Dorothy Was Different

by O.Y. Dalziel

 

Chapter Fifteen

Work

     

We returned to the shop, after our honeymoon, to find that two batches of completed garments had been delivered by the factory and were long overdue for dispatch, so we had to roll up our sleeves and start packing them at once. I almost wished that we had accepted Gerald's offer to mail the orders direct to the customers while we were away; but I preferred to deal with this part of the business myself so that I could deal with any special instructions.

Many customers were most insistent that their garments should be sent to a Post Office Box Number, or to a special accommodation address, and I went to great lengths to ensure that no mistakes were made. I inspected each individual item, and checked it against the original order before dispatching it, so that I could be sure of giving the customer my Personal Guarantee of Satisfaction with every confidence.

We had also received a large number of new orders asking for garments from stock, as well as several requests for fittings. I was very pleased with the way the corsetry business had increased, because it confirmed my belief in the value of offering our male customers a specialised and understanding service. I could always remember how Dorothy had given me so much pleasure, simply by listening to me, and knowing how to help me.

We adopted similar methods, when we dealt with our customers; either personal, or mail order; and it was gratifying to be able to set them at their ease by the application of a little understanding. If I appear to be unduly stressing this aspect it is because I place a great value on it, and may take up some more time and space to discuss it at greater length later on.

We decided that we ought to attend to our own needs; and, in a way, we became our own customers. I recall that we were in our favourite position one evening; feet up; holding hands; seated in front of the fire and quietly enjoying each other's company. Dorothy opened the discussion:

"Darling; you remember how good you were about helping that first man with his fitting?"

I replied:

"Yes. I was afraid I might do something stupid, and make a fool of myself, but that fitting was much easier than I thought it would be, and once I had managed to overcome my nervousness I quite enjoyed doing it."

She went on:

"Well; I've been thinking. Do you still want to go on working in the business, now that we are married? After all; you only did it to help me out, at first; and we've done so well since then that it frightens me sometimes. Look; I know I'm putting this badly; but what I mean is this - do you want to go back to your Insurance job, or do you want to carry on as we are? I won't try to influence you in any way, but I would like to know your opinion."

It seemed to me to be a rather silly question; because, for the first time in my life I had found true happiness, but I tried to give it my full consideration, and replied:

"I've always been interested in corsets since I was ten years old, and hoped that, when I grew up, I could find myself a good job in the corset industry. I did try, but there were so many obstacles, which made it all very difficult for me. I wanted to join a corsetry class at our local night school, but I was told that men could not be admitted. I became friendly with a home consultant corsetiere, who could see that I was very keen. She thought there was nothing wrong about it, and put my name forward for consideration by her firm, but again I was told that I could not be accepted.

"I once told you that I answered an advertisement for the post of Sales Representative with one of the larger corset manufacturers, but all I received was a short letter of rejection. I thought, at the time, that it was because I was a man, trying to break into a woman's world; but it's obvious that there are some male reps; look at Gerald, for instance. I know he is part of a family business, but he seems to be well known and liked wherever he goes."

Dorothy replied:

"I know of several different travellers who called here over the years; all men; but nobody seemed to mind. They always took care to ensure that the shop was empty before they came in; and Mummy or Daddy dealt with them up here in the flat; but apart from that it was all quite normal."

I continued:

"That was the job I would really have liked, but I had to start as a trainee electrician. I didn't like the work, and that's why I went into the Army. I think I was looking for an adventurous life; like my fictional Hero. Some of the training was interesting, but most of it was time wasting. I only started to work for the Insurance Company as a way of making some money to live on. I wasn't keen on the job, and I don't want to go back to it again.

"I think I can safely say that I am doing exactly what I want to do; now. I was very worried at first, in case I did something stupid and caused you a lot of unnecessary trouble or expense. And then I was encouraged when the money started to come in.

"I could be quite happy to continue like this, and I have a lot more ideas that should help to expand the business. So the answer to your question is a definite 'Yes;' if you will have me. My chief worry is that I don't want to appear to be making a take-over. It's your shop, really; your Mother and Father built it up, and I would like to see you make a success of it. I think there is still a good future in corsetry, and I feel sure we should make money if we continue to cater for customers who have special needs."

Dorothy broke in, to say:

"But, Dearest; it's not My shop, now; it's Ours; don't you see that! We could change the name, if you wished; make it L & D Ashton. What do you think? That name has a nice ring to it."

I demurred:

"No, love. I see no reason to change it; it's always been W & A Mason, and it's well known by that name; so why change it? It would mean wasting all our present stocks of stationery and letterheads, and that seems an unnecessary expense. No; you run the shop, and do ladies fittings; I'll carry on with the linen rounds in the van; and do the men's fittings up here by appointment. In that way, it remains your business, and then if anything happens to me you can still support yourself."

"Don’t talk like that!" she protested. "Don't you see; you are my Strong Support! I like having you round me. I appreciate your strength, and the way that you hold things together."

After a pause, I went on:

"Talking of Strong Support; something else has occurred to me. I think we ought to set our customers a good example, and 'Dress the Part.'"

She gave me an interrogative look, and waited for me to continue.

"About your corset; have you ever been fitted for it? You know; really measured and fitted, I mean; with a frame, like the one we use on our customers."

Her faced cleared:

"Oh, I see what you mean! But, no; I've never had a proper fitting. As I told you, Mummy laced me into my first one, and I think it was a stock model. I know that when she tried again after my illness it was definitely from stock, because it was still in the box. All I have done since that time is to change to a smaller size, as my figure became trained. Gerald's range goes down to twenty one inches, so his smallest size is just right for me.

"I'm happy with the model that his firm makes because it supports me well; it's fully lined and has rustless boning. I can wash it, and I don't get any marks on my skin from the ridges where the bones come, like you do with an unlined garment. Nowadays, whenever I want a new one I just have to make sure that I have one in stock, and re-order another to take its place. But you know, you are quite right; I've never been fitted, and I've often thought that the general styling of this one could be improved, here and there."

And then, she gave me an unmistakable look of invitation:

"How about it, Dear; would you like to give me a fitting?"

"I'd love to!" I enthused. "And then perhaps you could do the same for me; if you wouldn't mind."

"Of course I could." she replied. "In fact, I'd like to, very much." And then; impetuously: "Shall we do it now?"

I said: "No, love; it's a bit late now. Let's do it when we have more time. If you think of any changes or new ideas, perhaps you'd let me know."

"All right." she agreed. "The same goes for you."

And on that pleasant note, we went to bed.

**

We chose a quiet weekend, for the fittings. I made sure the sitting room was warm and comfortable; Dorothy went into the bedroom to undress, and came back wearing her dressing gown and slippers. She gave me her sidelong look; unfastened her dressing gown, and let it hang open at the front. She eased it off her shoulders; letting it slowly fall to the floor; and stood revealed in only her corset. I immediately became violently aroused and moved towards her; eagerly; putting my hands upon her waist. She could see my need; but she grinned at me; put both her hands on my chest and pushed me away.

"Steady on, love;" she cautioned. "I was only teasing you. I know exactly how you feel; but this is meant to be a fitting - not a seduction. Come on, now; business first, and pleasure afterwards - all right? Tell you what; it might help if I strip off completely and you put on your white coat."

She was quite right. Donning my white coat made me feel much more detached and assured, so that when she returned, totally naked, I was able to look at her quite dispassionately. I asked her:

"Do you wear anything under your corset; you know, a vest, chemise, or whatever?" She replied: "No; I always wear it next to my skin, because I prefer it that way. I generally keep three of them on the go. One on; one in the wash; with another in reserve. In that way they last longer, and wear better; and of course it's much more hygienic."

I passed her the small frame, and said:

"Here you are; this should be the right size for you. Will you put it on."

She said: "No; you're the fitter. You do it."

She raised her arms, and I wrapped the frame around her; fastening the front clasp, while she wriggled to settle herself comfortably; raising her small breasts slightly, as she did so. I began to adjust the lacing at the back; following my usual routine, working slowly upwards from the bottom edge; making sure the fit was perfect, and trying to keep everything at an even tension. I did not lace her too tightly at first, but concentrated on effecting a firm and smooth line.

She stood patiently, looking at herself in the mirror, as I began to tighten the upper half; and once again lifted and eased her breasts slightly. I paused, and asked:

"Do you wear a bra?"

"Not normally;" she answered. "I have one or two, of course; but I usually find that the upward thrust of the corset firms up my breasts, and gives me all the support I need. What do you think; should I wear one?"

I hesitated: "Well; it really has to be your choice. For myself, I like to see a small waist most of all; but I must admit I like to see a well supported bustline, as well. Tell me; how does it feel now? I've tried to keep all the laces at about the same tension at the back. Do you want me to tighten it anywhere?"

"Oh yes, please." she replied. "All the way up. I like it much tighter than that."

I re-adjusted the back lace; pulling it tighter as she requested; then tied a knot, and we both had a good look. Working to her directions, I adjusted the different small laced sections, and moulded her hip line until it was smooth and rounded. She sat down, and stood up several times; and then bent forward. After she had done that she carefully bent over to left and right, as far as she possibly could. This had the effect of moving the frame slightly, and bedding it in. Following her sequence of movements, we were able to make further slight adjustments around the waist and hip area, until the fit was once again perfect for her.

When we began to work upon her rib section I took the greatest care to ensure that she was able to breathe freely; adjusting the upper small laced sections, and sculpting her to a smooth line. She performed another sequence of sitting, standing and bending, and I noticed that the upward thrust of the corset had caused both her breasts to firm up, and become full and rounded. I had to concentrate really hard after that, to prevent my feelings getting the better of me.

She sat for a few minutes, to accustom herself to the various sensations.

"You know; I like this." she said. "It's really quite a different feeling altogether."

"Can you explain?" I asked, and she went on:

"I have become so used to a stock garment over the years, that I've stopped thinking about it. I like my waist to be the size it is, and I'm accustomed to the various minor discomforts. You know how it is; sometimes it pinches a bit; and no matter how I try, I always seem to get a few creases at the waist during the day; and they can be very painful. But now; look - no creases!"

She ran her hands up and down the material:

"Go on; you try it, and tell me what you think."

I did as she suggested; running my hands over her; and experiencing a terrific sensation! If I was not careful, I was in danger of disgracing myself again! I concentrated hard, and eventually asked her:

"How does it feel now? Have we got a good fit?"

She had a good look at herself in all the mirrors, and finally said:

"I like the general line; it's very good. I like the shape it gives me; but it still doesn't feel as tight as my usual one. Will you put the tape measure round me, and check my waist."

I took a careful measurement; and told her:

"It's exactly twenty inches, over the frame; so if we allow for the extra thickness of the material, I'd say that your next to skin waist measurement is about nineteen inches."

She was quite definite:

"I'd like it to be tighter. Can you make my waist about two inches smaller, and see how it looks then."

"Well; it's your decision;" I said, doubtfully.

"If I can fully close the laces at the waist, that should make you two inches smaller. You'd better hold on to the handles, this time. And please tell me if it hurts."

I carefully drew the two edges together at her waist, and knotted the laces firmly. Dorothy once again repeated her standing, sitting and bending movements, and said:

"Oh yes; I like it now. It's a lot better; much more comfortable in every way. It's a perfect fit, and I feel really well supported, everywhere."

I checked her waist again, and it measured exactly eighteen inches, over the frame.

The measuring frame is a useful device, which allows infinite variations of measurement and style; but it is a functional and practical garment; and in no way is it fashionable. Dorothy's body had been moulded to a beautifully smooth line, both above and below her waist; and the waist itself was noticeably smaller than before. Unfortunately, the frame, with all its different laces; buckles, and dull cloth, did not give the same finished effect as plain white and smooth satin corset cloth.

We decided to take a full set of measurements, and enter them on a form.

I asked her:

"Do you want to make any changes to the height, above and below the waist?"

We made a few minor modifications to the height and depth, until she was completely satisfied, and then I measured her again. I wanted the finished garment to be perfect in every detail, so we both spent some time discussing various matters of a technical nature. The type and positioning of the boning; the laces; the spacing of the lace holes, and we positioned the six suspenders where she wanted them.

We looked at samples of different materials; eventually ordering a total of six identical garments; each with the same measurements, but with a variety of materials. It was partly an experiment; so that we could check the various cloths for wear and washing qualities; and it also ensured that Dorothy could have a selection for everyday use, and one or two for "Best." I particularly remember the one that was made of pale blue figured satin. It never failed to arouse me when she was wearing it - and she knew it!

At the conclusion of a satisfactory fitting, I loosened the frame, and released her. I laced her into her every day corset; and then she came to me.

It was a most satisfying day - in every way!

**

We had a chance to do my fitting a few days later. I stripped off my clothing; Dorothy became the fitter, and fastened me into the frame. I was bigger than she was, and we found the larger sized frame to be the most suitable. She drew in the laces at the back, and I began to feel all my usual feelings of satisfaction as the tightness increased. She followed my procedure of starting at the lower edge, and working upwards; tightening the laces gradually, until we had obtained a near perfect fit over my hips.

The moulding of my chest and ribs took somewhat longer, and at one point I began to have difficulty with my breathing. We had a short rest, while we thought about it. Dorothy said:

"Here's an idea! Daddy used to do it. Raise your arms over your head; as though you were trying to shake hands with yourself; that's right. Now, reach up as high as you can, and stay like that."

I followed her instructions, and stood with both arms stretched upwards. I felt as if I was lifting myself out of the top of the frame. She tightened the laces again, and my breathing became much easier, so she began working on my waist.

"Reach up again," she said, "and this time, try and pull in your stomach muscles as well."

I sucked in my stomach, and she pulled hard on the laces several times, and then knotted them.

"Now, let yourself slowly relax." she ordered.

I sank gracefully down, and the frame braced and supported me without any constriction or painful pressure. There was only a blissful comfort and support, and I was held firmly and securely, like an egg in an egg cup. I followed Dorothy's example of standing, sitting, and bending; finding that it helped to settle the frame in position, and allowed us to make a few more minor adjustments.

I had a good look at myself in the mirror, and was pleased with the final result. I told Dorothy so, and asked her:

"What's my waist measurement now? It looks much smaller than usual."

She put the tape around my waist, and replied:

"Would you believe - Twenty Three Inches."

"But that's impossible," I protested. "I can't be that small."

She re-checked the measurement, and confirmed:

"No doubt about it; see for yourself."

"I can't see the tape." I complained, so we went and stood closer to the mirror until I could see the figures for myself, and, sure enough, she was right!

"But it feels so good!" I exulted. "Marvellous! The last time I came anywhere near this, it was so painful it nearly crippled me."

Dorothy remarked, in her usual practical way:

"Ah, yes. But that was some time ago, and you were obviously overdoing it, then. You must remember that, nowadays, you are used to being tightly corseted; and although this is a good effort, it's nowhere near as much as the reduction you tried to manage on that first occasion."

We had a last look, and made a few more slight adjustments, before Dorothy finally recorded all my measurements. I was quite happy to stand and admire myself while this was going on, and in spite of the numerous knots, and the odd dangling length of lace I was very impressed with my newly moulded contours; rubbing my hands over the heavy cloth, and trying to visualise myself in the smoothly finished corset.

Dorothy had chosen blue as her favourite colour, but I had always had a preference for black, so I insisted that she listed it as one of my choices. We enjoyed a short period of "Free Expression," once the measurement forms had been completed, before finally going to bed tired, but happy.

**

Gerald was about a week later than usual, when he made his next call upon us. It transpired that he had been very interested in our order for two suites of six identical garments, and he had gone to great efforts to personally supervise their manufacture, because he had realised that they were for a special purpose. His senior and most experienced staff had done the work, and they had been at pains to ensure that each garment was perfect in every way.

I was both surprised at this special attention, and grateful to Gerald. Dorothy invited him upstairs for a cup of tea and a chat, and we told him about my idea of "Dressing the part." He agreed with us, and remarked that he had often been surprised at the way that some corset shop owners seemed to neglect their own figures. I remember him insisting:

"If you are in the business of figure training, you should always be prepared to set your customers a good example."

That caused me to think back to the enormous woman, standing behind the counter of the first corset shop I had visited, and I fully agreed with him!

Dorothy said that her mother had always worn a tight lacing corset, but her father never did. In fact, he held strong views about the whole subject of corsetry, and could never understand why it was all so secretive. She told us:

"When Mummy first started the corsetry department, it was meant to be a 'Ladies Only' shop. She had a curtained fitting cubicle at one end of the shop, and some heavy net curtains over the window, for privacy. When ladies called, she would give them a choice of three or four garments to try on in the cubicle, and she was always ready to help with their lacing, if it was necessary.

"One day, a man came in the shop, and asked if he could buy one of the corsets in the window."

She grinned at me, with her sidelong look:

"He was obviously very nervous, and when Mummy shouted 'Be off! Or I'll call the Police!' he ran away like a startled rabbit. Mummy complained to Daddy that night, but his main concern was the loss of a possible sale. He told Mummy that he could see nothing wrong with a man wanting a to buy, or wear a corset, and he thought she was making far too much fuss about nothing.

"They had a long talk about it, and in the end Mummy compromised. She agreed to sell corsets to men, over the counter, but still refused to let them try things on in the shop. It later became obvious that men wanted fittings, just like ladies, so she made Daddy deal with them. He opened his own men's department, and was eventually able to build up a good, regular clientele. That was when he started to use a measuring frame."

She turned to Gerald, and asked:

"Did the frame come from your firm?"

"Oh yes." he replied. "My father, and your father knew each other very well, and I remember Dad saying to me when I first started: 'Look after Mason's; we don't want to lose them;' which brings me to my next point. I've brought some of your latest order with me, including all your new 'Specials.' They're in the back of the car; I'll go and get them."

For some odd reason, I felt strangely touched by his special attention. I put my arm around Dorothy, and said:

"Isn't that nice of him. I wonder why he did it?"

She gave me a peculiar look, and was just about to answer, when Gerald returned. He was carrying two neatly wrapped boxes, and he also had a nice bunch of flowers for Dorothy. I could see that she was delighted, and left her dealing with the flowers, while I went with him to unload the rest of our order. After a round of mutual good wishes, he said his farewells, and went on his way, leaving us to open our boxes.

Gerald's girls had really excelled themselves, and had made perfect examples of the corset maker's art. Dorothy examined her pale blue one, and held it up against herself. It was a beautiful garment, and I could not wait to see her wearing it. My special black one was spectacular to look at, but proved to be impractical for everyday wear, because it could be seen through such outer garments as white shirts. I could, and did wear the white corsets on a regular everyday basis, and although Dorothy liked to see me in the black one, we decided to keep it for use on our 'Special occasions.'

By sheer coincidence, we were able to our first special occasion that very weekend. Dorothy was up and about, and I was still lying in bed; thinking pleasant thoughts. She came into the bedroom in her dressing gown, carrying two mugs of coffee; placed one mug down on my bedside table, and sat on the edge of the bed, sipping from the other mug as we talked about little inconsequential things. She was obviously in a good mood, and it pleased me to see her like that. It only seemed to be a short while since she had been so worried about whether she could carry on running the shop. I was happy when she was happy, and it made me feel good just to be able to share the pleasant interlude.

"You look pleased with life, love." I remarked. "Is it something special - or is it just a 'good to be alive' day?"

To my surprise, she replied:

"No; it's more than that. It's - Oh! Don't you see? You silly thing! - It's you!"

I immediately sat up in bed; nearly spilling my coffee in the process; with all my defences poised:

"Me! - Why; what have I done?"

"Oh; you are funny," she laughed. "Don't you ever take any credit?"

I looked very puzzled, and she went on:

"Yes; I am pleased with life; and don't you understand - I owe it all to you."

She seemed to be making a lot of fuss about nothing, so I remained silent, and waited for her to develop her theme. I knew she was about to say 'Something of Great Importance.' by the way she was bracing herself up.

It came forcefully:

"Look! I'm not getting through to you; am I?"

She took a deep breath, and then:

"All right, then; consider this:- There I was; all at sea; a Damsel in Distress; like a lost sheep in a fog. Up to my ears in debt; worried out of my mind; running around in circles, and climbing up the wall. I was all alone; by myself; with no-one to turn to, when the shop door opened, and, like a bolt from the blue, you walked in."

She paused for breath:

"In the wink of an eye, you put on your shining armour; girded up your loins; picked up the reins; seized the Bank Manager by the horns; steamrollered over him like a whirlwind; stuck your finger in the dyke; bailed out the sinking ship; struck while the iron was hot; tightened the main lace; spliced the mainbrace; left no rolling stone unturned; steered the whole show back on to the straight and narrow rails, and made a clean sweep with a new broom of a different colour!"

As an example of pure mixed metaphors, her whole outburst took some beating; but at last I began to understand. Feeling very subdued, I countered:

"You know; I never thought of it like that. You were so good to me; helping me the way you did; so it seemed only natural for me to try and help you."

She made a sudden gesture of exasperation, and stamped her foot on the thick bedroom carpet; which proved to be somewhat ineffective in her soft bedroom slippers.

"Oh; you stupid man!" she exclaimed. "Won't you ever understand? You are a good business man, and that's the reason why Gerald made his special effort. He has suddenly realised that we have become a valuable connection again, since you came to live here, and we are well worth looking after. When things were at their blackest, I hardly saw him at all. I don't know how I can ever repay you; I really don't."

I remained sitting in the bed; turning her words over in my mind; never having thought of myself as being anything special. Until I met Dorothy, my life had been one long continued round of frustration and disappointment, and things had only recently started to become more bearable. I thought she was making too much fuss about the whole business, but was not in a mood to argue. I decided, instead, to take the fullest advantage of the situation, and asked her:

"Will you do something for me, please."

She replied, willingly:

"Anything at all, love - if I can."

"May I, please, have a look at you in your new blue corset. It looked so lovely when you unwrapped it; and I'm just panting to see you with it on."

She gave me her special smile, but did not speak. Still smiling, she walked to the dressing table, took out the blue corset, unwrapped it from the tissue paper, and held it up against herself. Her usual practice in a morning was to rise from the bed; reach for her corset; wrap it around herself, and, with a few quick movements, adjust and knot the laces. It was a daily ritual which never failed to arouse me.

On this occasion she excelled herself! Her whole performance; and that describes it perfectly - her whole performance was carried out in slow motion, and she was almost like a professional strip-tease artiste - in reverse! She slowly wrapped the corset around her body, and fastened the front busk with a regular series of sharp clicks. She wriggled. No - this was much more than a wriggle; it was a slow, infinitely seductive twist and sway! Still smiling, she went gliding across the room, turning to stand facing me, with her back to one of the long mirrors, and began to lace herself into the lovely corset.

There was no haste. She pulled slowly; steadily; moving her strong fingers; taking up the tension, and picking at the laces in an even sequence. Her movements could have been set to slow and sweeping music, and the more she pulled, the more I became aroused. My desire was like a raging fire inside me, and I struggled to contain myself, until she finally stood holding a lace firmly in each hand; turned to face the mirror; looked back over her shoulder, and smiled at me - exactly like the woman in the picture on the London escalator! She said, simply:

"Help me."

I jumped from the bed; took the laces; pulled hard, and she swayed against me so that our bodies touched. I knotted the laces; put my hands upon her waist; and she slowly turned to face me, with the invitation:

"Come on - Big Boy! Take me!"

I Was - and I Did!

*****

Chapter Sixteen

Play

One night, just before bedtime, Dorothy raised a question. She had spent the evening engrossed in a book, and I had assumed that it was just another of her 'Nice Romances.' She came and sat by me and held my hand, so it was obvious that we were about to have another of our exchanges of confidence. She began:

"That was a very interesting book; and it's made me think. Darling; I know you like wearing corsets, and you once talked about trying high heels. Do you think you might be a Transvestite?"

I was puzzled by her question, and asked:

"That's a new one on me, love. What does it mean?"

She explained:

"A Transvestite is a man who likes to wear women's clothes - or it can be the other way round; but it's usually that way round; if you see what I mean. Have you ever worn women's clothes?"

I replied: "No; I haven't; although I must admit I've often wondered what it would be like."

Then, to my surprise, she said eagerly:

"Would you like to try wearing some of the things that women wear?

It might help you to know."

I answered: "I certainly wouldn't object to trying it; just once; if that's what you really want.

Of course; I shall need your help."

"I'll be glad to help you." she replied.

And then it started to occur to me just what I was about to let myself in for, and I began to have second thoughts about the whole business.

"But; what about clothes? You're much smaller than me, and there's no way I can get into anything of yours. And, while we are on the subject of size; what are your measurements now that we have the new corsets?"

She answered; "Nowadays I have a thirty six inch bust; nineteen inch waist, and about thirty six inch hips. As you know, I can make my waist smaller if I want to, but I'm comfortable all day at nineteen inches."

"Well, there you are then!" I argued. "I must be at least forty two inches round my chest and hips; and even with a struggle, the smallest I can make my waist is twenty two inches."

She lapsed into her 'Professional voice:'

"Oh; I'm sure it's possible to reduce your waist still more, if you want to. But, never mind that for now; here's what I'd like to do, if you will agree. I'll see if I can borrow some suitable outer clothes in your size from Mrs. Renfrew at the Dress Agency; it doesn't need to be anything special at first; and I know we can provide all your underwear from our own stock in the shop."

She was becoming very enthusiastic; counting off the various points on her fingers, and I decided it was time to call the meeting to order before the whole business became completely out of control. I protested:

"Now, wait a minute; please be serious. Nobody with an ugly and masculine face like mine can ever be made to look like a woman!"

She rode over my objection:

"Don't you believe it! I know where I can get hold of a wig; and with that and some make-up you'll be really surprised what we can do to you."

She seemed to be doing her utmost to persuade me to dress in women's clothes, in spite of my natural reluctance, and she was becoming so keen and insistent that I decided to please her, by co-operating. It was quite obvious that I would end up looking completely ridiculous, and the whole business would turn into a totally embarrassing fiasco, but I wanted to do my best for her.

A few days later, she told me that she had everything ready for our first attempt, and we arranged to set the next weekend aside to do justice to the experiment. I visited the barber and asked him to cut my hair shorter than usual; then had a close shave to make my face as smooth as possible.

Dorothy asked me to put on my black corset, and when I protested that the colour would show through a women's thinner outer clothes, she retorted: "Oh no it won't! Not when I've finished with you. Go on, please; I do like to see you wearing it." So, once again, I agreed, just to please her, and she opened the proceedings by lacing me in very tightly. The corset was new and stiff, and, My Word! How She Did Pull! When my body was firmly packaged, she handed me a white long line brassiere, and a small white pantie girdle, ordering:

"You must put these on, now. I want you to have a good and well shaped figure."

I tentatively put my arms through the shoulder straps of the unfamiliar brassiere, and she said:

"Stand still, a minute; and let me hook you up."

She stretched the elastic; fastened the row of hooks at the back, and then offered me two soft and dry bath sponges; saying, with a grin:

"This is the best I can find for a bosom, for now! Put one into each cup, and let's have a look."

I stuffed a sponge into each cup, and she went on: "Bend forward a bit." She re-positioned the sponges slightly, and pulled the bra down at the back, until the shoulder straps felt tight; "Now straighten up." She surveyed me, carefully: "Oh yes; that's rather good, I think. Certainly it will do for a first attempt. How does it seem to you?"

It seemed distinctly odd to me; having two totally alien protuberances at the front! The brassiere cups looked to be larger than Dorothy's more natural bosom, and they were well filled, but when I tentatively lifted both my 'Breasts' they did not have the correct 'Feel;' because there was no life about them. Nevertheless, Dorothy had expressed her satisfaction, and this was only going to be a 'one-off' as far as I was concerned, so true realism was not essential.

I carefully stepped into the pantie girdle, and pulled it well up. It fitted tightly everywhere; around and under me; overlapping the bottom edge of the brassiere slightly, and allowing the six suspenders on my black corset to dangle freely. I moved across the room to have a look in the mirror, and was very surprised at the change in my general shape. The girdle caused my genitals to be tucked neatly away, and the padded brassiere gave me a realistic looking, if rather rigid, bust line. My small waist, and the tightly fitting foundation garments all combined to give me a convincing reproduction of a typical shapely feminine silhouette. Dorothy had been correct in one respect, because the white brassiere and girdle combined to effectively conceal my black corset, and it was a most intriguing and interesting experience.

"Now, come away from the mirror." she ordered. "I don't want any more peeping until I have finished with you."

I carefully put on a pair of fully fashioned, dark nylon stockings; taking my time, and making sure that both seams were arrow straight, and all the suspenders were properly secured and adjusted. Dorothy handed me a very pretty white nylon slip, with a dainty lace top and thin shoulder straps; saying, unnecessarily:

"It goes on over your head."

I had watched her, as she dressed, every morning, and knew what I had to do. I pulled the slip down, smoothed it out, and stood for another inspection.

She said, encouragingly:

"Very good, so far. Now then; what's it to be; a frock, a jumper and skirt, or a blouse and skirt? I’m not sure what's going to be the best for you."

She showed me a pale blue, round necked woollen jumper, and a straight grey skirt, similar to the outfit she had been wearing when we first met, and said:

"You'd better try these, first."

I pulled the jumper over my head, with rather an effort, and pushed my arms into the tight sleeves. After I had managed to pull the jumper down to my waist, I picked up the skirt, and was going to put one leg into it, as I did with my trousers, when Dorothy stopped me:

"No; again, it's better over your head, and down."

I did not find it to be better, because my bosom got in the way, causing the lining of the skirt to ride up, and turn everything inside out. I could not see what I was doing because of the overhang of my bosom, but eventually managed to fasten the waistband of the skirt, and pull up the zipper. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and conscious of the two protruding mounds at the front that were now sharply outlined by the tight jumper, I again waited for her opinion and was not at all surprised when she shook her head.

"Oh no. That won't do at all. I can see the line of your bra at the back; that jumper is much too tight over your bosom, and it looks all wrong on you."

I struggled to take off the jumper and skirt, and then examined her next offering. This was a dark green satin blouse with a neat mandarin collar, and an accordion pleated black skirt with an elasticated waist. She helped me to button up the blouse, and the skirt slid over the slippery satin to give a much better fit around my waist and over my hips. Dorothy nodded her approval:

"Oh yes, that's more like it. Wait a minute, you need some sort of belt." She opened a drawer; took out a wide elastic belt, and clipped it around my waist, saying, as she did so:

"Now comes the tricky bit. Try these on."

'These' were a pair of classic black court shoes, with very high heels. I took one look at them, and protested:

"Now, be reasonable! I'll never be able to walk in those! How high are the heels?"

"Only four inches." she replied. "The same as my best ones." She continued, in mock protest: "It was you that suggested high heels; I'm only trying to help." But she grinned as she said it.

I forced my feet into the shoes, but they were much too tight for comfort. The high heels gave me another peculiar feeling, causing me to become much taller and making it very hard for me to stand up straight without bending my knees. I wobbled around unsteadily, and had to hold on to the back of a chair for support and keep my balance.

"Oh yes! Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?" she chuckled. "Now you have some idea what us real girls have to put up with." After a short pause, she went on: "Are you ready for the wig? Here you are; this is the front."

She held up a loose bundle of hair; then turned it slightly, and I could see that it was very similar to her own hairstyle, with long, straight fair hair at the back and sides, slightly curling inwards at the ends, and a short, straight fringe at the front. She handed it to me, but it was a very strange and unfamiliar thing. I made a complete mess of putting it on, causing her to exclaim, irritably:

"Oh no! Take it off! Here - let me do it."

She reached up, but I was too tall, in the high heels:

"Oh; sit down a minute."

I sat in an upright chair, and she held the wig in both hands. She raised it high, and placed it on my head; almost as if she was bestowing some great honour upon me. She picked up a comb and gave the wig a few deft strokes; patting it here and there with her hand and saying, with satisfaction:

"There! That's much better. Stay there a few minutes longer, and I'll do your make up."

She unfolded a white cloth, and draped it around my shoulders in the same way that the barber had covered me, to protect my clothes. I smoothed down my skirt, and tried sitting with my knees together as most women seemed to do. It was a very unnatural pose and difficult for me to sustain; with the high heels only making it worse. A small tray was placed on the table. It held several glass jars and small metal tubes, some brushes, and other unidentifiable objects, and put me in mind of a party game I had played as a child, where I had been required to memorise as many of the objects as possible as the tray was slowly passed in front of me.

She began to apply a series of thin creams and unguents to my cheeks, chin, and neck, using a small pad; her fingers, and once or twice, a brush. It was most unpleasant when she was working around my eyes, because my early experience in hospital had left me very sensitive in this area, and I had to ask her to stop because it soon became unbearable. She wanted me to put on some long false eyelashes, but I had to refuse because the suggestion made me want to cringe. She could see that I was unhappy, so she turned her attention to my mouth, and applied some lipstick; thickening and reshaping my thin lips. She handed me a small piece of tissue paper, and told me to apply it to my lips and pat it carefully. It stuck to me, and when I pulled it off, I could see the outline of two lips; like a kiss, on the paper.

Dorothy dabbed me with a powder puff, and then stood back and examined me. She appeared to approve, but kept me in suspense by refraining from comment. She gave the wig a few final strokes with a brush, and after giving me a thorough inspection, said:

"Right; now for the final test. Stand up; walk across to the mirror, but you mustn't look at it until the last moment. When you are close to it, I want you to turn towards it; then you can look at yourself. Can you do that?"

I nodded my head, conscious of the long hair tickling my cheeks, followed her instructions and struggled to my feet. I walked with difficulty towards the mirror, but remained out of the direct line of sight until the last moment; then I turned and looked.

A tall, fair haired person; undoubtedly a woman; looked back at me, curiously. She had a rather sulky expression on her face, and a most ungainly stance; standing with her hands dangling loosely down by her sides; legs apart, with both feet awkwardly turned outwards, and one shoulder held higher than the other.

Dorothy walked into the mirrored picture. She was smiling and neat; standing with legs straight, knees and ankles together, and both hands clasped in front of her. The tall woman straightened herself up, and assumed a similar pose and expression. It was bizarre! As if two sisters were standing side by side! Dorothy asked the tall woman in the mirror:

"Well? Do you like it?"

The tall woman's mouth moved, and my deep voiced words came out! "I don't know; it doesn't seem right, somehow."

"Well I like it!" she enthused. "Oh yes! I do like it! It's like having a big sister."

I was aware of a most peculiar hollow feeling inside me. I had no brothers or sisters, and it looked so odd, seeing the two of us together. I began to imitate Dorothy in every way, consciously adopting her general stance, and copying her small involuntary movements. She seemed to assume a new authority, and began to issue instructions:

"I'd like you to stay like that, and keep it on for a while. Go into the kitchen and put an apron on. You can make us a cup of tea and some sandwiches."

I turned from the mirror and staggered towards the kitchen, off balance in the high heels. She tied an apron around my waist; standing and watching me as I prepared the food. For some unaccountable reason, I set a tray, with a clean tray cloth, and put out Dorothy's 'Best Pots.' My sandwiches were cut in dainty triangles, and were far removed from the massive slabs I usually made. I finally brewed the tea and carried the tray into the sitting room.

Dorothy sat down, and made me wait upon her, like a lady's maid. I had to pour out her tea, and offer her the plate of sandwiches. Then she told me to sit down, and we talked about the whole experience as we drank the tea, and nibbled the sandwiches. I found that I was chattering animatedly, and making what was little more than small talk. I was not a bit like my usual self; feeling like an unmanly stranger, and not altogether happy in this new role. Dorothy said, rather apologetically:

"It may seem a bit odd, and I can't explain why it gives me so much pleasure, but I honestly do like seeing you dressed as a woman. I'm quite pleased with these first results, but I think we can make some improvements to your clothes and your general appearance, and add to the realism. Do you think you could do it again; if I found you a better choice of clothes - just to please me. It's like making a new friend."

I replied, reluctantly:

"Well; at first I wasn't at all keen on the idea, but I can see that you like it very much, and after all you do dress to please me, so I can't really object if you want me to dress to please you."

After a pause, I went on:

"I'm going to have to make a few changes, though. I'm not at all happy like this."

"Go on, then." she offered. "Tell me what you have in mind."

"It's these shoes that are the problem. They're much too tight, and I can't bear tight shoes. I like the high heels, but I'd prefer to practise walking in them for a while, until I become more accustomed to them. I nearly tripped and dropped the tray just now. I'm sorry, I can't wear these much longer. If I'm going to do this, I have to be comfortable, and it has to feel right. Tight corsets, yes; but tight shoes, no! You can choose whatever clothes you like, and I'll wear them whenever you want me to, but only if my feet are comfortable; how would that be?"

"The shoes are no problem," she replied. "I could find you a size larger, and it might be better if the heels were lower, at first. Do you think that would help you? You could wear them until you become used to them, and then gradually work up to a higher pair of heels. You have well shaped legs, for a man, and your feet are bigger than mine. This means that you have the length of foot to allow you to wear heels that are even higher than mine; and to my mind most legs look more shapely in a high heel."

She was doing everything possible to please me, in order to gain my full co-operation, so, in my usual devious way, I sought to turn the situation to my advantage:

"Do you know what I've always fancied?"

She shook her head.

"I'd like some boots. You know; knee length, and high heeled, lace up leather boots. I don't know why. Call it a secret desire, if you like; it's something I've always wanted to try. I think they would give better support to my ankles, and if they were really closely fitting they would probably help me to become used to high heels. But I know it's a stupid idea. For a start, they would be far too expensive, and really the expense isn't worth it, so please forget about it."

We continued talking for a little longer, but my feet were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and I was unhappy; so I took the shoes off; wriggled my toes gratefully; put my bedroom slippers on, and spoilt the whole effect! Thick and manly carpet slippers look altogether wrong on smoothly nyloned legs, so I eventually changed back into my own clothes.

The changing of roles; from man to woman, or vice-versa, is only satisfactory if it can be done properly, and if you can be smart and well dressed. It needs your full co-operation and concentration. Anything less than that, such as simply putting on a skirt; or applying thick layers of make up, and roughly padding your body is a most unsatisfactory way of doing it. I suppose it might be acceptable as a comedy act, in a carnival procession or a similar kind of group occasion, but it is totally unsuitable for serious role reversal. You must really 'Live the part,' and try to act like a woman all the time. It is difficult, but it can be done.

Over the years, we had several customers who were only happy when they were wearing women's clothes all the time. Some of them had the advantage of feminine shaped features, and were small of stature. They could often go anywhere and walk around in public, without anyone being aware of their true gender. Then there were the others, who, like me, were taller, and quite obviously masculine, who found it difficult to look like a realistic and convincing woman. I always treated them with sympathy during our dealings and fittings, because I could relate to their specific needs, and the difficulties they had to face.

In spite of all my doubts, that first occasion had been an interesting experience, and I was happy with my efforts because I knew I had given pleasure to Dorothy. It soon became apparent that she had enjoyed it even more than I had realised - as I was shortly to find out!

**

The next phase began about two months later, and it happened to coincide with my birthday. We always tried to make special efforts about the marking of anniversaries, such as our birthdays and Christmas. Our presents were meant to be useful and surprising, because this gave pleasure to Dorothy and appealed to her romantic nature. She certainly managed to surprise me, on this occasion! She had been acting rather mysteriously for about two weeks; often leaving me to look after the shop while she "Slipped out for a few minutes."

When I woke on my birthday, she kissed me; said: "Happy Birthday," but that was all. There was no sign of a present. She went to make breakfast, while I washed and dressed, and then I went into the sitting room and found a long, gift wrapped parcel reposing upon my chair. Full of curiosity, I opened it.

It contained a pair of boots!

It does not seem quite right to describe boots as being 'Lovely,' but it is the only suitable word. These most certainly were lovely! Black; made from a supple leather, and lacing all the way up the front. The lace holes were closely spaced, and had small black eyelets. The toes, though narrow, were rather more rounded than pointed, and the heels appeared to be a little over three inches high, and were gracefully tapered. As far as I could tell, the boots would be about knee high on me. They were very well made; shaped to the calves of the legs, and they had a glossy sheen. Dorothy popped her head around the door:

"Well?" she enquired.

"They're lovely!" I enthused.

"Where did you find them; and, more to the point; will they fit me?"

"There's only one way to find out." she replied, and left me to it.

I removed my outer clothes, hooked my suspenders on to my corset, and carefully put on a new pair of black nylon stockings. I quickly slipped into a bra, blouse and short skirt, to show my legs off to better advantage, and then set about putting on the boots. Loosening the laces was not enough, and it proved to be better if I removed the laces from some of the topmost holes, to give me enough width around the ankle and foot.

I pointed my toe; pushed my foot into the right boot; eased it on, and began to tighten the laces, finding, to my delight, that it was very comfortable around my foot; so I laced it all the way up the leg and knotted the laces. I repeated the process with my left leg, and, once again, it was a perfect fit.

I stood up.

This was good - very good!

The boots fitted closely to my legs, and rose to just below my knees. The heels were definitely high, and seemed to be almost as high as my first pair of high heeled shoes, but the boots themselves were a much better fit around the foot, making it easier for me to stand comfortably without any unpleasant pressure on my toe joints, and, as I had expected, they supported my ankles very well.

I had been unsteady and wobbly in the shoes; but the boots seemed to spread the load; making me feel much more stable and confident. In a way, it was the familiar and comfortable support that my corset gave to my body, but now it was my feet that were feeling the benefit. The full combination of laced corset and laced boots was unbelievably pleasurable! The dictionary description of pleasure is 'Satisfaction; delight; sensuous enjoyment.' And that is precisely what it was!

I heard Dorothy moving around in the other room, and walked in to show myself to her. Walking in the boots proved to be much easier than the shoes, and I moved with a new ease. Dorothy noticed me in the mirror, and turned to face me with a great deal of interest. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly we were on the bed together, and I was lying on top of her!

A short while later, she said, dryly:

"Happy Birthday; you seem to be enjoying it!"

I lifted myself from her, and said, apologetically:

"I'm sorry; I didn't intend to start celebrating it quite so early."

"Oh, don't apologise," she said, rather breathlessly.

"I'm glad you like them, because I like them too."

It was a weekday and I had a busy schedule, so I rather reluctantly removed the boots; changed into my working clothes and went on my rounds. Before I left, and while I was enjoying my daily session with my hands upon her waist, I asked her:

"How did you manage to get such a good fit?"

She replied:

"I took a pair of your shoes up to Mr. Hetherington, the shoe repairer. He doesn't make boots, but he knows a man who does; so he used your shoes as a pattern and handled it for me. It was as simple as that." As a parting shot, she said: "I think it's about time we tried to transform you completely; I'd like that. Perhaps we can have another Special Occasion, before long, and you can put everything on."

**

Her gift of the boots had given me a great deal of pleasure, and I wondered if I could do the same for her. It was worth going to some trouble. Perhaps I could anticipate our next Special Occasion, and try and transform myself without her knowledge and give her a pleasant surprise. I thought about her black tailored suit and how it had impressed me so much, and decided I would try and find something similar that would fit me.

I called at several second hand clothing shops in the course of my daily rounds, and eventually managed to find a navy blue jacket and matching skirt. The jacket fitted me across the shoulders and allowed room for a bosom, but both it and the skirt were loose at the waist. The styling of the jacket was generally the same as Dorothy's, but the skirt was straight, with two concealed pleats at the front.

Both garments were first dry cleaned, and then taken to a small shop that specialised in tailoring and alteration work. I had the jacket and skirt re-styled to my measurements, and when the work had been done drove to a quiet spot, climbed into the back of the van, and tried both garments on. The limited facilities allowed me to judge that, in each case, the fit was now quite good. I managed to find a hat, that went rather well with the suit. Dorothy's hat had been small, and close fitting; whereas mine was more like a feminine bowler hat, with a curly brim.

I quietly assembled all the other articles of my wardrobe and packed them into a suitcase; checking that I had my black corset; brassiere, breasts, and pantie girdle. I still had the wig; the nylon slip, and a neat white satin blouse, and some briefs that Dorothy had later provided. The addition of the suit; the boots, and a new pair of stockings, meant that I was now fully equipped.

Now came the brilliant master stroke! I had seen several advertisements for a new shop, in a nearby town, where they apparently specialised in providing all the requirements for female impersonators. I loaded my suitcase into the van, and at the first opportunity, set off in search of the shop; driving past several times and making a preliminary survey, rather like the shopping expeditions of my younger days.

The shop window was well filled, and had been arranged to display a wide variety of feminine outer clothes and undergarments. At first sight it could easily have been mistaken for a conventional ladies outfitters, but there were several banner advertisements pasted around the sides of the window, giving an indication of the true purpose of the premises. I opened the door and went in; immediately being taken rather aback. Dorothy was a model of neatness, and kept all the corset displays in our own shop to a minimum. I always left that to her, although she often asked for my opinion.

This shop contained what could only be termed a 'Profusion!' Well filled rails of female clothes stood in rows, and all the walls had been shelved and racked. The racks contained a truly astonishing array of specialised items, and I became quite overwhelmed by it all; spending a long time browsing, and moving from rack to rail and back again.

I quickly found the corsetry section, and was to some extent on my home ground. The wide choice of high, and very high heeled shoes presented no problems, and the underwear was very attractive; ranging from the conventional to the exotic. There was a good selection of realistic and differently styled wigs, in a variety of colours. Stockings; jewellery; cosmetics, and even a small, but well filled library of specialist publications. I wished I could have spared the time to have a closer look at them all!

There were some very specialised items, designed to disguise masculine characteristics and enhance the shape of the body. Many of these were both interesting and surprising, and I found it hard to accept that some men would go to such lengths to alter their whole appearance. The shop was quite busy at times, with people disappearing into the changing rooms, and then coming back again dressed in a variety of different outfits. I honestly believe that, given time and money, it would have been quite possible to walk in as a man, and walk out as a woman; perfect in every respect.

The advertisement that led me to the shop had specified that 'Help and advice' was offered, and this was what I wanted most of all. My transformation was meant to be a short term exercise and I had my own clothing, but I now wanted to enlist the aid of the experts and add some convincing finishing touches.

I explained my problem to the "lady" who was in charge of the shop, and she was very understanding; showing me into a changing room, where I was able to exchange my everyday clothes for my female outfit. I laced myself into my black corset, and then put on the brassiere and girdle. A long line brassiere is not the easiest of things to fasten at the back, so I put it on back to front, fastened the hooks, and then pulled it the right way round; pushed my arms through the shoulder straps, adjusted the cups to the correct position, and inserted the sponges. I continued dressing, and was pleased to find that the skirt and jacket were now a much better fit, and nicely outlined my waist.

I finally put on my boots; laced them tightly, and was almost ready. The shop staff helped me with my wig, and after looking me over suggested that I should try some medical prosthetic breast forms in place of my sponges. These gave me a much more realistic shape; immediately improving my bust line; softening it, and making it more fluid and alive, so I purchased a pair. They helped me with my make-up and hat, and subjected me to a critical inspection.

They used a clever sales technique, and showed me some cheap costume jewellery; pointing out the obvious advantages of wearing a selection of these essential feminine accoutrements. To emphasise the point, they adorned me with a necklace; a brooch, and a pair of clip on earrings. Two realistic finger rings were added, and then the staff went to great lengths to praise my appearance, so I bought the jewellery. They told me that no woman was complete without a handbag, and then sold me one!

Somebody produced an interesting set of coloured stick-on finger nails, and before I could protest, stuck one firmly on my left index finger. I let them attach a set of nails to one hand, and then compared that hand with the other. The hand with the red and pointed fingernails was undoubtedly slimmer and more feminine, so I purchased the fingernails as well! I thought it was time to leave the shop, before they had any more bright and costly ideas, so I thanked them for their help; packed my working clothes into the suitcase, and, greatly daring, walked back to the van.

**

Upon reading this section again, I find that I have tended to gloss over an important episode, and make it seem almost commonplace. I think it is well worth devoting some time and space to a certain amount of self analysis; because, now that I look back I can recall that I was plagued by a peculiar mixture of emotions; all brought on by the nerve wracking nature of my earlier shopping expeditions. I was now much older, and financially secure. I was also more self-assured, because Dorothy had done much to restore my lost confidence. In spite of this, I was still conscious of a return of my old feelings of apprehension and trepidation when I entered the specialist shop.

I had seen other men making a careful survey of our own shop, and I knew they must be suffering the same sense of nervousness and doubt that I once had. The principal worry would have been the possibility of being recognised, or of meeting a familiar face when entering or leaving the shop. We had gone to great lengths to perfect our approach to this problem, by adopting a smile and using words of understanding. It worked wonders if the words were spoken in a reassuring voice. No decent request was refused, and, most importantly, we never laughed or giggled.

I realised that I had been unconsciously screwed up when I approached this new shop, and I was very pleased to discover that their methods were broadly similar to mine, and they quickly put me at my ease.

I was accustomed to my corset; enjoyed wearing my long boots, and could dress and lace myself without undue difficulty. The new breast forms moved in a fluid; fascinating and natural way, adding greatly to the sense of realism and making me adopt a more feminine stance to counterbalance the unaccustomed extra mobile weight at the front.

Women's undergarments were invariably much finer than my own, and I liked the smooth materials and the way they tended to cling more closely. I was proud of my shapely legs when they were enclosed in fine nylon stockings, and as Dorothy had already pointed out, they looked even better when I wore my high heeled shoes.

I had originally worn a skirt to please Dorothy, and she taught me the correct way to sit down and relax, without revealing anything of importance. She was a good instructor, and made me appreciate many of the problems that women had to cope with. It eventually became second nature for me to sweep one hand down behind myself before sitting down, and I even found that I did it unthinkingly when I was wearing trousers!

I had never tried applying my make-up, because Dorothy had always dealt with this at home. She was happy to do it for me when I dressed at her request. She showed me many of the skills, and occasionally let me make my own ham-fisted attempts. I was unable to produce a convincing effect, and to my mind there is nothing worse than badly applied or mis-matched cosmetics, so I was very glad when the shop staff offered their expert help.

The wig had always presented me with something of a problem. It was very difficult to put on straight, and felt most insecure when it was on. I had to be careful if I wore a hat, in case I removed both hat and wig together. I experimented with several thin rubber caps, finding them all to be uncomfortable and to act as a kind of insulator, making the wig feel even less a part of me.

I even considered letting my own hair grow to a suitable length, and then having it professionally styled. Long and feminine hairstyles were starting to become fashionable for men, and I thought I would not look out of place. Dorothy did not approve, so I dropped the idea. She pointed out that:-

1. I was only dressing to please her.

2. It was something we did behind closed doors.

And, although she liked me to do it at home:

3. She was not really in favour of me appearing

in public, dressed as a woman.

After all, as she said:

"What would the neighbours think?"

My old belligerence came flooding back as I thought to myself: "The neighbours can go and take a running jump!" - but I did not say so!

The skirt was my main difficulty, because in a word, it was draughty! After a lifetime of having both my legs enveloped within a pair of trousers, it was distinctly odd to have myself 'Open at one end,' with the cold air circulating freely, and making me conscious of a draught above my stocking tops in any kind of air current. The folds of the cloth wrapped themselves around my legs, and I had to develop a totally new way of walking to make the skirt sway more freely. I wondered if that was why it was known as 'Drag.'

During the course of many dressing-up sessions, and with Dorothy's assistance, I wore long skirts; short skirts; straight skirts; flared skirts, and a number of differently pleated skirts. She provided me with winter frocks and light summer dresses, and I never knew where they came from, or what she did with them afterwards. I was quite content to act as a kind of living dress stand whenever she asked me to; because she obviously liked doing it so much.

We tried to limit our choice of clothing to garments that concealed my arms and neck as much as possible. Dorothy once offered a long black evening frock, and suggested I might like to put it on. It was similar to my Aunt's frock, of so long ago; with a low cut top; full length skirt, and closely fitted to the waist. It made me look rather ridiculous; exposing my hairy chest, and making my bare and muscular arms look incongruous. It gave us both a laugh, at the time, but my own laughter was tinged with more than a little embarrassment.

Blouses and skirts, or jumpers and skirts were the best combination for me, although, on reflection I still think I preferred my navy blue suit most of all. It was the nearest approach to a tailor made outfit, and it always made me feel good, and look smart. It was strange, having a bosom. As I have said, it moved realistically, but I had to learn an entirely new sequence of arm movements. Simple everyday things, such as picking up and carrying a tray had to be done with care and circumspection.

I could not see my feet in quite the same way, and always had to walk carefully, although walking in high heels did become less of a problem when I gained more experience. My first pair of shoes had been tight and uncomfortable. The four inch heels were too high for a first attempt, and I found that they soon put a great strain on my calf muscles. Dorothy managed to find me a larger pair of court shoes with three inch heels, which were much more comfortable and acceptable, but, given a choice, I still preferred to wear my close fitting knee high, laced up boots.

**

But; to return to my story. This was going to be my 'First Solo Attempt,' which made it something of a 'Special Occasion' for me. I was in a strange town and unlikely to be recognised; doing it for the sole purpose of surprising Dorothy and giving her some pleasure. I suppose, at the time, I must have been 'Silly side out,' to use one of Dorothy's favourite expressions!

My next problem was the driving of the van. I found that the combination of tight boots and high heels made it very hard for me to gauge the right amount of pressure to apply to the accelerator and brake pedals, and I had to plan all my moves well in advance, making it rather like driving our original old van all over again!

I drove carefully back home, and parked the van round the corner out of sight of the shop. I checked my make-up in the rear view mirror; collected my handbag; waited until the street was relatively quiet; walked to our shop, opened the door and went inside. There was a short pause, and then Dorothy came out of her fitting room. She showed no signs of surprise at the sight of me; put on a helpful expression and assumed her deep 'Professional voice:'

"Good afternoon, Madam. Can I help you?"

I made my own voice as deep as possible, and said:

"Hello, love. What's for dinner?"

She squeaked, jumped, and clapped a hand to her bosom.

"Oh! It's you! You fool; you frightened me!

I thought I knew your face, but under that hat I couldn't be sure."

And then; as realisation started to hit her,

"Oh! Oh!

Have you been walking around outside, dressed like that?

How long have you had those clothes on?

Where did you get them from?

What on earth made you do it?

Suppose somebody found out!"

I calmed her down and told her what I had done, but could not resist pointing out the undeniable fact that she had automatically assumed I was a woman when I entered the shop, so I must have looked reasonably realistic to her, and to any other casual onlooker. I took off my hat; patted my hair, and we stood talking at the counter until a lady customer came in. I would normally make myself scarce when this happened, but on this occasion I stood by and watched, until Dorothy had attended to the customer's simple needs, giving further proof to us both that I could pass myself off as a convincing woman.

I put on my white coat, then made us a cup of tea, and we carried on chatting until closing time. I helped to serve at the counter, but had to leave all the talking to Dorothy. Her voice was deep, but was never as deep as mine. I had once tried talking in a high pitched falsetto voice, but it did not sound right, and was not sufficiently convincing.

After we had closed the shop we went upstairs, and Dorothy had another good look at me, expressing her general approval and being very impressed with my new and full bosom, which she touched and lifted, saying rather wistfully that it was bigger than hers, and "felt very real." I had a comprehensive look at myself in the bedroom mirrors, attempting to surprise myself by walking into the room, glancing at the mirrors and trying to catch myself on the move. This is the best method of self-examination, and much better than merely posing in front of a single mirror. You tend to see yourself as others see you, and the result can often be quite surprising!

I took off my jacket, and this made us look like two sisters again. Dorothy always liked to dominate her female companion, and I was not surprised when she began to issue a string of instructions about peeling potatoes, and setting the table. I did not mind, because it was nice to see her so happy. That same night, when we were both in bed, she was able to make me very happy - very happy indeed!

I wore the navy blue outfit on many occasions at her request, and I must admit that, after some initial reluctance I began to enjoy wearing women's clothing. It was all done in accordance with the guidelines that Dorothy had laid down on our honeymoon. With a few carefully chosen exceptions, we did it behind closed doors; nobody else knew about it, and it made us both happy.

Dorothy continued to train me until I eventually became an accomplished and realistic female impersonator, taking over many of the accepted female roles within our home, but I could never work alone in the shop. She was right about the height of heels I could wear, and we once went to a specialist footwear shop, with me fully dressed in my suit and court shoes, and we were able to purchase several pairs of shoes in my size with five and six inch heels.

I trained myself to wear the five inch heels, and could walk round the house in them, but a long distance walk out of doors would have been well beyond my capabilities. The six inch heels made me perch on my toes, throwing a great strain on the sinews at the back of my legs, and I could only wear them for a short time. Nevertheless, they certainly added to the shapeliness of my legs, and Dorothy became a little envious of me at times because her smaller sized foot meant that she could not wear shoes of a similar heel height.

Some time later, she bought herself a pair of laced and high heeled boots similar to mine, and was able to arouse me to new and unbelievable heights of enjoyment!

*****

  

  

  

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