Mistress Z

It was no good.  No matter how often I added the figures up on my snazzy spreadsheet, there was no way I could make them more positive.  I was slowly but surely sinking into a morass of debt.

Poverty, or rather, a constant cash flow problem was the bane of all university students.  I had accepted this when I had accepted a place at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, but the reality of it was finally hitting me in the face.  Again, and again, and again.

What made it all the worse was that I was surrounded by other students who had been fortunate enough to be born into wealthy families.  They swanned around in designer clothes, drove around in posh cars and were out socialising every night.  I, born into a poor but honest family, had only my student grant to rely on.  And it simply wasn't enough.

My best friend, Emma, noticed my depressed mood.  Emma and I were both studying law, we had both come from less well to do families and had had to win scholarships to get into the schools to get the grades that entitled us to be here.  We had met at a fresher and we had clicked instantly.  Since my name was Emily and we spent almost all our spare time together, our classmates dubbed us collectively as the "Emms", though of late Emma had been oddly absent and was being evasive about where she had been and what she had been up to.

Emma sat down beside me and gave me a big friendly hug "What's up Emm?  You've been really down".  I twisted my laptop towards her to show her the breakdown of my disastrous finances "I don't know what to do Emm" I said, my tone one of despair "I'm trying not to spend money but I'm still broke!  And I still have to find money for textbooks and study materials.  Where's that going to come from?  There's nothing else for it, I'll have to get a part-time job.  Waitressing or bar work".

Emm shook her head slowly "You'd have to give up a lot of your time for being paid peanuts.  Not worth it, seriously".

I had to agree, but there was something that was bugging me.  Six weeks ago, Emma had been as skint as I was.  Since then, Emma was wearing designer clothes and had not only bought all the books on her reading list but had purchased some others that weren't.  She must have spent hundreds, if not thousands of pounds recently.  I turned to her and asked "How do you manage, Emm".

Emma seemed to have anticipated the question.  She looked around to check that no-one was within earshot and whispered "I got a job.  I only have to work twelve hours a week and the money is unbelievable.  The nature of the work is a bit unusual though".

I asked Emma to tell me more.  And she did.  In great detail.  It sounded like the ideal solution to my financial woes and, even better, Emma promised to put me in contact with her boss, a woman known only to Emma as Mistress X.

Three days later I got a frantic call from Emma "I've told Mistress X about you and she wants to see you right away!".  "Emm" I protested "I've a seminar in ten minutes!".  "Do you want the job or not?  Meet me at the the Student Bar.  Mistress X doesn't like to to kept waiting!"  Emma hung up.

Sighing, I trudged over to the Bar.  Emma was sat outside, in a gleaming red convertable "Hop in!" she said simply.  I had barely got in when Emm put her foot down and the car sped away.  She was driving like a maniac, swearing when she encountered red traffic signals and at other drivers.  Finally, the car screeched to a halt outside a nondescript office building.

Emma handed me a plastic card.  It was some sort of security pass "Swipe this at the door and key in 9153.  Then go up the stairway you see.  Mistress X will be there.  Good luck, Emm, see you later!".  The car sped off as soon as I had alighted and closed the door.  I did as Emma told me and found myself at the top of a dusty flight of stairs, standing outside an oak panelled solid door.  It had no markings on it whatsoever.

Nervous as hell, I knocked timidly on the door.  There was no sound from behind the door.  I rapped at the door more confidently and my efforts were rewarded by a woman's voice saying "Enter!".

I opened the door and let it swing wide.  I walked slowly into a large room with rich oak panelled walls, a burgundy coloured velvety carpet and exquisite furnishings.  The whole room radiated opulence and luxury and I immediately felt calmer.  Seated behind a large desk was a tiny, wizened woman in oriental dress and expensive looking jewellery.

The woman, who I guessed must be Mistress X, barely glanced at me.  In a cold tone, she ordered "Sit down".  There was a small chair opposite her own, noticeably lower and less comfortable than her own.  I took my place.  Despite the fact that Mistress X was far shorter than me, the lowness of my seat meant I had to look up at her.

Mistress X was studying a piece of paper intently.  Then, almost reluctantly, she set it down and forced herself to attend to me.  "You will speak only when I direct a question at you and you will answer my questions concisely and honestly.  Please be assured that I have researched your background thoroughly and that I am well versed in detecting untruths.  If I believe you to be less than honest with me, the interview will be terminated and you will leave this building immediately.  Do you understand?"

"Yes" I answered simply.  This woman had a terrifying air about her.  She made Cruella De Ville look like a sweet old lady.

"First, you will return to me the pass you were given to enter this building".  I meekly surrendered the card.

Mistress X then fired a load of questions about me, about my education, my outside activities, my sexual experiences, my family's genealogy.  It was very clear that she knew absolutely everything about my past.  Not that there was much to hide mind, my background was very ordinary.

Mistress X, who had been making notes and annotations as I answered, seemed satisfied with my responses. At any rate, I was not being asked to leave.  I wondered how well I was doing.

Mistress X pointed to a lacquered screen "You will go behind that screen and change into the clothes that you find there".  I went behind the screen to find a black lacy basque, a lace thong, silk black stockings, a pair of high heels in my size and an almost transparent black robe.  With some difficulty, as I had never wore lingerie like this before in my life, I got into the things and presented myself to Mistress X thus attired.  I felt pretty foolish and awkward.

Mistress X's gaze over my body was penetrating.  Finally, she said "You have an attractive, well toned body.  What you are wearing now will be your uniform and you will be required to wear it at all times whilst you are here.  I can see that you are not used to wearing such garments but you strike as a very bright and intelligent girl and it will soon become second nature to you".

Mistress X continued "Now I will explain to you what we do here.  This agency provides a very unique but valuable service to high profile clients.  Most of our client base are members of parliament, senior civil servants, high ranking military and police officers and we even have some Cabinet ministers.  These men, and they are all men, have certain preferences in how they like to relax when they are not running the country.  Some of them like, for example, to wear the uniform of a schoolgirl.  Others like different things.  But what they all like is to have a girl like you order them about and discipline them".

Mistress X looked at me to see my reaction.  It all sounded very creepy, but at the same time very exciting.  I was intrigued and so I made my face wear a neutral expression.

Mistress X continued "I should make it clear that there will be no sexual activity involved and that such physical contact that there is, is minimal and only employed where necessary.  You will find that our esteemed clients understand and respect this.  I should also make it clear that the financial rewards for providing this service are very high.  Now, do you have any questions to put to me?"

I had a few and Mistress X endeavoured to answer these fully and frankly.  Then, once I had changed back into my usual clothes, she dismissed me.  I asked if I had been "successful" and she told me merely to wait to hear from her further.  It was a disappointment.

Mistress X left me in limbo for a few days and I supposed that perhaps she had not been impressed by me.  Then an innocuous brown envelope arrived in the post.  Inside was a handwritten letter from Mistress X offering me the position.  I was to report, with Emma, the following day to start my training.

Emma was already aware of the news, and was thrilled.  But she told me frankly "We are going to have a make a few changes to your presentation.  Mistress X said you look too much like me".  This was true.  Emm and I were the same height and build and had the same hair colour.  Emm whisked me off to a beauty salon where I was fully depilated and my hair dyed the shade of copper.  I looked very different with my hair a different colour and styled differently to that of Emma.

The following day I reported for induction.  I had first to read and sign a thick contract that had been written by a better legal mind than my own.  It bound me to absolute secrecy about the clients I would be working with.  I shrugged.  This was not an unreasonable demand and so I signed.  I was then given my own passcard and code to enter the building and assigned my office, which was a smaller version of the one used by Mistress X and where I could change and shower.

Then my training began in earnest.  At first, I had to sit behind a secret chamber with a one way mirror and observe Emma with her clients.  Emma was Mistress Y, by the way, and my moniker was Mistress Z.  The routines were easy to pick up and after only a couple of days, I was confident enough to start with real clients.

You never forget your first client.  My first was an MP who must have been in his early fifties, fat, balding and dressed in a traditional pin striped suit.  He wanted to become a schoolgirl called Cynthia.  I made him strip and put on his gymslip and all the rest of it.  Oddly, despite his build and his age, the outfit actually suited him.  He did look a lot like many an overweight schoolgirl that I had known during my own school days, although the uniform was old fashioned and its wearer was too tall to pass.

Anyway, once Cynthia was properly dressed, I put her through her paces.  I made her write a short poem, which I marked and found fault with.  That earned her a hundred lines, which she had to write in five minutes. The time allowed was deliberately too short, but to her credit, Cynthia had managed eighty lines that were neat and correctly spelled.  But this didn't help her.  I ordered her to bend over and lower her knickers. I administered ten strokes of the cane on her bare buttocks, which Cynthia had to count.

Once the punishment was over, Cynthia had to kneel and beg me for forgiveness, which I condescended to give once Cynthia had kissed the cane.  After finishing her lines, Cynthia was dismissed and went away to changing facilities.  About a quarter of an hour later, the honourable member would be on his way to the House of Commons to go about his normal business.

That first client had been nerve racking for me but I was relieved to find that it was all absurdly easy.  Three more clients followed.  Being a schoolgirl was the most popular theme, but there were others.  Some of them liked to be transformed into sissy little girls, a confection of frills, lace and ribbons or submissive maids.  Female military or police uniforms were also popular, especially amongst high ranking generals or police officers.  There was a growing demand for secretarial outfits, the classic silk white blouse, pencil skirt and high heels.

The outcome was always the same.  The client would be made to put on their costume of choice and would invariably be punished, be it by a cane, a strap or a whip, by me.  I found the power I enjoyed over these men quite intoxicating.  I had been a mere schoolgirl myself only a few years earlier and now here I was wielding authority over VIP's, the men who actually ran the country.

I found it very odd that these powerful men should want to become very submissive schoolgirls or maids or other types of lowly females.  I reasoned that having to be a tough male politician or military officer was an impossible persona to maintain all of the time and that their feminine alter egos were a necessary way for them to let off steam.

I should say something about the costumes that were made available for our esteemed clients.  The schoolgirl, secretary and maid costumes were mostly procured from outfitters of such garments and were therefore authentic down to the tiniest detail and of the highest quality.  A client could elect to wear a crisp, new uniform, or a used one, depending on their preference.

Most of the other costumes, for sissy girls, sissy maids and babies, were hand made and stitched from delicate and expensive fabrics and had so many frills and flounces that it made even my feminine mind boggle that someone born to be male would wish to have the humiliation of wearing them.  Anyway, it was part of my role to select the clothing to be worn from our storage facilities and to arrange for the garments to be freshly laundered once they had been vacated by their wearer.  Invariably, they had to be dry-cleaned but as we had an arrangement with a company that supplied such a service the costs were relatively inexpensive.

With one exception, who I shall come to shortly, the esteemed clients were generally of the same category.  Middle-aged males of slightly different heights, weights and hairlines, all nicely docile and submissive once inserted into their feminine costumes.  They looked nothing like women or girls and could never pass as a female unless they underwent radical medical procedures, which of course they never would for it would mean the end of their careers.  They looked somewhat cute and feminine, but that was as far as it went.

Probably the most amusing one was the client I had who was a high ranking civil servant.  He was the most senior civil servant in his department, with power over the hundreds of other civil servants who worked there (mostly women, it should be pointed out).  He was a "Sir" and had had various orders and other decorations conferred upon him by the monarch over his career, but his greatest pleasure was to be dressed as his female secretary in the classic secretary outfit and then made to bend over for punishment.  He was well over six feet and broad with it, so it was quite a challenge to find the clothes and shoes for him (he took a size thirteen in shoes), but it was accomplished.  It was funny to see this tall, powerfully built man, who made me look tiny by comparison, tottering about in a tight skirt and high heels.

I must mention my most favourite client.  Let's call him Glen.  He is a very different client from the others.  For a start, he is considerably younger and more feminine in every way from the other clients.  He had just been elected as an MP and was considered to be something of a high-flier, possibly a future leader of his party.

Glen came from a wealthy family and was the youngest of three children. He was the only boy and his birth was greeted with great joy by his parents, who had wanted a boy so far had only two girls.  Even as recently as the seventies, a boy was still considered more valuable than a clutch of sisters.  The only person not happy with the fact that Glen was a boy was Glen himself.  As he emerged from baby and infant hood and realised, as we all do, that there was a great gender divide, Glen realised that he had ended up on the wrong side.  In his heart and soul, he wanted to be a girl.

To this end, he tried to include himself in the activities of his sisters as early as possible.  At first, his sisters obliged him, the elder girl dressing him in the flower girl costume she had worn at a cousin's wedding.  With his golden ringlets, slight figure and feminine features, Glen made a very presentable girl and wearing a dress felt so right to him.  But when his parents found out about it, they were very angry.  Glen and his sisters were punished - the girls confined to their room whilst Glen was spanked with a slipper and told in no uncertain terms that he was forbidden to wear female clothing in future.

Glen was unhappy.  His sisters were sympathetic, but could do nothing to help him.  Glen could not resist the urge to dress up and was caught wearing one of his sisters' dresses.

After this, Glen found himself packed off to the same all-boys boarding school that his father had attended. Glen was miserable there at first and wrote to his parents, begging them to let him come home.  He received a brief response which ran as follows "You need to become a man and persevere.  One day you will thank us for this".

Glen quickly gleaned that he would need to suppress his inclinations towards femininity if he was to survive in this exclusively male environment.  He was a bright, clever boy and took advantage of the much better than average education that was being offered.  He soon gained a reputation as a swot.  He was less successful on the sports field but acquitted himself well enough.

Just under half a mile away from the school was the St Agatha's School for Girls.  Whilst the other boys were fascinated by the budding female bodies that populated the school, Glen was tormented by the uniforms, though he never let on of course.  Glen's outlet from relentless study was the drama society which put on three Shakespeare plays a year.  Although Glen was a better actor than most of his peers, the lead male parts went to bigger, more masculine looking lads.  Girls from St Agatha's were brought in to fill the female parts and Glen envied them as they wore elaborate and embroidered dresses. Glen longed to fill the parts of Juliet, Portia or Cleopatra but was never to be allowed to do so.

Academically, Glen was successful, gaining top marks at school and going on to Cambridge University where he earned a first class honours degree.  He considered an acting career but decided to go into politics and proved to be very accomplished at it.  Of course, some years before, he had escaped from his parents so that he was at last free to indulge himself.

I gradually got all of this out of Glen over a fairly long period.  I felt desperately sad for him and so I was much kinder to him than to the other clients.  Glen liked best to be dressed as a sweet little girl, with lots of frills and lace, and he looked very feminine and adorable.  Over time, I persuaded him that he would look better and more sophisticated dressed as a woman of his own age and so he did agree. Glen made a very convincing and attractive woman and he was determined to dress that way out of the public gaze.

I was Mistress Z for just under two years.  The money I had earned was phenomenal.  In my last year at university, I was able to purchase a top of the range sports car and had the pleasure of seeing the jaws of my fellow students dropped as it roared into the campus.  I ate out in fancy restaurants and wore designer clothes.  I had built up a healthy deposit towards buying my own flat once I graduated.

But the decision to go was not mine.  Mistress X decided that new blood was needed to keep their offering fresh and exciting and so both Emma and I were dropped.  We were not altogether sorry.  We had our final exams to study for and interesting and fulfilling careers in law to look forward to, but we would miss the money - and the fun.

The Prefect's Sister

Freddie watched as his little sister Hannah pranced about in her sparkly pink fairy costume as gracefully as a ballerina.  Hannah wore a little silver tiara with pink fluffy bits in it and carried a pink wand with a glittering star at the end of it.

The adults clapped at her antics appreciatively.  Freddie joined, half-heartedly.  At the best of times, he had very little interest in his sister.  She was, after all, just a little girl who played with her dolls and danced about at every chance she got.

Veronica Latimer or "Roni" to her friends, was a much more interesting girl than his baby sister.  She was pretty, she was smart and she was confident.  Freddie wanted to be with her more than anything in the world.

There were two problems.  One, Roni was two years older than Freddie. He was as much a baby to her as his own sister was to himself, and two, Roni was a Prefect whilst Freddie was a nobody, a nothing.

In fact, the only time she noticed Freddie at all was if she spotted him dropping litter or some other petty act of misconduct and issued him with a stern reprimand prior to reporting him to his form tutor.  Freddie had spent time in detention thanks to Roni Latimer.

At school, Freddie resolved to do something so that Roni would notice him.  He tried out for the football and rugby teams, but he was rubbish at football and too small and weedy to do well at rugby.

After letting in fifteen goals as the team's goalie, the rest of his team poured scorn on him "A girl could do better than you, Norris" they taunted him "You'd be better off in the netball team!".  This provoked loud howls of laughter "Nah, even they're not that desperate to have loser like Norris in their team, though he'd look pretty in one of those pleated skirts".  Almost in tears, Freddie fled to the changing rooms.

Realising that he wasn't going to impress Roni on the sports field, Freddie tried Drama.  But, he was a terrible actor and kept forgetting his lines, much to the exasperation of the teacher and other pupils.  The teacher took Freddie aside and gently told him that the stage was clearly not for him.  Perhaps he might be better as a stage hand or handing out programmes.  But Freddie wasn't interested in any role except one where he could be noticed by Roni.

That left things like cookery or dance, but Freddie thought these to be too feminine.  He wanted Roni to see him as a masculine boy and he could not do that wearing an apron or dancing the tango.  The only way he could get to see Roni for any length of time was by attending meetings of the school council as a member of the audience.  These sessions were so interminable that few students bothered.  So Freddie sat through meeting after meeting that covered of such grave import as giving a vote of thanks to the local church or motioning that the lockers in the girls' changing area be given a fresh coat of paint.

Roni, he noted during these meetings, was on fine form.  She was always putting up motions, or arguing against the motions of others.  Although she was a junior member of the council, she seemed to dominate it at times.

As tedious as the school council meetings were, Freddie persevered with them.  They were the only way he could get to see Roni.  After two months, Freddie was hopeful that his diligent attendance might be bearing fruit.  On the last few meetings, whilst others debated and Roni was silent, Freddie believed that she was looking at him with some intensity for a few moments.

Suddenly, after one meeting ended, Freddie was leaving when he suddenly felt a hand on his arm.  He spun around and was stunned to find that it was Roni.

"Hi there!  Freddie, isn't it?  From form 12?".  Freddie could only nod.  Roni, super cool and confident Roni, in her immaculate school uniform and long blonde hair, was standing less than a foot away from him.  He couldn't speak.

"I've noticed you taking an interest in our meetings.  That's great.  I wish some of the other students here had more interest.  You ought to stand for the school council yourself".

Freddie had no interest in joining the school council, but now that he had Roni's attention he wasn't going to blow by telling her that.  He merely nodded again.

Roni could sense his uneasiness in her presence. She took one of Freddie's hands "You need to loosen up.  Come with me".  Leading Freddie by the hand she steered him into the school canteen. Then, she got them both fizzy drinks, which Roni paid for.  Freddie thought he was the luckiest boy alive.  Roni spoke to him, trying to put him at his ease.  It worked.  Freddie gradually began to feel more comfortable around her, so comfortable that he talked to her about his family, something he rarely did.

Roni was particularly interested to hear that he had a younger sister.  To Freddie's surprise, she said "You lucky thing, I wish I had a sister.  I'm an only child" with sincerity.

Freddie said, in an unusual burst of confidence "No, you're lucky.  I often wish I was an only child.  I have to share my parents with my sister".

Roni frowned at this outburst and shook her head "You wouldn't wish that if you were me.  I feel so lonely sometimes.  There's stuff you can't share, even with your parents, but you could with a sister.  Girl stuff, you know".

Freddie didn't know, but he nodded "I can understand that" he said.

Roni leant over and gave one of his hands a squeeze "You seem a nice boy".  She leant back in her chair and sighed "You aren't like the other boys round here.  Jerks.  All of them.  Trying to be all macho and tough" she said with a vehemence that shocked Freddie.

Roni continued "I've been out with some of them, you know.  Grade A Jerks! Treated me like...well, not good anyway.  But you seem different, a boy I can actually talk to.  A boy who has a mind of his own.  I'd really like to see more of you...."

Freddie almost fainted.  By any standard, that was as close to asking him out on a date without actually saying so explicitly.

Roni was studying him intently with those large, pale blue eyes that seemed to balloon in size whenever she chose and enhanced her beauty and attractiveness "So...shall we meet up again?  After school one day?  You can come round my place.  My parents are hardly there what with their jobs and stuff".

Freddie's mouth was dry and so he could only nod again.  He was thrilled beyond measure at this unexpected outcome and also slightly ashamed of his performance in front of this girl that he so admired.

Roni seemed satisfied with his response however. "Great! I'll text you.  It'll probably be next week now as I've got stuff on".  She leant over again and gave him a light kiss before gathering her things and leaving Freddie stunned but happy.

It was nine days later before Freddie got the promised text and in those nine days he had never been so nervous and so restless in his life.  He couldn't sleep, he couldn't concentrate on school work and his appetite was so small that his mother was becoming concerned about him.

Now he faced the prospect of having Roni all to himself, he grew even more nervous.  He sat through his lessons and walked about the school zombie-like.  When the four o clock bell rang for the end of lessons, he got another text from Roni "Meet me in the school car park".

Freddie hurried over to find Roni chatting with some other girls.  Roni quickly left them and joined Freddie.  The girls gaped and looked at each other.  Freddie flushed slightly, but Roni seemed oblivious to them, which rather impressed Freddie.

"Here's our ride" said Roni.  Freddie saw a taxi pull up.  Roni exchanged greetings with the driver, a woman, as it happened.  Roni even let Freddie sit in the front seat, something he was rarely allowed to do in his parents' car.  Freddie was impressed that Roni could afford a cab.  A cab fare was about a week's pocket money for him.

The taxi ride was brief and the driver dropped them off outside a large detached house on a street in one of the smarter areas of town.  Freddie guessed that Roni's parents must be fairly well off to live in a place like this.

Roni removed a shiny gold key from her purse and let them into the house and gave Freddie a brief tour.  The rooms were all big and well furnished.  The living room had a large plasma TV and all of the other gizmos.  Of greater interest, of course, was Roni's own room.

Freddie was slightly disappointed by it.  Roni had her own TV, DVD player, sound system and personal computer, but the decor was a dullish green.  Freddie expected that most girls of Roni's age would have pictures of hunky footballers or pop stars on their walls, but Roni had none of that.  The pictures that hung from her walls were like those in his own sitting room, of landscapes or birds.  Freddie noted that she had a bookcase stuffed full of books and a wardrobe and dresser.  All that, plus a single bed, were all that comprised Roni's room.

The tour over, Roni took Freddie to the kitchen and sat him down whilst she got him a soft drink.  From a large chest up freezer full with food, Roni took out a large pizza and stuck this in the oven. Half an hour later, Freddie was munching on the pizza with Roni.  After they had finished, Roni cleared it all away and put the dishes and glasses in a dishwasher.

As the kitchen was filled with the sound of the dishwasher doing its work, Roni beckoned him to follow her.  Roni led him to the spacious couch and gestured for him to sit.  Roni put a DVD on and then sat beside Freddie.  Really close beside him.  Then, unexpectedly, she began to kiss and cuddle him.  Freddie was startled and had no idea what to do, but it was enjoyable being this close to Roni and being touched and kissed by her.

Roni stopped after a few minutes and settled down to watch the DVD.  Freddie's mind was not on the DVD but on what he had just experienced.  It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Roni looked at him for a while and then decided to turn the DVD off.  She gestured for Freddie to follow her upstairs to her room.

Roni was still wearing her school uniform.  For that matter, Freddie was still wearing his.  But whereas Freddie looked like a typical snotty schoolboy in his get up, Roni looked like a goddess in hers, with her crisp white blouse, tight one piece gymslip and stockinged long legs.

Roni opened her her wardrobe to reveal another three sets of the same uniform "Now you know how it is I always look perfect!" she said. "But" she said "that's not why I brought you up here.  I was just wondering what you might look like wearing one of my uniforms.  Pretty cute, I'd guess".

Freddie didn't know what to say.  His instinct was to refuse outright.  But then Roni might be offended and that would be the end of him and Roni.  He merely shuffled uncomfortably.

"Oh, go on" said Roni encouragingly "It's only a bit of fun between us and I won't tell anyone.  Promise".  She looked at Freddie with those big blue eyes again.

Against his better judgement, Freddie gave in and within half an hour he was wearing one of Roni's uniforms.  It was a strange feeling to be wearing a skirt and to have stockinged legs and Freddie felt acutely self-conscious.  When he looked in the mirror at himself dressed as he was, he cringed.

Although Roni was a girl, she had a two year advantage on Freddie in age and so her uniform was too big for Freddie.  It hung on him limply.  He looked, as Roni had pointed out laughingly, somewhat like a girl with his small stature, stick-like legs and small features.  But compared to Roni, whose uniform of course fit her perfectly and showed off her budding bosom and curves to the best advantage, Freddie's impersonation of a schoolgirl was on the scruffy and scrawny side.

And, even though he was dressed the same as Roni, he somehow looked more infantile, rather like a younger sister who would always be second best to her older sibling.  Roni saw his slight distress and confusion and took him by the hand and led him to the bed before kissing him passionately.

"You make quite a good looking girl" she gushed.  Then she allowed Freddie to get back into his normal clothes before summoning a taxi to take him home.

Over the next few days, Freddie thought about his new experience.  He really shouldn't have allowed Roni to coax him into wearing a girl's uniform.  But, after thinking about it, he decided it was just a bit of harmless fun.  A one off.

Then, during double French, Freddie got a text from Roni asking him to come round to her place again that evening.  Freddie was slightly tempted to refuse, but his attraction to Roni won out over his doubts and so he found himself once again alone with Roni.

Roni was kind of flustered, which was unusual for her.  Usually, she was ice-cool and in control, but she seemed panicky.  Freddie tentatively asked her what the matter was.

Roni clasped one of Freddie's hands "I really need your help tomorrow night!" she said in a higher pitch of voice than was usual for her "I have to give a lecture to some Girl Guides. I have an idea what to do, but it won't work without you".

Freddie had an uneasy feeling about this "I'm not dressing up as a girl again!" he said firmly.

Roni chuckled "Don't worry, I don't need you as a girl, silly" and then went on to explain her idea in more detail.  It was, Freddie decided, a good plan, especially as it did not require him to wear a skirt.

They spent the rest of the evening rehearsing Roni's performance.  It was pretty intense and there was no time for any fun like the previous time.  Roni at last was satisfied and Freddie was finally allowed to go home.

Less than 24 hours later found Roni and Freddie outside the cabin that served as the home of the local Girl Guides. Several of them passed, in their uniforms and gave them curious stares.  They had a right to stare.  Roni was dressed in a long black cloak and her stockinged legs shivered in the frigig night air.  Freddie was also wearing a cloak over a suit with a bow tie.  He also had a cane and top hat and a fake bushy moustache.

They hurried inside and set up and then before they knew it, the curtains were pulled back to reveal them.  Their exclusively female audience clapped politely.

Roni had been obliged to remove her cloak for her act.  She was dressed in a tight black leotard, with a small bow tie and cuffs on the end of her long, bare arms, and she teetered in a pair of high heels.  Raising her voice, she cried "Ladies -and gentleman - please welcome the Great Gogort, Master of Magic!"

The girls clapped a little more enthusiastically as a nervous Freddie walked onto the stage.  He did exactly as Roni had shown him.  He tried to shuffle a deck of cards and ended up spilling them all over the place.  He tried to produce a coin from thin air but produced only thin air.  Not surprisingly, the audience began to boo loudly.

Roni stepped forward "OK, girls.  So much for the Great Gorgot.  Wanna see some real magic?"

"Yes please!" chorused the audience as one.

After appropriating Freddie's hat and cloak, she gave a real demonstration of her magician's skills, using Freddie as her assistant.  By the end, the girls were clapping their hearts out.

"Thanks ladies" Roni said humbly "Now, the point of that show was not only to entertain you with magic tricks but to show you that just because a girl looks pretty, she is not useless, and just as importantly, girls are every bit as good as boys, better sometimes. And I'll leave you with those thoughts".

Roni got a standing ovation for that speech.  Roni was very happy with the way the evening had gone.  Freddie less so.  He felt a little used and made to look a fool in front of a load of girls to boot!  Although he had not had to wear the assistant's revealing outfit, he may as well have done.

Roni cheered him up by congratulating him on his performance "I couldn't have managed without you!" she said, kissing him and giving his hand a little squeeze.

Freddie went home, wondering where his relationship with Roni was going.

There was a fortnight's gap before he was asked round to Roni's again.  Freddie wondered, not for the first time, why she couldn't come round to his for a change.  His home was not as nice as Roni's perhaps but it was perfectly respectable.  But Roni said she didn't want adults and kids in the way of their fun.

After eating and watching some TV, Freddie soon found out what Roni had in mind for in one of the guest bedrooms was a pile of girls' clothes. Not a school uniform this time, but some old clothes of Roni's from a few years ago.  They should, she said, fit him well enough.

But Freddie decided it was time to put his foot down.  He was supposed to be the male in this relationship.  He wanted Roni as a girlfriend, but he didn't want to end up as one himself! "Look, Roni" he said "I like you a lot.  But this dressing me up as a girl thing is not on!" he told her firmly.

The transformation in Roni was sudden and frightening.  Her eyes became slits so that she looked almost feline.  Her wrath was palpable.  When she spoke, it was more like a sibilant hiss "Is that so? OK, Mr Macho, then you can leave!  Get out of my house right now!"

Freddie had known that girls can be scary when they were angry, but Roni was scarier than any girl he had ever known.  He didn't want to see her as angry as she was now and he didn't fancy having to walk home.  He doubted Roni would pay for a cab in her current mood.

"Ok Roni, I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to upset you.  I don't want to go home" Freddie said with humility.

Those words seemed to instantly calm Roni down and she smiled "OK, apology accepted.  But I want to see you wearing these, OK?"

Freddie blanched but nodded.  Roni left to give him some privacy.  Blushing, Freddie got undressed and forced himself to put on the white lace trimmed panties and matching vest, stripey multi-coloured thick stockings, a white top with some lace detail, a denim mini skirt and a pale pink cardigan.  Finally, he fitted his stockinged feet into a pair of shiny black flats with cute little bows on the front.

Reluctantly, he announced that he was ready, and Roni entered.  The contrast in their dress could not have been more different.  Roni had likewise changed, but into a pair of jeans, a shirt and denim jacket.  Freddie felt quite girlish and infantile in comparison.  He looked a lot like his baby sister dressed as he was.

But Roni was pleased.  The tigress of not so long ago became almost kittenish.  She insisted on brushing Freddie's hair over and over again, even though it was too short for such treatment. Roni even got out her make up and dabbed some of this on Freddie's features. The effect was to make him look even more girlish.

Freddie was embaressed to be dressed and treated this way by someone who as supposed to be the girl in the relationship, but didn't know what to do to stop it.  He had had a taste what would happen if he rebelled.

Roni was happy, calling Freddie, her little sister, which made Freddie cringe even more.  After a few hours of wearing girls' stuff, having his hair brushed and his face prettified, Roni reluctantly released him from his feminine bondage.  Freddie was glad to escape and go home.  It had all been a freaky experience.

The summer holidays - six long weeks of freedom - were coming up.  Freddie usually went on holiday with his family, as they had relatives in Australia and Canada.  He didn't suppose he would get to see Roni at all during that time.  He saw her face fall as he told her about how he spent his summers.  She had obviously hoped to see him, which encouraged Freddie.  Maybe she was falling for him too and would give up this cross-dressing nonsense in favour of a more natural relationship.

But, the week before school broke up, his mother received the devastating news that he father, who had moved to Australia to enjoy his retirement, had been taken ill.  After a quick family conference, it was decided that Freddie and Hannah would have to stay with with an aunt in Hertfordshire.

It was disappointing not be able to go to see his grandfather, but Aunt Pam was not a bad sort.  He told Roni all this over lunch and to his surprise she seemed to perk up.  When he got back home from school, he was astonished to see Roni, in her school uniform, talking to his mother very politely and pleasantly.  Mum seemed to take a real shine to Roni.

"Here, Freddie" said his mum "You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend!  You've been holding out on us you little rascal!"

This was true.  Freddie had told his mum he was going round a mate's house to play computer games.

"And she's a school prefect!" mum exclaimed, pointing at the little badge pinned to Roni's chest "You would do well to follow her example young man".

Freddie cringed at being shown up by his mum in front of Roni.  Roni chipped in innocently "As we agreed, I've asked your mum about you coming to stay at mine over the summer!"

Freddie was stunned.  He had not agreed anything of the kind with Roni.  She had gone behind his back without even asking him!  But he knew that he dared not object.  Roni was a guest and his mum clearly liked her.  He wondered what his mum had said.

Roni put him out of his misery "Your mum said it's ok for you to stay at mine, what with my parents being there and all"

"And you'll get to spend more time with your girlfriend!" Mum pointed out.

Freddie was thrilled by the prospect of spending more time with Roni, but scared of what she had in mind for him.  At least her parents would be there, he thought.  She couldn't dress him up as a girl in front of them.

A little over a week later, Freddie's parents dropped him off at Roni's house.  Roni came out and waved as the car carrying Freddie's parents sped off towards Hertfordshire, where Hannah would be deposited with Aunt Pam.

Roni helped Freddie with his bags to the guest bedroom where he would be staying.  "Where are your parents?" he asked.  Roni smiled "In Boston, on a business trip, for the next two months!"

"But you said...."

"I lied" Roni said simply "Your mum would never have left you if she had known my parents were away.  But we'll be OK.  I'll take good care of you, I promise, and no-one will be any the wiser.  So, no harm done right?"

"Right" said Freddie weakly.  He felt like slumping down.  Roni had lied to his mum...and to him....to get her own way.  And he was trapped here for the next six weeks.  He could try to phone his parents and get them to turn back but he doubted Roni would let him and she was bigger and stronger than him and had already shown her deviousness.

"I need to use the bathroom" Freddie said.  If he could only get a few moments alone he could fire off a text to his parents, pleading illness.  They would turn back and there would be nothing Roni could do about it.

"No problem, you know where it is" said Roni sweetly.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Freddie went upstairs to the bathroom and locked the door.  There. Even if Roni belatedly worked out what he was up to she would never be able to stop him.  He reached in his pocket for his mobile that he had slipped in there only an hour earlier.  It was gone! Frantically, he searched all his pockets but it was not there.  Either he had somehow dropped it or.....with a sinking heart he realised what must have happened.  Roni, the girl with magic tricks, had palmed it off him, probably when she helped him with the cases.

"Oi, Freddie! You OK up there?" came Roni's voice, loudly.

Freddie left the bathroom and bounded downstairs "Where's my mobile?", he demanded.

Roni looked genuinely non-plussed "Don't ask me!  Sorry, can't help you there darling.  Look, forget your silly phone.  What do you need it for now you're here with me?  I'll go and make us some lunch.  Everything will be fine, you'll see!"

Freddie wasn't convinced.

The evening passed without incident.  Roni had insisted on putting on some DVD's.  There was a really old one called "Some Like It Hot" and a more recent one called "Tootsie", and some others.  They all seemed to be about men ending up in drag.  Roni clearly had a thing about seeing men in dresses.

Freddie found it creepy and was wondering how he could escape from this weird girl.  But then, Roni would kiss and cuddle him and he didn't feel scared of her any more.

In the morning, Roni served Freddie breakfast in bed and seemed attentive to his every need. As Freddie ate, there was a loud banging at the door.  "Ah, they've arrived at last!" She rushed out before Freddie could ask here what had arrived.

After a long interval, Freddie ventured downstairs.  The sitting room was filled with boxes with labels on from retail outlets called "Li'l Miss Attire", "Frillyknicks" and "Sissyboy.com".  Roni was busily removing the items from the boxes.

Freddie saw that the contents were dresses and underwear that would be considered even by a real girl to be too frilly and fussy. Dresses of shiny silk and satin, with lace petticoats, and ruffled panties. And Freddie noted that they were about his size.

Roni, seeing Freddie, held up a green be-ribboned frock and saw "Ta-ra!  Your new clothes!"

Freddie cast his head down "Roni, I can't wear those things.  They're horribly girly!  Even my sister would refuse to wear that stuff!"

Roni became angry again and even started throwing things at Freddie until he relented.  Cringing, he  allowed himself to be put into the ruffled white panties, frilled ankle socks and magenta frock.  He had to wear a pair of shiny mary janes to complete the ensemble.

Now he looked like a little girl of about eight!  But Roni was still not satisfied. She got some hair rollers out, heated these up and put these in Freddie's hair.  It was just about long enough to accommodate the tiny rollers.  The hot rollers hurt.  After a few hours, Roni took them out and Freddie found that he had curls!

The effect of curling his hair was astonishing. He looked more like a girl than ever. In fact, looking at himself in the mirror, it was hard to imagine that a boy lay beneath those lovely tresses and pretty layers of clothing.

Roni was triumphant and crowned her achievement by managing to tie a white bow in Freddie's hair "There! Now you really are my little sister!"  She kissed him on the forehead.

So began Freddie's bizarre life as Roni's little sister.  Under Roni's direction, he had depilate himself daily, get his hair fixed and had to change dresses three times a day.  Roni insisted on him going to bed at seven and he had to wear a frilly nightdress and have his hair put in rollers.

Freddie found the whole experience humiliating.  He had to get used to walking around in dresses that swished as he moved and having fussy bits of lace and frills ever in his vision.  Worst of all, although his very frilly panties were concealed beneath the skirts of his dress, he knew, and Roni knew, all of the time, that he was wearing them.

Roni of course lounged at her ease in a jeans and t-shirt, enjoying seeing her little sister properly dressed and behaved.

Three weeks into the vacation, Freddie was eating his breakfast.  Cornflakes, held in a shiny pink bowl with flowers on.  Even the spoon was pink.  Roni's gender re-orientation was relentless.  Roni had cooked herself some bacon and eggs and was wolfing these down when there was suddenly a noise.  Somebody was entering the house!

Roni put a finger to her lips to motion Freddie to be quiet.  There was a look of panic on her features.  There was the sound of voices "Roni?  Where are you?" asked a female voice.
Roni's head almost crashed onto the table in despair "Oh, no! It's my parents!" she whispered. She leant over "Stay here.  And don't say a word!" she hissed into Freddie's ear.  She went out to greet her parents.

The business trip had gone awry and hence Roni's parents had decided that there was no point remaining in the States and so had come home.  This much Freddie was able to glean from the conversation happening in the other room.  For the time being, Roni's parents were not aware of his presence.  Roni was trying to keep them away from the kitchen, but with little success.

To Freddie's horror, a man and a woman barged their way past Roni and into the kitchen.  They were stunned to see what appeared to be a little girl sat at their kitchen table. "Roni, what is this girl doing here?" Roni's mother demanded.  Freddie noted that she seemed to be the dominant partner in the marriage.  Roni's dad hung back, silent.

"This is Hannah. Mum.  Her grandfather, who lives in Australia by the way, took a turn for the worse and Hannah's parents begged me to take care of her at very short notice. What else could I do but agree?"

Freddie was impressed both by Roni's quick thinking and the way she spoke.  There was no tremor of panic in her voice.  Her mother was instantly mollified "Well, alright.  I'm pleased that you helped someone out. But I would have preferred it if you had called me and let me know first!"  The woman, dressed in a smart business suit with much jewellery, switched her attention to Freddie "Hello, little girl.  You look very pretty!" she said in sugary tones that made Freddie cringe.

"Alan!" said the woman, addressing her husband "don't you think Hannah is very pretty?"  Alan murmured something indistinct.  He wasn't interested in little girls, Freddie realised.

Roni stepped forward and offered Freddie a hand "Excuse us please, mother, but Hannah needs to use the bathroom.  Isn't that right, Hannah?"  Freddie nodded and meekly took Roni's hand and followed her out of the kitchen.

"What an adorable child!" Roni's mother said after them.

Roni took Freddie upstairs to the bathroom and locked the door.  She sat down on the loo and held her head in her hands.  Bewildered, Freddie asked "What do we do now?  I can't stay like this for the next three weeks!"

Roni grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him "You're going to have to!  You had better behave exactly like the little girl you appear to be or I will be in BIG TROUBLE!!!!" Pausing, Roni said "Look, it's not going to be that difficult.  You've managed ok as a girl for almost three weeks.  Three more weeks, that's all I ask, and I'll do anything for you.  Anything!" she begged.

Freddie gave this some thought. Although he still hated it, Roni was right when she said he had done well thus far.  He could cope with girlhood for a while longer.  And at the end of it Roni would be so grateful that she would do anything for him.  So he agreed.

But, as Freddie was to find, it was the worst thing he could have done for Roni's mother, Sylvia, decided to take an interest in "Hannah".  Whilst they were watching TV, Sylvia suddenly frowned and said "Hannah, sweetie, where are your dolls?".  Freddie looked blank.  "Your dollies, child!  Every little girl likes to play with dollies!  Even you, Roni!"

Freddie saw Roni scowl at the memory.

"I..er. left them at home" said Freddie weakly.

Sylvia shook her head "This will never do!  Come along, young lady, let's go and get you some dolls to play with! Alan! Get the car out!"

Freddie froze.  He was going to have to go outside dressed as a sissy girl!  He was terrified!  With obvious reluctance, Roni put a pink wool coat on him and a white woollen hat and mittens "Just hold on to my hand sweetie" she whispered.  This calmed Freddie somewhat, but his debut on the public stage as a little girl was still too frightening to contemplate.

The drive to the mall seemed over in no time and Freddie suddenly found himself amidst a sea of shoppers.  He was drawing attention.  Not because he had been flagged as being a boy in girls' clothing but because of his prettiness and the fussiness of his clothes.  No other girl in sight was dressed as he was.

They entered a posh department store and ride the lift to the Toys and Games Department.  Freddie looked wistfully at the Boys' Toys department, with its computer games, mountain bikes and action figures but their destination was the Girls' Toys Department.  Freddie was dazzled by the pinkness of everything.  At Sylvia's bidding, Freddie was shown an array of dolls, complete with dolls' houses, prams and accessories.  Freddie felt like dying of shame at having to choose such girly toys.

There was one doll that he noticed that was different.  It was an Amazon woman clad in armour and wielding a sword. That doll wouldn't be so bad. "I want that one!" he piped up.  Sylvia frowned again "Sweetie, I really don't think that doll is appropriate for you.  You are so pretty and ladylike!".  To Freddie's dismay, she reached out for a doll that was a baby one, complete with dummy and nappy "Baby Tiffany". A pram, tea set and baby bath were added to the purchases to Freddie's horror.

Freddie was given his doll to play with on the journey home and he had to make a show of cosseting and mothering the plastic baby.  Whilst the adults, and Roni, lounged about, Freddie had to make a show of bathing and feeding baby Tiffany.  If his sister could see him now, he would die of shame.

It was the pram that bothered him most though.  It had sat for the last two days in the lounge.  Eventually, Sylvia would insist on him using it to take Tiffany for a walk and that meant going outside.  The fateful day came and he was put outside in the garden with his baby and pram.  He pushed the pram with little enthusiasm, cursing Roni for putting him in this humiliating position in the first place.

He was startled by the sound of someone coming over the fence. It was a boy, no, it was a girl who looked very tomboyish.  She gave a friendly wave "Hi there.  I'm Mary! What's your name?"

"Hannah" said Freddie, blushing.

Mary regarded him "Hi Hannah.  How old are you?"

Freddie blushed again "I'm eight years old" he lied.

"Well, what do you know?  I'm eight too!" then the girl looked at him curiously "But you look kinda big to be eight and what's with the frilly dresses?  You look about five!  Sorry, but you do!"

Freddie, to his horror, burst into tears.  Startled, Mary raced over to him and took him in her arms "There, there, little girlie" she cooed.  Then she drew back "Hey, you aren't a girl!"

Freddie said "Please don't tell anyone" he begged.

Mary said "You're a boy.  And you enjoy wearing dresses that frilly, playing with dolls and....wearing girls' knickers? You wear girls' pants right?"

Freddie cringed as he said "Yes, I love it.  Especially the knickers".

Mary collapsed into mirth "That is so cute....well...Hannah...your secret is safe with me....enjoy playing with your dollies!"  Mary rapidly climbed back over the fence and disappeared out of sight.

Roni came rushing out "Who was that, Hannah?" she demanded.

Freddie shrugged "Girl next door.  She thinks I'm a very sissy girl and wants nothing to do with me".

Roni nodded "Good.  You're doing very well so far.  Only two weeks left of this charade"

Freddie watched her leave in puzzlement.  If his innate maleness was so obvious to an eight year old girl like Mary, why didn't anyone twig what he really was?

The next two weeks passed in a daze for Freddie.  He was gradually getting used to the routine of little girlhood.  Only one more humiliation was in store for him.  In the last week of his stay, the Latimers went out for the day, leaving Freddie in the charge of Roni. When they returned, they summoned Freddie to them.

"Dearest Hannah" said Sylvia "As you will soon be leaving us and as you have been a well behaved young lady, we have bought you a little gift".  Alan handed Freddie a gift wrapped present.  Puzzled, he pulled off the wrapping paper to find......a fairy outfit....exactly like the one his sister wore but in his size.

Freddie was stunned and ashamed. He couldn't, wouldn't wear this!

"Well, what do you say, Hannah?" asked Sylvia.

Freddie mumbled something that sounded like "Thank you".

"Speak up, girl!" Sylvia snapped "Don't you like your present?"

Before Freddie could speak again, Roni intervened "She loves it.  She's just very shy, aren't you sweetie?".  Freddie nodded.

"In fact" said Roni "She's so thrilled that she wants to wear it right now, isn't that so Hannah sweetie?"

Freddie could only nod again.

Half an hour later, Freddie edged into the room.  He had never felt so ridiculous in his life as he did right now.  He was wearing a pink leotard, with a pink bodice and a fluffy pink tutu.  His legs were bare except for the satin ballet slippers that he had to wear on his feet.  He wore a dainty tiara with pink fluffy bits in and carried a wand.  Two large silver and pink angels wings protruded from his back.

For the first time in his life he had some sympathy for his sister and, for that matter, for all womankind.  Being forced to wear such ludicrous outfits just to look enchanting.  And enchanting was just how the Latimers' described "Hannah" in "her" fairy costume.  At the end of his routine, taught to him by Roni, he involuntarily bobbed a curtsey which earned him a round of applause.  Quite where that had come from, Freddie would never know.

The last day of Freddie's stay arrived.  In one way it would be a relief to return to boys' clothes and habits but there was the pressing problem of how to get Freddie back into boys' clothes before his parents returned to pick him up without the Latimers realising that their little fairy princess was in fact a boy.

As usual, it was Roni who came up with the idea.  In the last hour before Freddie's parents were due to arrive, Roni pretended to have severe stomach cramps.  The Latimers decided that they had to get her to a hospital right away and so left.  "Hannah' would be fine for half an hour.  As soon as they were gone, Freddie changed back into boys' clothes and brushed out his curls.  His hair was still curlier than usual, but he hoped no-one would notice.  His parents arrived and took him, blissfully unaware that half an hour earlier their son had been dressed as a sweet little girl.

Freddie and Roni continued to meet over the next six months, but by now Roni's mind was focused on her studies and her career.  She became Deputy Head Girl and then Head Girl and won various school prizes for her school work and extra-cirricular activities.  Meanwhile, Freddie's body was beginning to develop into a more male form.  He was now taller than Roni and physically stronger and he had to shave. He was now too big and, too male, to pass for a girl anymore.

It was his feminine physique and features that had attracted Roni to him, Freddie realised, plus the fact that she could easily dominate him.  Now that he was becoming a man, he no longer held any attraction for her.  Their meetings grew more infrequent and then ceased altogether.  Freddie wondered if Roni had found another femme boy to wear the dresses and play with Tiffany.

Freddie was now fourteen, and his experiences of three years earlier seemed almost like an illusion. Had he really allowed himself to be dressed as a girl?  He scoffed at the notion.

On one day, during his summer holidays, his mother decided to take him shopping "Your clothes are an absolute disgrace Freddie" she scolded him.  They went into the Boys Department of the same department store where Freddie had last entered dressed as an eight year old girl.  Freddie's mother picked over the shirts and trousers fussily.  Freddie rejected all of her choices.

Bored, Freddie turned around and was startled by the sight of a male mannikin wearing an elaborate and rather pretty dress.  There was a sign over the small section that had been marked off that stated that the dress was part of the "Femme Boy" range.  Freddie stared in disbelief.  They actually marketed and sold dresses for boys?  When did this happen?

Mum noticed him staring at the mannikin "Oh, yes, the Femme Boy Department.  Since you don't like anything here, lets go and take a look over there!"

Freddie protested "No mum, I'm not wearing a dress!"

Mum steered him over to an assistant "Let's see what dresses you have here, young man".

The young man, clad himself in a chic skirt and cream blouse, showed them a lovely peach silk dress.  Mum picked up the dress and thrust it at Freddie "Go and get changed into this!".

Muttering, Freddie did as he was told.  The dress was specially designed for the young male form and clung to him, except for the large skirt that swayed as he moved about.  He felt silly as he sidled out of the changing booth.

"There, he looks very nice!" said Freddie's Mum "We'll take it.  And the other items too, please".  The assistant rang up the purchases.  Mum took Freddie by the hand and led him to the gents loos. She handed him some other items and told him to put them on.  Freddie found a pair of frilly ankle socks, a pair of black flat shoes and a pair of frilled and beribboned knickers.  Swallowing his pride, he put these on.

Mum was well pleased with Freddie's new clothes and he was required to wear them at all times when he was not at school and to keep them clean and tidy.  Over time, Freddie's hair grew out so that it could be styled and he was taught how to use make up.  Thus, in his last years at school, Freddie lived a masculine life at school and a feminine one at home.

And he was not the only boy subjected to femininity.  His mother took him back often to the store to buy him new underwear and dresses and Freddie saw that the Femme Boy section had been expanded and that it was more populated by boys in dresses who hung their heads in shame.

The Wellard Academy for Boys

The history and philosophy of the Wellard Academy for Young Gentlemen by Dr Eva Wellard, Director and Headmistress of the Academy.

The Academy was founded by my ancestress, Lady Amelia Wellard, and the first headmistress, in 1859, to provide an education for girls of good families and to turn them into well-bred ladies.  Until the end of the Great War, it was a successful and profitable enterprise and the Academy enjoyed a good reputation.

But with the advent of feminism and the increase in women's rights and status in the inter-war years, the Academy was seen as old-fashioned and staid, and it was eschewed in favour of more "progressive" institutions.  The Academy fell on hard times.  The then headmistress attempted to reform the Academy and its practices to make it more modern and appealing.

However, the changes had the opposite effect to that intended.  The Academy, which had been unique in the application of good old fashioned methods of not only educating girls but conditioning them for womanhood, merely became just one of a number of similar establishments.  The numbers of girls wishing to becoming pupils dwindled to unsustainable levels and by the end of the 1930's had been closed down.

During the Second World War, the Academy building and grounds, which had become almost derelict, received a new lease of life when it was turned into a school for girls to be trained to be nurses.  I recently received a letter from one of those girls, now an old lady in her eighties, which commented on her astonishment at the decor and furniture of the place, which seemed to be frozen in about the early 1900's.

With the end of the war in 1945, the nurses' school was closed down and, it seemed, the Academy had no future.  Over the next few twenty years, the building fell into decay and there was even talk of having it knocked down.  Then, in 1965, my mother, who was the legal owner of the building and grounds, died and left it to me.

All of the Wellard women had been teachers, and I too had trained as a teacher.  Had I continued to teach in a secondary school, I might have become a headmistress in my late forties or fifties.  Here was an opportunity for me to become a headmistress at the age of just 25.  Besides, I chafed at being subordinate to others, especially as many of my so-called "superiors" were not as clever as me.

The building and grounds, although neglected,were sound and could be restored to their former condition with an injection of capital.  Finding a bank to lend me the money was a problem, especially as they were still prejudiced against women managing their own finances, but I managed it after some considerable time and much patience on my part.

While the Academy building and grounds were restored, a project that took several months, I determined on the methods which would be applied.  In essence, the Academy was going back to it early days.  There would be firm discipline and the pupils would have to conform to a strict dress and behaviour code.  During this time, I also recruited all of the teaching and other staff needed to help me run the place. All of the staff were female.

All that was left to do then was to find the pupils.  I worked out very quickly that it was no use trying to fill the place with girls. A typical girl of the 1960's was liberated and wanted a modern schooling.  She would never submit to the discipline of the Academy.

Thus, it was decided that the Academy would now cater for boys, mainly unruly, ill-disciplined ones whose parents had tried everything with them and had given up in despair.  Due to the one on one tutoring that would be required, only the wealthy could afford to send their sons to us.

The objective of the Academy, as it was in the past, was to educate and condition the pupils, but now it was to be boys that were to be transformed.

The formula has been applied since the Academy's refounding in 1966, it has remained unchanged ever since and is as follows:

At the application stage, the parents or guardians of the prospective pupil must sign a contract promising to allow the Academy to take full responsibility for the boy (or boys), to give authority to discipline the boy as and when the staff see fit, and also promising not to attempt to visit the prospective pupil or to interfere with the activities of the Academy.  Any breach will incur a large financial penalty.

Once the prospective pupil is accepted, he will be collected by a member of our staff and he is to bring only personal toiletries and the clothes that he happens to be wearing.  Everything else will be provided by the Academy once he arrives.

Upon arrival, the pupil will be processed before having any contact with any other pupils.  The clothes he arrived in will be removed and he will not see them again until the day that he leaves us. The pupil will then be bathed, and depilated if necessary.  His hair will be dyed a different colour and styled in a feminine way.  Where the pupil's hair is too short to allow this, he will be made to wear a wig until his own hair grows to a more suitable length.

The pupil will then be attired as a girl of about ten would have been a century ago.  That is to say, he will be put into dainty, frilly underwear, made to wear a corset that has been tightened as much as possible, thick black stockings that itch terribly, a great wad of silken and lace petticoats and a pretty floral frock over which will be a white lace pinafore.  Black boots with a small heel will be put on the pupil's feet.  A ribbon will then be tied in his hair (or attached by some means or other).

Finally, and most importantly, the new pupil must be given a feminine name, usually completely different from his male non de plume.

Of course, during this initial and, for the pupil, most difficult process, the pupil is sure to resist our attempts to reform him, either verbally, physically, or both.  Any resistance must be severely punished.  The child is to be caned or smacked until he submits and apologises sincerely for his aberrant behaviour.  It is for his own good and he must learn from the first day what will happen to him if he is disobedient in the smallest degree.

Once the pupil is suitably attired and composed, he will be presented to the rest of school.  He must henceforth answer to his new name and the other pupils must always call him by his new name.

The days that follow will be very difficult for the new pupil as he struggles to adapt to his new identity and status.  He will absolutely hate being referred to and treated as a girl as this is contrary to the former masculine life that he has led to date and to which he still aspires.  He will be disgusted as the feminine finery he has been made to wear.  He will be rebellious, and will have to be punished daily, or even several times a day in the worst cases.  He may attempt to find some way of contacting his parents or escaping.

Either action, he will soon find, is impossible.  He will have no access to a mobile phone, computer or even an old fashioned telephone and thus no way to establish contact with anyone beyond the Academy.  As for escaping, the Academy is surrounded by high walls and only one gate that is controlled by 24 hour security staff.  All doors are looked and the keys held by the staff.  At night, the grounds are patrolled by security guards with large, powerful dogs which can outrun and quickly overpower any human being.  Besides that, the restrictive dress that all pupils have to wear will greatly hamper them.  Corsets, petticoats and heeled boots, originally designed to restrict females from strenuous activity, will do exactly the same for a male.

No pupil has ever managed to escape and I am confident that no pupil ever will.  They are ours until they are completely reformed and released back to the custody of their parents or guardians.

The pupil will gradually have to accept that he is here to stay, but he will still chafe at his enforced feminisation.  Caning is one way to punish, but there are other ways. Corset discipline, increasing the height of the pupil's heels or the frilliness of his clothes to the point of absurdity, but I have found that public humiliation can be more effective.  The more unruly pupils can be caned in front of the whole school, or made to wear a ridiculous outfit.  I have seen some of the worst pupils reform very quickly after this treatment.

Once the pupil has acclimatised somewhat to his new identity and has become biddable, he will attend classes.  There will be the usual subjects such as English, Maths, Sciences and Geography, but also needlework, dress-making and Home Economics.  Some boys are surprisingly adept with a needle and with proper supervision they are as perfectly capable as any girl of designing and making garments or cooking a souffle.  Of course, at first they will not be happy at doing girls' subjects, but then they will have no choice in the matter and will have to knuckle down.

Sports and games are also an important part of our cirriculum and must not be neglected.  Pupils will play Lacrosse and Hockey on the sports fields in spring, autumn and winter, and Tennis during the summer.  Pupils will have to wear the appropriate attire, normally a white top and a short skirt. There is also a swimming pool and again pupils will have to wear a girls' bathing costume.

Extra-cirricular activities, organised by our keen staff, are Drama and Music.  The Academy is quite proud of the Drama Company and the Orchestra and they have been allowed to perform for the benefit of the staff on occasion.

The pupils will have a full day of schooling, even at weekends (since they cannot leave the grounds) and by the time they appear for dinner, they should be exhausted both physically and mentally.

Unlike most other boarding schools, and unusually, there is no dormitory system.  The Academy is large enough to allow each member of staff and each pupil to have a room to themselves.  We wish for communication between the pupils to be limited.  Keeping them together in one place, without proper supervision, invites mutinous talk, discussions about their past lives as boys and a misguided sense of masculine cameraderie that could jeopardise the reform process.  Pupils are always closely supervised by a member of staff when out of their room and are kept strictly segregated from all other pupils at other times.  At night, after changing into their lacy nightdresses, each pupil is put to bed and their door is locked.  The door will not be unlocked again until the morning.  In the event of the pupil needing to relieve himself overnight, there is a chamber pot under his bed.

We have one special event of the year, Founders Day, which is very different from any other day.  Lessons are suspended for that one day.  The teaching staff will don their gowns and mortarboards and I, as Headmistress, will lead the tributes to the original founder of our establishment.  The staff will then sit down to a celebratory dinner.  Some of the pupils will be selected to act as maids to wait on the staff and appropriately dressed for the part.

The other pupils will wear their school gowns.  These are full length frocks, very sophisticated and elegant compared to what the pupils normally have to wear.  They will be corsetted, of course and will be made to wear high heeled shoes and long gloves that fit snugly over their arms and hands.  The pupils, having spent some hours getting ready, will parade themselves in front of the staff and execute a perfect curtsey to them.  Some of the pupils look wonderful in their gowns, even if they do not look like they are enjoying it too much.

On average, it takes about a year for a pupil to fully settle in.  There have been a few pupils who are quicker learners and adapt in less time whilst there are some who resist reform and so take much longer to settle in.  But all pupils DO adapt in the end.  There is no alternative but to do so.  As memories of their former lives grow dimmer, as they accept that there is no escape from their fate and as the clothes they wear and the pervasive feminine environment of the Academy
inculcate femininity, they will have no choice but to adapt to it.  Some pupils even come to love it.

When the staff are all happy that a pupil has been reformed, his parents or guardians will be summoned to an interview with the Headmistress and will be served tea by a pretty young maid who, they will discover, is their boy.  They are generally astounded by the total transformation from an unruly and uncontrollable youth into a more pleasing and submissive maid, but impressed by the changes wrought in him.

After that, the pupil is a pupil no more.  He is free to return home.  Whether his parents or guardians decide to keep him as a girl (and many do) or allow him to revert to masculinity is up to them.  Our work is complete.

Fancy Dress

Colin was grumbling again.  It was like listening to a stuck record.  What am I going to do here? How is the office going to cope without me?  Why did I let you talk me into this?

I sighed.  With regard to the last question, I was beginning to ask myself the same question.  Perhaps I would have been better off coming on my own.

The idea of going on a six week cruise around the world had seemed perfect at the time.  Colin and I were in our early forties, our two twin boys were all grown up and off on a year's backpacking trip for their gap year before university, and it was our 20th wedding anniversary.

Colin had been a good catch for me.  We had met at university.  We could not have been more different.  I had  been outgoing and vivacious, a real social butterfly.  I had studied fashion and designed my own clothes even then.  Colin had been a law student.  Very serious and hard working.  He had preferred studying in the library or debating to being in the student union bar.

But once we had met, we had hit it off and we married as soon as we both graduated.  Colin progressed well in his career, perhaps a little too well for my liking as his work seemed to take precedence over family life.  But, on the whole, he had been a good husband and father and he had  after all supported me financially.  He had even encouraged me to set up and run my own on-line fashion business, which was beginning to take off.

Another reason for the cruise was to get Colin away from work.  He was a workaholic and he had not had a proper break since when the boys had been small.  Colin had been most reluctant to leave his practice for six whole weeks and it had taken all of my persuasive powers over a period of weeks to break down his resistance.

Now I was wishing I hadn't.  The cruise ship was a floating pleasure palace, filled with non-stop amusements and entertainments.  And Colin kept saying how utterly bored he was!

I made him come to one of the ship's many bars.  Perhaps a few drinks would help him unwind a little.  Whilst we were there, we met an american couple, Hank and Betsy.  Hank was a huge, but largely silent man whilst Betsy was tiny in stature but had a huge personality.

Betsy and I became friends straight away and got to talking whilst Hank persuaded Colin to try indoor golf.  I was glad for a little time away from Colin as his constant moaning was getting me down.

Betsy told me that she and Hank had been married for 31 years and had a boy and two girls, all grown up now.  Hank had owned a lumber mill in Iowa, but had recently sold it for a healthy profit.  Hank and Betsy were enjoying what they hoped would be a long and happy retirement.

We talked and traded our life stories for quite some time until our menfolk returned.  Colin seemed to have struck up a friendship with Hank.  He was even smiling for the first time since the cruise began.  We agreed that we would all meet up for dinner.

As an added bonus, Hank and Betsy were first class passengers (Colin and I were in second) and so as their guests we got to eat in first class.  We had to dress for the part mind you.  Colin wore his tux and I wore a frock and heels along with a pearl necklace that had been left to me years ago by a long dead aunt.

We had a most agreeable time.  Hank and Colin really seemed to have hit it off and Colin went to the bar with Hank so as to leave us ladies alone.  Betsy and I agreed that all we would all take part in various activities and functions together.

Betsy asked me, with a smile, what Colin and I planned to do for the fancy dress ball.  It was the highlight of the cruise as unlike most of the other parties where a strict dress code was enforced, anyone could come dressed as anything.  No holds barred.

I confessed that I must have missed the literature on the fancy dress ball when I had booked the cruise.  We certainly hadn't planned for it.  Colin and I literally had nothing to wear!

Betsy leant over conspiratorally "Hank and I have done this before, you know.  Do you know what our favourite outfits are?"

I admitted that I had no idea.

Betsy smiled again "We like to switch things around.  Y'know, I put on a tux and Hank wears a frock.  Not each others clothes of course, they'd never fit!  But we have our own switcheroo outfits.  Why don't you and Colin try it?"

My mind was still whirling from the idea of seeing big old Hank in a dress "Oh, I don't know....I don't think Colin would want to wear a skirt".  The idea seemed ludicrous.

"It's only a bit of harmless fun" Betsy persisted "Apart from me and Hank, who else do you know on this boat?  Who's going to care less how you are dressed".

She had a lot of good points.  I was warming to the idea of trying something different and unusual "Why not then?"

"Attagirl!" said Betsy.

"But....where am I going to get suitable clothes?"  Colin was taller and slimmer than me and I'd never fit inside his tux.

"Silly girl.  We're on an ocean liner.  It has plenty of shops.  Meet up with me tomorrow and we'll go shopping.  We'll get our men to give us some space".

It was the weirdest shopping trip of my life and I was a veteran shopper.  Betsy insisted on sorting me out first so we went to a tux hire shop where I was measured just like a man would have been and I tried on a tuxedo with the shirt, bow tie, cummerband, socks, shoes and even male underwear.  It was quite a strange experience to behold myself in the mirror, dressed as a male.

Pleased with the purchases for me, we moved on to the women's clothing stores, which were more numerous.  I was able to estimate Colin's size and we picked out a suitable outfit for him.  I couldn't believe as I looked at lingerie, dresses, shoes and jewellery that it would be my husband and not I who would be wearing it all.

Colin's reaction when I had to tell him about the fancy dress ball and the gender switching idea was what I had expected. Namely, incredulity, followed by anger, but I eventually talked him into at least trying the outfit on.

There was no question of him shaving his legs or anything.  Colin refused point blank to do that.  But he put on the white lace panties, matching bra, tights (that Betsy had called pantyhose), a cream silk blouse, a black skirt with red rose patterns on it with a white belt and a gold fastener and a pair of low heeled shoes with shiny gold buckles on.

Except for the fact he looked like a woman with a man's head on her shoulders, Colin looked pretty good.  He was slim and willowy.  His legs looked slender and feminine under the skirt and tights. He had small hands.  It was odd that in over twenty years of knowing him, I'd never noticed that before.

A strange mood had come over Colin.  He seemed quiet and shy and yet made no move to stop me when I applied make up to his face, filled his bra cups with fake boobs and fitted a long blonde wig onto his head.  I enhanced his image further by applying false manicured nails to his fingers and added a few bits of costume jewellery.

Colin made a very convincing woman.  Not a beauty, of course, but nevertheless quite pretty and lovely.  From the back, it was impossible to tell that my husband occupied the female trappings. He must have felt odd and very conspicuous, as I did, dressed in a tuxedo.

But he made no protest or any move to take off the garments.  He even seemed happy for me to take his arm and lead him out to the fancy dress ball.  There we met Betsy and Hank.  Betsy was dressed as I was whilst Hank was dressed as a southern belle in a red dress, bonnet and crinolines.  Hank looked nothing like a woman.  He was simply too big.  Betsy was too tiny to pass as a man.  Betsy and Hank looked far odder than Colin and I.

But then again, there were many other people dressed even more bizarrely. As superheroes, celebrities or as clowns.  Gender switching seemed tame by comparison.

The evening was enjoyable and a complete success.  Colin, I noted, was also enjoying himself and received quite a few compliments on his appearance.  We danced together, with me playing the man's part and him taking that of the woman.

In the early hours of the morning, we got back to our cabin, exhausted.  I helped Colin out of his outfit and I put off mine.  It had been a very interesting and fun experience, I thought as I prepared for bed, but it was purely one off event.  Everything would return to normal.

How wrong I was.

Colin seemed to be completely hooked by the feminine lingerie, and rather than wear his own admittedly boring underpants, he slipped on a pair of black lace panties and decided to wear a pair of tights too underneath his usual male ensemble.

I wanted to say something, to make him take them off, but I shrugged.  Nobody could tell what someone else might be wearing under their outer clothes.  Everyone just naturally assumed that everyone would conform to what was normal for their gender.

Colin went about the ship dressed that way and no-one was any the wiser but I still felt uncomfortable with the knowledge that I knew.

In hindsight, I should have put a stop to Colin's secret cross dressing, for even for the remainder of the cruise it began to get a little out of control or, at least, out of my control!

Once Colin realised he could get away with wearing ladies underwear, he began to push the boundaries further.  To my consternation, he visited the lingerie stores on the ship and bought up more underwear including stockings, suspender belts and basques.  Out of sight of other passengers, he would put his purchases on in our cabin.  It was quite disconcerting to see one's husband clad in in a basque, stockings and high heels.

Colin mastered the art of wearing high heels and stilettos remarkably quickly but then he had always been very bright and a quick study.

Colin made some other purchases too, such as dresses, blouses and skirts and he again wore these in the privacy of our cabin.  He was not quite yet brave enough to go en femme in public.  I was astonished at how feminine Colin's tastes were. The lacier and frillier the garment, the better, and he made my own wardrobe look quite dull in comparison.

I consoled myself that, for one thing, Colin was not thinking about work.  He seemed to have found a new obsession.  And, whilst he was enjoying himself in his new outfits, I was free to spend the rest of the cruise doing what I liked and without him moaning about how bored he was.

Time seemed to accelerate and before long the ship was making its way to its final destination: England.  Colin seemed distraught that the cruise - and his opportunity to dress up - was coming to an end.  I was relieved.  Perhaps this meant that his new craze would come to an end.

With great reluctance, he packed away his clothes and other accessories. He had bought so much that he had had to purchase more luggage to accommodate it all.  Perhaps it could go to charity, I thought.

Once again, I was wrong, for once we got home, Colin set to work clearing out his wardrobe and drawers of some of his old male clothing and installing his new feminine finery in its place.  He had to keep some suits, ties and shoes of course for work, and some leisure wear, but most of his clothes were now women's clothing.

I was greatly dismayed by this development and tried to put my foot down "Colin, please, you can't keep dressing up as a woman...."

"Why shouldn't I?" he said "If I enjoy it?  You've had the benefit of being allowed to wear what you want all your life.  Why shouldn't I be allowed to do the same?"

As always, his logic was irrefutable.  Why shouldn't a man be allowed to wear what he liked and enjoyed wearing?  Women were allowed to wear both skirted garments and trousers and had been for many years now whilst for men it was still only acceptable for them to wear trousers.

But, of course, in our gender-oriented society, it was not as simple as that.  I feared that, one day, the neighbours would see Colin in a dress.  Then that would mean that our friends would find out, which would also mean that Colin's employers would be bound to find out.  Colin would lose his job and we would be shunned socially.

The following day after we had arrived back, Colin returned to work.  He looked like a respectable solicitor in his suit, tie and shoes, but I winced at the knowledge that underneath all that he wore a pair of lace panties.  He had thrown away his male underthings and would henceforth only wear panties.  My efforts to dissuade him were fruitless, so I could only hope no one would ever find out.

Over the next month, Colin seemed to be completely focused on work again.  Until the weekend, which he would spend either dressed or otherwise out shopping for new things.  I focused my efforts on my on-line business.  If Colin lost his job, I would have to support us both financially.

Within a few months, Colin had decided that it was time to hook up with other men with the same predelictions as himself and he used the internet to find CD events.  At odd weekends, he would disappear with a large amount of luggage and I wouldn't see him again until Sunday night.  I quietly wondered what he got up to with his new friends.

Six months after the fateful cruise, Colin announced that he was going away for a week on one of his CD events.  This time, though, he wanted me to go with him!  At first, I refused.  I had no wish to spend a week amongst a load of men dressed as women, even if one of them was my husband, but Colin pleaded with me.  It would mean everything in the world to him if I would come just this one time and if I didn't like it he wouldn't pressure me to attend another event again, he promised.

Reluctantly, I gave in.  He was my husband, the man I loved, and he needed me to support him just for this one time.  It was be the one and only time, I vowed, convinced that I would hate it.

The first day of the event came swiftly upon us and before I knew where I was, I was in a hotel filled with men dressed either in over the top frocks or as more mainstream women.  Some of them looked nothing like women whilst others looked more womanly than I did, but most of them looked mostly like women - until you got close up and noticed stray bits of stubble under the make up or a very visible adam's apple.

The "girls" as our men liked to collectively call themselves, went around together.  But I was not alone.  Far from it, as most of the "girls" had brought their female wives, girlfriends and significant others with them.  We real women stuck together and had drinks and chats whilst our "girls" took part in beauty pageants and other activities laid on for them.

Amongst the women, I encountered differing attitudes to their man's activities.  Cynthia, a lady of upper crust origins whose husband worked as a stockbroker but who was currently strutting about in fishnets and high heels, was clearly unhappy. "He's not the man I married!" she would say, as a kind of mantra "At first, I thought it must be another woman.  All that lingerie, and stockings and all that, but when I realised that the other "woman" was him....".  Cynthia shook her head sadly.

Sue, a bubbly hairdresser, held the completely opposite opinion.  Her Trev "Makes a bloody brilliant girl.  He becomes Tracey and the perfect girlfriend for me.  I get the best of both worlds - a man to take care of me and worship me and also a girlfriend to talk to about anything I want".

Most of the other wives, me included, were kind of in the middle.  We were still coming to terms with it all.  Some of the women moaned that even though their husbands had been dressing for years - decades in some cases! - they still had no idea how to use make up, put on a bra or walk in high heels properly.  Some men, we concluded, make pretty poor specimens of womanhood!

But not my Colin, I had to admit.  He had a staggering amount of clothes and accessories already, even he had only been at it for about seven months.  He could already make himself up pretty well without any help from me and he could certainly manage bras and high heels as though they were natural to him.  Watching him dress one evening, I was astonished at how quickly and completely he transformed himself into a convincing woman.

He was, I noticed, a bit of a star at these events.  He usually won (or came a close second) the beauty pageants and he turned heads as he walked about the hotel.  He was already well known amongst the CD set.

It was, all in all, a wonderful week.  It was not only fun seeing the men clad and behaving as women, but talking and socialising with the wives and sharing our worries and concerns was a real panacea for me.  On the last night, we wives all got rather merry, even the uptight Cynthia, and had an enormously enjoyable time.  It was a relief to let my hair down.

But it was time to go back to the real world.  Colin, I noticed, was a little morose as he packed away the last of his frocks and loaded up the car for the return trip home.  I could sense that his desire to experience womanhood was growing.  This could become a problem later, I realised.

A more immediate problem arose for our boys were at last coming home from their expedition.  Colin did not want to risk damaging his relationship with his sons by his dressing up and so he reluctantly put all his things in the loft and out of the way.

For the three months between the boys returning and their departure for university, Colin reverted to being a man full time but at times I could sense his longing to slip into a frock.  To his credit, he managed to avoid any slips, but the day after we dropped the boys off (they were going to the same university thankfully otherwise we would have been on the road all day), Colin's dresses and other things were rescued from the loft.

Later that evening, Colin was wearing a peach coloured dress and high heels and walking about as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.  I looked at him in dismay.  This dressing up was getting out of hand.  I decided that it was time to talk about it, so on the following day, after we had eaten, before Colin could head upstairs to change into something more feminine, I asked him to sit down.

"Colin.....this business of you dressing up as a woman.  You clearly enjoy it and I have to admit it's been a bit of fun.  But it's got to stop".  I said firmly.

Colin's reaction was to burst into tears.  I instinctively went to hug him.  He said, between sobs, that he would die if he couldn't be allowed to dress up.  I told him not to be so silly.  It would be a painful wrench for him not to be able to indulge himself, and it wouldn't be easy, I told him, but he would get over it and things would return to normal.

But Colin shook his head.  He was not giving it up and I couldn't make him, he said.  I was shaken by these words.  The basis of our relationship, which had been so stable since the day we had married, if not before, was changing.  I wanted things to go back to the way they were before but Colin didn't.  For the first time in many years, we were at odds with each other.

I played the only card I had left, and it nearly broke my heart to have to resort to it but he had to be made to see sense "Colin, if you don't give up this obsession, I'll......divorce you.  I married a man, not a man who dresses as a woman".

Colin looked at me as if I had just slapped him "You don't understand at all" he said "I don't want to be a man anymore, I want to be a woman!"

I was once again in shock "Don't be absurd.  You aren't a woman.  You can never be one.  You were born as a man.  You don't get to choose what sex you are so we all have to live with being men and women, even if we aren't happy with it!"

But Colin was defiant "If I choose to live as a woman, no-one can stop me.  It's what I want"

"Colin, if you DO do that, you will lose everything.  Your job, your home, your friends, your sons, even me, because what you are suggesting is bonkers!"

"Not to me, it isn't" he said simply "So, I'm going to do it.  Starting tomorrow".

I stared at him in disbelief.  So, this business about being a woman was more important to Colin than our marriage!  That was in effect what he was saying.  I rushed upstairs, packed a suitcase and left.  Colin begged me to stay, but I couldn't.  Not after what he had just said.  I drove off, leaving him standing on the drive and didn't look back.

The next few weeks were a kind of limbo.  I went back to my mother's house.  My father had died two years earlier, so she was glad of my company, although I wasn't in the best of moods alternatively crying or raging against the idiot I had married.  I looked into the possibility of divorce. The woman solicitor I saw said I probably had a good case and that I'd probably get the house and a decent amount of alimony.  But I decided not to make a firm decision yet.  Maybe Colin would come to his senses and agree that he had been foolish.

To my bewilderment and consternation, Colin made no attempt to contact me during that time.

The boys had worked out that their parents had had a falling out but when they called me I just said it was a stupid argument but without revealing the real reason why.  For some reason, it was important to me that Colin was not exposed to ridicule or shunned by his own sons.

Three weeks after I had left, I decided that I needed to return to the house - I no longer viewed it as our marital home - in order to collect the rest of my things.  I would live with mum for a while, probably divorce Colin and buy my own place with the proceeds, all of which would take time.  I went back during the day, as Colin would be at work and at the moment he was last person I wanted to see.

I was surprised, on arrival, to find Colin's car on the drive.  With a sinking heart, I realised that he must be home.  It was not really that surprising as if Colin did go to work in a skirt and heels, he wouldn't be employed for much longer at his firm.

I opened the door to the house to find what I expected - and feared - I would see.

It was Colin, but he looked nothing like he did when I last saw him.  He wore a cream silk blouse, a  dark grey skirt that came down to just below his knees, black tights (or stockings) and black court shoes.  A grey jacket with a gold broach completed the ensemble.

What Colin was wearing was no surprise, but the rest of his appearance was for he had had his eyebrows plucked into the classic feminine arch, his ears had been pierced and fitted with gold earrings, his nails had been filed and painted in a dark red shade and he wore full make up and a long black wig.

He even had a bosom, though I guessed that it must be entirely artificial.

I couldn't help but look at him.  His femme presentation was flawless and exactly right for him.  Colin hadn't been silly enough to try and go for a sexy or over the top look.  Rather, he had gone for a more mainstream image.  He looked and dressed exactly like a sensible lady solicitor of his age.

Actually, I had to admit that he was quite pretty and had great legs.  I was glad I was currently wearing trousers as my own legs would not look as good as his.

But, I remembered the reason for my visit and it was not to gawp at my husband in his lady things.

"I've come to get the rest of my things" I told him "I won't be long and then I'll be gone".

"Maggie, please" Colin said "Won't you stay a while?"

I wasn't inclined to, but firstly we had things we needed to talk about, like the divorce, and second, I was dying to know how Colin was.  A few minutes later Colin and I were sitting having a cup of tea.  It was a very odd reunion with him all dressed up.  I asked him how he was.

Colin said that he was better than he expected to be.  He had gone to work the day after I had left, dressed as he was now and he had predictably caused a furore.  He had been suspended, issued an ultimatum to return to work dressed normally.  Colin had refused and been sacked.  He said that he would be taking them to court for unfair dismissal.  He was currently setting up his own legal practice though that would take some time.  He had spoken to the boys and like me had not told them the real reason why we had split up.  He missed me and wished I would come home.

I gave him my news and as I did so realised that I still loved him.  He had been really foolish but also incredibly brave.  Even now, he was trying to rebuild his life, but in his new persona.  He had even assumed a female name, Coleen.  He would always be Colin to me.

He begged me to come home.  I knew that he needed me, now more than ever.  When we had married all those years ago, we had promised to stay true to each other and to stand with each other "Through better and worse".  Well, I reflected that I had had 20 good years of marriage and now I had to accept that with the appearance of "Coleen" we were about to embark on the "worse" bit.

I moved back in the following day.  Mum was sad to see me go but happy that I was going back to my husband.  But it was very strange co-existence at first.  I had to accept and share my home and even my bed with "Coleen", with her hairless body, her painted nails, her perfume and her fussy, frilly nightdress, and yet remember that this feminised creature was still my husband.

Until Colin got his new practice sorted out - he was waiting on his severance money from his old firm - he was stuck at home.  I got him to wear frocks rather than his lady solicitor outfit.  I was also determined to make him do more around the house.  He could wash his own clothes and underwear for a start.  I also got him dusting, cleaning and hoovering.  As usual, Colin was a quick study and soon knew how to do all the household almost as well I as I did.

Colin eventually got his money and rented a small office out of which to run his new practice.  Unusually, he hired a male secretary, Barry.  Barry was not bothered that he was working for a transvestite.  In fact, he was grateful, as he told me when I popped in to see Colin that he had found it very difficult to get anyone to hire him.  There was still a huge stigma around a man being a secretary.  Colin was prepared to give him a chance and vice versa.  Barry proved to be a loyal and hard working secretary.

Colin's practice took off.  As well as handling the usual legal stuff, Colin had found a niche market in dealing with cases involving transvestites and transexuals.  Under the skirts, stockings and high heels, Colin was still a hotshot lawyer.  The practice grew and Colin's new partners and staff had to accept that "Coleen" was the boss and could wear what she liked!

In the meantime, my own internet business was flourishing, so between us, Colin and I easily made enough money to maintain our lifestyle.  We had had to tell our boys about "Coleen" but whereas in my childhood cross-dressing was still a big taboo, our boys grew up in a more enlightened age, and were more understanding than we had hoped for.  Gradually, they stopped calling Colin "Dad" and began calling him Coleen, which pleased him greatly.

There were (and always will be) awkward moments between Colin and I.  I could live with the idea of "Coleen" but sometimes the reality caused frictions and problems.  Take, for example, the occasion when Colin and I had to attend a party to honour the fact that Barry had become engaged to a female secretary.  Colin had rushed out and bought himself a gorgeous frock, all in blue silk and ribbon, and dressed himself in it.  With his slender, hairless legs, small hands with painted nails and a clutch bag he looked like a million dollars.  I wore a dress, heels and make up too and looked positively dowdy beside him.  It was the woman who was supposed to dress up and look good.  I wasn't very happy with Colin that night.

And there were many other times.  I had married in what would then have been a very reasonable expectation that man and woman would retain their traditional gender roles and dress.  Gender roles were changing as women became better educated and could earn, and that was no bad thing.  Successful career women with a househusband were becoming more common and accepted.  But to genderbend traditional dress was another thing.  When we had been married we had been proclaimed as "Man and Wife", but now my husband was opting out of being a man where did that leave me?  I certainly wasn't a man and how can I be a wife when there is no man?  This was a question I had no answer to.

Looking at Colin getting into another frock, slipping on a pair of heels or sitting at his vanity to apply his make up, it seemed incredible that this man, who had been brought up as a male for the first 40 odd years of his life, could so suddenly and completely switch over to femininity.  I remembered years ago, when I had been a schoolgirl, I had hated being made to wear the thick, heavy grey skirt and big clumsy shoes that had defined my gender.  I couldn't have imagined any boy ever wanting to wear such things.  It was startling to realise that, based on my own experiences so far, there was probably at least one boy at that school who wanted nothing more than to wear that skirt.

And, what did the future hold?  Colin now looked so convincing as a woman, and he had begun taking hormones so that he could grow real breasts, reduce his musculature and give himself so more womanly curves and he had even taken to wearing a corset of all things, that he was bound to get asked out by men.  Where would it all lead to?  To him dating men, maybe even, after first divorcing me, marrying one and becoming a real wife.  It was mind boggling, but not impossible.

As I struggled to come to terms with the changes in my husband, it occurred to me that I needed to change too!  If my husband was a woman, then the logical thing was for me, if not to become a man, but more masculine.  It was quite appealing, actually to eschew the femininity that my husband had hijacked.  So, I got myself male clothing, and determined to wear it all of the time.

Colin loved it.  It was, apparently, his fantasy that he should switch and become the woman and wife, whilst I took the man's role and dress.  Now it was my fantasy too.  With my hair cut short, I looked a lot like a man.   With both of us looking convincing in our new genders, we could remain as man and wife, but with me as the man and him as the wife.

The End