Cinderella Shall Go To the Masquerade Ball

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As I walked up the garden path towards my own front door, my next-door neighbour called to me through her open front window. "Jim!"

I turned to face her with a smile, and she added in a quieter voice, "There was a parcel delivered here today, but I think it was meant for you. You are Jim Brown, aren't you? Only it was addressed to my house, 11 Albert Road. It is for you, isn't it?"

I had only been in the house for a week, and we'd soon exchanged first names - but not yet surnames.

"Sorry, Brenda," I said, "I must have put the wrong address on the order."

"No problem," she said. "I know what it's like when you first move in to a new home. So many different things to remember; it's easy to get confused."

I shrugged. It had been stupid all the same. "It's been delivered very quickly," I said. "I only ordered it last night. I'll come round and collect it now."

"It's a home brewing kit," I explained as I stepped through her front door. "My parents used to brew their own beer all the time, so I thought I'd give it a go. Much cheaper than buying it in the shops."

"Oh," she said, looking rather surprised. "It seems quite large for a home brewing kit."

She took me into her lounge and I looked at the parcel she indicated, and then took a second look. She was right; it was a huge box - about four feet high and almost too wide to go through her door. "I think it must have a barrel inside," I joked.

I picked up the huge box as best I could - actually, it was quite light - and returned to my house, setting it down in the lounge. I was really looking forward to brewing my own beer; a bit like doing a chemistry experiment, only with more worthwhile results. And with it having arrived on Friday, it gave me the whole weekend to get brewing.

But when I'd laid the parcel on its back, used the scissors on the parcel tape and hinged back the lid, there was no collection of hops, chemicals, pipes and tubes inside, but instead an enormous, folded garment bag. Clearly, this hadn't come from the brewing company; and I certainly hadn't ordered any items of clothing recently.

So, obviously a mistake.

Even so, I grabbed hold of the coat hanger protruding from the garment bag to lift it out of the box, and let the bag unfold to its full height - almost as tall as I was. I realised that my heart had started to pump wildly. I hooked the hanger over the top of the open door, and then, even though I knew this package couldn't possibly be for me, irresistibly I pulled the zip down from top to bottom.

Inside was the most gorgeous gown I had ever seen; a gown with layers and layers of lace in the most beautiful shade of blue imaginable; a gown with a wonderful heart-shaped neckline that would surely show off a woman's breasts to their very best; and, when I pulled the garment bag wide open and let it drop off the shoulders and fall to the floor, I could see the puffed-up sleeves that turned the gown into a dress fit for a princess.

I realised I had been holding my breath, and now I took huge gulps of air as I stared at this fantastic creation. It was only as I looked at it more carefully that I saw the pastel-blue envelope pinned to the hanger, with the words carefully written in a beautiful script.

To Cinderella,

You shall go to the ball after all.

With love from your Fairy Godmother.

"Oh God!" With a burning flush to my cheeks, I realised not only who had sent it - Aunty Helen, my real godmother - but that she understood more about me than I had ever dared to reveal to anyone.

You see, I had always had this fascination for women's clothing. As a small boy, I had envied the Sindy doll which belonged to my sister Jenny; how I wished that my name was not Jim, but Sindy, and that I could be continually dressed and undressed in that wonderful range of outfits she had. But even at that age, I knew enough to keep quiet about my desires.

Later on, as my sister and I grew through our teens, and she bought one shocking piece of apparel after another (unknown to her, I always kept a very close eye upon her wardrobe), I fantasised that I was Cindy (Sindy was such an immature name to a teenager!) able to wear the sexy outfits my sister wore. OK, maybe I borrowed one or two items of her clothes and tried them on. Later, I was so consumed with guilt at being a nasty pervert, that I grew up having real difficulties with my relationship with girls.

Even to this day, at the age of twenty-nine, and unlike every one of my friends, I still don't have a live-in girlfriend, and my sexual experiences have been incredibly limited.

And Aunty Helen had sussed me!

***

Actually, once I'd got over my initial embarrassment and started to think more clearly, I suddenly realised that Helen was empowering me to wear the dress. She was really saying, "It's alright to do what you enjoy doing."

I reached for the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a ticket to the University Masquerade Ball for that very evening. For a moment, I was furious with Aunt Helen for leaving it until the last moment, but then I realised she had done it for a reason; if I'd had time to think about going to the ball dressed as a woman, I'd never have the courage to do it. As it was, she had handed me the chalice; I could deal with it as she thought best; or I could run away. It was, after all, I reasoned, a University Masquerade Ball; there could well be lots of male students dressed as women. Even if there were not, I was only doing something in keeping with the wishes of the organiser. I made my decision.

I turned back to the box, which had several other items inside. Another bulging garment bag contained a petticoat that was so white and frilly, I thought my heart would explode with pleasure. I forced myself to put that to one side and turn to the other items: a black, lace-up bodice; transparent, high-heeled shoes (made of strong plastic rather than the glass of Cinderella's shoes); and a pair of lacy white stockings with matching suspender belt. Then, beneath all of those, was a package labelled: "Voluptuous Body Skin by Big Busts." In smaller letters beneath, it stated: "Size: L. Will fit average to tall male of slim build."

I stared at the package for a moment, puzzled about it, then pulled a garment out of the packaging to examine it more carefully.

It was a bit like a flesh-coloured body stocking, although the material was quite different; when I ran my fingers over it, it had the texture like... well, I suppose just like real skin. I held it by one end and let it unravel, and could see now that it was an all-over body stocking, with attached hood with face-mask and long, curly black hair, attached gloves for the hands complete with long finger-nails inset into the tips, and attached socks for the feet with individual toes, again with inset nails. It was a bit stretchy - the whole thing was only about five feet high, and about twelve inches across the waist, but I guessed it would fit me, if I could only work out exactly how to get into it.

There were openings for the mouth and eyes, but clearly I wasn't going to squeeze through any of those, and, er, well yes, there were openings for vagina and rectum, but that was it. Until I looked a little more closely around the genital area, and realised there were concealed plastic zips at the rear, which reached from side to side beneath the curve of the buttocks. Releasing the zips left a sizeable hole into which I could push my body.

In fact, the whole procedure was carefully outlined in the instructions on the packaging. Firstly, I had to insert my head through the gap around the arse and right up inside the torso until I could force it through the narrow neck into the head-mask itself, and adjust the position of the nostril so they fitted inside my own.

I then had to spend some time making certain it fitted properly around the eyes and mouth. It was slightly adhesive to the skin immediately next to the eyes, so I could spend time manipulating it until the lower eyelashes on the suit just lined up to my own. There was an incredibly thin membrane above the eye which came down over my eyelids, and again I was able to merge my own eyelashes in with the long ones on the bodysuit.

The lips on the suit fitted over my own and curved just inside my inner lips. Again, the slight adhesion kept everything in place after I had manoeuvred the lips so they fitted just right.

After that, I could start pulling the bodysuit over my shoulders, thrust my arms down the sleeves, and locate my hands in the gloves. The fingers were a very snug fit, and it looked really strange when I turned over my hands and saw the long, red finger-nails, which were now on my fingers.

They made every other operation a bit more difficult, and it was easy to see why the instructions recommended getting the hood properly fitted around the face before moving to this stage. Fortunately, getting onto the rest of the suit was not particularly difficult. I pulled the suit down my body as far as my hips, and I then had to sit on the floor, bend over double, and in turn, grasp each leg by the ankle and so I could slip it into the top of the leg. Fortunately, the material was extremely stretchy here, and I managed to do it all without tearing. Then I could stand up again and pull closed the concealed zips on the underside of my buttocks.

The trickiest operation (made much worse by my long finger-nails) was to slip my genitals inside a little sac on the underside of the gusset, but when that was done, I could pull the gusset between my legs and fasten it to the rear with the concealed clip.

For the final part, I was told to locate the rip-cord emerging from my vagina, stand upright and pull it to release the valve on the small cylinder, packed into my vagina. I had originally thought the cylinder was simply a packing tube, to demonstrate that the vagina really could hold a medium sized prick, but when I'd looked more closely, had realised the device had a more useful purpose. It looked a little like a Sparklet's canister, and the instructions said it contained a jelly-like foam which would expand within the bodysuit to fill out all the necessary places, such as the boobs and buttocks.

It was a bit like pulling the rip-cord on an inflatable dinghy. One second I was standing there in an ill-fitting coverall - the next, I was filling out into one of the shapeliest women you have ever seen. My boobs grew melon-sized, and my hips and arse balanced them to form a superb hourglass figure. When I looked in the mirror, I could see that even my face had filled out: my cheeks becoming round, and my lips full, and looked very kissable.

"Bugger me." My words served to emphasise that whilst my body might look like that of a fabulous woman, my voice was anything but. I scanned the instructions for the Voluptuous Body Skin, and there, right at the end, it told me to take a shot from the bottle of Voice Changer liquid, to increase the frequency of my voice. It worked in a similar way to helium, I was told, to tighten the vocal strings. It seemed to work more like sulphuric acid when I swallowed it, with a burning sensation that I thought would remove my vocal strings.

But in fact, I sounded as sweet as a nightingale when I spoke to myself in the mirror. "Hello beautiful."

It was time to get dressed.

Stockings and suspender-belt first, I reasoned, followed by the shoes. Otherwise, I'd have a hell of a job even seeing them underneath the layers of lace, once I started to put on the petticoat and dress.

It all worked fairly well. Once I had on the shoes and stockings, I was able to step into the hole in the centre of the petticoat and pull it up around my waist and tie it. Pulling the wonderfull ball gown over my head made my heart beat fit to burst, but was easy to do. But I knew the difficult part would be to put on the bodice. It was clearly too small for my waistline, and it would look stupid if I didn't get it on properly.

In fact, the bodice worked exactly like a corset. After slipping into the bodice like a waistcoat, I could thread the long cord through the lace holes from bottom to top, and then painstakingly draw them tighter and tighter. And as the bodice grew tighter, so my body took on an ever increasingly attractive shape. The improvement was seductive, and I thought I was probably going to crack a rib as I drew the cords in so tight I could barely breathe. But gradually, I narrowed the gap between the two front halves of the bodice, until finally they met, and I was able to tie the two ends of the cord together in a double-bow. Fortunately, I could push the spare lengths of cord down my bosom, so when I had completed everything, I looked every bit like Cinderella, as she went to the ball.

***

I reckoned there'd be no mice to turn into horses to pull Cinderella's carriage, so I telephoned for a taxi instead.

I kept a careful eye on the driver's face as I climbed into the taxi, as he eyed my breasts bulging out of the top of my dress. He could hardly believe his luck. I sat down, gave him a big smile in the mirror, and gave a huge sigh of relief, causing my breasts to heave in and out of my dress in sympathy. I heard the driver gulp at the vision in his mirror, and I gave myself an internal pat on the back. So far, so good.

Afterwards, I realised I must have been drunk - not on alcohol, but on the sheer beauty of the dress and of me in it. Although I had tried on my sisters clothes, and found them highly erotic, I'd been realistic enough to realise that I had no chance of passing in public as a woman.

But now, wearing this bodysuit had not only given me fantastic tits, it had also moulded my face into a different shape. Combined with the fabulous dress, I knew I was going to be the belle of the ball. Of course, I should have known better. I had no experience as a woman. Even walking on the high-heels was a continual challenge, and as for picking up the character traits of a woman, I stood no chance.

So what? I asked myself. Even if I threw back my shoulders and staggered about like some of more macho mates, there was no way anyone would suss I was a man. Not with those tits.

In fact, it all worked perfectly. OK, as soon as I arrived at the ball, I received plenty of stares from men and women - the women glaring at me for having such enormous tits poking out of that fantastic gown; and the men admiring me for the same reason. I plucked a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

"I knew that the most beautiful girl at the ball wearing the most beautiful dress would be coming as Cinderella."

I turned to view the speaker. It was Prince Charming himself! I grinned back at him. "Or perhaps I knew you would be coming as Prince Charming," I replied.

"Well since you have to disappear before midnight, do you mind if I kiss you now?"

He leaned forward and planted his lips on mine. Wow!

I took a step backwards, my heart thudding wildly. How had I allowed that to happen? It wasn't as though I was gay or anything; I simply liked wearing this beautiful gown. And, I realised with a thrill, I enjoyed being Cinderella in all its guises. But I said, as coolly as I could manage with my heart thumping like that, "You certainly don't waste your time, but wouldn't it have been polite to wait for an answer?"

"I'm sorry," he said, suddenly aghast. "But you are the kissogram, aren't you?"

"What!" I gasped, totally gob-smacked. I had thought I might be sussed as a guy in disguise, but mistaken for a kissogram…

"How dare you. I certainly am not." I turned from him, walking away as fast as my heels would carry me.

Which wasn't very fast. He had no trouble keeping pace with me. "Look, I'm awfully sorry. It's just that I'd heard whispers that my so-called mates were going to set me up. They're always having a go at me; they make my life a misery, and you looked so incredibly beautiful. When I saw you wearing that absolutely stunning Cinderella dress, I thought you must be part of it. I'm so sorry. Will you let me buy you a drink to make up for it?"

"It's a ball," I said, pausing to face him. "The drink is free." Just to make the point, I grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"I know," he said. "It's just that I'm really clumsy when it comes to talking to women, especially incredibly beautiful ones, and I didn't know what else to say."

I took another look at him as I strolled towards the doors leading outside. There was no doubt he made an excellent Prince Charming, as attractive as any I had ever seen at a pantomime. But at the pantomime, Prince Charmings are always women, I silently told myself, which, I reasoned, was probably the reason why he was teased by his mates. He had a kind of beauty that would make him a natural target from homophobic male students.

By this time, we'd reached the terrace overlooking the grounds. I sat down at a table.

"I can't believe you're clumsy with women," I said. "You must have lots of girlfriends."

He shook his head, sitting down opposite me. "No," he said. "The problem is that I'm doing a computer engineering degree, and there are only a few girls on the same course. All the other blokes cluster around those like flies around the jam pot."

"There are plenty other girls at the university," I replied.

"We're not sited on the main campus," he said. "We're located at the Faraday Annex and it's miles away, on the other side of town. We hardly ever get over here."

I almost felt sorry for him, but then thought again. After all, he was incredibly good-looking, with his long hair falling down to his shoulders.

"It's not my hair," he confessed, following my eyes. "I got it with the suit when I hired it." He leaned a little closer so that the couple walking by would not overhear.

"In fact, I think the suit's intended for a woman to wear," he added. "I mean, it would normally be a woman who dressed as Prince Charming in a pantomime, wouldn't it?"

At least he'd realised that, I thought, but said, "I suppose so. What made you choose Prince Charming as your character?"

"I told you," he said, "I'd heard they were setting me up with a Cinderella kissogram, so I thought I would beat them at their own game, and go as Prince Charming. When the assistant in the fancy dress shop realised the suit was for me, she suggested the wig, and some really-good stage make-up to hide my spotty... that is, to cover up a few minor blemishes on my face, and it's worked incredibly well - I hardly recognise myself.

"Anyway," he continued, "when I saw you wearing that beautiful dress, I assumed you were the kissogram and thought I'd take my mates by surprise, rather than the other way round. By the way, I'd better tell you, my mates are all watching us; hoping to see you tell me to get stuffed, I guess."

"Where are they?" I deliberately avoided turning around to look.

"In the corner by the wall," he said. "It's quite dark over there, I can hardly see them."

"Well why don't we give them something to watch," I said. I leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Oh God!" he said, and then kissed me back. In a second, his tongue had slipped between my lips and was playing with mine; in another second, his hand was resting on my breast and gently squeezing it, then caressing my nipples.

Shameless hussy that I am, I was enjoying it.

"My name's James, by the way." We'd taken a short break to sip more champagne.

"That's a nice name," I said, stopping myself just in time from adding that he had the same name as me.

"I'm Lucinda," I quipped, "and my friends all call me Cindy." Those were the words I'd rehearsed countless times whilst wearing my sisters clothes. "So you see, there really was no choice which character I should come as."

"Are you a student here?" he asked, "and where did you get that wonderful dress."

"No, I'm not a student," I said, "I work and live the other side of town. My aunt got my dress for me as a present, together with a ticket for the ball. I wouldn't have come otherwise."

"Then I must thank your aunt," he said. "She must know all the best shops in town. I hadn't realised anywhere sold such fabulous clothes."

"I guess it's hired," I said, and added, following a hunch, "Do you find my dress incredibly sexy?"

"Yes," he said.

I picked up my dress by the hem, along with the petticoat beneath and thrust it over his knees. As I did so, I accidentally brushed my hand against the bulge I'd noticed in his trousers. At least, I think it was an accident.

So why did I add, "You mean very, very sexy?"

I couldn't believe what my hand was doing as, beneath the petticoat and all of its own accord, it slowly rubbed up and down against his bulge.

"Oh, yes!"

"Like," I said, as my hand pulled down his zip and let out his erection beneath my dress, "incredibly sexy."

"God, yes!" he said. "Yes, yes, yes!" as I my fingers and thumb encircled his prick and started working him up and down.

Harder and harder, I jerked him, slowing down slightly when I saw the glazed look appearing in his eye.

"Don't stop," he said. "Please go..."

"Are you two entering the fancy dress competition? It's just about to start." It was a woman's voice behind my shoulder.

"No," I said, just as James was saying, "Yes." But I suspect he was probably talking about something else altogether.

"You're both very good," the women said, appraising us both. "You might win."

"OK," I said. "Let's do it."

"In any case," the woman added, bending forward to whisper into my ear, "it doesn't do to wank them off too quickly. You never see them again."

James was about to protest some more, but I abruptly stood up and my dress started to slither off his legs, so he hurriedly had to hide his prick.

After he'd got his penis under control, I grabbed him by the hand and walked him towards the ballroom. There were a bunch of guys standing by the door. They jeered at us - I presumed they were James's mates but I didn't understand what was meant when one of them said to James, "You had a lucky escape there, mate."

Another one added, "And you'll know just how lucky in a few minutes time."

Surely, they couldn't have worked out I was a man, could they?

"What did that mean," I whispered to James after we had left them behind.

"Hanged if I know," he said. "It was almost as though they hadn't recognised who I was. But if that was the case, why were they watching us?"

"Don't you think they may simply have been watching me?" I preened myself. "After all, am I not the sexiest girl at the ball?"

***

The competition was fairly straightforward. In response to the MC's instructions, we had to parade around the dance floor in a circle. Initially, there must have been forty or fifty people, but the judges rapidly whittled it down to five couples. Then we had to walk around once more, only much more slowly so the judges could get a proper eyeful of us.

Then the MC came onto the floor and announced that the judges were having difficulty deciding, so they wanted us to walk around once more. We should have the result at midnight, he said.

"Well that's no good," James said with a smile. "You have to leave before then, otherwise you'll turn into a pumpkin."

"I don't think it works quite like that," I said. "In any case, I reckon we're in with a chance of winning this prize, and I'm not running away before then."

Sure enough, the clock had just started striking twelve when the MC returned to the microphone and said he was ready to announce the result. In third place were a couple dressed as Mickey and Minnie Mouse - and pretty pathetic I thought they looked. In second place, were Julie Andrews and Chris Plummer Sound of Music lookalikes.

"And in first place," the MC announced, "are Cinderella and her Prince Charming." Rapturous applause, and I sank into the arms of Prince Charming as the clock struck the last chime of twelve, and he gave me a wonderful kiss. We walked up to the podium, and I was presented with a lovely bunch of flowers, whilst James was given an envelope containing a voucher for a weekend for two at the Ritz in London. Cameras flashed, and we posed for them. A wonderful moment.

"Before we finish here." It was one of James's mates striding forward and speaking very loudly, and bringing the hall to silence again. "I think everyone should know about the absolutely splendid effort made by Cinderella to win this prize. Indeed, perhaps Cinderella will wish she had left the ball at midnight." (My blood suddenly ran cold.) "For Cinderella is not a female, but a man." (Oh my God!) "Well known for his love of female clothing - in fact you could say the only reason he'll undress a woman is so that he can wear her clothes." (That was just not true.) "Yes, Cinderella is none other than Jim Brown from..."

I picked up my skirts and ran from the ballroom leaving his words echoing in my ears. I ran out onto the terrace and down the steps to the dark garden beyond. The problem was as soon as I stepped onto the lawn, my heel sank into it and my shoe came off. I ran on without it.

***

It had all been a trap, I realised. Somehow, James's friends had discovered my secret and realised what tremendous fun they could have by playing me - dressed as a woman - off against him. It was not my Aunty Helen who had sent me the package containing the wonderful dress and the method by which I might disguise myself - it had been James's so-called mates who had sent it, knowing I wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity.

Poor James, I thought. He seemed such a nice guy, and now he'd believe I had betrayed him. I had, too. I hadn't meant to lead him on, but it had seemed so natural, dressed as Cinderella to behave as Cinderella naturally would. (OK, I know that on stage she doesn't give anyone a wank, but that is pantomime.)

I started to work my way back towards the exit, where hopefully I'd be able to pick up a taxi to get home. The problem was, it was very dark in that garden, and I kept losing my way. Also, I was terrified of meeting anyone since they would know all about me, so every time I heard someone else close by, I ran in the opposite direction. When I finally got to the taxi rank, there was a long queue, and I remained hidden in the shrubs for ages. Eventually, when there were only a couple of people waiting, I plucked up courage to get into the queue, jumped into a taxi and asked the driver to take me home.

***

"Cinderella. Would you try on this glass slipper, so I may know that it is yours?"

God knows where he sprang from, but I had stepped out of the taxi and paid it off, turned towards my front door, my key at the ready, and he just stood there in front of Brenda's house, holding my transparent shoe before him.

"James! You gave me a start. How did you get here?"

"Not James, Cinders, but Prince Charming." He gave me a disarming smile, and went down onto one knee before me. "Now if you would like to try on the shoe?"

I thought he'd want to punch me, not go through the Cinderella routine, but if he wasn't going to re-live the embarrassing moments we had been through, then I certainly wasn't. I put a foot forward and he slipped it onto my foot.

"A perfect fit," he cried. It wasn't actually, but it was good enough. "Do you feel up to walking?" he asked. "I only live five minutes away, and I've got a bottle of champagne on ice."

Clearly, he wasn't going to punch me. I vaguely wondered why not as I said, "Five minutes' walk for a bottle of champagne sounds good."

He put his arm through mine and we started walking.

"Presumably your friends told you where I lived?" I asked. Ever since my exposure at midnight, I'd been wondering how his friends had found out about me. As far as I was aware, my cross dressing had always been a well-kept secret, and I certainly didn't know any of them, so how did they know that occasionally I cross-dressed?

"My friends no more," he said. "Well, they never were my friends but I used to put up with them as we were all on the same course. I'm so sorry about all that, and sorry that you got inadvertently dragged into it."

James words made no sense, so I said, "How do you mean, inadvertently dragged into it?"

"Well, it was all a stupid mistake, of course. They'd taken a dislike towards me, and they thought - well this is something totally stupid - but they thought I was a cross dresser."

"They thought YOU were a cross dresser?" I was losing the plot here.

"Yes. Stupid, isn't it? But they thought they'd have a good laugh at my expense. Hire me a dress, and buy me a ticket for the ball, assuming that I'd go along with it and dress up as Cinderella - as though anyone would. Then they'd watch me making a fool of myself, and expose me at midnight."

"But if they hired the dress for you, why did they send it to my address? Well…" I had a sudden thought. "Well, actually, they sent it to my neighbour's address and she assumed it was for me."

He smiled. "And your neighbour's address is 11 Albert Road, right?"

I nodded.

"My address," he continued, "is 11 Albert ROW. So it's easy enough for the delivery driver to make a stupid mistake, and deliver to Albert Road, instead of Albert Row. It's happened previously, so that's how I guessed where you lived. I got a taxi down here and waited for you."

"Oh," I said.

"So when your neighbour received a beautiful, Cinderella gown and a ticket for the ball, she presumed it was for you because Cindy is your nickname."

"I thought my aunt had sent it," I said, carefully evading the question.

"Meanwhile, the whole college was buzzing with the rumour that I was being set up for some kind of trick involving Cinderella, and I assumed it would be a kissogram, so I dressed as Prince Charming to counter it. And the really funny thing was that they didn't recognise me because I had on the wig and the make-up, and they believed that you, looking so absolutely gorgeous, was really me in disguise. How could anyone believe that you could possibly be a man?"

"So at midnight," I said, not wishing to go there, "when your friends made their big pronouncement about Cinderella, they thought they were going to expose YOU? But they called ME Jim Brown." I was still trying to work this out.

"You should have seen their faces," he said, "when I whipped off my wig and pronounced they were talking absolute rubbish about you, since I was James Hadley-Brown."

"That's your name?" I asked. "James Hadley-Brown

He nodded. "Yes, but they always called me Jim Brown just to annoy me. I mean, Jim Brown sounds so common, doesn't it?"

I'd been wondering whether I should come clean with him - that decided it.

"The Vice-Chancellor was in the audience," James said. "You should have heard how he shouted at them - bringing the reputation of the University into bad repute, he said - and told them to be in his office at 9 am on Monday.

"I mean, my make-up was good, but it wasn't that good," he continued. "What kind of disguise did they think I had, to believe that I could possibly look like YOU?" He shook his head in wonderment. "Just shows what a bunch of morons they all are, doesn't it. They probably conceived and planned it all when they were drunk."

"That must be it," I said.

"This is my house," James said, gesturing towards a huge Victorian edifice.

"Wow," I said. "Very impressive."

"It belongs to my parents, actually," he said, unlocking the front door and stepping inside, "but they only use it occasionally."

"You mean we're all on our own?" I asked.

"Absolutely," he said, drawing me to him and planting his lips on mine.

***

Later, much later, I said, "My dress drives you wild, doesn't it?"

He looked rather sheepish. "It is very sexy."

"But men usually want to get a dress off a woman," I said. "I've never known any man who wants to keep my dress on whilst we make love." (That was certainly true.)

"It's just so beautiful," he said.

"Would you like to try it on?" I asked him.

"Look, you don't believe all that nonsense about me wearing dresses, do you?"

I looked at him carefully and said, "Yes, and I don't mind at all. In fact, I find it incredibly exciting. Now do you want to try on my dress or don't you?"

"Yes please," he said.

THE END


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Comments

Great Story

Another terrific story, with some new twists! It kept me guessing till the intended time. Thank You for sharing it with us.
Avid Reader

Hang on a minute...

This is definitely one of those "hang on a minute..." stories. Everything seems to be proceeding in a fairly orthodox manner when suddenly - the author goes and stands the whole thing on it's head.

Loved every minute of it. "Pull the rip-cord hanging out of my vagina", indeed!

Don't stop writing.

Penny

I'd say there was magic involved as it seems ...

Jezzi Stewart's picture

too much to be coincidence that a. they both had the same first and last name; b. the same address except for road/Row; and c. they were both crossdressers (or CD wannabes)

Is Jim/Cindy now Cindy permanently?

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

All that looks like magic has a rational explanation

I'll certainly accept it was a coincidence, but probably not as great as you feel.

1 Brown is one of the most common surnames in the UK; James is a very common first name; so the combination of James (or Jim) and Brown is certainly not unusual.

2 They did not have identical addresses apart from Row/Road. It was a neighbour who made the connection between the addressee and the second Jim Brown;

3 Whatever the official percentage of the male population are thought to be CDs, I bet it's understated, and it's certainly not impossible for two random males both to be CDs.

In any case, any story is only a story because of a unique set of circumstances. Hundreds of thousands of parcels get wrongly delivered every day without these events happening. This story is written about the one misdirected parcel when they did! The same probably goes for almost every story on this site which do not contain magic.

Don't forget - magic doesn't exist! It's only there because people hate coincidence.

Is Jim now permanently Cindy? Who knows what tomorrow holds?

Thanks for your comments - glad you enjoyed the story.

Love Charlotte

Tut-Tut

How do you know magic does not exist? If real magic exists (not the new age nonsense) then intelligence dictates that it would desire a low profile, given the historical and hysterical reactions by institutions and general public (witch trials and burnings). As a hard scientist / engineer, I've seen too many unexplainable experiences. (Some I've caused.) I keep an open mind. It is one of those areas where you can neither prove nor disprove it's existence. Truth be told reality is far stranger than fiction, even stranger than some of the stories posted here.

Making absolute statements is closed minded and stifles creativity. After all, the only downside to an open mind is it collects dirt.

That said, I did enjoy your story. I've also enjoyed some of the stuff you posted at other sites. Thanks for sharing.

Hugs,
Trish-Ann
~There is no reality, only perception~

Hugs,
Trish Ann
~There is no reality, only perception~

It's all about choice

We all have to choose the way we live in this world. I'm happy to accept that if I jump out of a 20th floor window I will die. I say I know that as a fact. You could argue that I might be rescued by angels on the way down. Thanks, but I prefer to stick with my closed mind.

That's not to say that we know everything - only that there is an explanation for everything but we may not yet (or ever) understand that explanation.

Glad you enjoy the stories.

Pumpkins!

Sorry Jezzi but Cindy did turn into a Pumpkin and married Jim Brown, and now they have lots of little brown pumpkins!

LoL
Rita

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

Interesting

twist Charlotte. Nice one.

Cinderfella

ALISON
Who cares what their addresses are??Especially if there
is a happy ending and the homophobes end up with egg on their ugly faces !!

ALISON

Isn't love something else?

Isn't love something else? Two "soulmates", both CD's finding each other at a Ball. Just like a real Fairy tale. Jan

Charlotte Dickles' stories

Charlotte Dickles' stories are always full of bouncy, jiggling entertainment, and this one is great fun.

Best wishes, Andrea.

Cinderella Always Has a Ball

terrynaut's picture

Your stories are always sexy, but this one was also very cute and sweet. I do believe it's my favorite of all of your stories that I've read.

I love your description of the bodysuit. It sounds great. Maybe someday they'll even be for sale. One can hope. *sigh*

Thanks very much for the story.

- Terry

This is a delightful story

This is a delightful story that was fun to read. Well written too. Thank you.

I've been "saving" this one

I've been "saving" this one for a rainy day, and today was it. A dark, dreary, rainy afternoon, a lite lunch, and a Charlotte Dickles story. Quite the winning combination!

Thank you for this fun little romp through the world of Cinderella.

I am curious...
1) How long does the foam suit filling last?
2) Is the suit re-usable?
3) Can it be purchased online, and where? :)

- vessica b

Answers

Delighted you enjoyed the story.

How long does the foam suit filling last? The Big Busts red gel used to bond the skin to the products and prevent perspiration lasts for 10 - 14 days, and I understand this foam filling is similar.

Is the suit re-usable? Once used, the suit does need the original foam removing, for which you can purchase a solvent from Big Busts. Once the foam has been dissolved, thoroughly wash out the suit, and insert a new foam cannister (again purchasable from Big Busts).

Can it be purchased online, and where? Can be purchased both on line and from the Big Busts shop in the fictional town of Seacombe. Sorry, but fiction is just that.

I have never experienced their products personally, but Femskin do sell a range of interesting products, including a bodysuit and their equivalent of a Hiplet. Proactive Prosthetics make an equivalent of the Bustlet, but again no personal experience.

Love

Charlotte

Read the instructions last!

Was that on purpose or just what every typical male does?

I believe if you pull the rip cord twice it explodes and only leaves the body suit!

LoL
Rita

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

False advertising!

Charlotte, that has to be the worst Cinderella costume I have ever seen!

I will never forgive you for destroying my visions of Cinderella marrying a charming Prince and living happily ever after!

Funny story but.

Lol
Rita

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

Hang all the rationale

I just loved this and don't see any point in trying to rationalise what is, after all, great fiction with an amusing twist.

Seacombe, and your family of body-enhancing products, are wonderful ideas that provide me with a wealth of entertainment.

More power to your pen (or keyboard) Charlotte.

Susie

Funny Story Charlotte

Nice twist on the old fairy tale, well done my dear! Though I did notice that Cinderella didn't put on any panties when she got dressed, must have been expecting something to happen at the ball or hoping, naughty girl!

Nikki Thong

"Be loving, forgiving, open, happy, sharing, thoughtful, musical, cry a little everyday, but for goodness sakes be honest with yourself!"
"Satin makes me sooooo happy! Giggles!"

Nikki Thong

"Be loving, forgiving, open, happy, sharing, thoughtful, musical, cry a little everyday, but for goodness sakes be honest with yourself!"
"Satin makes me sooooo happy! Giggles!"

Cinderella Shall Go to the Masquerade Ball

Thanks for your comment Nikki, and your response to my PM. This story is about two years old now, but still draws in new readers. In spite of what one reader commented about the dress, I think a picture definitely attracts readers.

Good luck with college - hope it goes well

Best wishes

Charlotte

I shall explain

Charlotte, please read my explanation. I have been a fan of yours since you published your first TG story. Well, it got to seem like much too long between stories, so I had to stop checking for new ones so often. This habit has apparently gotten out of hand, because it has now been literally years since last checking, and you've put out more than just one new story in the meantime. (They do say "you put out".) That is the explanation for why it took so long for me to say thank you so, so much for the new story and it was just wonderful. Just a tiny whine that it is too short a story. But perhaps there's a sequel some day.

If I ever take a TG vacation, I hope that a certain sweet couple from America's east coast get to visit the perfect seaside resort in England...and then discover a little-known business there which aims to help people be as beautiful as they want to be.

Thanks for all the great stories! Now I'm eagerly off to read the others I've missed.

Yours,

Annemarie