The Magic Phone Box

by

Donna Dee

 

It was, by any standards, a luxury apartment. That it was located in the centre of London and had secure underground parking for two cars would have been enough to guarantee a huge selling price, but that was only the start. Scarcely a sound penetrated the triple glazed windows and soundproofed walls; the lounge was large enough to hold a mini convention and both bedrooms had king sized four poster beds that swallowed you up at night. The kitchen was large enough to cater for parties of any reasonable size. It had, of course, been modernised over the years.

That it was mine was unbelievable. It had been purchased by my grandfather as a highly speculative investment, in view of the bombing, at the start of the second world war, but somehow escaped serious damage. He left it to my father who left it to me, his only son when he died almost three years ago. I often wonder what grand-dad would have said if he known its value at today's prices. We had never lived in it before Dad died, I didn't even know about it until his will was read a couple of years previously. My mother had no wish to live in the centre of London with me and neither did my sisters, but it was very convenient for my work so I decided to live there on my own in what surely was the ultimate bachelor pad.

I glanced at the ornate grandfather clock standing by the wall; it was seven fifteen and I realised that I was still early for my date. It was the time of year when it got dark about now, so I wandered across to the window to look out onto the busy road below on which mother nature was softly crying, I noticed that the light in the telephone box on the pavement beneath my window had been repaired or maybe just cleaned - it seemed to be much brighter than yesterday. Perhaps it was an illusion caused by the persistent rain, though I didn't really think so as there was something most odd about that box.

For one thing it had been installed one afternoon, a couple of days after I moved in, which was about a year ago, and at a time when telephone boxes were being removed from the streets due to the ever increasing popularity of the mobile phone. I was grateful to that box because it was how I first met Karen-Anne, but for all that I could have sworn it had been moved a few feet up the road one day and then back again, yet there was no sign of any alterations on the pavement itself. Now I thought about it, that light was another thing, it was out or dull more times than it was bright. It didn't occur to me at the time that it always shone brightly when I was expecting Karen-Anne to call for me.

The grandfather clock struck the half hour - my signal to go down to the entrance as she would be there in exactly five minutes. Karen-Anne would be on time to the second, she always was and she got very upset if I kept her waiting. It was, I suppose understandable as the parking restrictions applied twenty-four hours a day. I had to be waiting in the doorway and to hurry to her car the moment it stopped. When it did I was to quickly get in back with her where we would kiss hello as the car made off, either to take me to work or to wherever it was she had decided we were going to spend the evening. Yes, that's correct, Karen-Anne made all the decisions.

I met her as I left the flat early one Friday evening just ove

r a year ago. It seemed that she had been trying to use the telephone in the box on the pavement - (I hadn't really noticed the box before then) - and had run out of change. The box door opened as I made to pass by and this vision of perfect femininity flashed the sort of smile that had over the centuries won more wars than any army. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and she positively purred as she asked if I could change a two pound coin. When I did she smiled again but instead of making her call she hung up the receiver and turned to face me again. Another smile speared my heart like a harpoon pierces a whale - I didn't even think of trying to escape.

"I have been stood up," she pouted, sulkily, "so will you be a gentleman and have dinner with me? Please! My treat," she added with an even bigger smile.

I was going nowhere special so how could I refuse? I thanked her and agreed upon which she grabbed my arm and excitedly dragged me towards the Bentley parked at the kerb. We clambered into the back and smiled at each other once more as the car pulled away. I couldn't have told you then or even now where it was we ate that night, only that the meal and the occasional slow dance, (during which she clung to me like the skin on a ripe peach) lasted several hours as she probed my very soul, fishing to find out everything there was to know about me. I drank a lot of wine and probably told her far more about myself than I intended, not that anything in my life up until then was a secret. This, in brief, is what I told her.

I was born in Poole, Dorset, thirty one years ago. Obviously the first part of this story I remembered from things I was told later in life, but I do remember many of the things from the age of eight onwards.

With my two older sisters and parents we lived in a four bedroom house with a large back garden in which Dad grew vegetables and mother reared chicken, some for eating but mostly for egg production. Dad was a doctor, a GP with a surgery in the town, mother had been a teacher but had no need to go out to work now, so whatever spare time she had was devoted to her children and the church we all attended regularly, yes, father as well.

My mother was an accomplished pianist and although she didn't play professionally, she did give concerts in the church hall. Now it seems that one Saturday afternoon when I was about six and had just started junior school, Mum was playing the piano in our living room, practising but also for her own amusement when she was called to the telephone . Dad was in the bath having just returned from playing golf. Mum had jumped up to take her call and left the piano unlocked - something she was normally very fussy about as it was of good quality and her pride and joy. We kids were forbidden to even sit on the piano stool! Her call was a long one, aren't they all? - and as she chatted away she was vaguely aware of the fact that someone (presumably my father) was playing the same melodies she had just played - not as well as she did, of course, but quite well for all that. Dad came downstairs, listening to the music as he walked and, seeing Mum in the kitchen, absentmindedly poured them both a drink and took one out to her. As they chatted, a bum note was struck on the piano - and they looked at each other accusingly, for they were both perfectionists when it came to music.

Mum was the first to realise that if she wasn't playing and Dad was with her, then one of us kids must be messing with her beloved piano, Apart from this being against the rules and therefore worthy of a spanking, they were quite sure that none of us could play that well, so they put their drinks down and ran into the parlour to see who it was that had entered the house, feeling sure that someone must have done. To say that they were surprised to find it was their youngest child who was playing, and playing so well would be the understatement of the century. That I was playing melodies by Chopin and Strauss amazed them even more for I obviously couldn't read music. Mother stopped my playing and told me to strike the chord that had jarred their sensibilities whilst they were in the kitchen, but I had no idea what she meant. Quickly realising I was playing by ear, she stretched her fingers across the keyboard, played the chord and told me to copy it. When I tried and failed, she realised that my tiny fingers couldn't stretch to almost an octave and that that was the reason for the bum notes.

Now I don't want to dwell too long on this part of the story, sufficient to say that I was promptly encouraged to play the piano whenever I liked. Dad made me exercise my hands to make them stronger and to really stretch my fingers to make them longer. Whether it was the exercises or the fact that I was growing up anyway that enabled me to achieve what they wanted I don't know. What I was told was that mother promptly hired a tuner to make sure the piano was perfect and employed a teacher, but that was a waste for I cannot read music properly even now. They did discover, however, that if I listened to a piano recital on a record or the wireless, I could play it almost perfectly with no trouble at all - and, what is more, remember it for the future.

They were proud of me of course and wanted to tell the world that they had a child prodigy for a son but sensibly realised this was not the right course to take. I don't know how I came to start playing the piano in school for morning assembly or how I played in church on frequent occasions, but I was pleased that I did because it kept me out of the school choir - I hated the idea of wearing ecclesiastical robes, (albs and surplices) and parading up the aisle chanting hymns. Yes, I could sing as well, a boy soprano as you might guess. I was no Aled Jones, but I was good for all that and sang solo's in quite a number of churches in Dorset and Hampshire.

Around the age of nine I was given the chance to play the church organ and found that I quickly became accustomed to using the pedals and stops and before I knew it I was deputising for the regular organist on occasions. Father had refused to accept the honorarium paid to the organist each week and told me to do the same, but the minister insisted I took the fee for weddings - something I was pleased to do once he'd agreed not to tell my parents.

I also went to Sunday school of course and that was where I met Molly, the nicest female I knew, apart from my mother of course. That she was a half-caste meant nothing to me, and although I knew she was not the most popular girl in her school, (she was several years older than I), I certainly didn't realise it was the colour of her skin that caused the problem. My mother loved her like her own daughter and was happy to agree that she should accompany me wherever I played, because by now I was in some demand to play the popular modern music mother detested.

I was no scholar, we all knew that the professions were beyond me, but that with a moderate amount of luck I could earn a good living as a musician. At sixteen I got a job on five nights a week playing with the Gerry Francis dance band at the Centenary Hall. Gerry played the drums and sang a number of songs during each evening and I deputised for him one week when he had a sore throat. My singing was popular, especially my impersonations of singing stars like Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis. At eighteen my piano playing career really took off when I joined one of the top broadcasting orchestras in the country. I did well, earned good money and though my name wasn't exactly a household word in entertainment, I was never short of work doing a cabaret spot in literally dozens of night clubs, mostly in London. I have played at the Royal Albert Hall on several occasions, as well as at the NEC in Birmingham.

When my Dad died and his solicitor read the will, he told me the flat was mine. I was over the moon though there were, of course, conditions. I couldn't sell it or make any structural alterations; if I wanted different furniture then the old had to be put into secure storage. There was a cleaning and maintenance contract and they decided if and when re-decoration was necessary or if carpets needed to be replaced. The trust fund paid all local taxes and for the utilities, they also paid a cleaner to come in once a week to give the place a thorough going over. If extra cleaning was required I had only to ask. In effect therefore it was totally free, at least it was free to me. My cleaning lady was a woman of my mothers age and treated me like her own son. She had filled the fridge and freezer for the day I moved in and organised help when I threw a house warming party for a lot of friends. They allowed me to have my baby grand in the flat. I had taken some time off to effect the move.

You can safely bet that on that first date, Karen-Anne ferreted away to discovered every tiny detail about my life, and seemed able to store it all up because she often said "just now you said----" and I had to clear up whichever was the truth. The mistakes were genuine, I had no wish to mislead her.

Eventually, much much later that night, I started to question her but got absolutely nowhere, apart from her name. Yes, she lived in London, yes she was very wealthy, in fact I got almost an hour of chatter about herself that told me absolutely nothing. Eventually she said it was time to go and as we set off I jokingly asked her, "Your place or mine?"

"Yours of course, darling, my place is too small and I just love that flat of yours. I'd like to buy it, though I do know you cant sell it to me." Later on I wondered if she had known that beforehand.

The fact that she had never been inside escaped me as I asked her how she had got so much money - OK so I was drunk, but she didn't lose her temper. "By magic," was all she'd say.

This sobered me up somewhat and I pressed for a clearer answer. "Magic?" I asked, "You mean you can work magic?"

"Of course, all women can."

"They cannot!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Yes, but you'll have a job to prove it."

By this time it was almost morning; we were lying in bed after some extremely energetic exercise, naked and using kisses for punctuation as we debated the point, cuddling and touching each other intimately.

"Look, you have a mother and two sisters, right?" I didn't get chance to confirm this before she continued. "Tell me, if they ask you to do something, perhaps something that you didn't want to do and refused to accept it when you said no, would they try to get round you?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Yes, they would."

"And would they succeed?"

"Possibly, if they really tried hard enough."

"Well that's magic, surely?"

"No, that's persuasion."

"Did they ever fail, if they really tried I mean?"

"No, I guess not."

"Then that's more than persuasion Frankie darling, that's magic. It's all a matter of degree. With me I just use my charms and hey presto, I get my own way. Always," she added with a shrug of her shoulders.

"That doesn't explain how you make money by magic."

"That's a little more complex, sometimes I can see what will happen in the near future - a horse race for example. When I do I simply bet on the winner, or better still a number of winners in what is known as an accumulator. It never fails."

This conversation continued for several minutes. We had made wonderful love all night - I am sure neither of us slept. She had insisted there was no need for me to use a contraceptive, and I can only guess that we tried every position in the Kama Sutra before I got up to make her breakfast. I asked, naturally, if we could meet again and I was devastated when she said no, that this had been a one off. Obviously I wondered why.

"You wont like my answer Francis, but you are entitled to hear it. I am bi-sexual with a strong preference for lesbian sex, unless of course I can find me a beautiful she-male, someone with gorgeous tits and a cock as big as yours - that would be my ideal."

I couldn't take this in and asked if she was serious and she assured me that she was deadly serious. She said that I would make a wonderful she-male with just a little help from a friend. I laughed at this, so she asked me if I'd ever met one.

"No, of course not," I answered, "not so far as I know anyway."

Then she wanted to know if I had ever worn women's clothes or make-up. "No, of course not," I had replied, somewhat indignantly.

"Would you like to, darling, I'm sure you would enjoy it."

I can honestly say the thought had never crossed my mind but I admitted to having read stories about such people on StorySite and Fictionmania. I added that whilst I knew there were some cross-dressers around, I believed the vast majority of those yarns were purely figments of the writers imaginations.

She laughed and said I was wrong. "Darling, there are thousands of lesbians out there, just in London and thousands of gay men too, but there are even more cross-dressers and a large number of she-males, not enough to go round unfortunately, but quite a lot for all that."

I had read about them too, of course; young men mostly who had taken large amounts of oestrogen and had developed large breasts, but hadn't had the nerve to go in for SRS - at least that was how I read it. And that's if it were true.

"Were you ever turned on by some of these stories, Frankie?"

"Well, yes, a bit I suppose, but not enough to make me want to try it for myself."

"Then try it for me." We were in bed together again by then, her breakfast finished, me on my back and her with her head on my left shoulder. Her manicured hand with its long blood red talons was gently stroking my almost hairless chest. "Just imagine for a moment what it would be like if you had breasts as big as mine, a C or D cup would do so long as they had large pink nipples that I could pinch or suck - wouldn't you just love that? I know I would." With that she lowered her lips to my nipples and began to lick them and suck on them.

"What would I do with breasts like yours," I laughed.

"You could always play with them yourself you know darling, it's not so much fun of course," she said, sulkily

I realised I could see her face as she sucked on my nipple and the rather large mound of pink flesh on which the nipple sat, but the sensation was divine and I chose to ignore what I had seen - or thought I'd seen.

It was an illusion of course, it had to be.

"Don't you wish these were real, Frankie, just for a little while."

Her ministrations were causing my already overworked cock to rear its head once more. "Not seriously - it could never happen."

She continued to rub her hands gently over my chest, and tummy, and as she did so she said, "Wish for some big breasts, Frankie, some lovely big breasts, and wish that I was really playing with them now."

Well it couldn't hurt to humour her, could it, and the idea, daft as it was seemed strangely erotic. She was on my left side, my arm around her naked body, my right hand fingering her pussy. As I thought about what she was saying I imagined I could feel large breasts growing on my chest and the electric shock I got as she flicked the nipples with her fingernail was mind blowing. The duvet had worked its way down the bed and I suddenly realised that she was indeed playing with two enormous breasts attached firmly to my chest. I gave a yelp and leapt out of bed. It was true - I had breasts. I touched them and squeezed them, they felt real enough. Shocked, I turned to look at her, horrified, but all she did was smile. What was more, or maybe it was by comparison, my waist had shrunk in to the same sort of size that hers was.

"Would you like a nice moist fanny to go with them darling?" she innocently enquired, reaching for my penis.

I think I screamed before I passed out. I awoke in the bed beside her to find she was still fondling my breasts and nipples. "What have you done to me?" I demanded.

"Hush now baby mine, and don't worry - they will vanish in a little while if you really want them to, meantime I have slimmed down your waist and rounded out your hips, care to look again?"

I looked and she had done as she said. "Tell me the truth darling, you love them really, don't you?"

My cock and balls were throbbing between what seemed to be a very shapely pair of legs and my longer and now curly hair draped down to my shoulders. I had magnificent breasts and a very respectable figure. Add the fact that I was wearing nail polish and makeup and I had to admit, though only to myself, that I found it very exciting. Did I say only to myself? My erection must have told her exactly how I felt.

"Let's get you dressed," she said, opening my wardrobe and extracting a bra, panties, camisole, suspender belt, stockings and a pair of four-inch heeled pumps. She helped me into them, fastened the bra at the back and hooked my stockings onto the garter belt. When she was done even I thought I looked fantastic.

I shook my head vigorously. "But I don't want to be a girl," I protested vehemently.

"Of course not, darling, you are not a girl, not really, and you aren't going to be a girl. Right now you are that she-male we were talking about. In an hour or so you will go back to being Francis and this will all seem like a wonderful dream - a dream come true, a dream that really can come true if you want it to. Just say the word and I will ease you into your present state and make it permanent so that you can be my lover for ever and a day - and you would like that, wouldn't you?"

Well I knew I'd like nothing better than for her to be my full time permanent lover - my wife perhaps, but somehow I knew that wasn't on, even so I asked her to marry me. She laughed aloud and patiently explained why it wasn't possible. She kissed me goodbye, with some passion and left through the door. As she closed the door behind her she snapped her fingers and I was once again a naked man. The clothes I had been wearing were all back in the drawers and wardrobes, and the make up had been cleaned off my face. Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back to bed and slept until late afternoon. I slipped out of bed and took a shower. As I washed between my legs, one of my fingernails caused me considerable pain as it dug into my scrotum. Looking down I saw that it was still bright red and a good half inch longer than my fingers - they all were.

Just as I had been winning the argument with myself that last night had been a dream, I was faced with irrefutable proof that part of it at least was true. From the bathroom cabinet I took a pair of nail scissors and tried to trim them back, though I had nothing with which to remove the polish. It was like trying to cut through steel, the scissors didn't even make a mark on them.

I looked for some of my own clothes to put on but they had disappeared, even my socks, there was nothing but women's clothes wherever I looked. It had turned six, all the shops would be shut on this Saturday night but hell, I couldn't go out in women's clothes with bright red nails to buy me a mans shirt and some trousers - oh and shoes, for all the shoes there were high heeled. It felt odd to be standing there naked and the only alternative I had was to put on some panties and a slip. Maybe it was a relief to wear something but those two items felt quite wonderful.

I was hungry so I walked into the kitchen, the tiled floor was cold to my bare feet so I found me a pair of slippers with the lowest heel - about two inches that is. Would they fit? Of course they did and I found I could walk in them with no bother. I cooked some bacon and made a sandwich, oh yes and I made some coffee to wash it down. Back in the lounge I contemplated my situation and tried to work out an answer.

I decided to ring my mother and get her to bring me some clothes but the telephone wouldn't work. Perhaps that was just as well for I didn't know how I'd have explained my current predicament. The television wouldn't work either so I turned on the radio to find I was limited to just the one station that was broadcasting piano music by the stars of yesterday - Russ Conway, Winifred Attwell, Dave Brubeck and the like.

I quite enjoyed that hour and, later, copied the tunes on my piano as if I were playing in some club. My red tipped fingers dancing over the white and black keys made me feel quite strange, but my nails never once inconvenienced me or caught on another note in error. I went to bed about ten o'clock knowing that tomorrow in the morning I would have to summon up the courage to put on a dress or a skirt and blouse of some kind and go shopping. There was no alternative. For all I was worried I slept peacefully right through until nine on Sunday; perhaps that was due to having no sleep the night before. And I dreamed the sweetest dreams; I had a girls body again and I loved it, my long hair, the fact that I was attractive to other men - and in no way did that seem gross.

Nevertheless I was relieved the next morning to find that it had been a dream and that I was back to normal. All my worries vanished, momentarily at least, for the only thing on my mind was an urge to take a nice hot soak in my large enough for two bath. Subconsciously I added a large quantity of heavily perfumed bubble bath, it was delightful and I was only aware of peaceful thoughts as I relaxed in the water. That my body was hairless when I emerged didn't seem in the least important, it almost failed to register. However, the worries as to what I could wear soon returned after I had dusted myself all over with sweet smelling talcum powder and moved towards my closet where I again remembered the total lack of male clothing. I panicked a bit and quickly pulled on a fresh pair of panties, (blue ones this time) only to find they were just as tight as the others. The closet was full of clothes, all female of course. A score of dresses and blouses hung from a rail plus three trouser suits, but the thought of wearing any of them was repugnant to me. I was ecstatic when I discovered some jeans, two pairs of slacks and a thick woolly jumper, then devastated to find I had no chance of sliding them over my hips. The jumper went on all right but there was too much space in the chest to accommodate the tits I no longer had, therefore it looked ridiculous. Just as quickly I took it off again.

Eventually I found a skirt that didn't appear to be very special, so I cut through the waistband, punched two holes in the top and forced it over my hips and ass. I found a piece of ribbon and tied it through the holes to keep the skirt up, not that there was much chance of it slipping down, it was still way too tight. I also found a blouse that went on me but looked stupid as it was stretched in all the wrong places, but it would have to do. I walked to the vanity and shuddered at my reflection in the three way mirror. I picked up the hairbrush and dragged it through my curls, (where did they come from?) and marvelled at how easily my hair fell into quite an acceptable shape - acceptable that is had I been female. I began to realise that Karen-Anne really could do magic when it crossed my mind that I would probably look better if I added a little makeup. Just as quickly I shuddered at the thought and dropped the jar of foundation back on the vanity. I scurried back to the cupboard to see if there was a coat I could put on. There was a nice blue three-quarter length coat hanging in there and so I pulled it on and happily wrapped it round me. Scrunching it up beneath my chin I looked at myself again and was horrified to realise that I could probably pass for a woman on a quick trip to the chemists. My legs let me down, I decided, so I searched for a pair of self supporting stockings and pulled them on. Then I annoyed myself once more as I realised that the brown pumps I was wearing didn't go with the powder blue coat and so I found myself trying on a pair of blue shoes with a much higher heel in which I discovered I could walk quite easily. They looked much better, they even felt better as I returned to the vanity where I struggled hard to resist the temptation to apply a little lipstick, and failed. I smiled back at my reflection, I thought I looked good, really good as I convinced myself that I had improved my disguise.

I pushed my keys, some cash and my credit cards into the pocket of my coat, no way was I carrying a purse, and set off towards the lift. I had to wait for it which surprised me but then as I went through the outer door I spied the telephone box and realised I was saved. I dived inside before anyone else saw me, it was brightly lit which should have told me something (but didn't) and grabbed the receiver.

It was not like any phone box I had used before - it had a VDU in the centre and no coin box but even so I was about to dial my mothers number when Karen-Anne appeared on the screen and told me to put down the phone, which, of course I did. She assured me that everything was all right now, that she was here for me, to look after me. I really didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She was the cause of all my problems, and now she was here for me? With a friend like her I believed I didn't need enemies. She then materialised from the screen like a genie from a lamp and stood beside me, reached to my face and kissed me tenderly. "Come along, Frances, let us return to the flat," she said, emphasising the female pronunciation of my name.

Indoors she told me I had done remarkably well to dress myself so prettily, (I preened), that it wasn't my fault nothing fitted properly, but my hair was a treat and my face was so very sexy with my pink lips. I smelled divine too, she added. Against all my instincts I was thrilled that she thought so. She told me to undress and did so herself so that we sat together, naked and so obviously in love - well I was with her, I knew that beyond any doubt. She made me admit that I wanted to be hers forever, and since that much was true I did so, willingly. But she could tell I was worried and at least made an effort to calm my fears.

I asked why I couldn't simply be her boyfriend - her husband even but she insisted she had already answered that. She repeated that she preferred making love to women, that they were gentler and truly loving. I insisted I could be as gentle as any woman and she assured me that she knew this was true, but she wasn't about to change her mind. What was more, if and when she gave herself to me long term then I would have to understand and accept that she was my mistress and that I must always obey her.

I told her that from what I had seen so far there was no doubt in my mind that she already was my mistress. She chuckled and said that was, of course true, that I was very perceptive and that I was learning quickly. "But," she said, "and this was a big but, I was still strong enough mentally to try to reassert my masculinity at some time in the future and that that would never do. She was adamant that I had to become her she-male, there was no other way. She also insisted that I had already taken that first step by bathing in her scented oils and my eagerness to force my body into female clothes when they were obviously unsuitable. She added, with not a little respect in her voice, that I had been very brave to go out wearing lipstick - she really was impressed by that. And there was me thinking I had worn it as part of a disguise.

I tried to protest that I'd had no alternative but she insisted that she spell she had placed on me would have worn off in another hour or two, that she hadn't expected me to be awake this early..

"But what about my music - my career - I have dozens of bookings that I'll no longer be able to fulfil."

"No problem lover, your twin sister can take your place."

"But I don't have a twin sister and the two I do have are both tone deaf," I protested.

"Trust me, darling, when I have finished, you will be able to play the piano even better as Frances than you did as Francis and impersonate the worlds greatest female singers. You will be a sensation, you will become known all over the world and play in Las Vegas, at Caesars Palace within the month."

All the while she had been softly stroking my chest and tummy, my breasts were growing again, I just knew they were even though I couldn't see them. I was about to give in to her ministrations anyway, but if she meant what she said about playing and singing at Caesars Palace then I had no fight left because that had always been my dream.

I nodded my head and said, quite simply, "OK, you win."

"I knew I would," she smiled, "You never stood a chance really. I have to leave you now, darling, I have some things to attend to, but I'll be back this evening. Don't let all this worry you, by tomorrow morning your change will be complete and it will be as if you had always been my she-male. You are not fully changed yet, your breasts have to grow a little more and your waist has to shrink. Your cheek bones will alter and I'll make sure your ears are pierced because they have to be done three times and need to heal straight away, you have a concert tomorrow night you know."

I knew that of course and the thought of appearing en femme was scary, but I had no option but to trust her.

There was no longer any doubt in my mind that I wanted to be her she-male. I cupped my growing breasts with my hands; I realised that I had enjoyed having those tits yesterday and I loved the way they were growing now. I liked my longer curly hair, my ever thinning waist and the shape of my legs. I liked my long red nails and the taste of that lipstick I'd used earlier, and the excitement of taking that bubble bath still lingered. Karen-Anne helped me dress - amazingly the clothes fitted me now even though my changes were incomplete. The silk panties and slip felt lovely and I thought I looked good in that red dress. The bra was a bit big I thought but she smiled wickedly and said it might be too small by tomorrow. I was told to do my own makeup - she promised I'd have no problems putting it on and in any case it wouldn't hurt me to start practising. With a happy wave and a quick kiss she promised to join me for dinner - then told me that as we would be staying in tonight, I had to cook it!

When Karen-Anne had gone I ran to the window to wave, but there was no sign of her car. There was no sign of the phone box either. I walked slowly back across the lounge on my high heels quite effortlessly, my hips swaying gently and my full skirt swishing around provocatively. It was a real turn-on and I could feel rather than see the first signs of a tent forming. I knew I needed to smooth my skirt as I sat - how had I learned that so quickly I wondered, The answer was obvious really, wasn't it. Even so, I was beginning to feel quite feminine already, and enjoying it. I decided to re-examine myself in the mirror and realised I was not yet wearing makeup. I felt quite naked. Karen-Anne had said I'd be able to do it so I decided to give it a try.

The thought that less was best pervaded my brain as I sat at the vanity and started with the foundation - it seemed easy and I soon had it done. I wondered if I dared pluck my eyebrows - or should I leave it to her. There were two women's magazines on the coffee table in front of the sofa - and there was an article on creative plucking, but I am saying that from memory, the books have long since gone. I went at it very gently and I was pleased with the results, but I may as well tell you now that Karen-Anne shuddered when she saw them and got to work with the tweezers at once. They sure were thin when she'd finished. I used brown and gold eye shadow, dark brown mascara and eyeliner and a powder called 'Tempting Touch,' - it smelled super. I used rather more lipstick than I intended - the same red as my dress and then a really wet look gloss. I thought it looked a bit tarty, so after a while I blotted the sheen away and just used the actual lippy. It gave me a strange sort of thrill to see that my ears now carried three holes in each lobe so I sorted out a pair of simple red discs to match my dress - just the one pair for now.

That my efforts apart from my eyebrows had met with my mistresses approval was very satisfying.

I had been told to prepare dinner as we would be staying in tonight. As a bachelor my skills were limited mainly to frozen dinners and oven ready meals, But I was almost a woman now and women can cook, so I slipped on a coat and happily picked up my re-filled purse before walking proudly and fearlessly down to the local supermarket. There I bought some chicken fillets and some garlic butter to make Chicken Kievs that I'd prepare and cook with a few potatoes and peas. I was rewarded with a special kiss for a superb effort.

In one of the cupboards I had seen some pink satin sheets and pillowcases, so I stripped and re-made the bed making sure that I pulled the bedcover up to keep my efforts as a surprise. It was a big bed and it was hard work, but were my efforts ever rewarded so well? Bet on it.

After dinner Karen-Anne produced a CD by one of my all time favourite artists - Sarah Vaughan that we played right through after which I had to sing a few of the songs. Karen-Anne recorded my efforts on a tiny tape player and even I was impressed with my singing.

She then outlined the programme I would play tomorrow night - no one had ever done that before and it seemed strange, but I couldn't fault her choices. We had a fabulous night and, after breakfast next day she informed me that I had an appointment at the beauty parlour at two o'clock and that I should start getting dressed for my debut as Frances Donald at about six. I asked her what I should wear to which she replied, somewhat mysteriously, "You will know my dear, you will know."

My second day as a woman and I had to go alone to a beauty parlour for the first time in my life, and yet it didn't bother me one little bit. They checked my body all over, well almost all over for hairs and pronounced me clear. Then they washed my hair and started on what they called a perma-wave, gave me a manicure and a pedicure making sure my fingernails were kept to the same length and coloured them purple. Then they did my makeup, thinned my brows even more and painted my lips purple to match. They gave me a package containing a bottle of varnish and a lipstick - for emergency repairs they said. Where my confidence had come from when I entered that salon I do not know, but the hair-do and makeover had re-enforced it threefold.

I returned to the flat in good time to rest before getting changed. Karen-Anne had told me to choose what to wear and so I chose a black silk trouser suit with satin stripes up the legs and on the lapels of the waist length tuxedo style jacket. I wore a frilly fronted shirt type blouse with a high collar and a purple bow tie. My four inch heeled shoes were purple as was my purse and most of my jewellery, the exceptions being a pair of diamond studs in one set of holes in my ears and a huge diamond solitaire ring I had to wear on my engagement finger. She told me we would be married in a months time. I was ready in good time, went downstairs when the clock struck half past and Karen-Anne arrived at seven thirty-five to take me to the Starlight Rooms.

She hadn't told the management I was taking my 'brothers' place until it was too late for them to get a replacement anywhere else, but the manager, Harry Pier seemed quite taken with me when I arrived. We were in good time, of course and had a couple of martini's at the bar. I was fascinated to see my purple lipstick on the rim of the glass and obviously delighted I had the tube in my purse with which to effect repairs.

He gave me a terrific build up as a last minute replacement for my twin brother Francis and I swung confidently onto the stage when he called my name. I started with a piano solo famous by Russ Conway called Side Saddle' and I really let it rip, smiling and bouncing on the stool like the late maestro used to do. There was a really good crowd in and the applause was greater than I'd ever heard before.

I followed with a melody reminiscent of the great Semprini and then sang my first solo, Sarah's "East of the Sun and West of the Moon," and followed this with "Lover," which I dedicated to the one I loved, (without revealing the name) flashing my engagement ring as I did so, once more to rapturous applause. I did a few more piano numbers then two more of Sarah's classics, "Lullaby of Birdland" and "September Song".

I have to say I was delighted with my performance and I really think the biggest round of applause came for my final song of the evening. It should really have been a duet, but "Passing Strangers" has that certain magic that sets it apart from normal, at least it does in my book. I had no idea of the time and as I played the penultimate song I was aware of the band coming back on stage, in the dark and very quietly of course. The band leader interrupted my introduction to 'Passing Strangers' to thank me for a superb performance, (more applause) and to tell the audience a little about Sarah for the benefit of those youngsters who didn't know her. He then asked me if he could sing the song with me just as Billy Eckstien had sung it with Sarah. I was happy to agree of course. With a wave of his hand the band played the introduction and there were tears in a lot of eyes as we sang,

"We seem like passing strangers now,
Funny how things can change,
We were so inseparable,
Now we're acting very strange.

We seem like passing Strangers now,
How can you, pass me by,
There were never two who loved,
Half as much as you and I,
'The hands I used to hold don't even wave hello
How I miss their touch you'll never know.

If you would only turn to me
Speak my name just once more
We might find right there and then
Strangers could be lovers again.'

No one had been told my programme so his joining me in a duet had to have been organised by Karen-Anne who doubtless provided the sheet music for the band, it certainly wasn't part of their usual repertoire. We really belted out the last six lines as a reprise and gazed at each other as if we really were in love. If Karen-Anne was jealous it was her own fault for making him do it. She had no cause to worry really, of course, as I am sure she knew. Either way we had a standing ovation that lasted for several minutes and I got a super bouquet from the management.

It was quite late when Karen-Anne and I left the club, she having negotiated two more solo nights at twice the fee I got for this one.

My career went up and up from here on. I did appear at Caesars Palace and in the Sydney Opera House, not to mention some of the biggest ocean liners on earth. Karen-Anne guided me and loved me - hell, we loved each other really, didn't we. I have no regrets.

We did get married, she was a beautiful bride and I, as her groom wore a midnight blue trouser suit but with five inch heels and full makeup. My family were present, Karen-Anne having convinced them I had always been their daughter/sister and that this was a lesbian wedding. They were cool about it.

To make my life complete, all I need now is to persuade Karen-Anne that I'd like us to have two children - I wonder if I can?

  

  

  

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