What Really Happened Was…

by

Donna Dee

 

This story dates back to just after the second world war – try as I may I cannot remember exactly when, but its not really important. I didn't graduate, I finished school at 17 when I was orphaned and needed to work. I had just started my first job in the offices of our principal local newspaper and so far my duties had been those of a gopher, (Go For). My name is Kenneth T. Clarke and I was as keen as mustard to make an impression and perhaps be allowed to submit a story or two, consequently I kept my eyes open at all times. Things went well for me; I had the occasional girlfriend though I wasn't sufficiently experienced to get them into my flat and so my male virginity was still intact, mores the pity.

The incident I want to tell you about began a few days before Christmas – quite a lot of us were at the staff party, but with me being still fairly new to the job and being somewhat introverted, I hadn't really wanted to go. I didn't have a girl friend at the time and one of the more senior male reporters, Brian Cull, (he was about 25 at the time) was pulling my leg about him taking ME home! (At least I hoped he was pulling my leg). One thing I didn't like about the job was that all the senior reporters, editors and copywriters thought they were the cream on top of the milk, we juniors had to call them Mr Cull, Mr Jones Mrs Jacobs or Miss Lane or whatever, whereas they only ever used surnames when they yelled for a boy across a busy office. All day long it was Clarke get this – Clarke take that – Clarke go and get – and while I was by now used to it, it grated a bit when they still called me Clarke at the Christmas party. It was mainly for this reason that I made to leave just after 10 pm and was collecting my coat when I became aware of an older woman collecting hers at the same time. She was about my mother's age, (maybe 35 to 40, but that's just a guess) her manner suggested she was top management at least and so I treated her with proper respect as I had been brought up to do.

I took another look, I hadn't seen her before – but then again it was a very large building with several hundred staff – but she was exceptionally attractive, even to my young eyes. She had long blonde hair, beautifully styled, a lovely smiling face, a halter neck dress that just about covered her gorgeous breasts while leaving her back bare – no bra of course, and the Ύ length skirt she wore was split to the waist on four sides showing she had magnificent legs atop her 5-inch heels and even provided a quick peep at her panties (the same colour as the dress) every time she moved. It fair made me sweat, I can tell you. Her make up was perfect, especially her mouth, which was heavily coated with the reddest, juiciest looking lipstick, I had ever seen in my life. I thought briefly of the mess I'd like to make of that, given half a chance.

I wished I were ten years older or that she were ten years younger – (or both) because for all the difference in our ages she had already made me very hard just by purring my name. "Hello Clarke, how's it going?" I was surprised she knew me, but then I realised I was still wearing my name badge which, like everyone else's, gave the surname first and given names last. It was because she too had used my surname I presumed she was one of the bosses and because she wasn't wearing a badge herself, I could only say, "Fine, thanks." I helped her on with her coat, she smiled her thanks and as donned my own coat I noticed she was using her mobile to get a taxi for which, it seemed, she would have to wait for half an hour or so – it was a very busy night, hardly surprising just before Christmas. Purely out of politeness, because obviously there was no chance of my getting off with a walking sensation like her, I offered her a lift that she immediately accepted. As it happened she only lived a mile or so away from me anyway. I was a bit embarrassed by the fact that my car was something of a wreck, but it was all I could afford on my meagre salary and it was too late to worry about that now – but at least the heater worked and we were comfortably warm throughout the twenty-minute journey.

She directed me north – I followed the main road for some 6 miles until we left the town behind. "Its only another half mile or so Clarke, slow down a bit, ah yes, here it is." As far as I could see we were out in the country, I could see no houses, until she pointed to the shadowy outline of a building that looked like an old barn among some trees about a hundred yards off the road. I felt very foolish when I switched off the engine and she refused my offer to see her to her door. "That wont be necessary, but thank you anyway," she smiled, then leant towards me and kissed me on the lips – firmly but gently for just long enough to make it clear it was no accident, and to make it plain that she wanted it to continue. So did I. It felt so good that after about ten seconds I slipped my right arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, she didn't resist and began to kiss me even harder. I felt her tongue part my lips and flick around my teeth, it felt fantastic; her passion matched mine as we seemingly fought to establish mastery of the occasion. She showed no sign of wanting to stop and though we paused for breath occasionally, during which time I held her tightly against me, (her arm was wrapped around my neck too) and we were quickly at it again, mouths open wide and tongues shooting back and forth as in some fencing competition; I promise you she was as eager as I was. I couldn't think while in the throes of passion or I might have realised I was at best a candidate to be her toy boy, but even if I had thought about it I would still have carried on because I was getting a lesson in kissing that I'd never forget. Eventually it had to stop of course, it had lasted around an hour, but she still insisted I stay in the car while she threaded her way along an unmade path alone. I couldn't just let her go without saying something, and a simple 'thank you very much' seemed totally inadequate, but I didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound presumptuous or idiotic, given the age difference.

I had discovered her name was Helen and I stumbled over my words (and felt extremely foolish) as I asked if I could see her again and was amazed when she thought about it for a few seconds and replied, "Yes, all right then, why not? Thank you Clarke, I'd like that very much. I've no husband to worry about and I don't suppose you have a wife yet, but even so perhaps we should go somewhere quiet; you know, just the two of us; people might talk, say you are my toy boy or something equally rude."

"I don't really care what they say, Helen, I'd still love to see you again. I do have a flat. Perhaps I could get a video or something."

"The or something sounds nicest," she smiled as she kissed me again and laid her hand on the huge bulge in my trousers. "Besides, it looks like we'll have to take care of that before much longer, doesn't it?" she smiled suggestively as she got out of the car. "Pick me up here tomorrow, about seven," she said and turned to walk up to the house – a house I could still hardly see even though my eyes had got used to the dark, what's more I saw no light come on through the door or window.

It took me several minutes of deep breathing exercises to get myself fit to drive home, my thoughts centred entirely on Helen and why she'd be interested in a mere boy like me – not that I was complaining. I showered and got into bed and, since it seemed I was on a promise, found it essential to relieve the pressure in my groin, but even that happened far too quickly to give real satisfaction.

At work the following day I said nothing to anyone about my new lady friend, I felt sure, hoped even that someone had seen me with her, but no one mentioned it to me if they did. Comments were being made about the party, some had stayed there drinking all night and there was talk about who got off with who, but no one seemed to have noticed Helen – perhaps just as well because if someone older had fancied her I'd have got nowhere – at least that's how it seemed to me. I had several video films in my flat so at lunchtime I concentrated on getting some wine and some food – just snacks I thought should be adequate. That evening I drove to the spot where I dropped her off – and to my surprise she was there waiting for me. We kissed – fairly briefly – and she suggested we get to my place as soon as possible. I looked at her frequently as I drove, and every time I did she was gazing at me with eyes full of love – or was that just wishful thinking on my part? I thought about how lovely she was and I remember thinking that she no longer seemed quite as old as she had the previous night but perhaps I was getting used to her or else I was mistaken last night. When we arrived we scampered upstairs as eagerly as teenagers in love, she ran as quickly as I did in spite of the age gap, and it wasn't long before we were both naked and in my bed making the most wonderful love imaginable – far better than anything I had ever imagined or read about because until then I had been a virgin.

Helen stayed all night – I know I didn't go to sleep and I counted seven times that we made love – each one better than the time before as she instructed me in what to do and how to do it. I gave her head – she gave me a blowjob and by the time morning came I know I was satisfying her as much as myself, what's more I wasn't in the least bit tired. As daylight came we lay side-by-side, facing each other, touching each other intimately, whispering sweet nothings and exchanging small kisses every few seconds. She was smiling in such a way that I really thought she was as much in love with me as I unquestionably was with her. I wanted her to really love me that's for sure, though it still seemed improbable.

"Time you went to work," she smiled eventually, showing no sign of getting up to go herself.

"Helen," I said, "I feel like the luckiest man in the world to have had your love for a whole night like this, and I don't want it to end."

"Neither do I Clarke, though it must eventually, you do realise that, don't you?"

"Common sense tells me something as good as this can't last forever, though I wish it could. Helen, why do you keep calling me Clarke, my name is Ken."

"Is it? But your name badge said Clarke Ken. I thought Ken was your surname, but in any case I like Clarke better so I am going to keep calling you that, if you don't mind; you don't mind, do you?"

"Not if it's what you want to do." And then I asked the question that had been buzzing away at my sub conscious since Saturday night; "Which department do you work in?"

Helen laughed – it was more of an amused chuckle really. "I don't work for the paper, Clarke."

"Then how come you were at the staff Christmas Party?"

"To meet you, of course. Now, you ask too many questions. Be satisfied with the present, Clarke, until something better comes along. Just leave the future to me."

What did that mean? Leave the future to her? I thought it better to let the subject drop. "What could possibly be better than this? I asked, cuddling in to her once more.

"You are so sweet, do you know that, Clarke? But fate has something really special coming your way quite soon. It's true," she insisted as I went to protest that I would much rather my life be with her no matter what.

"We still have a few days we can spend together during which we can make love as often as you like and I will start to tell you what's going to happen."

"Are you a fortune teller then, Helen?"

"Good gracious me no, Clarke, I have far greater powers than that as you will soon see for yourself. Go to work now and I will be here waiting for you when you come back. Oh yes, can you go on the bus? I'd like to borrow your car to fetch my things."

Jumping firecrackers, she was going to move in with me! "Oh, Helen, wait until this evening then I will help you fetch them, it's the least I can do."

"You mean you'd rather help me fetch a suitcase this evening when we could be here together making love? That's not much of a compliment! But anyway, I don't need your help, darling, it's only a little one and I can manage quite easily."

"You said you'd look different, how different will you look? – And why? I like you just as you are. Are you going to move in with me then, Helen?"

"Yes, just for a few days, if you'll have me. Now, I have told you once already that you ask too many questions so be off with you." She sounded just like my Mum then.

"You said earlier you were not a fortune teller, that you had far greater powers than that, what kind of powers, Helen?"

"I am a witch, darling, a fully paid up member of W.A.W.A., (Witches and Warlocks Amalgamated), a card carrying, broomstick riding witch. It's true," she laughed as she saw the doubt in my eyes.

She refused to say more, and so I reluctantly set off for work, wishing the hours away until 5 pm when I could get back to her. I realised I was starving hungry so popped into a burger bar for an early breakfast, wondering what Helen would do for food.

When I did get back to my flat she did indeed look very different – younger again, maybe about 25 and this time I was quite sure of my facts. She was wearing a completely different outfit, extremely formal and with her hair piled up on top – professionally done of course as was the makeover. She then suggested we went out to dinner first. First? That sounded promising. Helen told me to put on my dinner jacket, I said I didn't have one at which she laughed. "Of course you have one, Clarke, now go put it on, there's a good boy."

When I went into the bedroom there was indeed a dinner suit in my wardrobe and it was a perfect fit. She had me in that frame of mind now that I expected nothing less.

It was in a very up-market restaurant we had our meal, with wine, and I was dreading the bill, but thank the lord I had my visa card, just in case. When I took out my wallet to pay there was a wad of high denomination banknotes in the pocket. She smiled demurely and simply winked. If I hadn't been so besotted with her I'd have been starting to worry.

For the rest of that week we ate well every evening and made love all night – I really didn't sleep at all, but in the end I had to demand that she told me what was going on – she looked younger every day and I loved her – I really loved her, more and more and more. This just had to last forever.

It was the day before New Years Eve that she dropped the first of her bombshells.

We had been making love for a couple of hours, less urgently now that I knew it was going to last all night, but equally satisfying for both of us. We were nevertheless both panting and soaked in sweat when she asked me if I had ever worn girl's clothes. I was stunned at the suggestion for I had truly never considered doing anything of the kind, besides it wasn't so widespread in those days.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you are so very beautiful and I think you'd make a lovely looking girl."

"Well the answer is no – I never have and I have never wanted to. Besides, with you to love, I would be extremely stupid to do so."

"Oh I understand your reluctance, but I think you would really enjoy the experience, so will you try dressing up, please, just for me?"

What the hell did I answer now? I'd have cut my arm off to please her if she really wanted me to, so how could I say no. "Do you really want to dress me up, Helen?"

"Yes," she replied emphatically, "I really want to dress you up, darling."

"But I wont have to go outside, will I," I asked, nervously.

"Perhaps not, certainly not straight away, but I think you'll like it when you try it and will be delighted to go out with me dressed as my girlfriend."

Oh my goodness – I was terrified at the thought, especially if I went out with her and that senior reporter that wanted to take me home from the Christmas party happened to see me – I'd never live it down. "All right," I replied, "If that's what you want, you know I'll do anything you ask of me, don't you?"

"Wonderful darling, thank you, and if you're worried about somebody reading you then you needn't be. No one will recognise you, I promise and you wont regret it, I promise you that as well. We'll start in the morning. Now then, make love to me again, it's been nearly an hour since you did."

It was just as well she was a fantastic lover because that enabled me to forget what tomorrow held, or rather to stop imagining what it might have in store. We did it in four different positions, added a fair measure of oral stimulation and ending up with a good old fashioned me on top finale.

We stopped just before eight – and for Helen it was straight down to the business of dressing me up. "Come on Clarke, we've a lot to do." Her orders came thick and fast – "Into the bath with you," (water heavily scented of course) "then an all over shave, legs, arms, underarms and toes." Much to my surprise I enjoyed it, even when she inspected my ass and removed a few hairs from it. This was followed by a body massage (heavenly) as she kneaded all my joints, soothing the razor burn with a cooling lotion. Smiling, she held up a flimsy pair of panties – pink of course, then a padded bra, a garter belt, a full-length slip and a half petticoat, all silky and lacy. I tried hard not to purr too loudly over the silky feel of the panties and when she rolled the nylon stockings up my legs, I refused to admit how good they felt against my skin as she clipped them to the garter belt, stretching them so tightly that I thought they might split. Then she made me sit on the dining chair she had brought in from the lounge. Helen began to brush my hair, which was, in those days worn quite short, and yet it gradually seemed to be getting longer until it comfortably touched my shoulders. There was some kind of magic afoot, of that I was certain as I watched her pull it into a high ponytail and fix it with a pink rubber band. Then I almost had a fit as she plucked my eyebrows quite severely. I protested that she shouldn't make me too feminine yet – that this was only a trial. "Poof," she said, "you won't want to go back my dear."

Next came the make-up, foundation, rouge, eye make up, all applied sparingly and just a little lipstick before she helped me into a frilly dress that made me feel like a school girl. When she allowed me to look at my reflection I felt quite happy with how pretty I looked until I realised that I looked younger than ever – about 12 or 13 maybe. "Why have you made me look like a school girl?" I demanded.

"Don't be alarmed, Clarke, no one is going to see you like this, I promise. If you are going to look like a girl you have to feel like a girl and you can't do that overnight as it were. To be convincing you need practice and you need to experience the delights of femininity, you need to enjoy the delights of growing up from puberty to the present day and that's just what you're going to do now."

What happened next was truly amazing. Helen told me to stand where I was and watch myself in the full-length mirror I didn't even know I had. Suddenly my clothes changed, the ponytail vanished as my hair was dressed down to my shoulders and there was a ribbon in it; my shoes had a slightly higher heel too – I actually felt myself grow. Five seconds later I changed again – same hairstyle, dark skirt and white jumper, black bead necklace and Alice band and black shoes. It was just like looking at a photograph album in which there was a picture of every day of my life from 12 or 13 to the present day, except that it was actually happening to me – live! I was shown over 2000 pictures of myself in hundreds of different female outfits – only they weren't pictures as such, they were reflections of me as I was magically changed into one outfit after another, hair style after hairstyle, every few seconds I was dressed in different clothes. I caught several glimpses of myself in these dresses as I glanced down from time to time. Each day of the year I was dressed in something different, as I undoubtedly would have been had it been real. There were different school uniforms as I went through my freshman and sophomore years, different formal and casual clothes, shoes with heels that got gradually higher and higher, heavier and more elaborate make up and expensive looking jewellery. It took over 3 hours to see all the reflections. Each scene, if that's the right word, was on show for about 5 or 6 seconds, but when I was dressed up specially, for my first prom for instance, with my (now) very long hair piled up on top, I was able to see myself for maybe 10 or 12 seconds. When we got up to the current date I was in a superb outfit befitting an 18-year-old young lady, and I really was wearing it and I felt wonderful. The images I had seen depicted me with blonde, dark brown and red hair, getting longer and then, occasionally being cut and I really didn't know which I liked best. I had seen myself wearing all shades of lipstick and eye shadow – they all seemed lovely with the clothes I'd had on at the time. Nevertheless I still didn't know why all this has happening to me.

"I don't understand, Helen, why do you want to turn me into a girl?"

"I hoped you might want to make the change of your own free will once you saw how fantastic you could look, but you are right, Clarke, I do have to change you. I also accept you are entitled to know why I must turn you into a woman before I do. First of all let me tell you why you have to change.

I imagine now that you believe me when I say I'm a witch and you probably realise that I'm not the only one, there are thousands of witches in this world, all under the control of the Grand Wizard and all put on this earth to do good. However, it seems we have enemies who wish to harm the world with forces that a mere witch cannot hope to defeat and so he is sending in someone from another planet to combat this evil. Because this person is an alien he needs a human body, and we are going to give him yours."

"Why mine?"

"You were chosen because of where you work and because you have no relatives to confuse matters when you become a girl – it's as simple as that. The alien will take over your body and life style, you will take on Veronica's, she will move to her new life and so on. Think of it as if you were buying a house, a chain reaction if you like until we get back to someone who is a first time buyer.

"Who's Veronica?"

"I've told you before, you ask too many questions. Veronica is the girl you will become and that's all you need to know. One of my colleagues is preparing her for her change even as we speak."

"What will become of her?"

"That doesn't concern you," she almost snapped. "But lets get back to our alien; like everybody he is vulnerable to certain things and it is essential he remain incognito, so it has been arranged that he will take over your name and persona at The Daily Planet where he will work with your former colleague Lois. Unfortunately I misread your badge and so his name is going to be Clarke Ken while he is in the office, but when the need arises, he will change into something quite phenomenal to do his world saving work, reverting to your name when it is done. That, in a nutshell is why you have to become someone else, so at least you now know the reason why. Your memory of this and what I've just told you will be eradicated in due course."

"But I don't understand why I must be a female."

"I have done this kind of thing before, Clarke, – many times and for many different reasons. If I changed you into another man your subconscious personalities would clash from time to time and so the only changes that really work are when the subject male is changed into a woman, and because being a woman is much more enjoyable than being a man. Do you need me to explain or has my little demonstration convinced you?"

"Standing here with you now in these lovely clothes, with my hair looking so nice and this makeup on my face I am inclined to believe you are right – actually I am sure you are right as far as clothes are concerned, but there is more to life than just appearance, isn't there? I cannot imagine loving a man in the same way I have loved you these last few days, nor do women earn the kind of money a man can make, so my standard of living will fall, wont it?

"Oh Clarke, you don't think I'd let you be disadvantaged after all we've meant to each other, do you? I intend that you will become an attractive young lady doing a job you will love, though it is completely different to anything you can imagine at the moment, it might not appeal to you as a male but trust me, it will appeal to your feminine side. By way of thanks you will have a posh new apartment and you will earn far more than you do at present."

"But that means I shall lose you, and that's unthinkable. I love you Helen."

"And I love you, but we were never intended to be a permanent couple. You will forget me …"

"Never."

"... You WILL forget me, just as you will forget all that's happened between us. But Clarke, I shall never forget you and I will take care of you for the rest of your life. I will look in on you from time to time, even though you wont know me, so in reality our parting is just temporary."

"Just temporary?" I asked, hopefully.

"Well it will be temporary if you really need me, and I will be the judge of whether your need is genuine or not. All kinds of things might happen. Anyway, we have a few days yet to get you used to being a girl and I don't intend to take your Willy away until the very last minute, so get that dress off and come to bed."

We made love again and again and then I had an idea. "Since you are obviously a very senior witch, why can't you become a warlock?" I asked

"Now why didn't I think of that," she smiled.

 

To be continued: in part two, the transformation, learning to be a woman, my new persona and life style and my eventual marriage, I may even have a baby.

A word to all those purist's who put their own interpretation into the words of this story and who will, therefore, regard some parts of it as a blasphemous misrepresentation…. TOUGH!

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Donna Dee. 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.