Caveat: This is my first attempt at a transgender story and I hope you enjoy it. Any mistakes are entirely my own. I welcome any comments and/or suggestestions.

Aoife.

 

A Road Less Travelled

by Aoife Martin

 

The first time I ever wore a dress was at the behest of my wife. Unusual perhaps, but nonetheless true. We had been invited to a fancy-dress party at our neighbour's house and, after mulling it over for a couple of days, Sarah decided that we should each go as the opposite sex.

I was, needless to say, not overly enamoured with this idea but Sarah convinced may that (a) it was the easiest solution and (b) the least expensive solution. (Ironically, neither of the above turned out to be true.)

A few evenings later, my face firmly ensconced in that day's newspaper, I was just getting to grips with the effect the rate of inflation and the value of the Stock Market were having on my disposable income when Sarah arrived into the living room encumbered by various bags she was carrying.

I peeked out over my paper and she pounced like a trap-door spider. (I am full of admiration for spiders so I don't feel I'm being disingenuous here.)

A look of triumph filled her face and for a brief moment I knew what it was like to be a rabbit caught in headlights.

"There you are," she said.

"Here I am," I agreed.

"It's time for your trial run."

"Pardon?"

"Your trial run. The party's in a few days and you don't want to look like a complete dog."

"Er... No. I suppose not..."

"Alright then. Why don't you go and have a shower and a shave and I'll get everything ready."

Something had caught my tongue and there wasn't a cat in sight. I wish, dear reader, I could tell you that I protested and fought the good fight but that would be a lie. I meekly got up and headed into the bathroom.

After showering and shaving I emerged from the steam-filled bathroom wearing only my robe and a pair of slippers.

Sarah looked at me. "I thought I told you to shave."

"I did shave," I said, rubbing my chin.

"What about those?" she said, pointing at my legs.

It was at this moment that I began to doubt my wife's sanity and determined to put my foot down.

Twenty minutes later, apart from a few nicks, my legs were as smooth as a baby's bottom. (They actually felt nice, but I wasn't going to tell her that.)

She brought me into the bedroom and sat me down at the dressing table. It was covered in all sorts of strange smelling bottles and tubes. Dr Jeckyll would have been jealous and I was about to become Sister Hyde.

Sarah picked out one of the bottles and dabbed some coloured stuff onto a sponge.

"Now," she said, "Sit back, close your eyes and relax."

Easier said than done, but I didn't seem to have much choice. I closed my eyes and let my wife weave her magic. After a considerable amount of time, Sarah declared herself happy with her work and told me to open my eyes. She wouldn't let me look in the mirror. "Not until you're completely done."

My face felt strange and my lips felt kind of greasy - the lipstick, presumably. I resisted the urge to touch my cheeks.

"What now?"

"Now's the fun part," she said, poking through the bags. "What do you think of this?"

She produced a dress from one of the bags. It was a long black, short-sleeved evening dress. Simple and elegant.

"Very nice," I said. "You'd look great in it."

"It's not for me, silly. First, though. We need to get you some underwear."

There are moments in a man's life where he realises - for better or for worse - that he has walked into a minefield. The question is, should he turn around and go back? Or should he just plough on and hope for the best? This was one such moment. I considered my options: my discomfort at the thoughts of wearing these clothes and my wife's obvious delight at the same thoughts. And because I loved my wife, I decided to play along.

She handed me a panty-girdle. ("To keep yourself in.") I pulled it on. It fitted snugly - a little too snugly, if you want to know the truth. It made me quite flat, if you know what I mean. Next, she appeared with a brassiere. I put my arms through the straps and Sarah hooked it up behind my back. After some adjustments, it fitted quite comfortably apart from the empty cups.

"Hmmm... ," she said, thoughtfully. "I've got an idea."

She wandered off and appeared a few minutes later with a couple of water-filled balloons.

"We'll try these for the moment." And she slipped them into the cups.

"Oh! That's cold!"

"Now," she said, handing me a pair of tights. "Put these on."

I must have looked somewhat puzzled, for she grabbed another pair from her bureau, removed her jeans, - "Hello!" I thought -, sat down on the edge of the bed and had me copy her motions. I did as requested and eventually managed to roll them up my legs. I found it difficult to believe quite how nice they felt against my legs. Almost like a second skin. Something stirred beneath the panty-girdle but I ignored it.

Next came the dress. I put my arms up and Sarah pulled it over my head, careful to avoid getting makeup on it. She let it slide down my body and made a couple of adjustments around my bosom. It's hard to describe how it feels to wear a dress for the first time. Naturally, I felt somewhat uncomfortable. Years of social conditioning had taken their toll and yet, it also felt nice. Much less restrictive than the trousers and shirts I was so used to.

Sarah produced a pair of shoes from one of the bags. Black. 2-inch heels. I stepped into them and although they pinched a little, they fitted quite well. I felt slightly off-balance.

"Can I look yet?"

"Soon. Just a couple of finishes and you'll be ready."

She sat me down on the edge the bed, making sure I smoothed the dress before doing so. She put a string of pearls around my neck, and a bracelet on my wrist. She made do without earrings, as she didn't have any of the clip-on variety.

The final touch was the wig, which she produced from a box on top of her closet. It was dark brown and shoulder length. She placed it on my head and spent a good ten minutes teasing it and fluffing it out until she was finally satisfied.

"There," she said. "Now, stand up and let me see you."

I stood up slightly awkwardly in the heels, and Sarah examined me with critical eye and raised eyebrow.

"Now, turn around."

I did so and Sarah declared herself satisfied with the result. Taking me by the hand she led me to the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

There are moments in our lives when events changes us, shape who are, who we become, for good or for bad. In hindsight, this was one such moment. I looked at the person in the mirror and she looked at me. It wasn't me. It was someone else. She had dark, wavy hair and looked stunning in a simple long evening dress. Her makeup was perfect. I didn't, couldn't look like that. I moved my hand and lightly touched my face and watched as the woman in the mirror did they same.

"Beautiful," I whispered.

"Pardon?"

"Beautiful," I repeated. "I look beautiful."

Sarah smiled, delighted with herself. "Yes, darling," she said kissing me on the cheek, "You *do* look beautiful."

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Aoife Martin. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.