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by Lauran
I was about 16 when I started to take an interest in how I looked, until then I had been a school uniform or jeans and sweatshirt sort of boy. But as I approached my end of school exams, I noticed girls, not as sex objects like my friends did, but as clothes horses. They wore some amazing things away from school. And unlike my friends, I wanted to share in this joy of taking an interest in how I looked.

 © 2011 by Lauran

I was about 16 when I started to take an interest in how I looked, until then I had been a school uniform or jeans and sweatshirt sort of boy. But as I approached my end of school exams, I noticed girls, not as sex objects like my friends did, but as clothes horses. They wore some amazing things away from school. And unlike my friends, I wanted to share in this joy of taking an interest in how I looked.

The first thing I did was to take better care of my hair, using my mother's shampoo, and then her conditioner. It was a typical boy cut, or rather not cut, so I booked myself into a unisex salon for a cut. The first thing they asked was how do I want it? I had not really thought about it, boys just have it cut. The girl was patient with me and showed me several pictures in magazines. I picked one that was quite straight, but the distinctive feature was the fringe, long and sweeping across one eye, with the back just cut to the bottom of my neck. It looked similar to a pop star I liked, which possibly had a strong influence on my choice. For the first time in my life, I felt good about how I looked. I had a can of gel I was to use every time I did my hair. All I had to face was my mother and my friends, who I suspected might not be ready for the new me.

I was right about the friends. I walked right past some kids I knew from school and never got a look. Mum was different though. She took a second look as I walked into the kitchen, then asked where I had got it done, did I like it, and did I know how to do it myself? Not quite the 'That is terrible, go back and get a proper cut' reaction I could have got. Over tea, we had a surprisingly good conversation about hair, from which I took it that she did not mind the new look. We even discussed styles she had tried and ones she might try in the future.

School on Monday was less tolerant. Some teachers took a minute or two to recognise me, and friends wanted to know if I had gone weird or been watching the wrong programmes on TV. I joked along with them, telling them I was fed up with the scruffy boy image. Unexpectedly, the new look was a bit of an attraction for girls who said some quite nice things about my hair, but even while they were talking to me, I was checking out what they were wearing. And over the next few days of this chatting to girls, I found out they bought clothes just because they liked them, not because they were needed and functional. I had suspected this before, but lately had considered buying new trousers just because I would look good in them.

The next step was to buy something just for style. I had spent time watching what others wore, and for me it was the girls tight trousers that appealed. So with money in my pocket, but not sure where to look, I went shopping. The men's shops were not stocking what I wanted, but the more fashionable shops seemed interesting. I was asked in one if I needed help, so I asked if they had any tight jeans. The assistant disappeared, coming back minutes later with a pair of black and a pair of denim trousers and guided me into the changing rooms. The denim I could not get into, but the black ones, with an effort, I worked myself into them. Over the door the assistant asked if I was alright and did I want to try anything else. I said they were tight and hard to get on, he suggested I put them on lying down at home, but if I have them on and they fasten, then they were right. I opened the door to show him, he felt the waist band that was around my hips, and looked at the length. He assured me they were the right size for me, and did I want to buy them. They were dearer than the store jeans I could have bought, but these were what I wanted and asked if I could keep them on, so he took my money and bagged up my old trousers.

I felt quite good as I walked home, new trousers and my hair still looking good. Mother was the first to comment as she was the first person I meet who knew me. 'Oh my, how did you get into those' then asked me to turn around, before congratulating me on a good choice. I was thin enough and long legged enough for them to look really good. They were not for school, but for home and going out. So as it was Saturday. I went to meet some friends at a youth centre. The boys made some comments but the girls were more interesting to talk to, so I spent the evening talking with them.

Three weeks later, mother casually drops into a conversation that she is planning on going to see Michelle, her hairdresser. Would I like to go with her and get my hair tidied up. 'If you think it needs it?' she explained how a nice style needs to be maintained, the hair grows differently and the sharp edges blur, and my style looked better when it was fresh and sharp. I have to say going to a salon with your mother is a very odd thing to do, she was in for a cut and blow with Michelle. I was given Alice, who washed, cut and straightened my hair. I had to admit that it looked much better.

Life did not alter much with my friends, but the time spent with girls increased as my look became the norm for me, and not a novelty. Shopping trips produced more clothes, again changing my look. I was wearing my fashion trainers, tight trousers and over the weeks a lengthening fringe. I had finished my exams and was enjoying the prospect of a long summer, when mum came in with a double event evening. First, she had found me a job at a local cafe helping out for the summer, and then later when I was going to trim my nails, she gave me a lesson in nail care. By the end of the evening, I knew it was better to file than cut, and if you want them to look really good, buff them and push the cuticles back. I thanked her and admired them, because they had never looked so good.

The next thing I did was to look through my clothes and found a T-shirt that I had forgotten about. It was plain white but had been put to the back because I had grown out of it, but now I was not looking for baggy and slipped it on and found it fit quite snugly. It only just made it to top of the trousers, and with a wide belt I had bought, I felt I had a good outfit. I was going out to meet some friends later after tea. Mum asked where the top had come from, she called it a top, a very girly term. I explained and she nodded at the memory. Then she suggested a thin knit sweater or cardigan would go well, and had I considered a vest top?

On the next day I had free, I went to the shops and tried out her suggestions, and with my earnings bought one of each. Then on a whim had my ears pierced, only one was visible because of the fringe. But I knew they were there and felt good about them, wanting them to heal quickly so I could try different styles. The vest top came a week later. I noticed one of my girl friends who were not well endowed in the chest wore a nice one which looked good, so being bolder about these things asked her where she bought it, and followed it up with getting my own vest top. It showed every bump as it was a lycra mix, which was part of the appeal, but also made me consider my stomach and I started to eat carefully and exercise so my stomach would get flatter.

After a few weeks at the cafe, Jean the owner, asked me to clear tables, instead of working in the kitchen. I was in a tight T-shirt and tight trousers and felt quite good about my image. Until an elderly man said to me, and there was no one else about, so it had to be me, 'Excuse me dear, could we have another coffee?' I looked around and realised I was alone and he was calling me dear. I got him his coffee and did not correct him. He even left a tip, which for the cafe was not common. This became a common event, well a few times a week at least, enough for me to mention it at home.

Mum's reaction was to say it would be easy to understand how someone might make such a mistake.

So I asked her if I was looking like a girl.

She said she expected that was what I was hoping to achieve, and was surprised at my comments. Yes, I looked like a girl, was it a problem?

No, I liked how I looked.

Mother said she was glad, because she liked how I looked as well, what she called femmy.

With this revelation, I had to think more carefully about what I wore, thinking if I was wanting to look like a boy or girl. Jean at the cafe did not help as she got me to wear one of the long black aprons, which really looked like a skirt as it wrapped so far round the back. I got used to the customers calling me miss, sweetheart, or some other female related term. And with money to spare, I was able to indulge my new hobby of buying clothes. There was also the prospect of college after the summer when I would be free of school uniforms. I also found myself able to talk more easily with my mother. She was quite positive about many of things I liked and would encourage me to think of different styles or colours that previously I had not felt were right for me. By the time I had started at college and signed up for the courses I wanted to do, I had a fairly good collection of clothes. Some of which were mainstream, while others veered more towards an individual look that I was happy with, but could create a comment or three. In particular, I had a nice thin knitted pale lemon top, shiny dark burgundy trousers (tight off course) and a pair of narrow suede shoes. I knew it was not a look for every boy, but for me I enjoyed being different and expressing myself in this way.

At the instigation of my mother, I went with her for our fast becoming regular salon visits in October. Prior to this, we had talked about highlights and how they affect and emphasise styles. She persuaded me to have silver streaks in my hair, especially in the fringe, so this feature of my look was more defined. The whole process was far more involved than the previous cut and blows, but the results were a shock. The difference it created made me look very different and I worried had I done the right thing? But everyone at the salon loved it, and then as I walked home I picked up a few stares, which whether good or bad was part of the reason for dressing this way, to get noticed. And at college, I was noticed. Some of the girls made a fuss about the colouring, there were however more negative comments than before, so it was a good job I had chosen english, history and art, rather than science or sport which did have a style all of their own, and quite a lazy one from what I could make out.

Anyway, I was soon to learn that coloured hair grows out, leaving the roots, and so as well as a cut every few weeks, I was needed to have my roots done as well. My next move away from regular boy looks came during the Christmas break. Mum had time off as well and there was a day that I was giving myself a manicure while she was tending to her own nails, but when she polished hers with a deep burgundy, I must have looked interested, because she offered to polish mine. I turned her down on the colour, but was persuaded to let her coat my nails with a clear nail hardener. There was something about the smell and the way the brush worked that made this a quite exquisite experience, and one I knew I would repeat under the pretence of strengthening my nails.

I had a great time at the January sales, buying clothes that others seemed to not care for. My favourite purchase was a pair of ankle boots, long pointy toes, thin sole and a small raised heel in what was called calf skin. I loved them and they went down well with my art course friends, some of which had unique styles that most would not dare to copy.

A turning point in my style was the discovery of make up. Of course I knew about it before, but I had never considered using it myself until I was going out to a party and was round at a friend’s house beforehand and she was doing her face and suggested I use some eyeliner to define my eyes. She applied a thin black line to the top lids and showed me the effect in a mirror. I was stunned at the effect, and asked her about the liner in particular but other cosmetics in general, and cleansing for the inevitable tidying up that would be required afterwards. The first time mum saw the liner was the following weekend as I was about to leave to meet some friends. She called me back and took a good look at me, then asked if I like the way it affects my face. I told her I thought it was great and she agreed, and asked if I had considered anything else. I said perhaps but had not tried any of them. Then she offered to let me play with her make up if I wanted, so I could experiment with colours and looks. I thanked her and said I would like that very much.

It was a free afternoon the following Wednesday, and I spent my time not studying the course work, rather taking an interest in my mother's vanity and it's various creams, powders and liquids. I knew what lipstick was for, and mascara was obvious, but the rest was mostly guess work. She came home to find me with mascara, eyeliner and lipstick all inexpertly applied, and to be honest, looking dreadful. That evening my mother took me in hand and taught me the basics of make up, how to alter the look of eyes, cheekbones, lips, eyebrows and even the overall complexion. I was enthralled as she showed me on her face, then she encouraged me to use the products on my own skin. I could clearly see some new things I might want to do with my look.

I stuck with the liner for going out to parties, but soon added mascara and light coloured lipsticks. Then, when one of the students suggested a goth night, I went the whole way and used pale foundation and dark eye shades with dark lips. I looked horrible, but that was meant to be the look. A follow on from that was my use of concealer, and a light foundation more often, even to college on occasion. I was going out one Saturday evening, dressed in dark burgundy trousers, a tight white top and short jacket, with my face carrying light foundation, liner, mascara, lipstick all pale tones but this time I had used some light grey on my eyelids. My mother in a rather casual way, suggested if I was going for a more femmy look, why not use coloured polish on my nails? Just a tinted pink she offered, and before I had really thought it through, was sat at the table with her brushing my nails till all ten were a smooth shiny hint of pink/pearl. They looked somehow more delicate, and once they were dried, I hugged her and thanked her for the help she had given me. The party was a great success for me. The girls wanted to know what I had used and Emma, who I had always had down as lesbian, enjoyed giving me some personal attention in a dark corner.

But the most unexpected event was having a drunken Tom ask me if I was gay, as he fancied me rotten. I was rather taken aback by this conversation, but when I left he left with me, which as we lived near each other, was not a surprise. But then he went on to repeatedly tell me how good looking and attractive I was, how he loved how brave I was with my style, and thought I was prettier than many of the girls around. This was rather a lot to take in at once. I had always wanted to be different, maybe attractive, but pretty I was not sure about. But then as we walked the couple of miles home he got closer to my side, gently bumping into me until our hands touched and he caught hold of mine. Not sure how to react, I stiffened but did not jerk my hand out of his. We continued to walk but the chat was mostly his. I was having my own internal conversation about the fact that a man was holding my hand. His talk was mindless chatter, just wallpaper if you like. On reflection, I am surprised that as we walked I relaxed and allowed myself to be open to this new situation. This meant that when we got near our homes and we were in a darker area, Tom turned to face me. At first I thought to say 'Good night', but though he did say those words, just before he had kissed me first on my cheek and when I did not pull away, he then kissed my lips gently. His kiss was different to Emma's. A little rougher, more in charge than the girl’s tender touch, but good in its own way. I think he was testing my reactions really, as he did nothing more than kiss my lips for a few seconds, then part and wish me good night, and suggest we meet up again. My last few hundred yards to home were full of personal introspection, much like my restless sleep that followed once I was in bed.

In the morning, I was asked how the party was by my mother. Being tired, and of late more open with her, I told her about the people who had kissed me. She knew neither of them, but did not seem bothered by the fact I had been kissed by a gay man. What she was more interested in was the way I was spending time with girls, and wanted to know if I identified with girls or boys. I had thought about this before and knew I was a boy, but liked the way girls were less macho, the way they thought about how they looked, and the way they could just talk more freely about things which affected them. She listened carefully, concluding with me that it was no coincidence that a gay female as well as a gay male could find me attractive, as I was displaying quite feminine traits while still maintaining something of my masculinity. She finished the conversation with a question. Over the past year my masculinity had been eroded in favour of the more girly image. Did I intend this to continue and drift further into feminine expressions, or did I want to live as a more regular boy? She got up from the kitchen table and kissed me on my forehead. Her last words were 'I will love you whatever you do, you know that, don't you' This was going to be a hard day of thinking I could see.

This internal discussion about sexuality did not affect how I dressed. How could it? Nearly all my clothes that fitted me had been bought within the last year, so trousers were fitted or tight, tops were not loose. So I continued in my now established femmy style as mother called it. Luckily, neither Emma or Tom was in any of the study groups I was in, so I only met them at breaks or after classes. Sexuality aside, I was still enjoying my clothes, and two Saturdays later was invited by Lisa to go shopping with her, as she said I had good taste. Well the week before I had seen a video of Spandau Ballet, and the 80s new romantic groups, they were great at merging the male and female styles, and then there was Bowie and his unique style that seemed to relate to me. Anyway, I was with Lisa shopping when I saw a white cotton blouse. Big sleeves, frills around the buttoned cuffs, short stand up collar and laces instead of buttons down the front. I loved it and Lisa agreed I would suit it. I later bought a waist coat to go with it, so it emphasized the puffy style of the sleeves by making the body fitted. Mother approved when I showed her what I had bought.

A week later, I was chatting with Lisa who wanted to do something different with her hair, and had picked up a fashion magazine that focuses on hair styles. We spent a nice lunch break talking through what she could do and what would suit her face, cutting out several pictures to take with her to the salon she used. When we were done, I picked up the magazine and packed it with my books, hoping to have a private look at the articles. The evenings reading was quite informative, and the conversation also, when mother noticed what I was looking at. 'Thinking of a change?' I said maybe, but in the back of my mind was a picture of a boyish girl with a curly style that was very full and not too long, half way down the neck really. 'How about something with curl? Ever thought of that?' so I showed her the style, she nodded 'Bit shorter than you have it now, would you mind?' I said not, and she took it on herself to arrange a booking at the salon for Saturday. I had only been thinking about it really, and all of a sudden I am having a new style.

Alice was always nice to me when she was cutting my hair, and this time was no different. 'New style I see' then we discussed whether it would look good and if my hair was suitable. She suggested keeping the highlights in. I had only read about perms and was a little nervous when the small rollers and smelly liquids that Alice wore gloves to handle, as she started to be apply them to my head. Once started, I reckoned all I had to do was sit back and let her do whatever needed doing. I could hardly walk out half way through. Eventually I was finished, my brown hair with highlights was now completely changed. Instead of straight down to my shoulders, it sat an inch or so off the shoulder and stood out from my neck a couple of inches. I still had a fringe across my face but not as low this time, and it was fixed in position with something she had combed into the hair when finishing.

As with anything new, it takes some getting used to and this was no different. I looked at my reflection and was struck by how feminine it looked. Had I gone too far this time? Alice told me I looked fantastic, and my mother who had come back to pick me up agreed with her, telling me I should make the most of a professional styling and go out that evening. As luck would have it, Tom saw us walking to the car. 'Hello Mrs Connor' we replied 'Hello Tom', then he recognised me and a grin spread over his face. 'Mark, sorry I didn't...er.. well you know. You look great, going anywhere special' I thanked him and told him I had no plans. Mum then chipped in 'Look it is getting late, why don't you two go on into town, get something to eat and have a good time. Here, take a twenty.' She was right. It was nearly six. I found my voice 'Not sure I want to go out like this' meaning I wanted time to get used to the new hair. But she took me the wrong way. 'Oh silly me, of course you will want to change. Tom, do you mind coming back to ours?' Tom, who had only agreed with nods to all this, but I could sense was not averse to a night out, said yes. And that was it. I was going out with Tom for the evening. Mum knew we had kissed a few weeks ago, but that had not stopped her encouraging this friendship. If anything, she seemed quite keen on the idea.

I changed as expected and without thinking of the ramifications, picked up a lemon collarless shirt and my white lcyra trousers, tucked into the boots on my feet and a little make up as it was the weekend. I went to meet Tom, who was happily chatting with mum about football and how Steve Gerard is quite good looking. We walked out with her final words 'Have a good time you two' following us down the path. 'Tom, I don't know what got into her'. I apologised on her behalf. 'No need to, I have been trying to catch you and ask if you wanted to do something together, and now we are'. We caught a bus into town and had a burger, then went to watch a film. Some sort of comedy which I found funny, but all the time I was aware of Tom's arm pressing on mine. When it finished, we walked out in the crush of people and noticed how many couples had been in the audience and how me and Tom might well look like a couple also. For some reason, this made feel quite comfortable at his side and when he grabbed my hand so we did not get split up I gripped it and followed. Once outside we did not release our grip. Tom being a year older could legally drink in a pub, so before we left for home, we stopped at a bar. I had coke, he had lager. We chatted about the film, about my mother, about college, and eventually about us. He had his hand on my hip as we stood facing one another. He explained how he was gay and that, as he said before, he found me attractive, and if I was interested he would love to go out again and see where it takes us. I had my back to the room, so when he leaned over to kiss me, and after the initial shock, I could imagine the other customers seeing a man kissing a girl, it was only from the front you might notice I had no bumps that a girl would be expected to have, and a bump that a boy should have. But for the time I let him kiss me, hoping we offended no one.

We caught the last bus back to our area of town, and much to my relief Tom was not quite as forward with his attentions as he had been in the pub. But once back into our streets and taking short cuts through darker areas, he was not so reserved and once again held me close and when we were at my back door, we kissed once more, this time with more passion, and from the pressure he was exerting on my thigh, a more stimulated penis. After what seemed like ages, I was getting cold and told him it was time he was going home. Without any resistance, he thanked me for a great evening and hoped we could do it again, lastly giving me such a gentle kiss on my lips it made the hairs on my neck stand up. I went inside to find my mother sitting up watching a late night film. 'How was it then?' I told her about the film and going for a drink in the pub, then she let slip she knew we had been standing outside the back door for a while. When I said we had just been chatting, she gave the 'look over the glasses' stare and said 'whatever you say' then paused 'Do you want a drink?' 'That's a good idea, do you want one' 'Yes please, there is some Baileys out, two chunks of ice first. Have one yourself if you want to try it' I spent the closing moments of that eventful day sitting with my legs tucked underneath me, alcohol in my stomach, and a nice feeling of being comfortable with mum. As we sat, she asked if I had got to like my curly hair, and then quite casually asked if Tom made a good boyfriend. In my relaxed state, before I put the answer through any sort of filter, I said he was. Then she told me there was a message from a girl called Emma, who wanted to know if I fancied going bowling Sunday afternoon, then asked 'Is she the one who always wears jeans and has short hair? I told her it was. She just said 'Oh' in a questioning tone.

My Sunday turned out to be fun. I kept my bowling friend happy by losing on the alley, then spending a few hours with her afterwards. We ate pizza, walked through a park, sat on a bench, but most significant was the talk. She was quite open about how she liked me and would like us to be a couple. I was still remembering the night with Tom, and hopefully made it clear that while I was happy to be a friend, I did not want to tie myself to a relationship. I wanted to be free to see whoever I wanted. This did not put her off, and we continued our evening hand in hand, even kissing at times. Emma was the first to actually comment on how I dressed, making a direct statement about how I can look like a girl. Then taking it further by asking if I could see myself actually being a girl. This was so direct, it took me by surprise, but not the topic. I had taken plenty of time to think about how I was seen by others, and besides the appeal of looking different, experimenting in an arty way with clothes, but there was something I liked about looking like and being a feminine boy, what my mother had called a femboy. Emma took my desire to be seen as feminine by asking me to wear make up more often and if I wanted, to use stronger colours. I had a lovely time with Emma, well that was what I told her and my mother, partly because it was true, but also to try and keep my personal questions to myself. Just what was I , and who was I, and what should I wear in public?

I had several weeks of study, going out with Tom, Emma and a few times with Lisa, but she was more of a shopping partner and gossip chat time. Christmas was coming up and several parties were organised, as well as student discos. I went to some with Tom and a couple with Emma. They knew about each other, but I did not wish to go to a party with both of them there. Mostly the parties were small, but Tom invited me to a special night he had heard of in town and asked me the day before if I would dress as femme as I could, and that he would like to see me push the make up further than I had in the past. When I asked him what he meant, he explained how I knew he was gay, but something he really finds attractive is she males. I had come across this title. Some people were happy with, but I was not, seeing myself as such a person. I was not into trying to be a girl and hiding my manhood, but I was flattered by Tom's request and wore white trousers, a white satin blouse under a pink woollen vest and jacket. His venue for the evening was a gay bar that was well known in town. At first I was apprehensive about being so open about being with Tom, but I considered how I looked, and with Tom's encouragement, we did go in and have a drink. I think Tom had been in a few times before as he knew a couple of people. Thankfully I did not see anyone I knew and managed to relax, that is until I got chatted up by a gross middle aged man who smelled. I was rescued by Tom when he returned from the gents, by putting his arm around my waist and giving me a kiss. For all my fears, the evening was quite fun. Plenty of people to watch, easy atmosphere and friendly staff. That was on top of Tom being very attentive towards me. I definitely felt like his partner, with him being the alpha. I felt I was possibly the girl, or at least how I think a girl might feel with an attentive boyfriend.

A week before Christmas and I was chatting with mum about her plans and what we would be doing. She had a couple of parties with friends and work over the holidays, but she had fallen out with her parents and would not be seeing them, so Christmas would be the two of us. Then she moved onto the fact that we had hair appointments for the weekend before Christmas, and she was going to have a special for a party that evening. I had planned on a tidy up with Alice, but for some reason mentioned that Tom had wanted me to dress more femininely. Mum just smiled and said 'Why not'. I countered by pointing out that I am a boy. She cut in, telling me 'a pretty boy though, who gets mistaken for a pretty girl' I was having to agree with what she said. Then she suggested I get Alice to give me a mixed blonde colouring when we went. And as usual, I did not take long to agree to the idea and actually thought it would look good.

I was not mentally ready for the transformation that blonde hair gives you. I was stunned when Alice finished. Not only blonde, but she had tightened the curls so they stood out more than usual. Tom had heard that I was having my hair done, and asked if he could take me anywhere so as to show off the new me, like my mum would be doing at her party. I did not want to sit about at home alone, and found myself with Tom in the gay bar, feeling every bit like a girl out with her boyfriend. Some others came and chatted with us. Many gay men openly being affectionate, and some a bit like me, clearly not the 'man' in the relationship. I thought I was possibly the most feminine one there, until it was pointed out to me that a couple of women at the other side of the room were actually men. If I looked they had adams apples and rather large hands for a woman. As the conversation went on, Tom kept mentioning these two transvestites. Eventually I asked if that was how he would like me to dress. He said he would love to see how I looked, but it was up to me, no pressure.

The evening was notable for what happened when we got back to my house. Mum was out at her party, so I felt comfortable inviting Tom in for a coffee. While I was making the drink, he approached me from behind and cuddled me from behind, his erection pressing into my back. The kettle was left to switch itself off as we got into more passionate kissing, and for the first time, I put my hand onto his trouser bulge and massaged it through the fabric until there was a tensing in his body and a wet patch developed on his front. Just at that moment, I heard a key in the front door and we straightened ourselves up, but clearly looked guilty as mum walked in. I stumbled out 'I was making a coffee, do you want one?' she smiled back 'Oh no, I will take a glass of water, switch off the lights when you have finished.' The smirk on her face made me even more uncomfortable.

Christmas was a low key event, cards around the house, few decorations and a table for two. But we had a nice relaxed day together eating and drinking a traditional meal, and with my maturing age allowing me to drink champagne without regulation it seemed. We opened our gifts. I had bought mum a bottle of scent I liked the smell of. She had bought me a warm jacket. The significant feature of this item was that it lacked buttons, having only a belt and up stand collar. I tried it on. 'I have the receipt if it is the wrong size' not if I don't like it I noticed. And the receipt was Le Femme Boutique, confirming what I guessed to be a woman's jacket. I thanked her and we opened our other gifts. There were the usual chocolates, etc, but Tom had bought me a matching silver necklace and bracelet which were fixed to me in the appropriate places. Mum telling me they were pretty as she manipulated the tiny fasteners.

I must have drunk a bottle of the wine when we sat down to watch a Sex in the City DVD we had received. These women could dress up with great style, which sparked a chat between us. My barriers and inhibitions down, I told her about the transvestites I had seen in the bar, and the conversation I had had with Tom and his desire to see me dressing as a woman. We continued drinking and I remember little of the evening. Waking the next morning with a bad head, but slowly becoming aware that I was wearing something different to my cotton pyamas. Through the fog, I felt the satin fabric wrapped around my legs and realised I was wearing a full length nightie. I eventually got up as my headache eased, but that did not ease my lack of awareness. Even though I got up in a new item of nightwear, I still picked up my dressing gown before heading out of my room to the toilet, then onto the kitchen. Mother was at the table reading a website on the laptop. 'Good morning. How are you feeling?' 'Rough' I replied. She got up to make me some toast and coffee, adding aspirin to the plate. The conversation was limited until the tablets had taken effect, my awareness increased with a clearing head. I was sat in a long white satin nightie clearly visible below my dressing gown.

My first proper sentence was to ask if wine always gave a hangover. I was told sometimes alcohol had a bad reaction. Other times no after effects, but mum told me we had had a good evening. When I asked what had happened, she realised I had not remembered the latter part of the day. She told me we had watched a couple of DVDs and talked about cross dressing.

I recalled some of this, but still had no idea why I had worn the nightie. As we talked, it came out that we had ended the evening having a girlie time. We had got ready for bed in a girlie fashion, hence the nightie and as she prompted me, I noticed that my fingers had had a manicure and she told me I had returned the favour and done hers as well. Apparently, I had used her moisturisers and face packs, but it was not until I got up and went to wash properly that I saw my face. I must have let out some noise, possibly a scream. My eye brows had changed shape! From a quite broad line across my eyes, I now had neat wedge shaped brows tapering to the outside. Mum came in, possibly thinking I had hurt myself.

'What happened?' I demanded

‘we wanted to see how your face would look if we shaped your brows. They look good, don't they'

I was still staring at the mirror and touched them with a manicured finger, 'OMG how girlie was I last night?'

'Enough to pluck most of those hairs out yourself' I think I went a little pale, then blushed as I considered how my friends might take to this new look.

Mum then made the statement that hit hardest. 'I do hope you like them, there is not a lot we can do to them, other than thin them more, afraid you are stuck with them, it takes weeks for them to grow back'. She then hugged me and told me she was sorry if we had gone too far. She thought I was happy with the things we were doing at the time.

By mid afternoon I was dressed in my favourite flared jeans and lemon hoodie. I had not been able to unfasten the bracelet, so I kept the matching necklace in place also as it did not show, but would be able to let Tom know I was wearing it if he asked. Lisa had managed to get her house for a get together on Boxing day, but before I left my house, I had another drift away from my previous boy look. My new jacket was hanging on the hooks by the front door. My old warm jacket was missing. I asked mum where the old one was. She looked at me quizzically. 'You really don't remember much of last night do you? You threw it in the dustbin, said something about it being a link with the boy you used to be.' Right now, I was not so sure I would have been so rash, but the choice was, root it out of the bin with all the food waste, or wear the new one. Simple in the end. I wore the new one.

Lisa noticed the eye brows straight away, and then told me the jacket looked good and asked what else I had got. I showed her the bracelet which she thought was pretty. Lisa herself was wearing a stunning party dress, and like the girl I was becoming, I told her it was gorgeous and she looked fantastic. As the party developed, more friends arrived and we played silly games until we had got giddy, the couples pairing up in their own intimate parties. Neither Emma nor Tom was there, so I ended up drinking and chatting with three girls and a boy. The subject of my eye brows and continuing alternative look came up, and was surprised none felt I was being stupid with my feminine styles. Sara and Kee even suggesting I should push myself further and really blur the gender distinctions. When I asked what they might have in mind, they listed more make up, I only had mascara on at the time, more obvious ear rings, finger rings, shoes was another area I could change without being OTT. It was late when we split up and the topics had changed many times, but I walked home deep in thought as to what people saw when they looked at me, and how I felt about the fact that my friends had no problem with my alternative style. Mother clearly had no problem either as she had left the satin nightie on top of my bed so I would see it when I got ready for bed that evening. Picking it up, I felt the softness and being slightly drunk, put it on and went to bed, wrapped in its luxury.

The days after Christmas are always a bit of an anticlimax. I sat about at home reading and studying, as there seemed nothing better to do until I would be going out to meet Tom or one of my other friends. Over lunch, mum asked how I liked my deliberately feminine touches. I said I was getting used to them, meaning the eye brows, then somehow the conversation turned into a rerun of the one I had had at Lisa's, suggesting I try out some more feminine items. She suggested jewellery and using make up more regularly. What was bothering me a little was that she was being so positive in her encouragement. It was she who had taken me to the salon, she who had taught me about make up and nails, she who had bought me the girls jacket, she who had plucked my eye brows and dressed me in satin two days before. I summoned up the courage to list these things, and ask if she planned any of it. Her response took me a little by surprise. It was me who had always initiated the style changes, the hair, the make up, the clothes, and she was happy to encourage me at first. But as the months had passed, she had seen in me a different side, one that could hardly be called male or manly. I was not a big lad, but with my new look and increasingly submissive attitude, I would do almost anything she suggested. She concluded with the opinion that she felt I was going to end up completely feminine in look and attitude. When I let this sink in, I asked her if she saw me as a boy. She shocked me by saying no, I was me, her child. But pushed, said that she saw a son who lacked many of the boy traits, and would one day stop being her son in a regular, society approved way. 'You think I should be a girl?' I asked eventually 'Why not, you behave like one and look like one, the sooner you accept you are never going to make a half decent macho man, and that you might as well be a girl, the sooner we can get you sorted out properly'. I was stunned and she could tell, so left me to think what she had said about me on my own.

I did not do much studying that afternoon and later on with Tom, I was quiet. He asked what was up and I told him that my mother thought I made a useless man and should just be a girl. I could tell from his reaction he was a little shocked too, it was a little harsh, but as he thought about it, came to agree with her more or less when he told me he considered me to be his girlfriend. My maleness was taking a beating that day for sure, and as we ended the evening in a passionate embrace with me massaging Tom's erection to a climax, I felt almost confirmed in my role as the girl in the relationship. But what to do about the situation, rebel and assert my male nature, or let myself drift more and more into a world of feminine appearance and attitudes?

The nightie was out for me on the bed once again, and once again I put it on before going to bed. I slept fitfully, half dreaming about being a girl, how would it feel, how would people react, would a gay man like Tom still want me, did I want to do any of these things. I had one dream that was pivotal. I was with Tom and I was not clear how I looked, but I was female. Breasts, long legs, the full ideal image, and I was happy at his side.

In the morning, I went down for breakfast in the nightie. Mum was still on holiday and looked a little surprised as I had not covered myself up with my heavy bath robe. As I made the toast, I found the words 'Did you mean what you said yesterday, that I make a hopeless man'

She looked at me with loving eyes 'that is not quite how it was meant to sound, not hopeless, more not a particularly macho one, I suppose a special one' she paused 'why?'

'Well I have been thinking' I started, and went on to say that I would like to find out what it might be like to be a woman, and on new year’s eve in particular when I planned to give Tom his dream of taking me out looking female, not just femmy. She gave me a searching look and asked if I was sure. I said yes, but then limited it to no skirts, just trousers and tops that I already had.

'Oh no' she came back with, 'if you are doing this, you need to do it properly. Maybe not skirts, but I think we need to let you know a bit more of being female than just wearing clothes' she looked straight at me 'you will be very pretty, but just this once I want to treat you. If you are serious, I will help you, but you do whatever I tell you to do. Understood?'

Not fully understanding, I said yes.

'Right, well in that case Ma.......rie, the kitchen needs tidying before we do anything'. This was unexpected, she always cleared up. 'You see Marie, being female is not just dresses, there is all the things men expect you to do, and housework is one of them, so time to start sharing the jobs if you are going to be a woman like me'. I could not think of any argument against this logic, so dutifully I cleaned the kitchen. When I was done, she invited me into her room. Laid out were several things I expected she had got out for me. 'First, I think you should get rid of your body hair and shave your pubic area to a neat panty line. Silently, I took the bottle and went to the bathroom, emerging later clear skinned and wearing a tight pair of pants she called control briefs. She next fastened a bra to my chest and filled it with tights. I was beginning to feel very different as I sat at her vanity and used her make up as she directed, then once she had brushed and moussed my hair into a volume style, I could see a female face looking back at me. I was then told to go and get dressed. I soon found the bra pushed my tops out and shortened the front, while the trousers had a flat front, giving no indication of the genitals within. I came out in my flared jeans and a fawn sweater that barely touched the waist band on the trousers now.

Mum was waiting for me with her car keys, 'That took ages, another indicator that I am right. A boy would have picked up what was out, you spent time putting an outfit together'. I was used to going out wearing the clothes I was in. My hair had not changed that much. I had even worn this much make up before, but I felt nervous stepping out to the car. The only real change was the underwear, and the jacket was hiding the effects this was having on my chest. I had to go or mum would have accused me of weakness, so I joined her in the car and I was off to where ever she had in mind. There is a big shopping mall a short way along the motorway that she confidently said would have enough shops for us to find what I needed.

First off she wanted to find some female footwear, so it was shoe shops and looking at heels while I was having to consider what style I might like. Given my veto on skirts, she steered me towards boots with the idea I tuck trousers into them. I had seen girls wearing this style, and after a few nervous try ons, she paid for a black pair with wedge heels, with the comment that the wedge will fell more stable than a spike heel. But as we could not find a pair with a loose enough leg for my jeans to go inside, she now had to find 3/4 trousers. We also needed to find a new top she informed me. So we browsed through the fashion retailers. My first horror here was being given a blouse and told to go and try it on. I looked at her with what I hoped was a pleading look, but she just squeezed my arm and told me I would be fine, the changing rooms are private. With butterflies in my stomach, I took the blouse in for a try on. I did not like it, so came out having given it a try, but more importantly, I had been into the changing rooms alone. Mum did suggest that next time I come out to give her a show before taking it off. It took a couple of hours and several trips to changing rooms before we were happy with the choices. I had a pair of satin 3/4 pants that came to just below the knee, the baggy nature in the leg stopped with buttons, the wide belt sitting on my hips. The top was similarly very different to my previous choices. It was a gold coloured square necked smock top that flared out in soft folds to my hips, with short bell sleeves. Now that we had the clothes, she said I needed accessories. A long string of black beads, a wide bangle, long chandelier ear rings, and my first finger ring. Then, as a last purchase we bought a long pink silk scarf to go with the jacket and a supply of control pants and bras, this was not going to be a one day event I could tell.

Once home, I had to go and change into the new outfit. The first thing I noticed was how soft the new fabrics felt against my bare skin. The next was how walking in heels, rather than just trying them on and standing in them, was going to take some getting used to. Mum was waiting for me in the lounge when I was ready. She tucked the button cuff on the bottom of the trousers into the top of the boots, and then rearranged my hair so the ears and decorations were more visible.

'So, how do you like the outfit?' she asked

'Not my usual style I must admit, but it is certainly more feminine. Should I go and change now?'

Her reply came back lightening fast 'God no Marie, I think you need more time as a woman, and right now I think the women here should be sorting out something to eat, so get an apron and help me in the kitchen'

I rarely even helped her cook, but that day had been a day of new beginnings. We got the meal started and while it cooked, she brought out some more items and told me to sit down. I held out my hand as she sorted out some opaque oval shapes which I guessed were false nails, then without asking she glued them one by one onto my finger tips. It did cross my mind to ask if this was a bit too much, but I had agreed to let her do anything she wanted. The meal was ready as she fixed the last nail on. My first time laying a table with long nails was a challenge, but with practice, I worked out how to pick things up and adjust the way I used my fingers. Eating was just as complicated. Mother never offered advice, but I could see her smiling at my difficulties. The meal over, I had to clear up before she called me to her for next part of my instruction. She painted one coat of plum coloured varnish onto the nails, then told me to apply a second which turned out to be more awkward than I expected, but I did all ten with some effort. I could think of nothing else she might want me to do, but I was wrong. Among the items she had were eyelashes, not ridulously long she said, just enough to make the lashes noticeable. Five minutes later they too are glued in place and my eyes feeling odd.

'Right one last thing for tonight' she said as she picked up her tweezers,

'but you have done that already, surely they are fine'

'You agreed to let me do whatever I felt was required, and I think your face could do with thinner brows'

'but what happens when I go back to school, they will look...well thin'

She gave me a hard stare 'you agreed to being made as feminine as possible without wearing a skirt, and I say your brows look too masculine still, and certainly not as feminine as they could be. So let's get on with it'

I just looked up at her and agreed.

'I think that proves my point, no man would have given in so easily. Only a girl would let their mother pluck her eye brows' She only pulled a few hairs out 'do you agree with me Marie?'

I had to agree with her. I had given way and I could think of no other boy allowing anyone to do the things she had done to me that day, let alone pluck a few hairs out of my face. When she was finished, I looked in a mirror and once again agreed with her that I was indeed quite pretty. 'Now we are agreed on that Marie' with emphasis on the name 'let's have a girls drink. Two Baileys on ice I think, then we can relax after our hard day’s efforts'

we went to bed after a couple of the liquors had slipped down our throats. I had owned up to liking Tom a lot, and mum had admitted she had always wanted a daughter. Before going to bed, I was told in no uncertain terms that I was to clean off the make up, but the nails and lashes stayed, and I was to sleep in a nightie which she did not need to tell me to do. The thought of satin on my hairless body was one of the sensations I had been looking forward to once I realised how sensitive my skin had become.

Morning came around quickly, with mum already up and knocking on my door telling me get up as there was lots to do. There never had been much for me to do in the past, but I did as as she told me. Over breakfast, she told me I had an hour to get dressed, hair done and make up. Then she had some jobs she needed help with, like getting some groceries. When I asked how to remove the nails as I would look odd going to the shops with long plum coloured nails, she informed me that Marie would not look odd with long plum coloured nails and that she was not going to have another argument about whether I was a boy or a girl. That had already been decided, for now I was a girl. Then, as if to reinforce the message, she came into my room while I was dressing and removed all my male underwear and the few old Mark clothes I had not thrown out already.

As she left with her bin bag, she suggested I try the boots under the flared jeans, I would need to practice walking on heels. We left the house together, but when we got to the shops, she made me go into the supermarket on my own. I had a few items of food to get and she added to the list foundation that I had to check was the right shade for my skin, and pick up a nail polish that I liked. This was a big challenge, out on my own dressed quite unmistakably and far too femininely and buying make up. I just hoped no one saw me that I knew, though I did feel confident enough with the look I had, that I was pretty enough to be mistaken for a girl by strangers. It took ages to find the right items and select the right shades, foundation being the hardest, but nail polish was nearly as bad ( I choose a pink with flecks in it) and picked up a lipstick to match, thought I might impress mother with that, and it did. She said it was a going out at night colour with the glitter in it, so I should save it for New Years Eve. As for the rest of the day, I spent it doing housework while mother sorted through cupboards having a clear out. But I was not left to just get on with the jobs, she kept an eye on me, reminding me to move as a girl would, as if wearing heels and having extensions to my nails was not enough, I now had to consider how I picked things off the floor, sat down, even how I walked. And she still found time to tell me my lipstick needed redoing and that I had chipped my nail polish. It was all very trying being a girl.

To avoid embarrassment I did not go out, just answered the phone and said I was not too good, but did tell Tom I would be going out on new year’s eve as he had wanted, which made him happy. I had three days of being her daughter before I would be going out, which was the purpose of this exercise. When there was no housework to do, mum would take me to try out different colours of lipstick or eye shadow, maybe redo the whole face. It was while we were experimenting with colours that mum picked up her brush, my hair was parted in the middle and gelled in position to the sides of my face. First she brushed the fringe back over the top of my head and clipped it back, exposing my forehead which neither of us liked, so she picked up scissors and brushed it forward, but before cutting 'Remember dear, your mother knows best, so no arguing' and before I could argue, had cut into my fringe. My hair being curly meant it did not have sharp edges, which was just as well because when she finished, I had a feathered fringe coming just below my brows.

Then she tucked the sides behind my ears.

'I think tomorrow you should go out and get yourself some nice new ear rings, now that you can see them. I was thinking of saying something about going back to school looking like this, but as if she read my mind, I got a hard stare which I dare not challenge. Instead, I ended up looking at my fingers which were entwined in my lap. 'You know, you look so cute when you do that, looking at your hands, I'd swear you've been doing it all your life. Come Marie, time for you to practice your cooking skills once more' and with that I was dismissed and without complaint went to the kitchen to start the supper. Behind me I heard her say 'I wish you had not said no to skirts, they would look so good on you now, you wiggle your arse in those heels' I turned round and in an offended tone said 'Mother' but she was right about the wiggle. Maybe the heels provoked my hips or the encouragement she had been giving me, I now walked one foot directly in front of the other, and as a consequence my hips moved from side to side and my hands stuck out horizontally to help me balance. In only a few days, I had affected my walk so much, she complimented me on it.

New Years Eve came at last and in the afternoon we started getting ready for our respective parties. First a shower, shave all over to check for any stray hairs, then after I had dried her hair and brushed it out, she worked around mine with curling tongues, tightening up the curls. Then in dressing gowns, we painted each other's nails. Doing our own faces before sitting down to a couple of glass of bucks fizz. I had not found this experience bad, but that afternoon of pampering each other, then sitting around waiting before putting on our clothes was just great. I felt like a proper Marie.

Tom called round at seven. Mum had told me to be upstairs and pretend not to be ready, just wait a minute and dab some scent on before coming down. As I walked in, mum said to Tom 'Your Christmas wish I think' as she gestured to me 'Now Marie, remember what I have told you about looking like a girl'

'Yes mother, I must behave like one as well'

She nodded her head at Tom and I took it to mean that I should greet him, so I went over and kissed his lips before saying 'Hi'. Tom managed a 'wow' somewhere in the first few minutes. But any further reaction was stopped because the door bell rang and mum welcomed into the house a six foot man, middle aged but still fit and very smart. Now I knew why she had put so much effort into getting ready and wearing the rarely seen long red silk dress. 'We have just been having bucks fizz, anyone fancy joining us?' Clarke smiled and walked over to her and kissed her cheek. 'You look gorgeous, and yes to the the fizz, might as well start the fun now'. Mum just looked at me and I knew I should go and make the drinks. Tom said he would try one, so no quick escape from the situation. I took the drinks through and mum introduced me as Marie to Clarke, who gave me a kiss on both cheeks and told me I looked great. We made polite conversation. Tom and Clarke talked about football as they both supported city, while I just felt awkward pretending to be a girl, with a man who knows I am really a boy, while the other clearly thinks I am his friend's daughter. This could go so terribly wrong I kept thinking, and then telling myself not to blow the disguise or mum would kill me.

We finished our drinks. Clarke made comments about needing to get on the road. Mum pressed some money into my borrowed small gold shoulder bag, and kissed both of us, telling us to have a good time. Being without a car, we had to take a bus into town. Tom held my hand all the time, leading me into the gay bar looking very proud. I felt he was showing me off in some way, which felt quite bizarre, as for me I would quite easily have just gone unnoticed. Tom being 18 was able to get drinks from a busy bar that did not check too carefully who was legal. We were not sure if my student card picture would really have helped clear up my age if challenged. Having spent most of the time between Christmas and the end of the year being drilled by my mother, I was constantly aware of how I should walk, sit, drink, but she did not teach me how to treat Tom and others. I had to make my own rules for these situations based on her short talks about being Marie, which basically boiled down to Tom is the man. I should do whatever he asks because he will take care of me. Her attitude came over as men are better than girls. I am equal with women, not very 'equal opportunities' I know but it was how she viewed the sexes, and now as I stood next to Tom, I quite easily knew that I could agree with her.

Tom was in charge and all I had to do was follow his lead and make sure I was pleasing him and making him feel superior to me. With some more alcohol in us, we chatted freely. I had the occasional hand stroke my arse and talked with the other women there. A few of them I was sure were like me, pretenders. As the hour got later, I was chatted up if Tom left me alone, and come the midnight celebration it was easy to go and hug anybody you wanted, it was a free for all. Though I did notice that there were quite a few men looking to give me a hug, I was sure if I had come as a boy that would never have happened. An hour or so later, the party was breaking up and Tom suggested we head for home. There were no taxis to be seen and it was going to be a good walk back, so we started walking. With my jacket pulled round me and the scarf warming my neck we walked, but it did not take long for my heels to make their presence known. They had been making my feet ache before we left the bar. Now I was walking without a break, they were making the ache move up the scale to pain. We paused at a bench to give me a rest at about half way, as we sat I wanted to know if the pain was worth it, so I asked if he had enjoyed me being his girlfriend for the evening. He was clearly pleased with my efforts by his body language, but his comments were full of encouragement. He pleaded with me to be his girlfriend more often, or at least be more feminine. The one criticism was that I had worn trousers. Why had I not worn a skirt? I explained how I had agreed to the feminization if I could wear trousers as a sort of restrainer on my mother. He suggested that next time I allow her to do whatever she thinks would suit me. I promised to think about it and not just the skirt, but the whole feminine look.

We reached my home and the lights were still on as we had left them, so mum was not back. I invited Tom in and took my boots off, and then we kissed. Tom was very passionate and got me to stop thinking about how tired my feet were as we stood facing each other. I could feel my dick swelling but the tight pants stopped it growing. Tom had no such problems. As we kissed, he pressed his growth against me. As I got more excited, I massaged it, but we moved on when he undid the zip and allowed it into fresh air. Somewhere in the back of my head was a mantra mother had given me 'please your man that is your role'. I first took his cock in my hand, and then in the excitement I felt him push me down. Whether he did or not I am unsure, but I slid down until I was facing his meat and kissed it, then licked the tip. Slowly I licked and kissed more of it, until I had it in my mouth. It was inexperience I guess, but he could not stop himself coming and unloaded himself into my mouth. I don't know what was the most shocking thing happening at that moment, having cum squirted into my mouth or the door opening and my mother taking in the scene. She saw her son giving Tom a blow job. Without hardly a break in her speech 'Oh... hello... when you are ready I was going to make a coffee for me and Clarke, if you would like to make them when you are ready'. She turned and pulled the door closed and left me blushing like mad. Tom pulled me up, kissed me and said it was probably time for him to leave. Then, as he left, kissed me and told me I was fantastic and would love to take Marie out again, but maybe I should put some fresh lipstick on before taking the coffees through. As he made his comments, he used his finger to wipe some spunk off my chin and rather sexily wiped it on my tongue reminding me of the taste. I sucked his finger. He smiled 'You liked that?' I smiled and replied 'I think I did'.

I took the coffees into mum and Clarke, lipstick repaired and chin cleaned. She smiled at me as I offered the cups.

'Good evening Marie?' she asked,

'different from last year'

'it certainly looked that way. Tom have a good time?'

'I think so'

'he looked pleased when I saw him'

'only doing what you told me to do'

'did I?'

'yes you did. I think Tom was pleased with how it turned out’. Mum was looking at me, and Clarke was looking confused. 'Mum will explain, I'm off to bed'

I have no idea what was said between them that night. I went off to my room and stripped off the feminine clothes, and with little ceremony dropped everything plus the nightie into the laundry basket. Then I removed my make up, lashes and with pain, the nails. Telling myself I was now a boy again and back to normal.

Come the morning, I showered and dressed in dark colours, trying to make some sort of statement I felt, and went down for breakfast. Mum came in later, looking very happy in her night clothes. 'Morning Marie' 'Morning' I replied, responding to the name. Then I heard someone in the shower. Clarke had stayed the night and unless I hid, he was going to see me again and I was to him at least, a girl. We had a brief conversation to confirm that he had stopped and mum used a phrase like mine about pleasing a man, which had been hers in the first place. Then before I could hide, he entered the kitchen. 'Morning Marie' He looked a little awkward about being there in the morning, guilty about what he and my mum must have been up to in the night. But mother just asked me to put the kettle on, using my femme name with emphasis.

After that I went to my room, only to be called down again when the phone rang and she shouted for me. 'Marie, Tom on the phone for you' the whole street could have heard, not just Tom I was sure. He took great interest in why I was still being called Marie, and suggested he come over as he had enjoyed his time with me as Marie. I bet he did I said. He let me know that he was keen to take me anywhere as Marie. When I pointed out I still had school to handle and that would be as Mark, he accepted Mark would make a second best. I told him he was pushing his luck. Later in the day, when Clarke had gone and the house had settled down a little, mum announced she was going out to the sales, but before she left, gave me instructions to get the washing out of the machine and dry it, and to prepare something for supper. I had thought my life as a girl had ended, and I would be going back to being a boy, and the jobs caused me to let out a 'muumm' with a bit of a whine. Which got a very swift response, starting with ‘Now look here young girl’? I listened as she told me that unless I wanted to get my hair cut off, throw out all my nice clothes, stop seeing Tom, then as far as she was concerned, I was more daughter than son from now on.

I stood there thinking as quickly as I could, realising this was a pivotal point in my life. The choice I made now could affect me for the rest of my days. As if sensing my conflict, she spoke again to tell me that no real man would kneel in front of another man and taste his cum, adding at the end that I was smiling at the time, so I clearly was not doing it under sufferance. She waited a moment, maybe for me to say something, then repeated the jobs she had asked me to do, kissed my cheek and said 'See you later Marie' and was gone. I sat down to consider my situation. Mum clearly liked me being a girl. Tom had enjoyed our night together. With a few reservations, I had enjoyed the night and even the days beforehand. If I did not have to go back to school, I told myself I could quite easily fall in with the role, but I could hardly go in looking as girlie as they wanted me to be. By the time mum had returned, the washing was done and I had prepared a meal for us. Symbolically I was accepting the female role, but I had some questions about how I was going to handle school.

She had anticipated my opposition and quickly unpacked some bags for me. First out was underwear. I was to dispose of all the male items she had bagged away and replace them with the pants she had bought. She had also bought training bras for the non school days, then she produced some more nighties, then she gave me a regime of treatments I was to keep to. Including depilating, manicures, and the one she knew would be hardest, eye brow shaping. She never mentioned the regular salon trips, as I had already been doing that for months. Finally, she said that I should go through my clothes and clear out anything that has not a female size label. I did ask if this was all necessary. She said it was and if I wanted to be Tom's girl as much as she thought I did, then I would have to be her girl as well. Which meant I had to be one all the time for her. I did think to myself, 'If I where a man, I would not accept any of this. I would stand up and say no, I will live my life as I want to', but I could not go against her or the idea of not being Tom's girlfriend. As I tidied the pots away, the discussion came to an end with my accepting to be called Marie at home and to being a daughter. No longer would I be her son. The name Mark ceased from that moment on. She even made it clear that the next time she saw Tom, she would explain the situation to him so he was under no illusion as to who I was becoming. She finished by giving me a hug and telling me this was what she had been hoping for since I first went with her to the salon, and I had made her very happy indeed. That was a lovely moment, but I still had to cope with the outside world.

I had to get out and meet people, as the phone kept ringing, with them wanting to know if I was fine as I had not been seen out much since Christmas. Lisa was the first to see the post new year me. She immediately remarked on the fringe and then the shaped brows, and asked if I had been having fun over the break. I told her my mother had been pushing my boundaries. She told me my mother had good ideas, and maybe I should let her guide me more often. If only she knew I had on a lace thong and a satin camisole, maybe she would not be so encouraging. She also commented that I was without my usual mascara. I said I was toning things down, which got a swift rebuke, and was told that I was the only lad to have any flair about his dressing, or the courage to try new things. I explained I was only copying girl’s fashions, and she said whatever I called it, if it was copying girls, then I should do more because I looked good. I broke down about this point and told her how I had spent my Christmas as a girl, and that mum wanted me to be one fulltime. To my surprise, as she held my hands and looked into my eyes, she told me I was a girl already, the gossip about me was all about if I was transgendered. This was a severe blow to my masculine side. Even Lisa saw me as a girl. We ended up with a hug and her telling me to embrace it. Being a girl is wonderful, far better than being a macho ignorant lad.

Where would my life go from here? I know I had started dressing differently, but things were moving on out of my control it seemed. Everyone else dictating how I should appear. I tried to recapture the pre Christmas look, androgynous, what mum called femboy, but even then I was not allowed to forget my female status in the house. If I wore tight trousers, and I had a few, and I had not tucked and hidden my boy bits in control pants, mum would point out that girls have a flat crotch. If I tried leaving the house without make up, she would make some comment about how dull or plain my face looked. But the most significant thing she did was to give me hormones. I had always had vitamin tablets from being a child, but after Christmas they changed from little orange ones to white capsules, and I unsuspectingly took them.

Tom played his part in this reinforcement of my changing gender. He and mother must have discussed me, as he became keener than ever to take me out to the gay bar. Which came to mean I wore the wedge heeled boots, full make up and anything else feminine he suggested. He hardly ever called me Mark, unless it was in front of friends who would hear. I had also let him know how much I enjoyed sucking his cock when I licked his cum off his finger, so whenever the opportunity arose, particularly when I was dressed more femininely, I would find myself kneeling before him, accepting what he gave me.

As January changed into February, and then into March, I found myself less able to challenge Tom. If he said we were doing something, I would agree without question. Mum had me doing a bigger and bigger share of the housework, and once again I never complained, just did as I was told. Then at Easter, I noticed my nipples getting sore if I wore anything coarse on my chest. The solution was to wear soft fabrics like satin or silk. The problem with this was the nipple would become hard and stand out. Mum noticed this one day, and as the nipple showed through a thin top and asked how long they had been like that.

I was so busy trying to please Tom, mum and to a small extent Clarke, when he was about that my studies were always in late and rushed. Two tutors made me aware that I needed to pick things up if I wanted to pass any exams, so I tried harder. But to no avail. The end of year exams showed how badly I was doing, followed by a letter asking me and mum to meet with tutors to discuss the results. I was getting more emotional than ever before. When the results and then the letter came, I broke down, I was in bits. My lemon hoodie was wet with tears when mum got home. She held me for an age, saying clichés like 'there there' and 'it will be alright'. Then as I calmed, we talked the results through, and it transpires that I was doing A levels because I thought it was what mum thought was the best. Now she said I should concentrate on being happy, and maybe consider getting a job. This was news to me. I had always thought she wanted me to get a degree, but seems not. We went to see the tutors who either said that my results had been dropping since Christmas and they could see the reason why, or they did not see any sign of improvement, and told me to go and think hard about what I wanted to do in the next year. They all felt I should retake the lower sixth, but I was not keen.

I was down as we drove home. My future was not looking bright, though I had never really considered anything other than taking an easy choice. She broke the silence when she asked if I had an alternative plan to studying. I admitted to not really having a plan, in essence just pleasing myself. But as she had reminded me often, pleasing myself is not always the best choice. I asked her what I could do that might please her. Be contented she said. Then as happened occasionally, the seat belt rubbed across my chest and irritated the nipple. I repositioned the belt so it lay between the two nipples. This time she noticed and asked if they were sore. The change of topic caught me out and I told her they were more sensitive than I remembered which was making me careful. We both looked at my chest together and saw how the belt was nestled between two small but distinct mounds on my chest. Again she broke the silence 'you are starting to bud you know' 'grow a bust you mean'. I asked in a slightly too high voice. 'Yes Marie, you are developing into a proper girl' She paused to let that sink in. 'Now that could affect your plans I think' It certainly could I thought. How could I go back to school to retake any courses if I was having breasts growing for all to see? Being a femboy attracted some teasing and bullying, changing sex could make things far worse.

When we got home, mum had me remove my top and inspected my chest. I felt a little embarrassed at the attention and being naked for some reason. 12 months ago I would not have batted an eyelid about walking around bare chested. 'They are definitely breasts, how long have they been like this'. I told her how the nipples had got bigger and sensitive, then more recently how they had darkened and started to swell. 'Maybe you should start wearing a bra all the time, to support and protect them'. I looked at them, then at her 'Are you sure, they are only small, and I am not a real girl' She gave me a long look 'Small yes, and female most definitely. I think you are going to have to get used to the idea of having a bust'. I asked the obvious question, how? She said maybe I was wanting to be a girl and this was the consequence, or maybe I was a mixed gender, or maybe I had been eating something. I could not think that any applied to me, but did have to accept that some day soon I would not be able to hide these two developments.

As if to compound my move towards fulltime female, that evening Clarke came round. As always mum was looking her best for him. Her mantra of pleasing the man was very evident. They were going to visit friends, but before they left, Clarke gave us both a surprise. He had booked a week’s holiday in London, sightseeing, a show, shopping, whatever. He had booked two rooms, one for him and mum, the other for me. He then added that a double was only a bit more than a single, so if Tom wants to come he is most welcome, that is, if I wanted him along. I meet Clarke occasionally and had got past dressing up for him. I either hid or made sure mum would not complain about my look, so he still thought as he always did, that I was Marie, his girlfriend's teenage daughter. This holiday meant one thing, I would have to be Marie fulltime and fully female. No sign of the femboy.

I had no choice really if I wanted to stay in mum's good books, but I did not mention it to Tom when he came round later. We talked about my poor grades and what I might do in the future, but nothing about sharing a hotel room with him. Mum and Clarke came in to find us watching TV, and the first thing mum asked was 'Has Marie asked you?’ Tom looked puzzled, so Clarke reconfirmed his offer. Tom, who was studying history, said it would be great to look round London. I said an ungrateful 'Oh great' which got a stare of mum, who was later to tell me off for my outburst. Pointing out I should be happy that he wants to come and I should be pleased he wants to share his interests with me. Then she added 'We shall need to take you shopping young lady, trousers are fine for daytime, but I am not going to a show with you looking like a student when you could look like a pretty woman. Think on what you fancy, and if that does not help then think what Tom might fancy you in.' 'Mum' I said 'He likes me as I am, I don't need to flaunt myself just for him' She gave me a long look, then closed the conversation. 'Yes he does like you as you are, but he is a lad and they like pretty girls to look pretty. Besides, he is a good lad and it would be a shame if he started looking elsewhere just because you failed to make the most of yourself. I think I might be repeating myself, but in such situations don't please yourself, try to please your man' and with that got up and went to bed. I sat there considering several conversations and events of the day. I had said I liked to please myself, but that had left me with no future at school. Now I had the words of my mother ringing in my ears, that I should be pleasing Tom before myself.

With six weeks to go before the holiday, and no plans for the next day, let alone the future, I rather drifted for a few days, not knowing whether to go to school from habit or look for work or alternative courses for the next term. Then I had two conversations. One with my mother about what I planned on doing if I was not going to school. The other was with Tom, partly about what I should do, but the subject of the holiday came up and mum's comment about how I had to get myself a skirt, which created for Tom a far less serious subject. He had said a few times before how he would like me to wear a skirt when I was pretending to be a woman, so knowing his wish was more likely to become reality, he was able to tell me what sort of skirts he would fancy on me. Later, I had to admit it was useful to know what he liked, which was fairly standard for a nineteen year old lad. His favourite was short skirts, showing plenty of leg and big heels at the other end. Though he did like a more feminine billowing style which I thought might be more modest in protecting my shaky gender position.

As a week passed and I was showing no signs of doing anything other than nothing, mother decided that I might as well keep the house clean and prepare our meals which included shopping. So I started to get even more domesticated. Cleaning, looking in recipe books and then buying what I needed so I could have a nice meal ready for us when she came home. But this was not enough. Because I was not going out much, I did spend a lot of time in jeans and a top, just being me or so I thought. Mum thought differently. I had time on my hands, so I should make good use of it and I was to present as femininely as possible, she said. So I was ready for the fulltime experience of the holiday, and to this end, when we went to the salon for our regular hair day, she also booked me in for a full set of nail extensions with white french tips. How could I hide them? She knew this and made it clear my appearance should reflect the nails. Stylish lady. Tom was pleased to find me made up that evening when he called to take me out. I even admitted to finding being Marie not that hard lately, and once again found myself knelt in front of Tom licking his prick. But what I noticed was that I never got any reaction from my own prick. Maybe taping it back was making it numb, but I was getting different sensations inside me when Tom stroked or squeezed my nipples. They went hard and something inside tingled.

The Sunday morning after, I was in a nightie eating breakfast with mum, when she asked to see my chest. I blushed and asked why. She was curious if things had changed since our conversation about sensitive nipples in the car weeks ago. I slipped a strap off my shoulder. She was amazed and let out a squeal of delight 'they are fantastic, you must be an A cup at least. Do you like them?'

I was taken aback by her enthusiasm 'not really thought about liking them, but they do fit with my current image, and I know you and Tom like them'

'how do they feel?'

'Well sensitive, the bra helps, but I fear I will not be able to pass as a boy for much longer'

She questioned me again 'Is that a problem Marie?'

'Maybe not for you, but I do still think of myself as part boy at least'

'Even though you look so pretty? They will get bigger you know, then you will not be able to hide them'

'I know, I have been thinking that, what with the holiday and everything you are asking me to do. Whether I shall ever be anything but a girl ever again'

She took her time to reply 'you know what would please me, and I think it would you as well'

I finished my coffee. 'It would certainly be easier if I just accepted I was turning into a girl and got on with it' With that, I swallowed my vitamin pill. Then mum made an odd suggestion. 'While your body is changing, maybe I should look for some different vitamins, or for now you could take two a day, help your system adapt' Innocently I took a second pill and went for a shower, taking a good look at my growing chest and shriveling manhood. When I came out, she was ready for me, and told me as I had decided to accept that I was a girl she was going to treat me to some new clothes. I asked her if she meant a skirt. She said if we saw a nice one, then yes.

What we did come back with was: a pair of flats, a pair of what I thought were sky high sandals, some black leggings and a white sixties style long top, but most controversial was the cream cotton skirt. Soft flowing and just above my knee, it was her choice and I wondered if I would wear it. To please her, I wore the legging and long top when we got home and found the look quite good. My long legs looking even better when I wore the heels and the top looked definitely female. When I went to show her, she smiled and asked if I liked it. I said it was nice and she had got me to wear something totally female again, so I knew she would like it. She agreed that she did like it and hoped I would enjoy looking completely female, rather than there being some doubt about me. We made some food together, drank wine and baileys, having a girlie night in, which seemed to please both of us.

A week later I was stepping out of the shower and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. It was a brief glimpse but it shook me. I had not fully noticed how my chest had developed, and maybe it was the angle or the light, but my bust was very noticeable. I went to my room for a closer and more intimate look. There was no doubt my chest had changed and there was no way a tight top would not conceal my new shape. They even jiggled if I moved about. Fortunately, mum was at work and I had time to consider what this new information meant. And what it meant was, I looked very much like a girl. Even in a loose top I was aware of my nipples pushing the front out. I spent several hours trying on different outfits, until I accepted that with my chest, I might as well wear a bra and look like the girl I had become. My mother had encouraged me to have my hair done in feminine styles. My whole look was easily female, even if I cut off the nails and hair. I felt that I would be unable to hide my changing gender. When she got home, I had given myself a full make over, mousse in my hair to make it stand out more, full but subtle make up, a bra padded out, but because I knew it would please her, I wore the cotton skirt and heels. She was over the moon when she saw me and as I explained how my day had been, she told me it was for the best and was pleased at my acceptance of the situation

From then on I spent every day being a girl. I was even able to wear ordinary knickers as my male bits had stopped doing anything significant other than allowing me to drain my bladder. A few days after my acceptance, I plucked up courage to call Lisa and ask her to meet. She was used to my femboy styles, but now I had gone completely feminine, I was not 100% sure she would like it. After a few texts, she came around when her classes finished and was delighted to see me. I had spent hours getting ready for her, ending up in the long top and jeans with heels. She was sure this was how I would end up and there had been gossip that I had left school to have surgery, so when I showed her my chest she was pleased to see they had developed on their own. The next thing that came up was my lack of pure girlie clothes. I showed her my skirt, which she declared a mum style. I defended it, saying it was nice and soft. Lisa suggested I just look at what other girls our age wore and copy them to start with. I raised the objection that most teenage girls wore short skirts. Her response was 'So', but she did explain how they also wore thick tights or leggings under the skirt, rarely just bare legs and panties, which made me feel a little better about short skirts.

The next person to discuss my acceptance with was Tom. He had been behind my getting more feminine from the start it seemed. Now he just loved the prospect of me moving on from femboy to chick with a dick as he put it. He also liked the idea of short skirts, but he was a lad and that was to be expected. Never the less, when mum came in to find us chatting, she asked how we were and so on, and Tom let her know how pleased he was that I was going to wear skirts more often. Which prompted her to give me some cash to go shopping with. The only word of advice was that I take Tom, and he must like my choices, otherwise they go back unworn. When I objected that he will have me in short skirts and low cut tops, she rephrased her mantra, 'If you are his, then let him dress you as he likes to see you. I am sure he will show his gratitude if you go along with his preferences.' So that was more or less it. I did like Tom a lot and was almost totally thinking of myself as his girlfriend, the emphasise being on 'his'. So, come the weekend, I was going round the clothes shops with the cash and Tom. We bought three skirts, all short. One pleated, one bubble, one an elasticated tube. We had enough cash left for two tops, a slash neck and a sheer blouse, and one pair of shoes, which according to Tom had to be the highest we could find, which ended up being 5" platforms and made me nearly as tall as him, and certainly slower when it came to walking with him. I was going to get some leggings or tights, but Tom vetoed that, insisting I had such good legs it was a shame to hide them inside thick black socks.

Later that evening, Tom came round to pick me up to take me out for the evening. I was doing the 'keep him waiting' routine and walked into the living room where Tom, mum and Clarke were seated. I got a great reaction to my sheer red blouse, tight red mini, and 5" stilettos. Tom and Clarke just stopped talking and stared. mum got up and led me into the hall

'You told me to let him choose' I got in my defense quickly

'I know, but you do look like you are asking for it'

'I am not that sure about it myself, but it is what he likes, and if he likes slutty on me, then that is what he gets. That's right isn't it?'

'Well. err.... I suppose so, just be careful'

'Don't worry, he can't get me pregnant.'

We started at the gay bar, but moved onto straight ones pretty quickly. I was unnerved by the looks I was getting from men, which made me feel like a piece of meat. But Tom loved having me link his arm. I think he was showing off again. Without saying a word, he was letting all the men know I was his, and I was one hot girl that was not available. We got back home to find the house empty, and though I did turn the kettle on, I was far more taken with the attention Tom was giving my breasts, which were now highly sensitive and with a little encouragement could have erect nipples. Which, as he played with them, made me gasp. I did end up drinking his cum rather than coffee. Thankfully this time without mother walking in on us, but it was close. I forgot to button up the front of my blouse. More telling though was the lack of lipstick and a sticky drop in the corner of my mouth that I licked up as she gave me a motherly, concerned look. I let Tom out the back door then walked through to the stairs to find her and Clarke giggling, but stopped as soon as I appeared. Then starting again when I shut my door. It only took them minutes to be shutting her own door and making noises that correspond with passionate lovemaking, so I did not know what they had against me having some fun.

In the morning, Clarke was there having breakfast so I made an effort to look more Marie than Mark. That was if looking like Mark could be possible. As I dressed I reminded myself I would have to consider myself as Marie all the time and lose the idea of being a lad called Mark. I was wearing the pleated skirt and slash neck top, which got an approving look from mum. 'You look good, going anywhere?' From this comment, I thought that she saw me as dressed up and answered 'Nowhere special, just fancied trying on the new outfit, glad you like it' I spent the day in this short skirt, and in my new frame of mind found it appropriate if a little challenging, as the pleats allowed it to show more of my legs than I really wanted to. Another day of learning to be a girl I reflected on later, as I wondered what else I would need to master as I continued into life as Marie.

Before the holiday happened, I had a few more Marie experiences to live through and learn from. Joan from the cafe rang up in the daytime and asked for Marie. This at first did not make me suspicious till later, when I realised she must have been primed by my mother. Joan wanted to know if I wanted to work at the cafe. When I said I was unsure about it, I did not say, it but I was not that confident I wanted such a public position where many would see me. As I dithered, she explained how she had decided that waitresses should wear a black skirt. I promised to think about it and call her back the next day. She told me to be sure and call, the job needed filling. I was mulling over the significance of Joan's call when mum came home with a shopping bag. She placed it before me and told me to look in it. I pulled out a stretchy black skirt. 'Joan rang me, and said you were undecided........ Well, if you think you're sitting around here all day, and not going back to studying, then think again girl.' I recognised my submission as I sat with my hands resting in my lap and my eyes looking at the floor in front of me. 'I shall go and call her' was all I could think to say. The next day, I turned up at the cafe wearing the skirt, black tights, black ballet shoes and a white top. I was in full Marie mode and Joan told me I looked just great, and was dressed suitably for the job. She gave me a long black apron and explained my duties, but reassured me that if anyone gave me a hard time, I was to retreat to the kitchen and find her straight away.

It did not take long before the tables were filling up and my mind was more on the job, than how I looked. Remarkably, no one said anything that I heard about there being a boy in a skirt waiting on the tables. At least that was what I thought, and when I had finally tidied everything up and prepared for the next day, Joan took me aside to share the tips, I assumed. 'So convincing, I know I expected you to look like a girl, but you are so feminine it is hard to spot anything of the boy in you. I do hope you don't mind me saying this'

'Thank you, I was uncertain about what you and mother had cooked up for me, but I appreciate the compliment.'

'So, do you want a full time job?'

I could have told her I had nothing better to do like a teenage lad, but instead I thanked her and asked if the white top I was wearing was suitable. How femmy was that.

Mum was pleased to have me working, but I was not that pleased to find she still expected me to do a large share of the housework. If I was home first, I was to prepare tea. If I started late, I would have a list of cleaning jobs to do before I left, and that was on top of the effort I took to make myself look my best.

Joan knew about the holiday, so did not object when after a week I had time off. She just told me to enjoy myself. The part timers would cover for me. I felt like I was packing everything I owned as I had no idea what I would need while away. For the journey I chose leggings and my first purely girlie top, the smock styled one. Tom turned up on time, with a small case containing a few clean changes of clothes with not much to choose between them. A far cry from my selection. Clarke drove all the way, a kind of macho thing I guessed. He and Tom discussing football at the front, me and mum chatting in the back, how sexist I thought, but accepted it as I saw Tom enjoying himself being taken as an equal to Clarke.

Once parked and in the hotel, I unpacked and let Tom see what I had brought, then he suggested I wear the pleated skirt as we were going out for a meal. I dressed up for him, later meeting mum, who had dressed up for Clarke with a halter neck dress which only just contained her breasts. Pasta and wine consumed, we discussed where we wanted to go over the next few days. Tom wanted to visit a few museums, mum wanted to shop. I wanted the tourist things like Trafalgar square. But it was later that I really learned what the trip was about for me and Tom. I got ready for bed, going through my cleansing routine before putting on a short satin nightie, emerging from the suite to find Tom already in bed. This was our first time in a bed together, and I was worried, while at the same time excited about the situation. We kissed and cuddled for a bit. His erection free to grow without clothes. I was caressing it when he asked if I would like to try being his woman. I knew what he meant and asked him if he knew what to do. He said he did and massaged some gel into my arse while stroking my nipples. I was really enjoying this until he tried to push his dick into my hole. I knew this was how we would make love and tried to relax. After a little while he got inside me, then after a few painful strokes, he came. He shriveled up and flopped out of my hole, and that was it. We had lost our virginity in a very disappointing manner. Things could only get better I thought.

The next morning I was sore at first, but soon got used to the discomfort as I wore some low shoes and trousers so I could enjoy the museum we would be visiting a little more. Tom was in his element, showing me stuff and explaining its relevance to the important events in history. I must admit to only taking any true interest when I was looking at fashion through the ages and tried to imagine what the women wore. The day finished with another nice meal with wine, followed by a trip to a bar where I drank some more. That night, I was not so keen on my cleansing and changed in front of Tom, who helped me out of the blouse and skirt I was wearing. Soon we were on the bed and having a rerun of the night before. This time I was more relaxed and Tom entered me with more ease and was able to ride me for a while until he was unable to stop himself and exploded into my arse. 'Now that' I thought 'was good, I have been his woman and he has been the man. Mum would be pleased.'

The following morning mum wanted to go shopping with me. She and Clarke wanted to go to a show and she felt I needed a nice dress for the occasion. Once she had me on my own, she asked me why I was walking with more of wiggle. All I could do was keep my arse cheeks together and minimise the soreness. Over a much needed coffee and chance to sit down, mum asked if my walk was to do with Tom. I said in a way which got a smile, 'Oh tell me more' and did not let up until I in desperation I told her we had made love. For some reason, this shocked her. 'What do you expect, double bed and you telling me to make my man happy, it was bound to happen sooner or later' a woman at a neighbouring table looked over with a strange look on her face, so I lowered my voice. 'I do hope it gets more pleasurable with time though' mum in a concerned tone said 'I'm sure it will, took a while before I enjoyed it. You using jelly or a lubricant?' 'Yes mum, can we change the subject' She did onto What sort of dress I was going to get. This was her mission that day, and she made sure I was going to be involved as she walked me from store to store, trying on various styles. By five o'clock, I must have walked miles but I was kitted out for the evening. A candy pink dress with satin ribbon doing a cross over between my breasts so they stood out. The skirt flared out from my bustline and stopped a few inches above my knees. In truth it did feel very feminine, and with the short grey jacket, grey platforms with 5" heels, a small grey clutch bag and some nice costume jewelry, I felt absolutely wonderful. But as far as Tom was concerned, besides me looking so good, was that when he later unzipped the dress, he discovered that I was braless and wearing only a matching pink thong. He was smiling from ear to ear as he took me to bed that night.

Morning again was uncomfortable, but with the discomfort came the knowledge that I had made love to the man I wanted to be with, so it was a no pain no gain attitude. The rest of the week was pretty much along the same pattern. Daytime out sightseeing or some such tourist activity, Low shoes, trousers on occasion, but mostly skirts. Then get dressed up in the evening and go out for a meal. Followed by some sex, followed by sleep. Happily for me, on the Friday night Tom was taking his time and trying to make sure I was enjoying myself when his prick stroked something sensitive inside and I just wanted him to continue. I made him move his position. I moved my position until we had gone in all directions. Then he hit the spot again and I kept him on it. I had wanked before as a boy, but this felt so different, a build up, then a growing sense of tension. Last an explosion inside that went in waves through my body until it finally subsided. When I came down, Tom had come as well. 'I guess you enjoyed yourself then?' Tom teased.

'Thank you, that was brilliant'

'Part of the service, boyfriend, lover and sex toy'

I was too spent to come back at him, just kissed him and went to sleep.

In the morning, mum and Clarke were giving us side ways glances. Eventually, I said 'what?'

'Good night last night?' mum asked

'Yes thanks'

'Thought so, these walls are quite thin'

I blushed as I realised they would have heard me telling Tom to push harder and moaning as I came. How embarrassing!

Knowledge that my mum knew and did not seem to mind that I was having sex with Tom came as a bit of a surprise, but I coped. By the following Monday, I was back in my white blouse, black skirt and long apron, waiting on the tables at the cafe. Besides Joan asking if I had had a nice holiday, no one seemed to be in the least bothered about me. Over the weeks, I would go from wanting to know why I was not being called weird by customers, to wanting someone to say 'you look pretty' and flatter me a little. But life just ran into a routine of work, time at home, and time with Tom. I had become an ordinary girl with an ordinary job. Yes, most people around knew my past, but after the first bit of gossip it all faded and no trouble seemed to follow.

By Christmas, my breasts needed a B cup bra and my hips had filled out a bit, giving me a more feminine shape which pleased me, so I decided that it was about time to face my mum over the future. I started by asking if she had any objections to me seeing the doctor about how things were turning out. Then I asked her if she would mind me getting my name changed legally. Then I asked her if she would tell me what hormones she had been feeding me so I could tell the doctor. Up until the last one, she had been quite positive, but the last one meant she had been found out. I had known for months after checking them out on the internet, then accepting I liked what they had done to me and continued so I could see how much my body would change. I had to give her a hug and tell her I was fine with the drugs and that they had worked a treat, but I would need to know for the doctor. So she told me, then asked if this meant the last days of Mark. It had to come, I told her some things just gather their own momentum, and after a while as the femboy, it was inevitable that I would lose the boy part of me.

I did see the doctor who passed me onto a specialist. I was given a proper set of drugs, which would promote my female body changes. It was decided between Tom and me that we did not want any surgery. For some reason, Tom liked to still see my dick when I was undressed. He said it made me special. I was just glad to not be going to hospital.

My name was changed to Marie without much trouble, and I was able to open bank accounts and get paid as Marie, which at the time felt like a definite severing of my past.

For no better reason than I take the easy option, I stayed on working for Joan at her cafe. I was soon the only fulltimer as the quieter winter season crept up, but she kept my hours up and left me in charge on occasions, which felt very good to my ego.

Tom could have gone to university, but took a trainee job at a firm of accountants, so he avoided debt and could stay near me, which was sweet.

All in all, life as Marie looked to be far less stressful than a life as Mark could ever have been. I felt everything had come up well, even if the journey had been a little bumpy at times.

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