"I bought all my clothes by catalogue and I believed I could dress well that way. Angela was keen to teach me more."
The SisterDom is a group of wonderful women who know that it is important to help their men to access and release their inner girlhood. These women are willing to train and transition their new-girls using a variety of simple techniques, sometimes with a touch of ‘domination’ and strong encouragement. Characters do overlap from story to story.
It's hard to believe but I used to buy everything from those wonderful catalogues. You name it - I could find it. I started like everyone does with a few careful experiments, but in the end, every speck of clothing arrived by mail. It was the same with household gadgets and even a good percentage of the food and drink. You'd have been amazed.
Like I say, I started with a few experiments. I bought a packet of panties and a few simple undies. Nothing as important as a bra. After all, at the big shops it's so much easier to send things back if they don't fit. All the magazines say that it's really important to have a well-fitting bra.
I then moved on to skirts and the occasional dress. One of my favourites was a dishy black jersey number. It came halfway down my calves. I loved the way the material clung to my body. Jersey is great for that, it's one of the few materials where you sometimes want to show a pantie-line.
Later, I bought some shoes and soon after I was buying almost every speck of my wardrobe this way. Sometimes, I could find a shirt or sweater which was totally unisex. This meant I could wear whatever it was anytime of the day. After all, I couldn't go out in a skirt and frilly blouse, could I. All the neighbours would have gone berserk seeing the renowned local rugby team's scrum-half in silks and stockings. I'd spend ages going through the catalogue looking for suitable stuff. There was so much that I wanted - but on closer inspection there was so often some giveaway detail. The worst offenders were the lovely soft sweaters which almost always had some frilly stitching or suchlike and then there were all those pretty shirts and blouses with the dashed buttons on the wrong side. Sometimes I got so irritated.
Why couldn't I wear whatever I wanted. What were these unstated rules which denied men the right to frills and lace and colour and prettiness. It was okay in almost every other century and in almost every other country. What was it that forced the average western european male to be drab and dowdy. I looked it up in the thesaurus one day - all those words that were so accurate - colourless, boring, monotonous, lacklustre, bland, dreary, uninteresting. I felt even worse after doing that, so I cheered myself up by buying some extra frilly knickers.
Sometimes I felt so cross that I had to put on a full set of undies and go outdoors, even go into town and do the shopping. I loved the slick feeling of wearing nylons under my trousers. Sometimes I wore a bra, empty of course, but I liked the feel of simultaneous constraint and support that came with it. I avoided wearing thin shirts with such an outfit - there was no point in being totally obvious.
This went on for several years. I was confident that nobody knew of my little hobby. I took precautions. For instance, whenever I had a girlfriend, I tended to encourage meeting at her place rather than mine. With the laundry, I would only hang my ordinary clothes outdoors. My pretties stayed safely indoors.
I was a casual dresser for a long time. I don't know what started me at the age of about 12 or why I enjoyed it so much. I never gave it much thought. All I knew was that I did enjoy it and it was part of my life. Finally, when I was 20 I was forced, of course I was forced, to dress up for a party. This meant that I had to go out and buy an official bra, panties, suspenders, stockings, makeup, blouse(s), skirt(s), shoes and so on. I didn't feel I knew any girls well enough to ask for their help - except at the last minute with the makeup. My current and unknowing girlfriend was away until the day before the party so I planned to do the shopping myself. Actually, since it was a sort of club event, three of us did the deed together. Jake and Nigel made up the team.
It was really wonderful going into all the girly stores for a reason. It was so nice to have to examine and properly check each item rather than the usual, oh so accidental, stroking and caressing of the exotic frillies the lucky sex get to wear every day. I actually found that now I was buying for real instead of 'browsing' I didn't get the exotic, I spent my money on much more ordinary stuff. The other two had as much fun as I did, I think. Certainly we spent a long time shopping and trying on things. The assistants were all remarkably helpful about it.
Getting madeup for the party was fun too. Jake had his girlfriend Alice to help him, while Nigel's sister sorted him out. My girlfriend Carol wasn't keen but joined in enough. The makeup was heavy on purpose. I really wanted to look feminine rather than tarty - but of course the event dictated the drag-style. I kept my mouth shut except to echo the complaints of the other two lads. In the end, the do turned out alright even though we all had a fair amount of hassle from the rest of the club. Carol didn't enjoy the evening and I think this was a factor in her drifting away in the next few months.
Once she left, I wore my pretty clothes much more often when I was alone in the house. Eventually, I was wearing girls' clothes almost every evening and every weekend. I did this less in winter, of course, when I had to go down to the club for training and games. Any evidence of overt ‘girliness' would have led to severe problems.
Another thing I did was to casually, oh how casually, mention to several people, mostly girls, how much luckier girls are with colours, textures and variety compared to boring bloke's gear. I got one or two puzzled glances but no one said anything.
I found that I was bursting to tell the world. When the phone rang, I wanted to say, "Sorry, can't talk just now, my nail polish is drying', or 'doesn't lipstick taste strange', or 'my stockings feel sexy', or even 'my bra-straps are too tight'. It was getting more and more uncomfortable.
I met Angela at a friend's 21st birthday party. She was one of the girls I talked to about her good fortune in dressing colourfully. We got on pretty well but by the end of the party we'd both moved on to talk to others. Then we met a few months later when her friends and mine met up at the same pub, one chilly early spring evening. The groups eventually merged and I found myself near Angie. We got talking and discovered a number of shared interests. She enjoyed sports, photography and good food. Even better, she liked doing day trips to France just like I did. When she said that a special point of such trips was to buy decent Loire wines, I was amazed. We both said what a shame it was that we hadn't talked more at the previous party. It was quite obvious that we were getting on well.
"That's great. I feel exactly the same about most French wines. But Sancerre and Vouvray - I can't buy enough of it. It's so much more drinkable than the rest."
We had both made plans for such a trip in the next month so we decided to join forces. We were getting on really well. I was looking forward to the next few weeks, if not the next few months.
It was late when we got ready to leave the pub. There was a thin slick of ice on the ground so I walked her to her car carefully. It was as I turned away to my own car that I slipped. My ankle went over and I yelped with pain and annoyance. "Hell, dammit. Bloody ankle, I hope it's not bust - I need both feet in good working order for the weekend."
Angela was by my side almost instantly. "Come on, lean on me. Let's see what you've done. Let's get that shoe off."
I wriggled to try to stop her. I really did not want her to examine my ankle any closer. Erghh, too late.
"Keep still, I've got to get your socks off ...... oh, now what do we have here. These look pretty. In fact, they're just like mine. Oh well, they're not in the way. Actually, they let me feel the bones more easily." Her fingers rubbed and gentled my ankle - through sheer nylon stockings.
"I didn't now you liked wearing tights. Or are they?" With this, her hand slid up to my hips where they found the tell-tale suspender-clips. "Oooh, that's more like fun. They're stockings, aren't they. Oh, you darling boy. I'd never have guessed. And you'd never have guessed - but I love boys who wear pretty undies. We've got even more in common than before. I want to come home with you and see what you've got."
"I wasn't going to be that bold so fast, Angie. But I don't think I can drive so there's not much alternative. Just go back in and warn Geoff that I've hurt my ankle on the ice but I should be okay by Saturday. No, on second thoughts just tell them I've drunk too much and you won't let me drive. Geoff would insist on getting his sister to check me over - and she's not going to find me wearing stockings. She's such a gossip. It'd be all over town by breakfast."
Angela went off on her errand while I clambered into her car. When she came back she said it was all under control. "And my reputation as an Angela of Mercy is confirmed too. So I don't want to be shown up as a loose woman by staying the night even though we both want it. That makes me sound like a trollop, but I think we can see a long-term future ahead of us. We like all the same things, after all."
I grinned at her, "Of course I wasn't wanting you to stay all night so soon. I'm not that bold. But the idea of you coming back to my place and helping me out is just yummy."
Angie gripped my arm. "I know, I can see the glint in your eye and the bulge in your trousers. I'd love to come back to your place. I want to see everything you have in your alternative wardrobe. I'm sure we can have a lot of fun. Hey, what if we go to France with you in a pretty dress. Fun, yeah?"
"Mmmmm. I can't believe this. We've only spent two evenings together and we're making such exciting plans. Yes, please, Angela. I'd love to come to France with you in a dress. Sorry, that sounds wrong. I'd love to come to France with you in a dress and me in a dress too."
"Don't be so pushy. I haven't decided whether to wear a dress yet."
I didn't answer. The idea of going to France for the whole day in a dress was dazzling my slightly drunken brain.
It only took a few minutes to get back to my flat. It wasn't much more than a bedsitter really - Bedroom, Bathroom, Kitchen and SittingRoom. I had managed to divide the bedroom pretty much in half. One side, visible with the door open was obviously masculine, the other allowed my feminine side to show a little.
As I said, I tried not to be obvious and it was always possible that a teammate might come back after a night on the town. The macho side had a poster of Dutch Beers while the other had a few small photographs of girls. At first glance these were typical cheesecake shots, actually they were carefully chosen.
Angela realized at once that I really used them as examples to copy makeup styles. She noticed the locked drawers in the desk. "Store special things in there do we?"
She waited while I found the key. "Thank you, Patrick, I'll see exactly what you've hidden away from casual visitors."
First drawer. "Yup, okay, makeup and so on - not much variety"
Second drawer. "Why on earth are all these pretty undies all rumpled and crumpled. Haven't you learnt how to use an iron?"
Third drawer. "And all these things are squeezed in. You really don't look after your things very well. What else do you have?"
"There's a few things at the back of the cupboard."
"At least these dresses and skirts aren't crushed to death. I'm not impressed by what I'm finding. It's almost disgusting the way you are treating your sister's clothes. I think it's neater if we refer to your two personalities that way. It's easier to maintain a proper separation between the two that way. So, as I was saying - this collection and the way you store it is not satisfactory. You need to be shown how to look after your sister decently. Are you interested?"
"Speak up. Don't sit there gurgling."
"I'll do almost anything you ask. If you can show me how to be a man and a woman at the same time, I'll be so much happier."
She hesitated for a moment. Had I said something wrong? She didn't say anything significant while she checked my ankle again. We decided that it would probably be alright in a day or two, and she helped me attach another packet of frozen peas. Every sportsman has a spare pack of frozen peas for just that reason.
She helped me hobble to the bed, then she picked up her coat and got ready to go. "You can look after that ankle yourself. But on the more interesting project, I expect you to spend the morning cleaning and tidying everything. I expect your panties and all to be clean and nicely ironed too. You will ring me when you are done."
There was no time to answer, even if I had been able to think of a witty retort.
The next day, I rang Angela.
"Hello, Angie. I've spent ages tidying up. I've washed and ironed all my undies. My skirts and dresses have been hung in the wardrobe as you told me. It's great. I'm sitting here putting on my lipstick. I feel wonderful. My ankle is fine now so I want to come straight over and have a makeup lesson."
"I don't know what you expected me to say when a person who is clearly male rings me up and starts talking about their female attire," said a voice. "Unfortunately, you are being unbelievably dim. Why on earth didn't you check to see who was answering the phone. This is not Angie."
My heart plummeted past my boots. After so many careful years, how could I have been so stupid? One evening with a wonderful girl who accepted and enjoyed my lifestyle - and years of caution had been obliterated. The phone was silent for many seconds. I couldn't think of anything to say and I was too stunned to put down the phone.
"Now, you silly girl. That will teach you to be more careful. This is Angie and you've just learnt an important lesson."
I sat there motionless and drained. The surge of emotions had driven every thought from my skull.
"Are you still there, Patricia darling. I couldn't believe it when you started shouting down the phone about your undies and everything. You didn't even wait to see if it was me. It might have been my sister Annette. It could have been almost anyone."
"Oh, don't be such a brute, Angie. I'm just so excited about all this. I wanted to ask if we could go shopping soon. I saw some darling high-heeled shoes yesterday that are just right for my best dress. And I need some new lipstick and you'll have to help me choose the right colour. And I want advice on what to do with my hair too."
"Shut up. Stop being so obvious. Now, slow down. First of all, I expect you here at my flat at three o'clock this afternoon prompt. Bring the rest of your wardrobe with you. You will be dressed ready to be taken out shopping or you will be in severe trouble. Do you understand exactly what I am saying."
I know when I must do as I am told. I was there on the doorstep at three. I felt a little uncomfortable standing there in the open in daylight with a small suitcase beside me. My excursions were usually in the dark or at least in the twilight. This was already different. The door opened and Angie beckoned me in. To my surprise there were two other girls there. One was a little shorter than Angie but with the same features, her hair was a long glossy blonde tied into a lovely plaited arrangement. The other was actually taller than me, about 5' 10" in her heels. She had short, dark, wonderfully curly hair and her perfume was intoxicating. She was deliciously pretty. I felt a tightness in my panties as I caught her eye.
"Annette, April - this is Patricia. She needs all the help we can give her. She's only just realized how much fun a pretty girl can have in this town. We can all give her some tips and tricks. April, you've brought some essentials with you. Take Patricia and ensure that she is properly dressed for the afternoon's activities."
The tall girl took my arm and led me upstairs. Annette came with us and began to check through my sparse wardrobe. Angie had obviously told her what a limited selection I had. Clearly I was in the hands of a woman who was in complete control and expected things to be done her way. Somehow this didn't worry me.
"Strip, I need to check you."
I didn't dare argue. The girl watched with no visible emotion as I stripped to my bra and panties. She examined the bra to see if there was any padding and then she ordered me to remove my panties. I hesitated. "Do you want me to call Angela?"
Down came the panties. She handed me a tiny rubber strap. "Put this on. It's a gaff. You'll need it while we go round the shops." When I looked helplessly at her, she shrugged and with a quick flick tied the tiny thing around my waist and below. With one more stretch, she pulled it into place and my whole body jerked with the sudden pain. "Aaargh, ow."
"Shut up. Angela said to put it on, so put it on and be silent. The pain should wear off after a few moments." As she talked that first extreme pain wore down and I began to recover. "Get dressed and come downstairs," the pretty siren ordered. I was in no position to argue with the beautiful April.
What man wouldn't agree when three gorgeous girls were prepared to join in his fantasy. Maybe my fantasy was a little less common than for a 'normal' bloke but I hadn't ever had any complaints and Angela clearly knew what she was doing. I was no longer in command. Somehow it felt natural to do what this lovely woman demanded.
Angela makes me think about my statement about being a man and a woman at the same time - and how disgusting that is. Wouldn't it be more comfortable to be a woman all the time.
Later that evening, alone with April and Annette, they ply me with drink and then insist on kissing and cuddling me. I love it, especially when they stroke my nylon-clad legs with their own. Angela came home while we were all cosied up on the sofa. My skirt had been pulled up to my hips and their eager little hands were stroking my thighs. She was furious with the three of us.
That night Angie began to tell me the story of the transformation of both her ex-brother Annette as a teenager and her friend, April, some time later. I realize that I had been fondled by two other boys and I had not only enjoyed every moment of it but I had not detected the faintest bit of boy-ness about my two delicious molesters.
I cry when she says that I'm going to look just as pretty as them. Angela laughs as she admires my newly-learnt skill in not spoiling my mascara as I dab my eyes.
Next month we did go on holiday together. It was a wonderful time as we stay in a small hotel in Amboise in the middle of the Loire wine-growing area. We spent some of our days sight-seeing ( and flirting just a little with the boys who want to know these two English girls a little better). We spent other days relaxing in the sunshine and a few days visiting the vineyards and cellars. I really enjoyed the whole holiday in a new way because I was allowed, or rather instructed, to wear my new dresses every day. There wasn't a single moment after I set off that I wore a Patrick-outfit. I was Patricia for fifteen lovely, swishy, girly days. I did insist on spending some time in the French lingerie shops so that I could begin an International collection of frilly, lacy underwear.
My French was much better than Angela's. But I did make an elementary mistake and, of course, I got my genders wrong at a crucial moment. The girl giggled and said in broken English, 'My boyfriend likes to wear my panties too.'
This led us into a wonderful situation where we spent much of the afternoon with Francoise and agreed to meet later that evening for a drink. I realized afterwards that I did not know whether we will meet with Francoise and her boy-friend or her boy-girl-friend. Angela suggested that we just relaxed and waited to see what happened. Despite being a little concerned about the risk of being caught out and exposed as dirty foreign perverts, eventually, we both agreed that the risk was not too much and the opportunity much too interesting.
I took my time about getting dressed. I couldn't decide what to wear. In the end, Angela made the decision for me and told me to wear my old (thrice-worn) yellow jersey dress with the green piping.
It was a really nice evening. We met with Francoise and Annette (the 'boy' friend) at a little bar by the river. I was really pleased when I realized that I was prettier than he was. He wore a very nice puffed-sleeve blouse with a sweet little embroidered motif down the sleeves and collar. I was amazed when Francoise told us that Annette had done this herself. With this, she wore a simple skirt and belt. Her bra could clearly be seen under her blouse but she had no padding to enhance the effect. Her makeup was quite sloppy and the overall combination was much less feminine than I would have wanted. But she had learnt to use a very feminine voice and this made me very jealous. Francoise said that she had found a voice coach who worked for the local theatre. Apparently she was Dutch not French and she worked all over Europe.
The next morning, Francoise rang to say that Mrs. Vandermeer was willing to have a quick session with me. I thanked her very much and immediately began to rush around worrying again about what to wear. Yet again, Angela came to my rescue.
"You're being daft. You need to relax so that you can get the most out of this offer. If you're all tensed up and stressed, you'll learn nothing. Just put on a simple blouse and skirt, I'll do you hair and makeup and we'll set off for this voice-session."
We arrived at the far end of town with only minutes to spare. Her studio was only a few yards from the tiny practise theatre but we hadn't been able to find it at all. She welcomed us both and asked Angie to sit at the far side of the room so that she wouldn't be tempted to interrupt.
I introduced myself as Patrice, a careful variation on Patrique. I saw her smile as I began to speak and then make a quick pencilled note. I knew that I hadn't expected to get through the whole session without her making some comment about me being a boy-in-a-dress - but she saw through me with my very first sentence. She than asked me to make a few simple ooh, oh, oy, aaah, ah, ay noises.
As I finished, she smiled once more and asked the crucial question. "Now, my dear, are you planning to go out as a girl permanently or just for fun now and again. The skills you will need to pass as a girl all day and every day will be very different from those you will need when you are out with friends."
"To be truthful, I haven't decided yet. I love wearing dresses and so on - but the degree of permanence is uncertain." I was stunned at how little her detection of my masquerade had upset me. I think what made it easy was that I was discussing my future with a professional.
"It does make a difference, dear. Now, for a start - if you're only doing this on an occasional basis, then using girl-type words and phrases with a quieter voice should cover all your needs. It's only if you're going to be passing as a girl in public on your own with no support from your friends that it becomes much more important to develop a more feminine way of speaking. You've only spoken a few words so far but I can clearly hear how you have already learnt the first simple rules. You do speak more quietly and you do already use girly words - your tutor must be very pleased with you." Here she paused and asked Angie if she was my tutor. Once again I realized that this must be a special word connected with the new life I had begun.
Angie replied that she was my tutor although in England it was more usual to refer to a 'big-sister'. Mrs Vandermeer nodded as if she already knew this.
"Yes, my dear, I know about 'big-sisters' and 'new-girls'. The people I know use this special word 'tutor' to denote those girls who have graduated more than one girl. It is clear that Patricia cannot be your first trainee."
"Well, yes, if that's the meaning of the word, then, yes, I am Patricia's tutor. When we get back to England, I'll have to tell the others about this extra meaning of the word."
"Please do, we need to keep the project spreading. The people I have worked with in Holland, France and Germany call themselves Second-Formers. It began as a code because our founder started work at school. She told her classmates that they might have been formed first by God in the form of men, but she would give them their second form as that of beautiful girls. There is a company in England called Transformation but that is something different. They have seen a gap in the market and are looking to make money as well as to help men look like women. They don't do anything to actually encourage boys to take those first steps. Our group is willing to help boys learn about their feminine side."
We spent more than an hour with Margritta. By the end of it, she had agreed to visit us and talk to the SisterDom about the special needs of trainees as regards both their voice and the other important habits of speech. We told her that when we got back to England we would make the arrangements. It was exciting to realise that we were now dealing with an international team of advisers skilled in transforming men.
Back home in England, within a few days, Angie and I were an item and so were Angie and Patricia when they went out to the new clubs. This became easier over the summer and rugby was no longer such an important factor. I dropped hints that the ankle had not mended properly and that I was worried about the coming season. I even said that I was seeing a doctor about the problem - which was true. Not completely true, the doctor I was seeing was a consultant on gender issues. Both Angie and Patricia were interested in exactly how far I could go as a new-girl.
By the end of the first eighteen months with Angela, I had made the transformation from the rugby-playing Patrick to the softer and much prettier Patricia. I kept playing rugby until the end of the season but another injury to the ankle made it impossible to keep going. As a special joke, Angie bought me a bikini with a silver lining - in my rugby days, I would have called it a jockstrap !
I took the big step of changing my job so that I could work from home more. This was quite a risk but it gave me the opportunity to spend the whole day wearing pretty frocks and slick nylons. Soon I was spending my time on the road and with clients in a dress. I told everybody to call me Pat rather than Patrick or Patricia. It made it more vague and therefore less of a surprise when the local expert on drainage turned out to be a woman.
Angie made me realise one day that I was no longer a young lad playing at dressing up as a girl - I was a grown man so, by necessity, I was taking the role of a woman. My teenage years were past whether I was showing masculine or feminine attributes. It may only have been a couple of years since I was a closeted femme but now this was real-life. This age-change made quite a few differences to how I behaved and how I interacted with other people.
I also moved house twice. The first time was so that I was nearer Angie. It was also helpful in separating me from the Rugby Club. It hadn't been easy giving up and the lads were used to dropping in and having a pint or two. Moving made it easier to break some of these habits.
From some points of view it was unfortunate that, this time I had a landlady who lived next door rather than an impersonal occasional monthly visit to collect the rent. Mrs Aldiss was very nice but insisted on being helpful. She 'dropped in' to vacuum, to do the ironing and so on - and my previous flat had allowed me to develop my own way of living. It was quite apparent that she was having to tidy up as well as wash and iron an unmasculine amount of feminine undies. After a few months had passed, I realised that she was hinting quite broadly that she knew that I was dressing up as a girl, that she didn't mind and even was interested in helping me.
Angie and I talked about this and decided that we would try her out. By this Angie meant that she would deliberately unmask me as a fake so that Mrs Aldiss would have to be aware of it. Mrs Aldiss could either take the opportunity to help me or she would join in the unmasking or she would ignore it. Neither of us could guess what she was most likely to do. I must confess that I was pretty nervous as D-day came closer. Angie saw this and decided to get the job done.
So I was absolutely appalled the next evening when Angie suddenly burst out with her unmasking two days before I was expecting it. Mrs Aldiss was in her own rooms downstairs so could hear every word as Angie stormed through the front door.
"I want a word with you. Some of my panties are missing and I've suddenly realised that the only person who could have taken them is you. What have you done with them. And what's more, now I've realised that, I think you're the person who has been in my room trying on my clothes and makeup. What are you some sort of nancy-boy, eh. Get upstairs so that I can check through your wardrobe."
As we went upstairs, Mrs Aldiss called out, "Hello, Angie, would you like a cup of tea later."
Angie and I both realised that our plans were looking good so far. And so it turned out. Mrs Aldiss came upstairs about ten minutes later. She winked at Angie and said, "I waited for you but as the tea was ready I brought it up with me." She turned to me, " Here's that ironing I was doing for you, dear." I could hardly control myself. On the top of the pile were several pairs of frilly panties. They were actually mine not Angie's but the opportunity was too good to miss for my excited women.
Events moved on really fast after this. Mrs Aldiss became a willing accomplice in making sure that I was properly behaved when I was properly dressed. She checked that I was looking after all my pretties in an acceptable manner. Angie gave her all the necessary instructions on what to look out for. It was fun for all of us although I think I had the hardest job. And that wasn't the only thing that was hard.
As I said, the second move was triggered by my landlady but the real impetus came when she said that she was going to have to move herself and that I would have to look for somewhere new. I wasn't happy about this and nor was Angie. We talked and it soon became clear that Mrs Aldiss and the few remaining houseowners were being pressured to leave in order to make way for development of the whole street.
This was something up with which we would not put (to adapt Churchill). We investigated and, soon, negotiated. Mrs Aldiss got a much better offer for her set of four houses and became, for all day-to-day purposes, quite rich. She wanted us to share some of the largesse.
"Angie, you and Patricia have been quite wonderful to me. Here I was sitting on what has proved to be a goldmine and they, 'they', were going to take it away from me. I want to do something with this. Have you any ideas."
"Well, I do have one, but, er, you might think it silly. You've joined in with helping Patricia in her new journey, and, er, I was thinking a while ago, er, why isn't there somewhere that people like Patricia can go for training. Where people like me can meet other people like me as well as people like Patricia. It's really difficult helping a new-girl learn the ropes. Anyone who has done it before is going to be able to help those doing it for the first time. And I know, I just know, that there are plenty of eager boys and young men who want to investigate their girliness. All it needs is the right location and someone willing to oversee the enterprise."
"Wow. That is a wizzer of a suggestion. It would be brill. All the people in the SisterDom would be able to meet safely and ...... er, so on", I shrank slightly as Angie raised an eyebrow.
"Mrs Aldiss may not be aware that we already have a group of tutors and trainees."
"Well, I wasn't sure, dear, but I do know now and I think the idea is really interesting. I do like having people to look after, I do like being in charge and I have all this money that really should be put back into property. Perhaps, it is fate. My life was just drifting along towards a bus-pass when Patrick started renting next door."
A few more months and Angie had proposed to Patricia and they got married by a sufficiently knowledgeable priest. That is to say, they both wore the prettiest dresses and so did most of the congregation. A few days later, we had a second marriage, well really a blessing, with Patrick in his old clothes for those friends who we felt wouldn't cope with the sudden blossoming of their old mate.
By the end of the year, at Christmas, not even two years from my slip on the ice, we had moved into our new dwelling. A rambling series of rooms loosely connected into what was alleged to be a Victorian mansion. It had been part-converted before the money ran out. It was ideal for what we wanted. Large rooms for parties, meetings and so on and two lovely penthouse flats for Angie and Patricia at the east end and Mrs Aldiss,or Penny as we now called her, at the west end.
The house was renamed Sisters' House and became the local centre for the SisterDom in Yorktown.
Patrick/Patricia aged 20
Angela Winter aged c20 older sister of
*Annette Winter aged 18
Margritta Vandermeer speech specialist
Mrs Penny Aldiss landlady, manager of Sisters' House
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