Creating Donna

by Donna Dee

  

…From part two….

  

I got used to being a boy again – I didn't like it but I knew which side my bread was buttered and did my best to obey. After a few more weeks, Beryl produced her masterstroke, she found me a girlfriend. Euk! Marlene was my age and she was attractive, but a girlfriend was the last thing I wanted. Beryl told her about my love of dressing up and using make up and Marlene was more than willing to help put a stop to it, as was my sister. I was convinced it wouldn't last – I'd make the woman sick of me and get her to walk out, but she thwarted all my plans. I can hardly believe we lived together for almost 26 years; there was no love on either side, just occasional sex and my reluctant acceptance of a situation I couldn't control – I must have been very weak willed then, perhaps I still am. Actually I quite liked her – we talked about everything – she was fascinated by my need to cross dress and thought up dozens of questions, some of which I couldn't answer, but she made me examine my motives in a greater depth than I had ever done before.

I explained as best I could how it happened – the wedding and then my punishment weekend and that it had felt so good being wearing female undies and that dress – the freedom of movement – the lightness yet the warmth of the clothes and, perhaps most of all, the enormous variety of garments available to women and not men. I felt the range was more suited to my personality, I felt the make up suited me too. I also discovered, as a result of her questioning, that my motives were not sexual in any way, by which I mean I didn't want to look feminine to attract men. You should exclude Frank in that statement, we were just friends for years before that first kiss.

Looking back, those 26 years were not far removed from my idea of hell. I called her the dragon – it made no difference, I couldn't get her to walk out on me. I will not bore you with the details of what became a mundane existence. I wrote three books (none of them published) and umpteen short stories with very limited success even though every one of my relatives, friends and associates that read them said they were good. Perhaps they were just being polite. During those 26 years I imagine there must have been the odd few hours that I didn't think back to the luxury of female underwear and dresses, the pleasure of looking pretty with my nice hair and makeup, the thrill of buying new clothes and seeking out shoes to match – and Frank too, of course. He didn't contact me at all; for the first few years I lived in hope of a telephone call or a letter asking me to join him – but it didn't come. I said those years were hell – but maybe it was a hell of my own making. I still didn't go to work – not as such, just a few hours each week at the local dogs home and other animal welfare centres. The dragon didn't work either, her job was to watch me, to see that I neither tried to use her make up or wear her clothes, to ensure I didn't order anything by post, (later on the Internet) and the damn woman performed her duties to Beryl's total satisfaction. Wherever I went the dragon came too – and Beryl checked up every few days to make sure. There was no contact from Frank; he had too much to lose at a time when homosexuality was looked down on from a great height. I never forgot him, of course, but I did get over him, eventually, or, perhaps, I only thought I did.

To help me with my writing I first bought an Amstrad word processor – crap now of course but a damn site better than my old typewriter. This, in due course was upgraded to a PC. I spent hours searching the net for things to do and my life was bearable again.

 

In spite of everything I was devastated when Beryl died of a brain tumour in 2000 which you might think would have opened the door to an immediate resumption of my dressing up, but didn't. There was no word from Frank, even his sister, who still lived with Pam, (my other sister) claimed she had no idea where he was.

Things took a turn for the better in 2002 when Pam rang me to go round to her house as soon as possible. I went that afternoon and she practically dragged me into her little computer room and showed me a title page from Fictionmania – a site I hadn't heard of up until then. I read a story – it was quite erotic and I admit to enjoying it enormously. Titled 'Christy' by someone called Karen Elizabeth L it told the story of a man who became a woman – you all know the sort of thing – and Pam, who was convinced that I wanted to start dressing again, tried to persuade me that it wasn't too late to start again. I thought she was mad and I told her as much. I explained that I was 50 now, far too fat, (I was around 4 stones (56 pounds) heavier than when I'd been Donna) and, what was more, I had a bald patch on my crown!

"Details," she said, "mere details, nothing we can't overcome." Then I pointed out that my feet had broadened – they do in men's shoes girls so be careful of these awful boots you slouch around in these days, they really do ruin your feet for when you want to look nice again). Nothing put her off however but after a couple of hours of fruitless persuasion she let the matter drop. She did, however, talk me into adapting some of my stories for the transgender market – not that I'd get paid for them of course, but I would get the satisfaction of others reading my work. She was right about that – and I set to work with a will, choosing the pen name Donna Dee

At Christmas time my first two stories appeared on Crystal's story site and I had several complimentary comments and one or two e-mails, and one of those e-mails was from Frank! I damn nearly fainted. His e-mail said a few nice things about the story and asked if I were the same Donna he had known 25 years ago – if I was I would remember him doing my picture.

Can you imagine my feelings at that moment – and for a few thousand moments afterwards? I rang Pam and told her – she thought it was wonderful and urged me to reply at once, but I held back. I went upstairs and, looking in the mirror, tried to imagine what I'd look like now - dressed? The answer came quickly and clearly – forget it.

I couldn't imagine myself ever looking feminine again even though my hair was collar length once more. But my sister had seen a chink in my armour and was hell bent on exploiting it – I really didn't understand why. When my stories were posted Pam sent me a reward – a dozen pairs of panties which I refused to accept, but she left them there in my computer room. Next day temptation got the better of me – it wouldn't hurt to try a pair on, would it? It didn't hurt – it was wonderful and I whacked my old man harder than ever before – time and time again.

Three days later I went to see Pam, she asked me if I'd tried my new panties on and demanded to see them when I admitted that I had. Minutes later, with Sylvia's assistance, I was in her bathroom having my legs shaved and then being forced into stockings and a suspender belt. I didn't put up much resistance I'm afraid, but the shoes wouldn't go on. Undeterred Pam went into town and bought strap sandals with a 3-inch heel that I had on an hour or so later. That same day I had a body shave and my first taste in years of silky underwear including a bra and the breast forms that Pam had rescued 26 years before. They were too big, I really felt awkward, and frankly I thought I looked bloody ridiculous, but Pam would not be denied.

I said it couldn't be done – that it would never work, that I would never have the confidence in my appearance to venture out, let alone meet Frank again. I am an unlucky gambler and I knew that I should never have accepted the bet that Pam offered me, but I was absolutely certain it wouldn't work….. (How many times have we all thought that?)

As part of my training she took me (as her brother) to the front one day where we sat and studied other middle-aged women and I was forced to agree that, with few exceptions, (very few actually) most of them were nothing to write home about. She managed to convince me that I could be as good as most of them, if not better.

She told my minder I would be living with her from now on but agreed that she could keep the house rent free for as long as she wanted. Pam still lived in Gran's old house and there were two rooms I could make use of, one as a bedroom the other as an office. I was as embarrassed as hell when she got a friend who was a corsetiere to measure me and make me a suitable garment to restrict my size. It was agony having four inches squeezed off my middle in one go, but with a diet prescribed by her and comprising mainly of lettuce and cottage cheese, my shape quickly got more presentable.

She bought me an excellent wig – gave me dozens of massages with a skin softening cream and I had electrolysis on my face. Two weeks later I was in full make up and whilst I looked nothing like the glamorous young girl I used to be – I was definitely passable. Just a month after that e-mail from Frank I was dressing every day and loving every minute of it.

She allowed me to return to my home – provided I didn't start wearing trousers again and the dragon was given a different job, one of helping me to become really feminine. Us four 'girls' had many evenings out – shopping trips to London and a small fortune, (far more than we could reasonably afford) was spent on my new wardrobe. In March, this year, Pam threw a dinner party to celebrate Sylvia's birthday, but at the last minute Marlene, (my minder) was sick and had to cry off, so I went alone. Oh foolish me.

Guess who was there to make up the numbers? I was furious – I wasn't ready for this and I tried to walk out, but in the end I stayed to dinner and, as they say, a good time was had by all. He held me and kissed my cheek as we said goodnight and that brought back all kinds of memories. He took me out to dinner two nights later, to the same restaurant we'd visited over 33 years before, though it was an Indian restaurant now. He took me home (to Pam's house) and came in for coffee. When it was time for him to go he kissed my cheek again and I hugged him tighter than I intended. I could see Pam's reflection in the hall mirror clearly mouthing the words, "Go on – kiss him properly." So I did.

We saw each other regularly after that and, just two weeks later he slipped an engagement ring on my finger and swore his undying love. Well, I ask you, what's a girl supposed to do when that happens? I couldn't help but remember just how much I had loved it all those years ago when he had pushed his fingers into my bum; of how I had wished a thousand times I'd gone all the way then even though I didn't really understand what it was I wanted to do. Well, thanks to certain authors who shall be nameless, this time I knew what to expect, in theory at least and so I went back to his flat with him and did it. Then we did it again and just to make sure I liked it and then we made it three in a row. It was only just turned one in the morning, but we drifted off to sleep and, feeling refreshed, had another go in the morning.

He asked me to marry him – I told him not to be so daft, we could never do that, but with my sisters connivance and the use of the female passport I had when I was 23, he got a licence and we were married (or at least we went through the ceremony) at a registry office in Cheshire on May 16^th. I know it's not legal – well not strictly legal, but there won't be any kids and there's no one there who knows me at all, so it should be all right.

On our honeymoon I discovered that he had given Pam the money to buy my new wardrobe and that he is a very wealthy businessman. We go to all kinds of functions as man and wife, being more or less the same age we are never cross-examined too closely. We hold dinner parties for his business colleagues – we employ a part time cook and a 'daily help', but even so I do some of the cooking from time to time. Now he wants me to have breast implants and with this in mind we went to America to see a surgeon who, in all honesty, isn't too keen because of my age and the fact that I am not, and never have been on hormone tablets.

It would be lovely to have "real" breasts – if only for Frank to play with at night – but I am content – I have so very much more than I ever dreamed possible. A friend who knows my story asked if I regretted those 26 years of enforced masculinity, and the answer is, of course, YES! I most definitely do. Had it not happened then I would have been on hormones, I probably wouldn't need to wear a wig and I could have had implants, if necessary.

Would I have gone the whole hog and had the big snip?

I don't know the answer to that one. I can't imagine that Frank and I would have split up if we hadn't been forced to and I cannot help but think that Frank's love for me is a homosexual love, though I love him as a woman – at least I think I do. He has never once suggested I take anything other than the female role in our lovemaking, and somehow I don't think I could.

 

After parts one and two, readers have asked about my feelings when I first went out dressed, about people I knew seeing me. I was nervous, of course I was, but Pam reminded me that no one had read me before even when I was with Mum and herself, and that I'd had a lot of 'closet' practice to fall back on. This I knew was true – it was what I wanted more than anything. As a family we didn't have much to do with our neighbours – we were friendly enough when greeting each other but I have no recollection of ever going inside their homes. When, the first time, Pam drove me to my first dance in her car so as the neighbours wouldn't see and I realised that no one was going to think of me as a boy – I simply went for it. There were so many girls coming and going to and from our house – (mostly for new dresses but some as friends of Pam and Sylvia) – that one new face wasn't likely to be noticed. If they ever did, nothing was said.

Now, of course, I think of us as a married couple, no one in that area had met me beforehand, and I get on with the woman next-door as well as any neighbour would; we chat over the fence from time to time when I'm pegging out the clothes, they've examined my house and I've checked over theirs – just as it should be. Married life is grand – I recommend it.

  

  

  

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