The story so far…The fact that Belinda Stone did not exist or, worse, was actually a man, was kept secret from her readers, but succumbing to a chance to earn some real money and explore "her" feminine side, her secret was out and the press were hounding at the door, now they're threatening legal action so maybe it's time to leave the country…….

  

Prayers Are Answered

by

Caroline J Bradley

ã 2003

  

Chapter Four

  

"Shit, shit, shit, shit.."

"What's the matter, Jim?" Jennifer looked genuinely worried as her husband bellowed rage from his study,

"My f***ing passport's expired, that's what."

"What, oh you stupid idiot, I told you to get it renewed after our holiday last year, now what are you going to do?"

"Oh hell, if I don't get out of here they'll slap an injunction on me and I could face a court case. Shit, those people at Jo Malone are certainly after some revenge. Maybe I can just get away somewhere in the UK."

"But they'll find you, and your face, both as Jim and Belinda, are plastered over the tabloids and the women's magazines. At least in France their privacy laws would keep you out of the papers. And what are you going to do about the flight and car hire, they're booked for this evening – won't you lose all the money if you cancel?"

"Yes, but, maybe.." Jim trailed off in a distant smile,

"Go on"

"Is your passport up to date?"

"Yes, why, oh, I see, maybe, it's worth a try isn't it?" Jennifer grinned, "go on, get upstairs and change and ring the airline to see if you can at least change the name on the ticket."

Jim picked up the cordless phone and ran upstairs to start the process of turning himself into as close a facsimile as he could to his wife, Jennifer. In the past, Belinda had been a redhead preferring quite sophisticated skirt suits and generous makeup. Both Jim and Jennifer were of a similar build and maybe, just maybe he could get away with it….

The airline, being a budget no frills operation, accepted the last minute changes with no comment and a £25 fee. The car hire was simpler as they accepted the explanation of a mistake but they needed Jennifer's driver's license number and her credit card details, which were duly given.

In the bathroom, Jennifer opened the door and smiled at Jim as he was painstakingly shaving his already smooth body,

"I guess you'll need my passport, driver's license and a credit card. I've left them downstairs, lucky I have two credit cards. Once you're settled in the rented house, you can mail me my passport and driver's license and I can come out to be with you. Now, if you're going to pass as me, we'll need to get another wig from Anita and see if you can get into some of my travelling gear, very few women travel in smart skirts and you'll call attention to yourself if you are over made-up. So get yourself ready, but don't over do it."

Jennifer left as Jim completed his bath and he could hear her calling Anita's and arranging to collect a dark brown bob wig which Anita would style in a manner similar to Jennifer's own. He quickly began the well-rehearsed process of drying and towelling his hairless body, applying moisturisers and perfumed talc before slipping his manhood between his legs and, using a maxi pad to hold everything in place, pulling up a pair of peach satin panties. His chest now dry, he used a alcohol wipe to degrease the breast area and carefully applied silicone adhesive to the backs of the familiar breastforms. Standing in front of the mirror and using a matching peach satin underwired bra, he ensured everything was in the right position before pushing the adhesive surfaces onto his bare torso, the weight of the breastforms was welcoming and he swiftly changed his stance to counterbalance their effect.

Into the bedroom, he saw that Jennifer had laid out an array of trousers and tops in addition to his favourite figure enhancing girdle with hip and bum pads. This he slid on first, breathing in as the hooks connected and the strong zip flattened his stomach. A pair of light tan tights followed quickly rolling up soft smooth legs, a sensation he never failed to enjoy. Next was to try the trousers, as Belinda he had always worn skirts as the feeling of the materials swishing as he walked was always a major turn on; however, now to practicalities. Most were far too tight but one pair of dark blue stretch denim jeans fitted pretty well, their tightness showing off his enhanced figure. Satisfied, he donned a pretty pink cotton long-sleeved T-shirt and tucked everything in place.

"That's really good, love, you'll need a belt and some ankle boots and jacket, try these." Jennifer proffered a wide black leather belt with an ornate gilt buckle which just fit. Belinda had her own smart black ankle boots and a black leather bolero jacket which completed the ensemble.

"Anita's coming over now, she'll help with the makeup and so on. You'll need jewellery, here I normally wear this thick gold neck chain and matching bracelet and a watch and rings and earrings – shame you never got your ears pierced!" Jennifer giggled.

True to her word, Anita arrived ten minutes later profusely apologising for the mess caused by one of her employees spilling the beans on Belinda to the tabloids. She quickly dropped into professional beautician mode and made Jennifer sit to one side as she matched skin tones to foundation and blended blushers to subtly alter the shape of Jim's face. Six wigs were tried and discarded before the women agreed that the final one, a short dark brown bob with hints of black lowlights was the best. Anita painstakingly applied a very tight hair cap before liberally using adhesive to the exposed skin and settling the wig carefully in place. Primping and brushing the hair brought a fine lustre to an excellent job and, looking into the mirror, Jim could see a passing resemblance to his beloved wife.

"Now, you're going to need some more of the foundation and let's just sort your nails out, I have some acrylic short nails here which should do. How long do we have?"

"We need to leave in about 20 minutes to catch the flight."

15 minutes later, Jennifer and, well, Jennifer (as Jim had to think of himself at least until France) embraced carefully to avoid smudging makeup or nails. Anita left to get her car and took the suitcases for the French trip with her.

"Good luck love, and don't forget to use the ladies if you need to go!" Jennifer smiled, a small tear in one eye,

"Thanks for everything, we'll sort it all out, see you soon." They kissed again and Jennifer wiped a small amount of lipstick from her cheek.

Jim, now trying to look like his wife, stepped out of the house, there were still some reporters about and a few flash bulbs went off as they shouted to get her attention. One called "Going away, Jennifer?" Jim nodded and smiled, hoping this would help in the process of confusing the scent.

Anita drove quickly to Stansted airport and insisted in helping with the luggage and boarding formalities. It all seemed to go well, no problems with queuing for the flight, the electronic ticket worked and the male check-in clerk seemed happy with all the paperwork and Jim's whispered responses to the inevitable security questions. Anita gave Jim a friendly squeeze and a peck on the cheek as he prepared to go through to the departure lounge.

"Now, don't forget, you are Jennifer Berry and if you hear your name called, or anyone addresses you as madam then you have got to respond. And don't forget to use the ladies!" Anita smiled, "boy, you do look good, most women would kill for a figure like that, have fun love."

Alone, Jim walked through the security checks, panicking briefly as he had forgot to put his handbag through the X-ray machine and was asked to go back. In the departures hall, he checked the flight details to see he had almost 45 minuted before boarding so a quick visit to the shops was in order. It was very noticeable how the assistants in the stores adopted a different attitude to a woman browsing the makeup, clothing and jewellery counters. Travelling as Jim, he had always explored these islands of fantasy, but was put off by the saleswomen watching him suspiciously. Dressed as Jennifer, their attitude changed and he was offered sprays of perfume and opportunities to try on shoes or buy handbags, all of which were politely refused. The only shopping experience was to buy a women's magazine and to exchange some UK pounds sterling for Euros, the scant check of the passport eliciting no responses.

Boarding formalities over, the flight was uneventful if uncomfortable, the no frills airlines were exactly that and the narrow seats and poor legroom made for some extreme discomfort as the girdle pressed into his stomach. The tightness of the jeans in a sitting position put almost intolerable pressure on his groin despite the cushioning of the maxi pad. This meant that the flight was borne in some agony, politely refusing proffered drinks in case the pressure was too much to bear.

On landing at Toulouse, clutching the handbag as tightly as he could to focus the huge pressure from an unruly bladder, he walked as quickly as the heels would allow to the ladies. It took ages in the close confines of the cubicle and with new false nails, to undo belt, pull down jeans and tights and unhook the girdle before his severely flattened penis could be released from the folds of the panties and disgorge a flow of urine into the waiting bowl. The pressure finally abating the process was reversed until, satisfied, he exited the cubicle and walked over to the wash basins and mirror. The woman looking back at him was not Jennifer, but it was a close approximation and he only had French customs to navigate. Touching up lipstick and carefully brushing hair, he left the ladies and entered the flow of passengers as they joined the queues for Douaine. Once more it was uneventful and, having collected the luggage and found the car hire counter, Jim discovered one of the disadvantages of being an unaccompanied female in France, Frenchmen.

All of the documentation was in order, but the French clerk insisted on explaining everything in heavily accented English, all the time finding ways of touching arms, hands and, once, bottom as he showed this Englishwoman the workings of the Citroen Saxo and the best routes out of the airport to the South. Jim smiled to himself as he drove away, at least it had been flattering to be treated like a lady.

It was dark as the slim dark haired woman drove out of the airport car park and gingerly negotiated the exit slip road onto the D21 to Sapiac. The Citroen was a little slow and unfamiliar but adequate for the 150Km drive to South Central France. Jim had the directions to the house from the owner's web site and, despite the darkness, found the route fairly straightforward despite getting a little lost in Flumel's one-way system. Tired, hungry and a little sore from wearing tight clothes for such a long time, he eventually drew the car up to a small but smart house nestling high up on a hill overlooking the Lot valley. A light was burning brightly over the porch and the instructions were correct in that the key was to be found under a flower pot behind stack of logs. Letting himself in, he turned on the main room lights to behold a nice sofa in front of an already laid open fire, on the table was a small note of welcome, a carton of milk, some eggs, bread and butter and a bottle of local red wine with two glasses. He smiled, went back to the car and retrieved the luggage and carried it up to the bedroom. All seemed in order in the house and he swiftly took off the jeans and T-shirt removing the tights and girdle with a sigh of relief. Padding through the house in bra and panties, he explored the bedrooms and bathroom feeling a little cold but pleased to be out of the UK and enjoying the feeling of freedom of getting those tight clothes off.

"I'll need to lose weight or buy a better girdle." He thought, then froze as he heard a knock at the door,

"Un moment," he called in a soft husky but hopefully feminine voice as he quickly opened one of the suitcases and pulled on a lightweight summer dress. Checking hair and makeup in the mirror, he walked downstairs to be greeted by a smiling and very pretty French woman,

"Ah, Madame, you are Madam Berry, oui?" She smiled again and held out an elegantly manicured hand,

"Er, oui, mais je ne parle Francaise tres bien," Jim stammered trying to remember schoolboy French and to speak in a soft feminine voice.

"Ah, pas de problem. I am Veronique, I saw you drive up the lane. I am your neighbour and the owners ask me to keep an eye out for you, is everything alright? We were expecting monsieur Berry, oui?"

"Yes, but my, er, husband could not come he will come later, maybe next week," Jim thought quickly, "my name is Jennifer. Everything here seems very nice, thank you."

"Ca Va, you must be tres tired from your journey, I will let you get unpacked and rest. My house is at the bottom of the lane and turn left, about 1 Km, if you need anything, just call, the number is on the pad by the phone. Welcome to Cazideroque, I am sure you will be 'appy 'ere." Veronique smiled and left.

Shattered by the events of the last few days, Jim closed the door and watched the attractive Veronique drive of down the lane then walked wearily upstairs. He tried to all Jennifer on the mobile, but there was no signal, so he used the house 'phone for a quick call.

"Hi, I'm here, it seems great but the mobile doesn't work, how are you?"

"Hi love, you sound tired. All's OK here. No-one has been around so I have kept low, the press have mostly given up. The news is full of some scandal about a politician and his floozy, but I guess they'll discover soon enough that you have disappeared. You shouldn't ring on a land line, they could trace it. Get some rest and call me tomorrow. Bye, love you."

Deciding to unpack properly in the morning, he threw the jeans and T-shirt into a pile, along with the panties, bra and tights and put on a long black nightie. He collapsed into bed and fell quickly into a deep sleep, dreaming of tight corsets and suffocation.

Sunlight from the open window slowly crept across the bedroom floor as the day advanced, the bright rays eventually playing on a tousled black haired woman lying on her back in the middle of a large king-sized bed. Jim's eyes opened slowly, they felt very sticky and he remembered he had not cleansed off the makeup the previous night. He got up, enjoying the heaviness of the breastforms as they swung under the sheer material of the nightdress. Looking at the reflection in the bedroom mirror, he grimaced at the caked makeup and smudged eyes and lipstick. The wig, however, looked fine but the nails were chipped in a few places from hauling luggage.

Downstairs, he made a fresh coffee and brought it back up to the bathroom where, after and invigorating shower and fresh, fluffy towels, he shaved very close and then cleansed his face, ensuring the wig was still firmly attached before returning to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his breastforms, concealing his torso.

"Well, " he thought, "the opportunity to stay dressed as a woman full time and with a wardrobe of new clothes. I best get started." He diligently hung up all the skirts, dresses and trousers and put away the underwear and makeup. Then selecting the same light summer dress as the previous evening, he pulled on soft cotton panties and a matching underwired bra before sitting in front of the vanity mirror to apply subtle foundation, a light eyeshadow and mascara. Satisfied, he pulled on the dress and zipped it up and then sat again to brush the wig out. Noticing the chipped nail varnish, he grimaced and looked for remover – damn – none there. Oh well, he would need to shop for essentials anyway, so, donning a pair of flat sandals he went downstairs and sorted out a meagre breakfast, making a list of the things needed to survive out here.

Driving down to the nearest town took 15 minutes of careful navigation of narrow roads. Jim saw Veronique's house on the way, but it seemed deserted. The ton of Daube was very small, but boasted a baker and a small charcuterie and a shop selling essentials. All the women behind the counters seemed very friendly but there was little conversation given Jim's poor French and their lack of English; nevertheless the shop was successful and he drove back to the house.

The rest of the first day was spent sorting out the kitchen and examining the washing machine and finding the essential other items which would make the stay comfortable. About 5 in the evening, mobile phone in one hand, he drove around until he had a decent signal and phoned Jennifer, she wasn't there, so he left an updated message on the phone being careful not to mention where he was. Driving back through the French countryside in the early evening was a pleasure and the bright sunlight reminded him that he needed some sunglasses. In a reverie, he was startled by a woman stepping out in front of the car outside Veronique's house, he stopped quickly and the woman, a tall redhead, approached the Citroen.

"Ah, bonsoir, you are the new lady at Cazideroque, oui?"

Still a little shocked, Jim stammered, "Er, oui."

"Je suis Sophie, I am, ow you say, Veronique's friend." She proffered a hand which Jim shook carefully, "please, come in for a coffee or a glass of wine." Before he could protest, she had opened the car door; meekly, Jim followed into a small courtyard where a table and chairs sat in the warm evening sun. Veronique rose and smiled,

"Hello, Jennifer, how are you enjoying the house?" Jim stuttered quiet "fine" and accepted a glass of red wine from Sophie. The women chattered in broken English, asking all sorts of questions which Jim tried to answer monosyllabically as he did not trust his voice not to reveal its true gender in such close proximity. They quickly ascertained that Jennifer was here to write and that her husband would be joining her soon, Veronique suggested Jennifer came down for dinner as she was on her own and no amount of excuses could stop a date being set for the following week.

The wine flowed and Jim relaxed in the company of the two elegant women; despite the language barrier, they seemed to get on well and he had to keep reminding himself that he was a woman and that he should not find these two women attractive, even if his male hormones said otherwise. Eventually he managed to persuade them that he had to go back to the house and, slightly tipsy, he got into the car and drove off. He couldn't help noticing that the two women were arm in arm as they waved him off.

Jim drove towards the main town in order to get into cellphone reception range, and called Jennifer.

"Hi, how are things?" he asked,

"Mad, just mad. Howard has been keeping Jo Malone's lawyers busy and they seem to be listening. They've agreed not to make a fuss at this stage, so you can come back if you want, but they have reserved the right to reinstigate proceedings if they can demonstrate a negative effect on their sales from the publicity. Howard thinks that is probably going to be impossible to prove, so he advises that we accept, subject to agreeing a form of words." Jennifer sounded relieved and exhausted,

"That's great, and how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine but missing you. Lots on at work and there's a big transaction coming up, so it may be best if you stay out there and get writing your book, at least for a while. How is Jennifer?" She laughed,

"Jennifer is just fine if confused and running fast out of essentials like Wild Yam cream and adhesive for her breastforms. It is getting hot here, so the wig is almost unbearable and the adhesives only work for a short time." Jennifer laughed again,

"See, you want to look like a woman so you'll just have to get used to the discomfort. Why don't you get some hair dye and change your own hair colour and then you might just be able to pass without the wig."

"You sure? I guess I could try but wouldn't I need to get it cut?"

They carried on chatting for a while before finishing with an agreement to talk the next evening on the house 'phone. Jim then drove on to the large Carrefour supermarket on the outskirts of Fumel and browsed the cosmetics displays, choosing a Clairol dark brunette colourant "because I am worth it", he smiled. Finding Wild Yam cream was more difficult and his limited French was no value, but he did acquire copious quantities of hair remover including some specially formulated for bikini line and face.

Musing on relaxation in France, his eyes fell on the clothing displays and the swimwear. Well, with the weather getting hotter, any woman would be seriously thinking of sunbathing so he picked out a smart one piece with a small skirt in light blue and rapidly returned to the cosmetics counter to pick up some suntan cream. He paid the bill using Jennifer's visa card, the assistant not even bothering to look at the signature, and drove home via a local Pizza takeaway as he felt famished.

Once ensconced in the house, the Pizza eaten and a galls of cold white burgundy frosting the glass, he inspected the instructions for the hair dye and went to work. Removing the wig was painful as the adhesive was well stuck in a number of places, but the feeling of lightness and freedom was sublime. He found the removal of the breastforms equally painful as there had been some hair growth under the adhesive. Into the shower to wash off all the remaining adhesive and to apply the hair colouring cream; whilst this was having its effect, he spread his body with the various depilatory creams, grimacing at the pungent odours.

Almost an hour later, he emerged, somewhat sore, from the bathroom in a soft pink towelling nightgown with hair wrapped in a matching towel. He sat down in the bedroom and carefully removed the acrylic nails, placing them to one side for inspection. With nail varnish remover he took off the deep red polish on his toenails and cleaned his finger nails. He was back to being Jim, albeit without any hair except on his head and his pubic region and with a dark brunette colour instead of the mousy grey.

Now what?., he mused. It would be nice to stay like this for a while, but again it would be nicer to reaffirm Jennifer and wear nice sexy feminine clothing. But it was late in the evening and he felt tired, so slipping into a short pink satin nightdress he fell into bed and into a deep slumber.

Seemingly seconds later, he awoke to an insistent banging on the door. It was already daylight and a quick look out of the window revealed Veronique's car in the driveway. Jim panicked.

"Veronique, I am still in bed, sorry, he called out in a soft voice."

"No matter, ma cherie, it is such a lovely day I called round to see if you would like to come down later and swim in our pool, it is going to be very 'ot so you may want to cool off. Call me later, dormez bien."

With a slam of a car door and a screech of tyres, Veronique disappeared.

"Oh shit, now what?" Jim thought, "I cannot even think of accepting, I'd never pass in a swimsuit." But he was intrigued at the invite and the opportunity of sharing some time with those lovely Frenchwomen, no, stop it, he said to himself.

Wide awake, and a simple breakfast completed, he examined himself in the mirror. The depilatory creams had worked wonders and his skin glowed, the Wild Yam creams he had been assiduously applying kept his beard growth under control but he still needed a shave. His hair, whilst the right colour, was totally the wrong cut

 

To be continued…………………….

  

  

  

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