongue while in my Alice persona and I could get her to so many climaxes that she slept like a baby, but it was the pressure on my tucked away “other parts” that was hard to bear.
Coming back on the plane I had to pull the sore throat bit again. The flight attendants were so efficient that I had a purse full of lozenges that I had thanked them for and then palmed.
I was wearing a knee length suede skirt and matching three-button jacket over a long sleeve white blouse. My leather gloves were in the pockets of the hip length suede coat in the overhead compartment. Just 2” heeled pumps on my feet and a feeling of “I can’t believe I’m not asleep and dreaming” in my head. Karen was fast asleep in her seat next to me.
We got home at about 1 p.m. and put Alice away. The bags were re-packed and we headed back to the airport. Just four hours later we were in Nassau and spent four fabulous days as man and wife on the beaches and in the casinos where I could now bid in my own voice. It didn’t help - I still lost!
The nights were unforgettable hours of love. Karen pulled out all the stops and we did things that took me to heaven and then over the top, time and time again.
As I sit now at the computer typing this I am dressed in a white, shantung silk dress. The sleeves are puffed to the elbow and then tight to the wrist. The front closes, from the scoop neck to the below the knee skirt, with numerous glossy black buttons that are 1” across. A wide black belt cinches my waist under my 36B bust.
My earrings are made from two matching black buttons. Alice is in full makeup with the black pageboy wig up top and nylon clad legs that end in black pumps with a 4” heel at the bottom.
I’m looking down as my red fingernails catch the light when they move on the keyboard and then I focus on the simple gold wedding band on my left hand. I can hear Karen in the kitchen making us a snack.
Right now my name is Alice — and I am in Wonderland!
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I got sent this the other day by my friend Anne. Unusually for her she was reticent to post it; she is usually quite straightforward about such things. Knowing the bare outlines of what likely inspired it I was touched and slightly troubled. A close friend of hers is fighting breast cancer, hopefully to win as best she can.
This was inspired, if that's the word, by the waiting… in an anteroom of an oncology ward. A place where courage is simple, yet beyond what most, fortunately, will ever need to approach.
So with her permission I post this for all those that fight. ~~~ Kristina.L.S
One Day
by Anne Gray
One day I know the hurt will stop
And leave me free from pain.
Until that time life must go on
With just hope to keep me sane.
Every day there’s work to be done
But I cannot show how much it draws
The soul from me in pieces one by one
To fight that real and vicious foe.
There is no stopping
Giving up is not a thought
Every day’s a battle
That just has to be fought.
Friends are golden to join in the fight
Though sight unseen they prop you up
With heartfelt words they really mean
It almost makes us like a team.
And with their help
One day the hurt will stop!
Another BigCloset TopShelf story. I've just joined at the invitation of Kristinals. Strangely, this story has the same name as one of hers but both were written before we 'met'. Mine is about the journey of a young man trying to fulfill his dream. Anne
THE JOURNEY
By
Anne Gray
Chapter 0ne.
I must have been sitting there for over twenty minutes. My car was parked near the entrance to the town’s largest covered shopping mall and I was still trying to screw up the courage to get out.
Nearly three years of planning had led up to this moment and I just had to do it. I reached for my shoulder strap handbag on the passenger seat and dropped in the car keys. Taking a deep breath I opened the door and, swinging my legs out, put my three-inch heels on the ground leaving my cocoon of safety.
Having made myself come this far, after a three year journey, I closed the car door and turned to start my walk to the mall entrance. The reason for all this hesitation was quite simple; I was a twenty-two year old male dressed from the skin out as a female.
While I say it had been a three year journey that was how long it was since I had started aiming for this moment but I had known since my early teens that it would happen one day.
My first memories were vague ones from my early childhood. I remember being jealous of my older sister and the clothes she got to wear. By the time I was in my teens and started dating I enjoyed being out with the girls and having fun but also imagined what it would be like to wear whatever they were wearing.
And I did like the girls so I knew I wasn’t gay; that made me the only person in the world who knew I was a transvestite. After finishing school and immediately landing a great job as a computer programmer, I moved into my own apartment and the journey began.
Even my selection of the apartment took in to account what I was planning and, in fact, I got a much better deal on it because it was right next to the elevators. Being on the fourth floor it was high enough that no one could see in the windows but not so high that extended time was needed to get down to the underground garage.
Like many one bedroom apartments mine had a long, narrow storage room just inside the front door and I turned the back four feet of it into a hidden closet. With boxes and the usual stuff you collect, but have no place to put, in the rest of the area it was unnoticeable.
In fact I had a system that took only a couple of minutes to get to it and slide the door open. As I gradually gathered what I needed for my other persona storing it on racks and shelves in this little hidden space, I could not help but grin to myself that one day, I would really be “coming out of the closet”.
My parents had retired and moved south and my sister was long married and lived on the other side of the country. I had few close friends and my colleagues at work stayed pretty much to themselves so my privacy and “space” was reasonably secure.
Both in my profession and daily life I was a detail man, planning each action very carefully. Those habits now stood me in good stead as I moved towards my heart’s desire.
The first time grocery shopping to stock up the apartment kitchen I slowed passing the rack of packaged Wonder bras and pantyhose grabbed one of each and tossed it in the cart. They got lost in the four or five bags at the checkout so not an eyebrow was raised. The sizes didn’t matter, what I had wanted was the charts I had seen on the packages.
Studying them at home and using a tape measure on my own body I found that I had really been lucky with the bra, it did fit me but looked a bit stupid with the cups empty. With them padded I would apparently be a 36c; as for the pantyhose they were miles too small. The chart said I would need a code C.
The next week the rack at the grocery store dispensed two packs the right size in a neutral shade.
At 5’ 8” and 140 lbs my research eventually indicated that I was somewhere between a size 12 and 14. To confirm this took a few more weeks along with the help of the Salvation Army!
They had several of their second hand clothing stores in the city and I visited two of them. I approached one of the volunteer staffers and asked for help. I explained that my family had “adopted” a single mother and her child “up north” and they really needed some clothes. My contribution was to get something for the woman but all I had was a photograph and her measurements — could she help?
Being one of the marvelous people they are, she certainly could help. The photograph was, of course, of my sister who just happened to be 5’ 8” and 140lbs. Thirty minutes and just $20 later I left with two skirts, a couple of blouses, a turtleneck sweater and a pair of slacks. None of their shoes were 9 wide.
The second store produced a similar reaction plus one pair of flats and one pair of 3” heels in the right size. Less than $50 and I was loaded with things to try but the best part was that each item had a tag clearly marking the size.
I was in heaven as I tried on my treasures my feelings proving that my dreams had not been wrong, I just loved to wear feminine clothing and it felt right.
Strangely, later that day, I had another great date with one of the girls from the office and we ended up at her place for the night doing what comes naturally and that felt right too.
With some experimentation I found that two pairs of the neutral coloured control top pantyhose worked best one on top of the other. The bits and pieces tucked between my legs were held there and a smooth front achieved. I had finally found the best thing to fill the bra cups; believe it or not, it was birdseed in a thin plastic bag.
It shaped to the cups and the weight seemed comfortable. After trying all my items I selected those that fit best namely, the sweater and a knee length tweed skirt that was just tight enough to control the length of my steps in the 3” heels. Now those took some getting used to but I practiced every evening. In fact, it took me less than thirty minutes after getting home to raid the closet and spend the rest of the day and evening pretending, at least from the neck down, to be a woman.
Now I visited a regular department store and confided to one of the sales clerks that I had brought along one of my girlfriends’ favourite skirts that she had had for a few years and did they have anything similar that I could get for her birthday?
They did and for the sweater. Another couple of months and I had a complete new wardrobe.
The advertisements in the back of a women’s magazine yielded several mail order wig suppliers. I picked one and mailed off an order for a shoulder length pageboy style. My cheques were identified with just the initial of my first name and therefore generic; three weeks later I had my wig.
I was blessed with very fine, fair hair that made my eyebrows almost invisible so I could go two or three days without shaving before it became obvious; those things were in my favour. Added to that I had a hobby, or should that be another hobby, of building small model aircraft and found that if I kept my fingernails a bit longer than the usual male they were better than tweezers for handling the tiny parts.
Now — makeup! I solved that one by again using the colour photograph of my sister. A visit to a major department store just before Christmas and a chat with the cosmetician on staff produced a complete makeup gift kit that she was sure would compliment the features of the girl in the photograph.
Now my evenings were spent practicing to get the effect I wanted, feminine but understated. What really amazed me was the effect of nail polish, my hands immediately transformed to those of a lady.
For months I put everything together two or three evenings a week in the security of my apartment until it was clear that I either had to take the next step on my journey or forget the whole thing.
So here I was getting out of the car.
Dark blonde pageboy wig, careful makeup, small clip on earrings, tan high-necked sweater that covered my Adam’s apple, knee length dark brown tweed skirt with a 2” belt around my waist and very light brown pantyhose that disappeared into the square toed pumps with 3” heels. The shoulder strap purse gave me something to do with my hands; I had my left thumb hooked around the strap at waist level and my right hand rested lightly on top of it. This solved the problem of what to do with them.
Almost one hour later I was getting back in my car. I had done two complete circuits inside the Mall. Walking slowly and window shopping every store I had made myself relax and move as I had practiced oh so many times.
Not a sideways glance, not a giggle and, Thank God, not a pointed finger. I wondered that I was not sweating bricks — I had passed!
Well — almost!
I went back once a week and it was an incredible turn-on. Because of my voice I never spoke to anyone, I never brought anything; I just so enjoyed the clothes I was wearing and the feeling of being feminine in public.
Then after five or six visits I got a coffee from the self -serve in the food court and sat at one of the small tables to drink it.
A really gorgeous girl in her mid twenties slid into the seat facing me and leaned close as she said — “You really are very good but your walk needs some work!”
I think my heart stopped for a moment, I know my eyes went wide and my jaw dropped as I stared at her.
“Oh don’t look so scared,” she whispered “you really do pass quite well it’s just that I’m trained to study people because I’m with the Mall’s undercover security and our main job is looking for anything out of place.”
“I’ve seen you here before and couldn’t put a finger on what was bothering me. You’ve never brought anything until that coffee and you haven’t caused any trouble but I then I noticed that you tend to lean forward just slightly walking in those heels and I had you figured out.”
“Are you gay?”
“No,” I whispered back, “far from it, I just love the feeling of dressing in female clothing. I’m not doing any harm to anyone so please don’t make a fuss.”
She looked me straight in the eye and said that there was a nice inexpensive restaurant at the end of the Mall and she would like to meet me there for dinner at 7 p.m. when she was off duty. We could talk. I should come as myself, just like I would on a date.
I had little choice in the matter and, anyway, my male side was reminding me how beautiful she was, so I agreed and then she worried me again by asking to see my driver’s license. One look and she grinned at me and said I should take the bus home because the license was in my real name and carried my male picture. Anything happens and you are screwed, so go home, change and we’ll collect your car tonight.
It made sense; I had completely missed that detail in my plans. So, with her walking beside me to the entrance and a final quiet word of encouragement to straighten my back a bit more, I left for home.
I didn’t even know her name!
My journey had taken an unexpected turn but, for some reason, I was not worried as to what the evening would bring; maybe I should have been!
Chapter Two
Her name was Francine and she was even more gorgeous than I had thought that afternoon. She was waiting for me at the entrance to the restaurant and I was right on time. I had stopped to check that my car was OK before coming in the Mall. Now, in a short sleeved shirt, tie and freshly pressed slacks I can’t explain why I was feeling so relaxed; she just didn’t give off any bad vibes and there was no fear in me.
She already knew, from seeing my drivers license earlier, that my “male” name was Paul and she had told me hers as we were being led to a table in a quiet corner.
After we ordered a cocktail, she asked if I would explain why she had found me dressed, as I was that afternoon. Completely at ease, I didn’t even hesitate, just poured out the happenings of the last few years that had led up to this part of my “Journey”.
When I got to the ways and tricks I had used to gather my wardrobe and the other things necessary she smiled saying that as a computer expert I should have known I could have just gone online to a place like the Glamour Boutique and the whole thing could have happened in weeks or less — not the months and years I had spent.
What with that obvious thought and the driver’s license bit I guess I wasn’t so much of a detail man after all.
After we had ordered it was my turn to question her motives and she talked for nearly an hour as we ate.
She had had a younger brother who she loved dearly. When he was about 14 years old she began to notice that her clothing was occasionally disturbed, not quite how she had left it or just slightly out of place. Their parents were dead so only the two of them lived in the house. She was over 18, had custody and was quite capable of looking after him.
She thought.
She went out on the net doing some extensive research in case her suspicions were confirmed. Then one day, she admitted, she set him up. She asked him if he would be all right if she went to stay overnight at a girlfriend’s house. He said no problem he would just watch TV.
Francine told me she made him a meal to heat up and left for about two hours. Around seven in the evening she quietly returned to the house to find him in her room wearing some of her clothes.
She knew from her research that he would be not only devastated but scared so the first thing she did was move over to him, take him in her arms and tell him it was OK, she knew what was going on and they could work things out together.
And, she said, work things out they did. He, like me, was not gay it was just that ever since he could remember he had been fascinated with female clothes and finally the urge got too much and he had started sneaking into my room when I was out and trying things on.
With her help, by the time he was sixteen, once or twice a month he would come home from school and an hour or so later she had a sister for the weekend. It was all he wanted. He (she) had a wardrobe full of outfits and delighted in changing sometimes two or three times in an evening. She taught him how to do his makeup and hair, sit, walk (he had a couple of pairs of heels) and he spent hours in front of the mirror.
Then one weekend they decided to “go public”. What harm could that do? Dinner at a nice place in the next town went without a hitch and the look in her brother’s eyes as they returned to the house convinced Francine she had handled everything properly.
A few months later, they were again on one of their occasional outings. She could remember exactly what he/she was wearing. A cotton blouse tucked in her/his, (damn she said I never knew how to refer to my brother when he was “dressed”, we never picked a female name for him) denim knee length skirt a matching jacket, sensible 2” heeled pumps. Hair up in a ponytail, small dangly earrings, a matching necklace and looking so lovely, he/she was just plain happy.
Then a boy from his school came in the restaurant with his family. They recognized Francine and came over to say hello. The boy could not stop staring at her brother and then like a light going on in his eyes it came out — “but you’re not a girl”.
Within a day or so it was all over the school and they made his life a complete misery. It was a small town, changing schools was not an option. “Moving away is what we should have done but I was studying pre-law and the house was free and clear so we stayed.”
At this point we had finished our meal and by the look on her face she was close to tears so I called for the bill. She insisted on “going Dutch” since it had been her idea to have dinner and my arguments got me nowhere so we settled up, left and ended up sitting in my car.
We were no sooner alone than the tears came and I held her as she sobbed on my shoulder.
Gradually it came out. They had hounded her brother unmercifully. Faggot, queer, sissy; he got it all. Then just before the graduation dance, she found out later, they sent him a catalogue from a dress shop and a note telling him to pick out something to wear.
She came home that evening and he had committed suicide. “He was so young, he hurt no one; he just had this uncontrollable urge to wear feminine clothes. What did he do that was so wrong?”
“They all came to the funeral and I stood up at the front, looked out at them sitting there and asked if they were now satisfied.” Not one of them could look me in the eye.
She apologized for getting my shirt all wet with her tears and said since it was getting late would I take her home?
On the drive to her place we exchanged telephone numbers. I walked her to the door and she turned, thanked me for being so honest with her and listening to her story. Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek and said she wanted to ask a favour. Could we meet again tomorrow at my place, would I show her my hidden closet and would I “dress” for her?
Why - was my question? Francine looked me straight in the eye and said she wanted to help me with my dream and make sure that I never would hear those dreaded words — “but you’re not a girl!”
Well, what would you have done?
Chapter Three
I met her at the door to my apartment in sports shirt and slacks and with a little trepidation I must admit, but the bright smile on her lovely face as she came in set me at ease. I had a light supper simmering on the stove and a salad to go with it. Based on what she had ordered last night, I had cocktails ready and handed her one.
“Well, at least you aren’t wearing a tie but why didn’t you get dressed for me?” That was an easy question to answer. “I thought you would want to see how I go about things from scratch and then you could tell me what I’m doing wrong. But, Francine, we have to also discuss something else.”
“Let me guess. You’re wondering what happens when your, shall we say, intimate parts get involved — right?”
Oh boy was she right!
“Paul, you might not think so but you are a very attractive man, I’m only a couple of years older than you and, in a few months, I’ll graduate from law school. You are independent with a full time job so we are both adults with minds of our own. I know we only met yesterday but the rapport between us seemed to click immediately didn’t it?”
God, she was right again?
“So, why don’t we get any possible embarrassment out of the way by doing this?” She leaned over, took my face in her hands and kissed me like I had never been kissed before.
The supper was still edible an hour later when we came out of the bedroom! We ate with her wearing one of my tee shirts and me in boxer shorts; I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Now, let’s have a look at your “other self” and, by the way, what do you call yourself when you are dressed as a girl?”
There’s that detail man again letting me down! “I don’t know, I supposed Paula would be the obvious answer wouldn’t it?”
“That’s one possibility but I don’t like it. I’ve seen you dressed and you need something softer. How about Pauline?”
She’d done it again, it sounded just right; I grinned at her “Well here we are one Francine and one, occasionally, Pauline.”
As it turned out, it wasn’t so occasionally but that’s getting ahead of the story.
I showed her where my hidden cupboard was and I don’t think it took more than five minutes before she had all that had taken me so long to acquire spread out on the dining room table and floor of the living room.
I’d never heard so many Um’s and Ah’s so I did what any red-blooded transvestite would do and went to make a pot of coffee. As I handed Francine hers she said, “Take yours to the bathroom and get wet while you shave everything except your head and eyebrows.”
Seeing the look on my face she smiled, “I know you don’t think you have much hair but wait till you see how things feel when you have shaved. We have to get you down to just one set of pantyhose!”
I wondered what the heck she was talking about but went quietly anyway. I really didn’t have that much body hair and even at my age only needed to shave my face two or three times a week. As I plied the razor in the bath I wondered if the lack of hair had something to do with the genes I had inherited and why I felt as I did.
When I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist Francine said we should start from scratch, literally — she meant my finger and toe nails!
She told me that I should file my fingernails so they were square straight across. I could get away with them being longer as a male if they were that way instead of oval. Besides, when Pauline put on some decent nail polish (an obvious crack at my taste) the larger surface would make them very feminine because there was more colour.
That made sense and I was more than happy to sit and gaze at her as she worked an emery board across them and then, frowning, lined up the few lipsticks and bottles of nail polish I had. “Take a look, you don’t have two that match.”
“OK for tonight just let me see you in your bra, I want to check some measurements.” I stood in the middle of the room in just bra and panties while she plied the tape and made some notes. By the time she was finished the panties were somewhat distorted. She grinned and said it was flattering but would have to wait then she asked me to fire up my computer.
After a few minutes she told me she had just ordered two pairs of breast forms (feed the birds with that other stuff in a week or so was a side comment) and a wig form. She said that storing the wig in a bag on the self was just asking for trouble. She had given her own house as the address for delivery from the Boutique and put them on her credit card.
She hoped that was all right and I could pay her when they arrived — it was marvelous.
She decided it was necessary to go shopping in the morning and, reluctantly, I asked if I should drive her home. She said she had come over in her own car but was I trying to get rid of her or should we do something about the tent in my panties — we did!
Shopping the next day was an education and a laugh at the same time. Francine dragged me from store to store and I got lots of looks of sympathy from staff thinking here’s the boyfriend being towed around looking embarrassed while she shops. If they had only known she was buying all those things for me.
Except for a couple of inches in height it had turned out our measurements were very close. The difference, of course, was that her bulges were very real. It meant that whatever she picked could have been for her self. When no one was close enough to overhear she gave me a running commentary of what she was getting and why.
For example not only control top panty hose but also a pair of what she called “power panties”. They were part spandex and part nylon and Francine grinned at me when she said they would keep everything under control.
She also got some matching shades of lipstick and nail polish in more muted colours. The explanation being that bright reds were fine if you wanted to draw attention to them but that was not our goal.
She said I had a great pair of legs and needed to get used to wearing and walking in higher heels to show them off and that got me wondering how I was supposed to go about buying them. I needn’t have worried. Francine told the clerk that her sister had a birthday coming and if she bought her a pair of shoes as a present, she knew the size, but for some reason they didn’t fit, could she bring them back and exchange them?
No problem, and ten minutes later Pauline had a new pair of pumps with 4” heels.
We had lunch, my treat, then stopped by Francine’s house so she could change and then, with a kiss, she said let’s go find the new improved version of Pauline at your place!
Chapter Four
“No, no, no Pauline; you’re still working at it and you shouldn’t. When you are dressed like that you should be able to feel like Pauline. Put her on; put her inside you as you dress. Don’t work at her, feel her!”
Francine was sitting opposite me in my living room. I was wearing a pale yellow linen suit with a knee length skirt and three-button jacket. My white blouse had a frill around the high neck and my hose covered feet were in a pair of white pumps with 3” heels.
It was a few weeks after we had met and, although with her coaching, I had become quite expert in doing it myself, Francine had done my makeup for me. We were celebrating the arrival of my breast forms and they felt wonderfully natural inside my white bra.
After she settled my shoulder length wig in place and combed it to frame my face, she added a pair of matching yellow button earrings. My fingernails matched my lipstick thanks to the shopping she had done with me. Even my toenails were done though they could not be seen in the pumps.
She was right; it was work. I should have felt like Pauline but I didn’t. I was so happy and it was marvellous to be dressed like this but I was still Paul inside the clothes acting as I thought Pauline would. It showed and Francine was getting exasperated with me.
“I think I know what the problem is,” she said. “The longest time you’ve been Pauline is a matter of a few hours. Even my brother, when he dressed, spent full weekends as his alter ego. With you Paul never has a chance to fade into the background and let Pauline take over.”
“You’ve got some holiday time owing to you and I have ten days free in a week or so. I think we should use that time to give Pauline a real chance.”
So that’s how it happened. A couple of evenings before our holiday we packed all of Pauline’s things in suitcases and moved them to Francine’s house and then, the night before it started, Paul slipped into her home. The following morning, for the benefit of the neighbours, Francine’s sister had come to visit.
The next few days were heaven and gradually as Pauline, I began to relax. Without the pressure of having to switch back and forth between personalities my gestures and mannerisms became more and more feminine. Any awkwardness softened and, with constant gentle prompting from Francine, naturalness developed.
We ventured out once or twice doing everyday things like grocery shopping and for that I “dressed down” in a pair of jeans, low-heeled ankle boots and a turtleneck sweater. The “power panties” did their job acting as a very effective gaff to keep things under control.
A light, belted, leather jacket accentuated my obviously feminine form and my makeup was understated. There was one thing for sure and that was anyone looking at us saw females and had no reason to question the gender of either one.
Francine was more and more pleased with my progress and, unfortunately, caused a small set back. When we got back from shopping she was so overjoyed with the way things had gone she hugged me hard and then kissed me. Well, one thing led to another and my Paul half took over.
It was quite the sight and when we were satiated we collapsed on the bed, laughing so hard we were both in tears. It ended up with us facing each other sitting in the bathtub with her gently wiping away the makeup on my face so that we could start re-building Pauline.
After that brief hic-cup the transition started again and continued smoothly for the next few days. My Pauline again emerged and very gradually took control of the body she was in.
From the moment I, as Pauline, awoke in the morning until late each evening everything was feminine. Francine had presented me with a special perfume that was the first thing I put on after my shower each morning. It was a soft flowery scent that made me think of lilacs and was a constant reminder to me that Pauline had replaced Paul; at least for the time being.
One afternoon, as a confident Pauline, I decided to thank Francine and disappeared for an hour into the room they had put all of her things. Very carefully I selected what I was going to wear and did my hair and makeup in a special way.
After putting on the denim knee length skirt, tucking in a cotton blouse and then donning a denim jacket, I pulled on a pair of low heeled pumps. The dangling earrings and matching necklace were next and I checked that the ponytail fell neatly down her neck.
Walking into the living room I just said, “Thanks to you I know I’m never going to hear those words.” The look on Francine’s face was first startled, then puzzled and, as she came over to stand in front of me, the tears began to flow and she just said “Thank you so much.”
I had dressed exactly the way Francine’s brother was when he heard “But you’re not a girl….” and Francine could again picture how he had been so happy before that moment. I had thought about doing this for a long time and worried that the memories might be hurtful to Francine but they were not and she hugged me for a long time and then promised again that I would indeed never hear those terrible words.
The following day we decided to take a trip to another town about 40 miles away and just walk, enjoy each other’s company and window shop.
Since we were supposed to be sisters we decided to dress alike for the day and, as it was early Fall but not too chilly yet, settled on long sleeved wool dresses with knee length flared skirts and high collars. Francine’s was maroon and mine a dark blue.
Francine did her hair to match my favourite wig and we each selected earrings and necklaces that matched the dresses. Francine treated me to a manicure and while the nails dried did my makeup. Our feet were in comfortable ankle boots with 3” heels and shoulder bag purses completed the outfits.
The drive in Francine’s car took just over an hour and we found a place to park at one end of the town’s main street then started slowly walking down it window shopping as we went. It was an amazing feeling, I felt so comfortable, so feminine and so relaxed I was in a completely different world from Paul’s. I was whispering replies to Francine’s comments as we walked along arm in arm.
We had been strolling for some time when the sky started to cloud over and soon it began to rain lightly but with the promise of getting harder before we would make it back to the car. Francine spotted a discount department store and dragged me across the street and inside.
Checking though the racks we found two cheap, clear plastic raincoats with belts and hoods and bought them along with an umbrella. Standing inside the doorway we put on the coats and, after doing up the belts, Francine showed me the trick of reaching back with a hand on each side of my head to pull the hood up without disturbing my hair.
With the umbrella up we started back up the street towards the car; an arm around each other’s waist and soon were giggling like schoolgirls. As the rain got harder Francine stopped outside a restaurant and said, “that last rumble wasn’t thunder it was my stomach let’s have lunch and hope the rain ends.”
Inside the upscale restaurant, after checking the coats and umbrella, we were led to a table by the window. After giving us time to study the menu the waitress came over and Francine told her what she wanted and then said, “ And my sister will have……”
Where it came from I never knew; it was a light, slightly husky but obviously feminine voice that said, “her sister will order for herself and would like…………….!”
As I finished ordering and handed the menu back to the waitress I turned and saw a huge smile on Francine’s face. Reaching across the table Francine took my hands in hers and said “Hi Sis, welcome to my world!”
Chapter 5 - Epilogue
You would think after the revelation of Pauline finding her voice we would have been chattering like a couple of schoolgirls. But that was not the case. Oh, we talked for the rest of the lunch and while we were pulling on the raincoats and walking back to the car but once in it there was an almost oppressive silence.
Francine concentrated on driving in the bad weather and I became lost in deep thought.
I think we both realized that we were at a vicious cross roads that had not been foreseen; a point in the relationship where decisions would have to be made that would effect us for the rest of our lives.
We both knew that with Pauline becoming a complete and viable person who could pass anywhere I, Paul, had to decide what I was going to do. Later, Francine told me she knew she would have to make sure that the decision was mine but her problem was that she loved me in both my persona!
Safely back home we went to our rooms to change. Francine was obviously a bit surprised and didn’t quite understand that, while she had gone for comfort in jeans and a sweater, I came in the living room in a white dress. The skirt flared to below the knee while the fitted bodice had a high collar that was accented with a narrow red ribbon around my neck. The sleeves were puffed to the elbow and then tightly fitted to the wrist; around my waist was a wide red leather belt matching the neck ribbon and high heels. I had taken special care with my makeup and there was not a hair on my head out of place.
I carried a tray loaded with two glasses, a bottle of wine, a notepad and a pencil that I put down on the coffee table as I sat down beside Francine.
“We have to talk, don’t we?”
“Yes” said Francine, “because now we have three complete people but only two bodies and if we don’t do things correctly they could all be badly hurt.”
She continued “We know now for a fact that Pauline cannot exist on a part time basis, she is only complete when she is here twenty four hours a day, so where does that leave Paul?”
I slowly poured us each a glass of wine and then spoke with an intensity and such heartfelt emotion that I had never felt before, Francine had never seen such a serious side to me, despite all we had gone through together.
“I brought in the notepad thinking that it might help us to make a list of what each of the three of us needs or wants, but I know what I want and all the lists in the world will not help. I do so love being dressed and living like this. It feels so right and natural. Thanks to you Pauline is now a complete person and for that I can never thank you enough. But, and it is a big but, the problem we have is that both Paul and Pauline are in love with you!”
I dropped my eyes from her beautiful face to study the still full wine glass in my hands and could not help but see that the surface was trembling.
Looking back up I saw Francine just staring at me with tears slowly coursing down her cheeks. “I love you both and I refuse to choose, is there no answer to us having the best of both worlds? Please, we must come up with an answer”
Hours later we did have a plan that we agreed to follow through with. If it worked, as we hoped it would, all would be well and we would have found our answer.
The next morning we packed Pauline away and Paul returned.
The next few weeks were very busy ones for both of us. I gave the required notice to end the lease on my apartment and also resigned from the computer company job effective in sixty days.
Francine fast tracked her studies and graduated on schedule from law school then she put the house on the market and it was sold within a week. We selected a large city about five hundred miles away and Francine made applications to several law firms that resulted in two job offers. When she visited to finalize the offer she had accepted she also contacted a real estate agent and outlined what type of house we were looking for.
All of our actions culminated with a wedding in a quiet civil ceremony and then we packed and shipped everything to the new home. But it was two sisters who returned from the honeymoon and moved in. Francine became a very successful lawyer and, as Pauline, my computer programming business grew from the home.
Like every married couple we argued; boy did we have some good ones.
“Did you use my new lipstick?”
“What happened to my new pair of panties?”
“Why do you always have to leave your wet stockings over the shower bar!”
But there were never any serious problems with the arrangement and we would always make up. Depending on her mood, Francine would sometimes invite Paul to join her in the bed we always shared and, since he was only there for an hour or so, it was never long enough to compromise the hold Pauline now had on me. There was no chance of any complications since I had looked after that with a visit to the doctor before the wedding.
The needs of all three of us were satisfied in this way and it goes without saying that sometimes, just sometimes, pure and simple love can conquer life’s problems!
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